FreeCatFights
General Category => Catfight , Boxing & Wrestling Stories => Catfighting => Topic started by: CoffeeMug on January 02, 2014, 05:13:44 PM
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Hello All,
This is a series I've been posting over on Sea King's site under a different name. Thought I would start posting them here, since it was a thread on J.T. Edson's books on this forum that got me started on this series.
Swampland, Ch 1
By Kim
The flat-bottom boat slid between the buildings. Overhead the sky was empty except for the sun. Vines hung down from the dead facades of office buildings, the signage of cable companies and law firms baked off under the relentless heat. The woman sitting in the boat’s only chair felt every ray of light, even through her sunglasses and hat and clothing. She sat unmoving, her cool brown eyes gliding from building to building behind the glasses. No one else would be out under the heat of the day, on the water downtown where the wind never brought its slight relief. The men alongside her rowed the boat under what had been Interstate 4. The woman stared at the exit signs for the Orlando airport and then flicked her eyes on. The airports had been shut down for regular flights before she had been born. The last smuggler had entered Orlando by plane when she had been a child. He had been the woman’s father, and on his last flight he misjudged what had looked like a light storm and put his plane into the control tower. The woman had not been to the airport since.
A snake eased past their boat, and on her direction her man shoved it away with the paddle. It was the year 2235, and Orlando was now the southernmost point of the United Southern States. In the same year the woman had been born, the United States of America divided itself into five separate countries; the travel requirements alone of one government stretching across an entire continent had been crippling. The political divisions that had come with the full weight of global warming crushed it. The USS was the poorest of these nations, and the smallest. The few people still living in Orlando were nearly on their own, living under the limited scrutiny of their Mayor and the gator farms he controlled. The city was partially underwater, the seawalls that had been built to hold back the Atlantic having been under designed, poorly built, and then completely abandoned once the USA came to an end. The city’s citizens either worked for the sprawling gator farms that claimed what had once been the city’s theme parks or sold their limited goods or themselves to those workers and the workers’ owners.
The woman wiped the sweat from her forehead. According to the phone she kept in her satchel, it was over 125 degrees and as humid as people could withstand. Too much of her money went to the bribes to get her the satellite connection to keep the phone running, but it was an absolute requirement for the work. She was wearing a cap, with her black hair hanging out the back, and long sleeves and pants. From a distance, she and her men would be as non-descript as could make themselves, but they were relying on the fact that few people would even come to a window during the day in May. At night, the people currently sleeping inside would be at their windows and on top of the buildings, working, partying, fighting. During the daytime, the boat had the city nearly to itself. In the bottom of the boat were a crate of batteries, boxes of little white pills, and a package containing a teddy bear for some little rich girl’s birthday. Build into the underside of the boat was a special compartment for their most precious commodity, 100 gallons of gasoline. Although the gasoline was technically hidden, the woman knew that anyone who stopped them would not be fooled. The compartment was mostly for their safety in case of any shooting and a false sense of security. The fact that made their smuggling operation most secure was that during the day the people most likely to spot them would either be in their pay, working for the people who paid them, or too smart to interfere with what was obviously a serious threesome. In the city of Orlando, fully clothed people, on a boat with tarps over its bottom in the middle of the day—these were people not to be taken lightly.
When they reached the storage bay, the woman was the first one off the boat. She nodded to the man guarding the entrance, and they all pulled the boat out of sight and into the dock they had fashioned. When they were done, the guard brought them fresh water and food and they ate inside, as far into the interior as they could get. The recipients of the property would come at night to retrieve it. None of them spoke in the two hours they rested. When dusk came, the woman called for them to awaken and they prepped the boat to leave. As the men pumped the gasoline into the tanks, the woman tipped a metal figurine of a soldier in her fingers. Her father had been a pilot in a world running short of gasoline and the money to pay for things worth flying, and he risked the Atlantic crossing to run drugs from Brazil to New York. On the flight over the ocean, as they tried to ride the edge of one of the many hurricanes, the girl had found the toy left over from another world as she huddled in a luggage rack at the rear of the plane. Even as a little girl, begging for soup from her father’s former contacts in Orlando, where she had been stranded, she had seen that there was little future in the air or in transcontinental travel.
As the boat slid out of the storage bay, she took off her hat and sunglasses and washed her face and splashed water on her front of her shirt. Her name was Cristina de Luca, and at 27 she had been in charge of her own operation for four years. She was a stunning beauty with a gorgeous figure. Her large, firm breasts strained at the material of her shirt without any bra, and her hips were just wider than being called athletic. Her tight jeans showed off her strong, impressive lower body. At 5-foot-7, with her body, she was on the boundary between being strong and powerful and being deeply feminine and alluring. Her hair was long, black, and of loose curls, along with her skin like a very dark tan part of her heritage from the Mediterranean where she had been born. The strap of her satchel cut a line between her breasts that would have caught the attention of anyone watching her. She always carried on her face a look of intense concentration, and men and women both had learned to shield themselves against her intentions. As the sun set and the first people were emerging onto the roofs of the tall buildings around them, she pulled her cap low over her face and resumed her captain’s seat.
It was night by the time they reached Cristina’s bar, the Lady Ace. The bar, with her house on the back, was north of the city where the land was still dry, what had been called Winter Park. She and her men arrived on horseback, the horses’ hooves sloshing through the muck that was the permanent state of the land. At some point in the past, as the ocean crept up to the city from the south, men had filled in the hundreds of small lakes to the north. The result was that all of the ground was wet, loose soil. Her customers arrived on foot or hitched rides on the sleds that ran workers back and forth to the gator farms and the swamps. It was a small bar with a desperate customer base. Most of her income came from running goods and services for the Mayor and his allies. Still, the brunette felt pride as she walked under the sign they had appropriated from an abandoned bar in the city, a slutty blonde holding a fan of playing cards in front of her enormous breasts. Cristina returned the blonde’s flirtatious wink, as she always did entering the Lady Ace.
A tall, muscular man in his early 20’s was behind the bar. His name was Ryan Pope, and he had taken over as bartender and bouncer a year ago, when an older man had reacted to Ryan’s accusation of cheating at poker with a knife, and left with the knife sticking out of his eye. Ryan was pouring moonshine—the only drink most of her customers could afford—for a hopeless drunk. From where he was standing, Cristina knew, he had within reach a scattergun and the last six shotgun shells they had for security at the bar. Standing next to him was Lilah Green, Cristina’s assistant. She was only 19, but she had proven herself a more than capable young woman. She was in charge when Cristina was gone, but Cristina still worried about the teenager’s temper and her tendency to let her emotions govern her behavior. She was a classic redhead, all fire and lust. She was two inches shorter than Cristina, with a more moderate build, but she was athletic, fit and firm with strong arms and legs and nicely upturned breasts that Cristina admired in the girl’s skin-tight shirt. She was wearing shorts that barely reached below her hips and the tight cheeks of her ass, and Cristina felt a burning desire for the redhead nearly as strong as her need for sleep.
Rather than head off for bed, with or without Lilah, Cristina sat at the bar. Ryan poured her a glass of real whiskey, and she felt better as the warmth spread through her chest. “Glad to have you back, boss.”
Cristina tipped the glass toward him. “Anything happen while I was away?”
“Threw Jebediah out again for trying to bum drinks. We’ll need more ‘shine before the end of the week.”
“I don’t want that fucknugger in here again,” Cristina said. “He’s costing us more business than he’s worth. I’ll talk with Winter about getting some more ‘shine to hold us until the next shipment.” Winter Sommerson was the Black man who controlled the flooded plains and islands to the north and the long wooden bridge that connected Orlando to solid land. Cristina needed to talk with him about the next shipment.
“And Brandy Connor sent word with one of her girls that she wants to talk to you,” Ryan added.
Cristina sighed and finished her whiskey. Brandy Connor managed The Swampland, the largest bar in Orlando. It was on the road to the gator farms, and it catered to the farms’ foremen and bosses and the dreams of the field workers. The Swampland had two rows of card tables and an entire wing of rooms for its professional women. Brandy was a very curvy blonde, loud and showy, and she had been a thorn in Cristina’s side since she arrived in town six months ago.
“What did she want?”
“Didn’t say. Just said you were to report to her tonight.” When Cristina looked up at him sharply, Ryan put his hands in front of his chest and added, “Her words, boss.”
Lilah sat down next to her. “How are you feeling?” she asked, putting her hand on top of Cristina’s.
“Fucking tired,” she whispered. Cristina wanted to rest her head on Lilah’s shoulder, but she couldn’t afford to look weak with strangers watching. “I’m heading to bed. You two are in charge for the night.”
*********************************
Cristina awoke late in the afternoon. She was naked and drenched in sweat despite the fan whirling above their bed. Ryan and Lilah both begged her not to waste the gasoline on the fan, but Cristina refused to give it up. Ryan was naked beside her, with his arm draped across Cristina and his face pressed against the swell of her breast. The boy was so handsome in the light coming in through the slats in the window. Cristina watched him sleep and then she sent a direct message to Winter Sommerson asking for a meeting that night. As she put the phone back in her satchel, Ryan stirred next to her. Cristina told him to go back to sleep, but the bartender shook his head and rolled on top of her. They kissed deeply, and then Ryan moved his attention to her breasts, kissing and suckling on her large brown nipples, and then ran his lips down Cristina’s flat stomach and then he was between her legs. Cristina’s black hair was splayed out on the pillow, her back arching and falling in time with the boy’s tongue, and at the end she cried out once.
Cristina went to meet Winter by herself, despite the protests of Lilah and Ryan. She had her knife and she also took a long barrel shotgun and three shells. She went on horseback, and after nearly an hour she found Winter and his escort at the shack he used for these meetings. Cristina shook the older man’s hand and nodded at the two guards, both of whom were carrying military-class assault rifles. Winter Sommerson had as much power as anyone in Orlando and as much money, although Mayor Barnwell and the other rich whites who lived in the remains of downtown would never allow someone as dark as Winter to live among them. In his fifties, Winter now carried a decent gut, but one could see under the fat of old age the physically powerful and attractive man he had been in his youth. Cristina doubted that Winter had been a man she would have wanted to tangle with when he was young, and she knew that he was someone she did not want to piss off now.
“Nice of you to come, Cristina. Always nice to see such a pretty face.”
“Thank you, sir. Always a pleasure to see you. I’m sorry to see that Casey isn’t with you, though.”
“I don’t believe that she wanted to see that whitebread slab of beef you’re running with these days,” Winter answered. Cristina and his daughter Casey had been an item in the past, “batches” as people called it, and it had been Winter’s hope that the relationship would lead to Cristina’s taking over for him as he neared retirement. But the relationship had ended as Cristina felt her inclinations shifting, and to Cristina’s great relief, Winter Sommerson was a professional who recognized personal choice.
“I’m glad to be meeting in person like this,” Cristina said. “I’d like to increase the gasoline and the pills we bring in. I think there’s a market for it. I’d also like to make a personal buy from you for some ammo, and maybe an upgrade in stock from whoever it is you’re getting your tools from,” she added, eyeing the gun carried by the man closest to her.
“I’m sorry that I have to be bringin’ you bad news like this,” Winter replied. “You know that I like you, and we’ve had a good run of business here.” He paused and wiped the sweat from his forehead. All of them were suffering in the enclosed space, although it was nearly midnight and they had lived their entire lives in such conditions. Winter took his name from the longstanding rumor that he had actual air conditioning in his heavily defended mansion in the swamp—from the rumor, and from the calculating attitude he brought to his work. “I don’t know how it can keep getting hotter every year. Not enough people can even afford the gas to keep putting more smoke in the air.”
“It’s a feedback loop. We were locked into this decades ago.” Winter gave her a puzzled look, and Cristina said, “After my dad died, they kept me in the library. I found some working data pads and read a lot.”
“Ain’t that a fucking kick in the teeth,” Winter said. “As I was saying, we’re not going to be able to increase our business. In fact, it’s going to be going down. I’m sorry to say that I can’t let you bring any more gasoline or pills across.”
The Italian woman and Black man stood silent. “You’ve made a deal with someone else”
“A certain party wanted to make my relationship with them exclusive. I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I’m parting with you on much nicer terms than they would have liked.”
That last comment got Cristina’s attention. There was nothing to be done to change her situation with Winter, so they shook hands and departed the cabin. On her ride back to the Lady Ace, Cristina wondered who this new smuggler could be. Always possible for someone with a bigger wallet to want to cut everyone else out of the business, but to want her to be hurt specifically was strange. A lot of people didn’t care for her, but she had always been careful with to maintain relationships with other people in the business. And then she thought of the message Brandy Connor had sent the previous night for her to “report” to her, and it all made sense. Brandy had arrived in town on a boat from Charleston and, by means of her stunning looks and her hard fists, she dealt with the other girls at The Swampland and established herself as the woman in charge. She had never sold her body, at least in this town, and she presented herself as a tough businesswoman in a tough business, one that just happened to rely on her looks as well as her will because it was in customer service. She had gone out of her way to antagonize Cristina, cutting into the business at the Lady Ace and dragging her name through the mud whenever she could. A month ago the two had nearly come to blows after Cristina had heard of Brandy’s saying that the Lady Ace would have done better business had it been run by a “real woman and not some half-batch who dresses like a man and makes her boy toy get his hands dirty for her.” Cristina had gone to The Swampland to settle things, but she had been too angry to throw aside her knife and Brandy refused to meet her using weapons.
Cristina rode first to the Lady Ace, where she planned to change horses. Even in the middle of the night, the heat and the soft ground had been hard on the big bay she was on. She needed a drink as well. As she threw the door open, though, she found an unusual sight: An Asian woman standing in the middle of the bar, getting ready to arm wrestle with Ryan. The crowd was gathered around them both, betting and cheering, but just as Lilah was going to yell for the start, the Asian woman leaned over kissed Ryan on the lips and then in his surprise and using both of her arms she pinned his down. She leapt into the air with her hands overhead, a big smile on her face until she saw Cristina staring at them. When Ryan saw his boss, he clambered to his feet, wiping the Asian girl’s kiss from his lips.
“We were just playing around, boss,” he stuttered. “She was bragging about how strong she is, and one thing led to another, and you know,” he finished with a shrug.
“Nice of you to keep my employees entertained for me,” Cristina said to the Asian girl. “But I thought that I had trained them better than to let some little girl get them distracted like her obvious theatrics. But when your face is so … typical, I guess theatrics is the way to go.”
The girl was eyeing her hard, and Cristina knew that she was more than some fool’s date for the night or a small-time thief working the camps. The girl was Chinese, she could see now, and extremely pretty too. She was a few inches shorter than Cristina, and smaller in the chest and lower body, but she still had an impressive bust and an athletic figure. Cristina could tell from the way the girl was standing that she had experience in handling herself. Her straight black hair hung down to her shoulders. The girl was wearing jeans and a low cut t-shirt that showed off the inner swell of her breasts well. She wore no bra, like all of the women who lived there. Cristina was also wearing jeans that flattered her legs and her shapely hips and ass, more round and likely more powerful than the Chinese woman’s. Her breasts strained the front of her shirt, the neckline of which she had cut into a deep V with a knife to allow for the space she required. The Chinese woman had softer features than Cristina, charming and pretty to the bar owner’s stark beauty, but in the eyes of both women one could see what people there referred to as “sand.”
“I take it you’re Cristina, owner of this scatpile?”
“I am.”
“My name’s Selina Hu. I’m new around here, and we haven’t met. But I work at The Swampland, for Ms. Connor.”
“Ms. Connor?” Cristina asked with a sharp laugh.
“Yes. She employees me to take care of things for her. Last night, she sent one of her girls here to ask you to meet with her to talk business. You did not, even though you arrived from your little errand with plenty of time left in the evening. So now, Ms. Connor has sent me to bring you back for the meeting.”
“Oh she has, has she?” Cristina asked. The bar’s patrons had by this point stepped to a more cautious distance. Bullets were scarce in Orlando, but both women were wearing long knives stuck in their waistbands.
“Yes. But first I think I’m going to teach you some manners.”
“You’re welcome to try, bitch,” Cristina answered.
“I’m going to do so whether you welcome me or not.” With that, Selina slowly removed the knife from her belt and handed it to Ryan, and Cristina did the same. “If you’ll follow me outside,” she invited, and Cristina and the crowd followed her. In the street, the two women faced off some ten meters apart. The bar’s customers, with Ryan and Lilah among them, were along the wooden sidewalk. “After I beat that smug face of yours for a while, I’ll be taking you back to The Swampland with me. Ms. Connor said that so long as I didn’t permanently damage the goods, I could do as I liked. She still hopes to make a proper working girl out of you, although I suspect the cause might be lost.”
“After I kick this girl’s ass up and down the street, we’ll have drinks on the house to celebrate. And then I might just go do the same to your sorca of a boss, too,” Cristina added.
They came together quickly. Cristina threw a wild right that Selina ducked under, and then the smaller woman hit her in the stomach and the side. As Cristina lowered her elbows to protect herself, Selina slapped her across the face. She pressed Cristina, hitting her in the face and torso with short crisp slaps, and the larger woman grabbed her around the neck and the shoulders. The two women wrestled like that, back and forth across the street, until Selina got her foot between Cristina’s legs and tripped her. But as they fell Cristina wrenched her to the side bodily so that they landed in the muck atop the smaller woman. The two of them fell to rolling back and forth, but the fall had stunned Selina and soon Cristina had her stuck to the ground. She had her arm locked around Selina’s head, and she punched her in the side and in the face. The smaller woman kicked her with her heels in the thighs, but to no effect. Then she grabbed onto Cristina’s enormous bust through her shirt and squeezed. The angle was not good, but the pain still persuaded Cristina to let go of the hold and roll away from her.
The two women came to their feet and were immediately on each other. Selina punched her in the stomach but Cristina hit her across the face with a solid shot, and as her opponent stumbled she seized hold of her by her black hair. She flung the Chinese woman to the ground and kicked her in the back, and then she flung herself upon her. Their flesh smacked together and they lay thigh to thigh, face to face, breast to breast, pulling hair and rolling over each other. Selina got atop her at last and like a minx sat on her waist. She slapped Cristina across the face, twice, stunning her, and then she ripped open her shirt in one quick move. Before she could do anything else Cristina rolled her off. The remains of her shirt swung open, and the crowd could see her breasts swaying freely beneath her as she tried to get astride the smaller woman. Selina got free of her and to her knees, but as she rose Cristina grabbed her by the back of the shirt, tearing the material as the woman wrenched away from her.
The two women were standing and facing each other. The first round was over, and they look each other over. Cristina made a kiss at her and then she pulled her ruined shirt off and tossed it aside. Selina did the same. Cristina’s breasts swung back and forth as they moved, much larger than Selina’s, and she saw the Chinese woman eyeing them. Cristina felt and moved every inch a majestic woman, like a panther, but her opponent was a lynx, stepping lightly over the ground, her smaller, firm breasts reduced in their swaying and her pretty face taking in every bit of Cristina’s feminine power. Both women were breathing hard, and rivers of sweat ran down their faces and their exposed chests. Eyes locked with desire and bitterness, and they rushed each other again.
Selina and Cristina hit each other in the face and the stomach and then grabbed hold of hair with both hands. They bent each other over at the waist, pulling and struggling and turning in circles. They threw uppercuts to the gut and chest. Both women moaned and gasped for air. At some point Selina stumbled to one knee and the Italian smuggler was on her, kicking her in the side and in the thigh, but they were too close and the kicks had little effect. Selina let go of the hair to try to swing a fist at the beautiful dark face, but Cristina saw it coming and hopped back, letting go her own hair pull. Selina tried to get to her feet, but the other woman rushed her and knocked her to the ground. Selina managed to throw the larger woman past her, and before Cristina could get up Selina was on top of her. She put one of her jean-clad thighs and part of her ass across Cristina’s neck and face, and the other leg on Cristina’s arm, trapping it. Cristina reached up for her breast with her free arm, but Selina seized it. Then she started pounding her first into Cristina’s flat stomach, gaining a grunt of pain with each blow. After that she sank her fingers into Cristina’s impressive assets, kneading the female flesh and pinching her brown nipples. Cristina would have howled in pain had she the oxygen. The sweat was running from Selina’s face and arms and torso down onto her. In one last surge the bottom woman used her greater weight to buck the other off of her.
Cristina struggled to her feet, but her opponent was in better shape than she and was there first. Selina struck her across the face, with a right and a left and another right, hard slaps that would have put down most women. Cristina took them and slugged Selina in the stomach with all she had left. The blow landed clean, and it drained Selina. The Chinese brawler fell to her knees, clutching at her stomach, eyes wide, and then Cristina slapped her across the face with a blow that put them both down in the muck. They lay like that for what felt to both fighters an eternity, sucking in oxygen, dreading the sound of the other woman rising. At last they both got to their knees and then threw themselves together. Breast to breast they struggled, pulling hair and beating on each other’s sides and backs. Then Selina hit her in the stomach, weakening Cristina and forcing her onto her back. They rolled in the dirt again, the messy substance now smeared together with their sweat and covering both women as if it were a symbol of their desperation. They pulled hair, slapped faces, squeezed breasts.
When they rolled clear of each other this time, all knew that the end was near. The women staggered toward each other. Selina hit her in the face and in the breast, the fist going in deep. Cristina gasped in pain and threw a punch that missed. Selina hit her in the stomach, and then as Cristina went to grab her the smaller woman sidestepped. As Cristina stumbled forward her opponent threw herself on her back, locking her legs around her waist and her forearm around her neck. Their two faces were frozen in that one instant side by side, alluring as they were locked together in their fight. Cristina was down on her knees and then in the dirt before she could react or think to fall backward onto the other woman. Selina squeezed with everything that she had, scissoring her thighs around Cristina’s flat waist and choking her around the neck. Desperate, she pulled at the arm and at the legs alternately, but to no avail. And then Selina grabbed her breast again. Cristina could not move and could not free herself, and she sobbed out that she yielded. Selina let loose of her and sat up, looking as if she would then take Cristina to The Swampland as she had promised, but then she fell back into the muck alongside her. Winner and loser lay together in the street, gasping for air, the one staring up at the night sky and the other face d
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Swampland, Ch 2
By Kim
Lilah Green watched over her boss’s bar, the Lady Ace, while her boss, Cristina de Luca, recuperated in her bedroom off the back. Cristina had become entangled with some form of nastiness with Brandy Connor, the woman who ran the largest bar in Orlando. Lilah was smart and by general acknowledgment she would be running her own operation one day. She was only 19, though, and she knew that she had a tendency to react before thinking. With auburn hair that spilled from her head in a mess of curls, and a tight athletic body with firm, moderate breasts that she enjoyed showing off and a personality that lit up the entire bar, Lilah was accustomed to being the center of attention from men and women, personal and professional. The previous night she had watched her boss fight in the street with a woman Lilah had allowed into the bar as a customer and who had turned out to be the new employee of Brandy Connor. It had been a fair fight and Brandy’s woman had beaten Cristina, but at the end both women were spent, lying in the street topless and battered. Lilah had the men take Cristina to her bed and Selina, the Chinese woman, to her own boss’s hangout.
Dr. Eason checked on Cristina and declared that she needed a few days of bed rest and solid food. No broken bones, no permanent damage to her face. Eason was a thin old man with a patchy white beard, a doctor who was willing to trade his services for whiskey or gasoline. He brought his wife and nurse Talia with him. Of mixed South Asian and German descent, with a very curvy profile on a 5’4 frame, she was the high point of his visits to the Lady Ace. She was also the woman who controlled the flow of information through Orlando’s slums, the bars and workers’ hovels where they spent most of their lives. The bar’s early customers all said their hellos, asking Talia how she was doing and why she never came when her husband treated heat stroke and missing digits for the workers in the gator farms. She was wearing a white dress that showed the outlines of her stunning features, the fabric wet with sweat, and all of the men in the bar took in her looks. She and the Dr. lived well, too. Few people knew much about medicine any more, and as a young man Eason had restored some old med school tablets and taught himself enough to keep a business together.
Late in the night, Lilah told Ryan to watch the bar and slipped away. She was wearing shorts that showed off her legs and a shirt that put her to good effect. A few men and women both gave her appreciative looks, and she smiled in return. At the wreckage of what had once been a football stadium, she found a handmade shack and, after four sharp knocks on the door, she stepped inside. The air smelled like rot and softness. In the darkness Lilah could see a man lying on a straw mattress. The disgust rose up in her stomach, and she put one hand near the knife in the small of her back as she flicked on her flashlight with the other. Working flashlights were rare, and it marked her as a young woman with connections.
“Turn that fucking light off,” the man on the floor said.
“You tell me what I want to know, and I can be your friend. Don’t tell me what I want to know, and I’ll cut your little peter in half. Longwise.” The shack’s occupant groaned. “Did you to that bar tonight? Did you see anything?”
“Saw that new girl get brought in. Looked like she had been run over by a wagon and drowned. Saw she got some real nice legs, too,” he added with a giggle.
“You need to be respectful, fucknugger.”
“Okay, okay. I did overhear her and Brandy talking. Brandy was pretty pissed off that that girl didn’t bring Cristina back with her, but she seemed pretty happy when the girl told her that she had beaten up your boss.” Lilah could hear his smiling. “Then Brandy told that new girl that when she was healed up she would be sending her to meet with Winter.”
“The fuck you say?”
“That was it, I promise. Now pay me what you owe me. I’ve given you plenty.”
Lilah counted out four pills and tossed them onto the floor and walked back to the Lady Ace. Near dawn, as Ryan was chasing the last drunken customers out the door and the cleaning girl was starting to mop the floors, Lilah went into Cristina’s rooms. The smuggler’s beautiful face was bruised and swollen, and she winced as she sat up on Lilah’s entering the room. Cristina had pushed the sheets down off of her in the heat, and Lilah could see the bruises on her arms, torso, breasts against her olive-colored skin. She gave Cristina a glass of water and sat next to her on the bed.
“How you feelin’, boss?”
“Tell me what you’ve found out tonight.”
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A week after her boss’s fight against Selina Hu, Lilah set out by herself. Cristina had learned from a man who owed them favors that someone was bringing a canoe of whiskey and knives across the swamp. Lilah was to find the load and discover who was in charge of it. She left the bar as the sun went down. She was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt to protect her arms and legs, her curly red hair pulled back in a ponytail. Strands of loose hair stuck to her face and neck in her sweat. In the small of her back was a pistol with one clip and on the waist of her jeans was a knife. Before she left the camp, she stopped to say good-bye to Tara, the woman who owned the store down the street from the Lady Ace. Lilah had started seeing her about a month previous.
Tara was leaning on the counter. She wore a loose dress, her light brown hair on her shoulders and in front of her face. She was very pretty, a few years older than Lilah, and curvy under her dress in a way that Lilah enjoyed. Lilah walked up and kissed her before saying hello. “You look like you’re on your way to work,” Tara told her.
“And you look beautiful enough that I don’t want to go.”
“But you have to.”
“These snorts are trying to double fuck us,” Lilah said. She let her shoulder lean into Tara’s. No one else was in the store. The shelves were half-empty if she were being generous. “And I’m to make sure that we double fuck them first.”
“You go have fun with that, honey. And you tell them that no one but me gets to double fuck you.”
With another kiss and a grab on her ass, Lilah left Tara’s store. She hiked through the swamp, rats scurrying away from her and branches poking her arms, legs, torso. It felt as if the hot air was pressing down on her chest from above. She had been running with Cristina for nearly a year. On her first job, they had gone out on the open water in all three of their flatboats to meet a ship that had come up down from Charleston with what had promised to be a major load of antibiotics. Lilah had been the first to see the con coming and the one who got their boats out from under the ship’s guns and safely back into the swamp. From that point she had been Cristina’s tenente. Lilah’s parents ran a store of their own up in Tallahassee, but she had left them when she turned 17 without a look back. If they wanted to sit in an empty room and get high all day, they could do so just as easily without her.
Her source had given her two possible routes the crew might use. After some thinking, Lilah chose the one that seemed the less likely and climbed up into an oak tree. The moss dangling low from its limbs would hide her well enough. The sky was clear, and she sat staring up into the stars as she ate from a bag of carrots and bit of chicken she had brought with her. They had money set aside to last a decent bit, but it was the goods that would be a problem, not running out of money. If they weren’t the ones bringing stuff in, then they were at the mercy of fucking chance just as bad as their customers. As she sat in the crook of the tree waiting a boa came sliding down. She waited until the snake was on the limb near her foot and then with her boot sent it down into the muck below. After another two hours, she hopped down out of the tree. There was a cabin not far off this route, and upon adjusting her ponytail she began her walk.
The cabin was a one room shack at the edge of one of the interconnected lakes. There were lights in the windows. Lilah snuck up under it and saw inside four Black men with rifles and shotguns, standing around a large pile of crates. Their run, Lilah knew, and bigger than anything she had run with Cristina. It was unusual for Winter’s men to bring a run this far toward Orlando. Their new business partner must have more pull and more muscle. And not a lot of trust, judging from the number of guns. Lilah pivoted on her heels to move away to find a Black woman standing in front of her. “Hello there, Lilah,” Casey said to her. She was Winter’s young, very capable daughter. She was taller than Lilah, with strong arms and legs and a deep, firm chest under her white t-shirt.
Casey took her gun and knife and directed Lilah into. “Seems like you all have decided to expand your horizons. Moved on to some exciting new ventures.”
“I don’t think that I’d call it exciting, particularly. It’s just more work for me.”
“Too bad I can’t say the same.”
“Yeah, too bad,” Casey replied. “Suppose that’s why you’re out here. Redheads, always gotta make things complicated.”
“You didn’t have to cut us out like this.”
“No, we didn’t. But then from another way of looking at it, we did. It’s the way of fucking things.”
There were lights outside the cabin, and Casey met a bearded man at the door. It was one of Brandy Connor’s men. “I see you’ve brought a guest,” he said, looking at Lilah. “Unless your father has changed his hiring practices.”
“She’s our business, not yours.”
“Any chance she could be thrown into the delivery? You could put it on our account,” the bearded man suggested.
As Casey turned to look at Lilah, a flash of lights came on outside the cabin. Over a bullhorn, a man’s voice said, “All you fucknuggers put your guns down and come outside. No need to make this worse than it is.”
It was the Orlando sheriff’s department. They enforced what passed for law in the city, which worked in some combination of what was best for the mayor, what was best for the sheriffs, and what was best for the people. Although most of what they brought into Orlando was not sold to the people who lived in the camps, the vast bulk of the area’s population, Lilah doubted that hijacking the shipment was in their best interest, either.
“Don’t suppose these are friends of yours?” Casey asked.
“Not exactly my type. Is there a secret tunnel out of this cabin?”
“I’ll bring it up at the next meeting.”
Casey, her men, Lilah, and Brandy Connor’s man slowly exited the cabin, hands up. Outside were seven men in brown uniforms, shotguns ready. The man with the bullhorn ordered them to throw their weapons. He was tall and heavy, with a thick beard. Terrell Lane, Sheriff of Orlando. He was chewing on an unlit cigar. He motioned for one of his men to take the weapons. “Sorry to see you caught up with this sorry lot, Lilah,” he said. “Heard you all were gettin’ out of this business.”
“And it looks like you’re getting into it,” the redhead replied.
“Why don’t you keep your fucking white camp mouth shut,” said a female voice. Out from behind Sheriff Lane stepped his chief deputy, Megan Dormer. She was a nasty woman who had what seemed like a personal grudge against Lilah, Cristina, Brandy, and any other woman she considered to be beneath herself. Her face had a stern sort of beauty to it, and she had a sleek, athletic build and light brown hair, and she carried herself with a swagger that seemed directed at every other woman she met. Everyone saw her as the sheriff’s bag handler, a woman who relied on her looks rather than her abilities and who would never be able to run her own crew. There were rumors that she had grown up in a well-off family out West and that she had fled to Florida.
“Why don’t you come over here and make me,” Lilah replied. “If your boss will let you get your ass kicked in front of all your men.”
“Don’t you worry about him. I’d be happy to beat your ass here in front of everyone.”
“Both of you shut the fuck up,” Lane barked. “Get them chained up and get those boxes loaded on the sled. I’m not standing out here all fucking night watching you two swipe at each other.”
As one of the deputies stooped to get the chains, a voice yelled from the trees for all of them to freeze. A deputy fired his shotgun toward the voice, and a series of shots were returned. Lilah dashed around the corner of the cabin and dove into the water. She was across the water and on a slip of land, watching from behind a tree, by the time the two groups had sorted themselves. It was the rest of Brandy Connor’s men who had started the shooting, she knew, trying to free their boss. Their new boss was lying face down next to one of the sheriff’s lanterns, and even if he were still alive, Lilah knew that he would be allowed to bleed out. She could see at least one of Casey’s men down, too, and two of Lane’s men. It looked to her like Brandy’s men had started a fight they couldn’t handle; unless they had a secret supply of bullets, they had no chance of standing up to the sheriffs. Casey and the rest of her men had gotten away, at least. Lilah couldn’t feel any ill over a business decision. She certainly could feel ill for a personal grudge, though, and she waited until the shooting had been settled and saw clearly that Megan had survived unhurt. It was always the worst people who came through in the best shape, she thought as she started her long, hot trek home.
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As Lilah made her way back from the cabin, Cristina was putting on a new dress. She had taken it some months ago from a shipment. The man who had ordered it for his mistress had no longer required it, and Cristina kept it in her trunk rather than toss it for reasons she could not quite have explained. Before his crash, her father had raised her by himself and she had never developed an affinity for feminine trappings. But Brandy’s taunting of her “masculine ways” had run through her head since the fight with Brandy’s woman Selina Hu more than she liked. The dress was black with green lines around the waist and bust, and it was cut very low in the chest so that it showed off Cristina’s impressive build quite well. And she thought that her waist and hips were put to good effect too. One last look in the mirror, and she pushed her hair back over her bare shoulders and left for The Swampland.
The Swampland was large, well lit, and busy. Men were drinking by the bar that dominated the north wall as Brandy’s women encouraged them, and men and women both played poker, craps, and roulette. Professional women leaned against the wall near the doorway to the part of the bar where their “customer” rooms and Brandy’s office and apartment were located. The bar was hot despite the screen-covered windows on both ends, and Cristina could feel the air settling into her lungs. Real candles flickered in the chandeliers overhead and on the walls. Two of Brandy’s women passed by as she came to the bar, giving her scathing looks, neither of them as attractive in the face or body as Cristina or their own boss. Cristina saw one of the security men spot her and go to notify Brandy. She ordered a whiskey from the bartender, who looked her over with an appreciative gaze, and winking at him she took her shot and waited for the boss lady to appear.
“Well look who fell into a change of clothes,” Brandy said in a loud voice as she approached. “Change the clothes, change the woman.” The statuesque blonde seemed to be pouring out of her blue dress. Her breasts seemed even larger than Cristina’s and better presented by the deep cut of her front, and her wide hips and powerful legs were evident under the strained material. Her curly blonde hair spilled down over her shoulder and seemed to cup her face, which was beautiful but with its blue eyes and full cheeks was the opposite type of beauty to Cristina’s. She wore a gold necklace that was draped across the imposing swell of her cleavage. “You like the necklace?” Brandy asked, when Cristina had looked her up and down. “It’s a shame that you don’t have a man who can afford to give you something like that,” she added, giving Cristina’s dress, face, body the same scrutiny the Italian had given her.
“Yes, it’s too bad that you can’t afford to buy your own arrow to get men to stare at your cow tits.”
“Oh my goodness,” Brandy responded. “Listen up everybody, Cristina de Luca here is going to lecture me about having good business sense. Tell us about how your little scatpile of a bar is doing for you, Cristina. Or perhaps you’d like to tell us about your other business ventures?”
Cristina tensed herself, but Brandy checked her with a tilt of her head to the security men by the door. “Now, now,” Brandy cautioned her. “This isn’t the kind of establishment where we settle our disagreements with a mindless brawl. So tacky. Come with me, and we’ll hash this out like proper ladies.”
Brandy turned and walked toward her office, and Cristina followed her. A guard stationed in the hallway checked Brandy for weapons. The room was large and spare, with a large desk stationed across the far corner, facing the door, and chairs arranged before it. A Republic of Texas flag was on the wall behind the desk, its fabric rippling slightly from the two ceiling fans whirling overhead. Brandy poured a whiskey for each of them and the two women drank standing in the center of the room. When the glasses were empty they set them on the desk and stood eyeing each other. Without a knock, Selina Hu entered the room and closing the door behind her blocked the exit. She was wearing a blouse buttoned halfway up and a loose blue skirt that stopped above her knees. Her feminine athleticism showed clearly through the thin material. She smiled at Cristina.
“Whatever you came here to talk about you can say in front of her,” Brandy explained. “She’s involved in all of my operations.”
“Afraid to be alone with me after the shit that you’ve pulled?”
“Hardly. From what I heard of your last meeting with Selina, I don’t have much to fear from you. Disappointing, but that’s the way of the world.”
“If you like, I can kick your ass again. Embarrass you in front of our customers just like I did in front of yours,” Selina offered.
“You’re welcome to try, little girl,” Cristina answered her.
“As enticing a prospect as that fucking is, I have other work to get to tonight. Why did you come here, bitch?”
Cristina turned her attention back to Brandy. “I wanted you to hear this from me. I know you’re trying to muscle me out, and it’s not going to work.”
“Oh, it already has, honey. You’re just too stupid to notice it,” Selina said.
“Stay out of this,” Brandy said to her. “Cristina, it would be best for everyone if you accept what’s happening. I have more people with me and more money behind me than you’ll ever be able to deal with. And aside from that, the fact is that Selina isn’t wrong. I’ve already outmaneuvered you. I made deals with the right people without your even noticing. Our first shipment has already come in, and it’s more weight than you could ever move. So it would be for the best if you and all of your people if you just peacefully step aside. You’re out of your league with me, in every possible way. Maybe you should go find a less competitive place for you to do business in. I hear that Lower Alabama’s nice this time of year.”
“You’ve overplayed your hand, Texas. You’re incompetent and you can’t be trusted, and people are going to find that out. The reputation you’ve made for yourself running this whorehouse won’t do you any favors in my line of work. It’s going to take more than two oversized heifers and bad hair to get rid of me.”
“No, it’s just going to take me,” Selina said. “Meeting’s over, dusky. Time for you to go,” she added, taking hold of Cristina by the arm and pulling her toward the door.
“No need for violence, Selina. I’m sure that Cristina is a sharp enough woman to know how to find the door out of a whorehouse.”
“I doubt that she could find a bed in a whorehouse with both hands and a flaccid dick in her mouth.”
Selina was still holding Cristina by the arm, and the two women stared into each other’s eyes. In that moment before they went for each other Cristina could see the beads of sweat on Selina’s forehead and down into her chest. It was on her own face and upper body as well. Both women were breathing hard. “Are you going to interfere?” Cristina asked Brandy.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Cristina wrenched her arm free of the other girl’s grasp and shoved her away. Selina took hold of the front of her dress as she did, so that the material ripped loose from her torso. Cristina rushed after her and slapped her across the face, but Selina came back with a fist into her stomach and then taking hold as Cristina bent over she slung her into the wall. Cristina hit the wood face first, her bare breasts flattening out. Selina hit her in the small of her back with quick shots and then pulled back on her head, still holding on to her long, dark hair. “I’m going to run you out in that bar naked. Let everyone get a good look at that body of yours they’re always talking about,” Selina said into her ear. Then she tore away the rest of Cristina’s dress. A thought flashed through Cristina’s mind: The material came off easily for its expense for the intended mistress.
The thought was out of her head as quickly as it came. She whipped her elbow around and caught Selina in the temple. The smaller woman stumbled back and then fell on her ass, dazed. Cristina wanted to throw herself on her, but as she rid herself of the dress and shoes her opponent was already gaining her feet. Cristina was wearing only a pair of black panties. Selina kicked off her shoes, and Cristina made a “come on” motion with her hand. Smirking, Selina slid her blouse off her shoulders and her dress to the floor and threw both aside. She was wearing light blue panties. Cristina stared at her body, lithe and strong except her full breasts, and she thought of their last fight and how she wanted to punish her, throw her around the room, make her insignificant and low.
The two women rushed each other. They collided chest to chest, arms scrabbling at torsos and pulling hair. The two women pirouetted around the room, a beautiful dance of female violence. Brandy stepped out of their path and locked the door. Cristina punched Selina in the side and with a rush of strength propelled her across the room. Selina hit against the desk and Cristina bent her backwards onto it. She had the Chinese woman flat on her back and she tried to climb on top of her but Selina rolled her off. Cristina landed hard on the floor and as she was getting up Selina crashed into her. At first she was underneath the other woman, but before any damage could be done she rolled her off and jammed her in the corner. Selina was on her side, her back to the wall, and working on her knees Cristina pinned her in place. She thudded fists into the young woman’s side, stomach, breasts and held her down by her hair with the other. Selina tried to get free but Cristina got her leg on one of her arms, trapping it. Now Selina started thrashing under her, pushing and hitting at Cristina’s voluptuous breasts and flat stomach. With a snarl Cristina reached between Selina’s legs and pinched her sex.
With a burst of energy Selina got some space between them and then kicked Cristina away from her. She managed to get to her feet but Cristina was there first. “You’re going to pay that, you fucking slut.”
“Come do something about it.”
Selina ran toward her, burying her shoulder in Cristina’s gut. But Cristina was too large and Selina too weakened for the smaller woman to move, and she drove her elbow down into Selina’s back, again and again, until the other woman was on her knees. Cristina pulled her back by the hair, holding her in place in front of her, and slapped her forehand and backhand. Then she rode the girl onto her back and mounted her, sitting aside her stomach. Selina tried to push herself free, and Cristina enjoyed seeing the panic come into her eyes. She slapped her across the face, Selina’s black hair whipping with the movement and sweat flying off her skin. Both women were sucking air into and out of their bodies; the sound was flat and hard in the room and Cristina’s breasts rose and fell with the effort. She brought her hand back again but before she could strike Selina got her hands up and latched onto her heaving breasts. She sunk her fingers into the mounds of female flesh, squeezing with the energy and strength Cristina had felt on their first fight. In her rush to get the hands off her chest Cristina lost her balance, and Selina got out from under her.
The two topless women, skin shining and beautiful faces half covered in hair were an embodiment of female combative spirit. Each willed herself to her feet. They came together but as Selina charged forward again she was slow and the larger woman punched her in the stomach and then slapped her across the face. Cristina then seized her by the shoulders and ran her into the wall. Her face and bust hit hard against the wood, and Cristina pulled her back by the hair and slammed her forward again and then a third time. After the last, holding her in place by the hair and a firm grip on one arm, Cristina asked, “I thought you were going to make me pay? Kick my ass again? Haul me naked in front of all those ugly men and stupid whores downstairs?” Selina could only gasp for air in response, her face flush against the hard wood. “Didn’t hear you,” Cristina said, and hit her in the back as a prompt. Selina groaned.
With a surge of strength Cristina yanked her away from the wall and sent her stumbling over the desk and to the floor behind it. She followed the Asian woman around the desk, expecting for her to be rising as she did. But instead she found Selina lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. When she saw Cristina coming toward her she moaned and turned her head away. Eager to continue beating on her, Cristina rushed in. But the girl had been shamming, and when Cristina got close both her feet came up and struck her full in the chest. Cristina she fell back into the desk and then to the floor, holding her breasts. She gasped for air and watched as Selina rolled onto her hands and knees and crawled toward her. The sweat was dripping off her torso and breasts and the hair dangling about her face. Their eyes locked again, as they had in that instant before the fight started.
Selina landed on her with a thud. The women took hold of each other’ hair once more, pulling all they could. Cristina rolled to her side but was only on top an instant before Selina regained it. Their shapely thighs, lean torsos, imposing breasts rubbed together bodily in their struggle. With a burst of movement neither would have thought possible at this stage Selina moved to sit on top of her, but Cristina got her hips outside of hers and wrapped her legs around her torso. She squeezed with all that she had. Selina gripped her breasts, pinching down into the flesh, but despite the agony Cristina held on. She yanked Selina’s head back by the hair and began pounding her in the face. After enduring all she could, Selina let go of the breasts and tried to protect herself. But then Cristina slapped her breasts until she exposed her face again. No matter what she did, Selina could not extricate herself from the scissors Cristina had around her torso and the pounding she was giving her.
Selina gasped that she had had enough. Cristina loosened her scissor hold and rolled on top of her. Sitting astride Selina’s chest, she held her head up by the hair and with her fist raised, she demanded that Selina admit that she was beaten. “Fuck you, bitch!” Selina said with all the force she could muster.
Cristina saw Brandy coming toward her, expecting that she would start mashing the helpless woman for her answer. But Cristina laughed and patted the woman she had beaten on the cheek and slowly rose from her. “You gonna be trouble now?” she asked Brandy.
“Not now,” the buxom blonde answered. “For now, I’ll give you a change of clothes and an escort home. And when you’re up to it, we’ll continue our discussion of my taking your business from you.”
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Great erotic writing ... especially the 1st one ... keep it up! ;D ;)
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Kim is the best writer on Seakings. Check out Kim vs Carla in Florida Women 10.
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Kim,
this is an excellent story, the setting alone takes the story a long way above the ordinary and it is well imagined and vividly sustained. Your opening paragraph seizes the reader's attention and the writing from there on continues at that high standard.
Your characters too are vividly drawn and believable.
Thank you for sharing your talent with us.
I look forward to many more stories set in the steamy world of Florida a few centuries hence
JP
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Great Story. I love the story line and the characters. Looking forward to the rest of the story. This has potential for being a great series.
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What is your nome de Guerrero on Seaking's site? Thanks!
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Great story. I enjoyed it immensely. Looking forward to more!
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Thanks for the feedback everyone! I'm glad that people are enjoying the stories.
What is your nome de Guerrero on Seaking's site? Thanks!
Kim. And I started a new series as Leila (a continuation of the first series), but honestly I felt like the steam was running out of that one. It's unfinished as of right now.
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I, for one, loved Leila's parking garage fight.
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Loved the story. I liked the post-Global Warming time frame; the Florida swampland setting; the attractive women; and, the fact that, when they threw down, they fought like women without benefit of weapons or martial arts skills.
Given the introductory set-up, I was a little surprised that Christina took a beating in her first fight especially by a smaller woman.
When it was apparent that the Chinese woman would be an antagonist and that they would fight, I said ‘Oh No! Not another karate-chopping, high licking martial arts fight.’ So, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the fight incorporated some good old fashioned catfighting with hair pulling, fisticuffs, wrestling, and boob grabbing without an excess of blood, disfigurement or permanent injury. A little bit of bloodletting from a busted nose, punch in the mouth, etc. is certainly within the limited of such a fight, as is a swollen face, black eye, or a myriad of bruises. Your description certainly fits how I would envision such a fight in those future times when martial arts schools were not around the corner. In fact, your fight descriptions are similar to the J.T. Edson fights that are the ‘may the best woman win’ type fights – just hairpulling, fist fighting, rough and tumble ass kicking.
I also appreciated the fact that it was a ‘fair fight’, as Lilah described it, and that there was no interference where there could have been once Lilah realized that her boss was taking a good beating. This made Christina’s loss all the more embarrassing. I like a fight that goes to a natural ending without interference. While I would have loved to see the redhead eventually get into it with the similar-sized Selina, I am sure that they will sort things out in the future.
I did not expect Selina to beat the crap out of Christina on her home turf; however, the unpredicted outcome made the story more interesting – shit happens. I was happy to see Selina redeem herself but it was apparent that the pretty Chinese woman had her on the ropes several times once again; it was obviously not over between them. Not sure how Christina is going to fare against the alleged tougher Brandy.
You describe a lot of characters that should make for quite an excellent ongoing storyline. Personally, I would like to see more sex in the stories (don’t we all?). In Chapter 1, most of the females characters are described as having diverse interest, so I was surprised that Selina, as exhausted as she appeared, was not given the opportunity to recover enough to claim and enjoy the fruits of very public victory. She would have really established her reputation if she had stripped Christina naked and then, straddling her waist, slapped her face and big boobs back and forth with impunity or, perhaps, at the very least, she could have slowly crawled over and mounted Christina and lift her arm in victory as she pushed Christina’s face in the mud. Ideally, a nice face sit would have be very appropriate after such a hard battle.
Lastly, you descriptions of the ladies are great. We have a pretty good idea of height; Christine is 5’7”; Lilah is couple inches shorty (5’5”?) and Selina is several inches shorty (5’4” etc.) but knowing their weight helps in fantasizing the fight, as does knowing the size of their breasts. While bras were too uncomfortable to wear in the hot and humid future; perhaps, having Christina breast size described as filling a X Cup bra, on the rare occasional when she wore one, could have served as a good benchmark for other comparisons.
If you are going to continue this as a series, as I hope you are. I believe that some artistic renderings (volunteered from FCF board members.) would enhance the stories even more.
I hope I have not rambled on too much but I do want you to know that I enjoyed your story and appreciated the obvious efforts that you have put into it. Great Job and I hope to read more of your story in the near future.
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For some of the female characters, I do have a specific model/actress in mind as far as what they look like. Not especially famous ones, but from the internet. I don't know if people want me to post them or not. It might be too much from behind the curtain?
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Oh my, what an excellent read! A finely detailed story-line....clearly defined characters..and both exciting and highly entertaining!!
Thank You!!
I can't wait to read more!!
GG
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For some of the female characters, I do have a specific model/actress in mind as far as what they look like. Not especially famous ones, but from the internet. I don't know if people want me to post them or not. It might be too much from behind the curtain?
Maybe other readers will chime in let you know if pictures or references would be at good augment to enjoying your story even more. Thanks for your response.
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I'd like pictures
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I feel a bit silly at how close I kept a few names. I guess this site doesn't have spoiler tags? I still fear some people don't want to know this sort of thing.
Cristina == Cristina del Basso
Selina == Kelly Hu
Lilah == Rose Leslie
Brandy Connor == Anna Semenovich
Talia == A general picture in my head (sort of like an older Alexa Loren)
Megan == A general picture in my head
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I feel a bit silly at how close I kept a few names. I guess this site doesn't have spoiler tags? I still fear some people don't want to know this sort of thing.
Cristina == Cristina del Basso
Selina == Kelly Hu
Lilah == Rose Leslie
Brandy Connor == Anna Semenovich
Talia == A general picture in my head (sort of like an older Alexa Loren)
Megan == A general picture in my head
This story is so wonderfully written and well crafted I don't think it loses anything from not having pics. I could see everything in my head as I read the story. The other thing I sincerely admire is that, unlike the vast majority of stories on this site, there was a smooth and painless transition from buildup into FvsF action. Many of the writers on this site mentally masturbate themselves into long drawn out overblown preambles so full of sound and fury signifying absolutely nothing. They get so caught up in the sound of their own mind's mouth that they forget about the audience that's waiting for the FvsF reward at the end of the journey. There is nothing more disappointing than to get through a King Kong buildup only to be served up a Mickey Mouse catfight. It's like someone promising to take you to the new San Francisco Galleria and when you get there you find out it's just an old burned out shoe store in the Haight.
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I enjoyed the images of the women you used to portray the characters in your story and I am anxiously awaiting hot next installment. I was glad to see that Christina survived her second fight against Selina. Her first beat down by Selina was certainly an embarrassment. From your description of the second fight, Selina was giving her another work over for most of the fight. So, when she goes up against Brandy, it should be a real donnybrook. Presuming that Brandy beat Selina before, I believe Christina has her work but out for her. Maybe, that is why she is taking so long to recuperate before she faces down her nemesis.
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Swampland, Ch 3
By Kim
Cristina de Luca and Ryan, her young bartender, rode on the flat bottom toward what had been the Orlando airport. Ryan was capable beyond working a bar, and Cristina kept him on as very handsome hired muscle. He was sitting in front and below her, and as the boat rocked she touched his solid upper back. In the deepening shadows of the evening they moved silently through the flooded streets. Two of her hired men were rowing. Cristina was wearing tight jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, blue and of light cotton, with a deep neckline that showed off her cleavage well. Some loose board or block dropped off to the side, and Ryan shifted toward the sound and held ready the rifle from under the tarps in the boat’s bottom. She enjoyed knowing that he would never talk about her and she would never have to worry about his constantly trying to get an advantage over her or improve on her. He had been taken in by her striking face and body, and she knew what she was getting from it and nothing more, and their relationship was secure for her in that.
They left the boat tied next to a ramp onto the highway and walked down to what had been a major hotel attached to the airport for their meeting with Mayor Barnwell. The two hired men Cristina told to wait at the entrance to the parking garage from which they entered. Sandbags had been piled in defense of the broken doors and they seemed as old and moldy as the rest of the building. In a pile at the base of a wall at the entrance by the sandbags were the remains of what had been a skeleton decades before, some warning or totem that no one remembered or cared to remove. Ryan followed her silently into the building. In the large open room at the center the water stood waist deep, and Cristina could see its flow down into what had been the airport terminal and the lines for check-in. Her father, a pilot smuggler who brought her here from Italy in search of business opportunities and who crashed his plane into this airport’s control tower, had been obsessed with the bygone era’s rich travel infrastructure. It had been a culture in which people could go where they liked, as they liked, he had explained to her, and they were supported by a widespread system of professionals who made sure they were safe at every step. It had been in that terminal he had left her to make a flight to New York in too strong a storm.
They found the stairwell and began climbing toward the top floor. At the fifth floor, Ryan grabbed her by the arm and said, “Let’s see about one of these rooms.” Cristina said that they had to make their meeting, but he pulled her gently through the fire door and into the hallway. Furniture and trash had been pulled out into the hallway. Ryan forced open the nearest room and led her inside. A hole had been blown through one of the walls and the glass of the windows had been knocked out. Cristina imagined some drifter hiding in the room in the first years the city had been given over to the water, some black empty shape of a man staring out the window days on end in the expectation that his old life would return to him, a life that had been over before he was born. She went to the window expecting to see the anonymous drifter himself standing outside the hotel in space and herself now staring out as that non-existent man had years before she thought of Ryan and Lilah and the other people who were depending on her to find a new steady line of work. The lines were thinner and thinner year by year as the world ran out of things worth smuggling, as it ran out of things.
“Do you ever think about the people who used to live here?”
In answer Ryan took hold of her from behind. He ran his over her breasts and her flat stomach and he kissed her on the neck then turning her head around by the hair he pressed her roughly on the mouth. She tried to turn to face him, but he held her in place and made her look out of the window. He slid his hand down the inside of the front of her jeans and rubbed his fingers up and down pressing against her mound.
“What do you think about them?”
“I think that they lived in rooms like this their whole fucking lives,” she answered him. “They had people to bring them food and to change the temperature in the room, and they lay on these beds and planned out their lives knowing what the fuck was going to happen them. Knowing that they would have the same food and the same temperature and the same dick and cxnt waiting for them every single day for all of fucking eternity. They just knew that it would be the same forever and they were running in place. And then the wheels started to rattle, and the gators got a bit closer and the heat started pressing in through the glass. When it did, they didn’t know to stop or to run or ask God to turn down the juice so they could get a little more time for themselves. So they just shit themselves and let it all fall apart. And they left it for the rest of us to live in their shit.”
Ryan threw her onto the bed and climbed on top of her, pressing against her and kissing her on the neck. She ran her fingers through his short hair and over his broad back where the muscle spread out from his waist. Cristina could feel the mold and the age creeping up out of the old material against her back and her flesh. Ryan pulled off her jeans and slid down his own and then threw himself inside of her. He pounded into over, groaning and sweating on top of her and she felt that the air was being pressed out of her life between the stench of the bed and the heat of his body and she enjoyed it. The feeling of the world outside of that window being squeezed away and her being left with only herself and this anonymous male body fucking her. She was being pressed down into nothingness and then when he was done she lay beside him, thinking of all the people who had stayed in the room before.
“We aren’t the ones who broke the world. I’m not the one who brought a little girl to the other side of the world and then wrecked my plane. And now I have to haul rich people’s shit through the swamp so that I can get together enough scratch to get some bigger and better shit to haul through the swamps.”
“I still love you, babe” Ryan said.
“No you don’t.”
They dressed and finished the climb to their meeting. At the top floor were two large men from the Mayor’s security who searched them and took their weapons. The Mayor’s suite was at the end of the hallway, with four more security men standing outside the door, smoking cigarettes rolled from tobacco Cristina had brought for them months ago. The Mayor kept the top floor in decent condition, with a new coat of painting and a bare floor to fight the decay. Candles flickered in holders they had screwed into the walls. The paint, candles, the scotch the Mayor was drinking inside the room, and the rest of it she had also brought into Orlando on her boat. One of the men, a tall, thin man with an oily mustache, looked her body up and down. Cristina took the oily man’s rolled cigarette as she passed him and entered the room with Ryan following her.
Mayor Jack Barnwell was sitting at his desk. His wife Allison was standing next to him and Brandy Connor was on the couch by the window. Selina Hu, Brandy’s woman, was standing in the corner with a smirk on her face. The Mayor was in his 60’s, bald and nearly deaf, with a large frame yet delicate hands and a striking, narrow face. He was wearing a white shirt that was buttoned up nearly to his neck in the front, smoking a cigar and staring at Cristina with his hard, black eyes. “You’ve met my fucking wife, I believe,” he said loudly, gesturing behind him. Allison was leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. She was much younger than her husband, in her 30’s, but equally intense. She was a blonde woman with short hair and a lean build that she put to good effect with a dress that had come from New York years ago. She nodded to Cristina and said nothing. Brandy was wearing jeans and a blouse open low enough that she seemed to be nearly spilling out of it. She rose from the couch and shook hands with Cristina. The two women held the grip and stared into each other’s eyes.
“Nice to see you again, honey,” Brandy said. “So glad you could make it for the end of your career.”
“I’m here to let the Mayor see what the competition will look like,” Cristina replied. She tightened her grip, and Brandy did the same.
“You two knock that shit off,” Barnwell ordered, grinding his cigar into an ashtray.
“He’s already seen that there won’t be much competition between us,” Brandy replied, loud enough for Barnwell to hear. She threw Cristina’s hand down and stepped closer, so close their breasts were touching and Cristina could feel her breath. Brandy leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Him and your boy here have that much in common at least. Although I have to say that your boy beats him in other areas.”
Cristina turned to look at Ryan. Behind her Brandy was talking about how Ryan had been feeding them information about her business and her crew. But she was thinking about the first night that Ryan had come into her bar. He had stabbed another man, a troublemaker, in the eye with the man’s own knife and then that night Cristina had taken him back into her bedroom and let him fuck her brains out. He had been her bartender ever since. In a life full of secret meetings in the swamp and tense standoffs, she had always looked forward to seeing him standing behind her bar when she returned. With a blank look on his face, Ryan stared back at her and then mouthed “I’m sorry.”
Brandy was still talking to the back of Cristina’s head. After winking at Ryan, she turned and hit the big blonde across the face. Brandy stumbled back, but as Cristina went after her Brandy hit Cristina in the stomach and then shoved her to the side. The two women hit the couch together and flipped it over. They landed on the floor in each other’s arms, but before Cristina could strike again she felt Ryan pulling both of them to their feet. As he put himself behind them, Brandy made a longing look at Ryan pushed her hair out of her face.
“You see why you can’t work with her anymore,” Brandy said to the Barnwells.
“Turn us loose and we’ll see who the better woman is. You know how we handle shit in the muck,” Cristina said loudly to the entire room.
“I’ll beat your ass in front of the whole city if you want,” Brandy offered. “Name the time and place.”
“Are you two finished?” Barnwell said. “If I wanted to go that route I would have arranged it. We don’t want the best brawler, we want the best businesswoman.”
“And you think this cow is that?”
“We had a good run, Cristina,” Allison said. “But we believe that the time has come to move beyond bringing in some extracurricular pills and gas tanks. Brandy is the woman to come with us as we venture into new business areas.”
“He’s saying that I’m hot enough to bring in new clients and you aren’t, you dumb batch,” Brandy said. Cristina tried to grab her again but Ryan saw the move coming and stopped her. “But if you want to settle this without a sucker punch, you just let me know.”
Barnwell stood and walked into the center of the room. With his hands in the pockets of his respectable brown pants, with the tail of his pressed white shirt hanging over them, he looked the brunette and blonde up and down. “I had known that having you here together might be trouble, but still I thought that we could meet and talk things through. There are still a lot of workers in this fucking scatpile and a lot of money to be made before the goddam ocean takes it entirely. There needs to be someone in charge, an adult, for that to happen. I guess it won’t be you two bitches, and just from this one meeting I think I’ve had my fill. Brandy, from now on you deal with my wife, and she deals with me. Cristina, there are still plenty of opportunities for a woman in your milieu. You deal, well, you and Brandy settle things however you like and however Allison deems acceptable. But I’m not going to watch you two pull hair over some meathead.” He stared at them again, and then wringing his hands together said, “Now, I have other matters to attend. Allison, I will meet you at home.”
Cristina watched him leave the room. Allison took his place in front of the three of them. Despite the differences in size, gender, and experience, she filled the space every inch as he had. “I understand why you would want to kill each other. However, I am going to emphasize to both of you ladies that our economic interests would be hurt if either of you were to fail to return from a trip, or slip and fall on a knife in the back. And that would be a bad situation for the both of you. Do we understand each other?” she asked, and then paused. “Let me be clear, I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” both of them answered.
“And I’ll add on a personal level that I don’t think it’s particularly becoming for you two to pull hair over a meathead, either. No offense, Ryan, but that’s what you are.”
“That isn’t why I want to yank her bald,” Brandy said.
“That’s good to hear. You know that there was another Mrs. Barnwell before me. I started as his assistant. Mrs. Barnwell took a dislike to me, even though she was only a few years older and had a giant set of tits. She pushed me, and I pushed her back, and one night I convinced her that it would be in her interest to back off. I am sympathetic to your desires here, you see. I am familiar with them. But there are limits to what my husband will tolerate. I would not say that he is himself adverse to what you have in store for each other. What he is adverse to is his income being affected by it.”
With the atmosphere settled if not defused, Allison returned to the desk. Sitting behind the chair, she continued, “Now as to the actual reason for the meeting. Brandy here is going to be taking over our import business. That means that you will not be bringing things into the city, Cristina, and you will not make further attempts to reach out to the Sommersons. They are Brandy’s contact now.”
“So what do I get?” Cristina asked. An image was forming in her head: Allison Barnwell taking a liking to Brandy and a disliking toward her, and then pressing her husband to make changes in the Mayor’s office’s relationship with the representatives of the city’s underclass.
“There is quite a bit of untapped revenue in the area of town around the Lady Ace, we think. You are now in charge of it. Gambling, the sex trade, extracurriculars. You tax it, and what isn’t on the books already you bring onto the books. And then you kick that to Brandy, and she kicks it to us.”
“Not only did you lose your old job to me, princess, you report to me for your new one.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Or,” Allison replied, “we hear that you have that tenente of yours who is very capable. Maybe it’s time for her to step up?” She and Cristina stared at each other. “I thought not,” the new boss continued. “Brandy, as you saw today, Mayor Barnwell is no longer as involved in the day to day as he once was. So if anything happens, you bring it to me. And I don’t have to tell you, Cristina, that you need to find a new handyman,” she added, nodding at Ryan. “In fact, I think that you can leave him behind today. From what I hear, he’s quite capable.”
As Cristina left the room, Selina waved at her and mouthed “bye-bye.” She had never left the corner.
Cristina returned to her boat and the two hired men waiting there for her without looking back at the hotel or at the airport or runway itself. None of the others in the room had given any sign of intending to leave soon. She told the men to take her back to the bar and sat in silence. The sun was going down. The meeting’s being held in the daytime might have been a tip to her, or Ryan’s insisting on coming along and his suddenly being better informed and more useful on issues of business. The last few days he had suggested that they think about moving into controlling the gambling that went on in the huts around the Lady Ace, or construction and renovation of those huts. And now he was in that hotel room doing Christ knew what with those two women who wanted to see her broken and who saw her as not woman enough to have a proper place in the city. Her entire life, she had worked to improve the lives of the people of Orlando. She had never cheated anyone on a deal, or taken advantage to overcharge, and now she was being ordered to step aside and let the swindling whore take over her position.
At the Lady Ace, Lilah was sitting on the bar, letting two old drunks talk her up. She was wearing jeans and a tight shirt, and her red hair was loose down around her face. “What went wrong?” she asked when she saw Cristina enter.
“Back room, now,” Cristina answered her, taking a bottle from under the bar.
In the storage room, Cristina recounted the meeting. “That fucking bitch,” Lilah said when it was done. “And Ryan, all the time alongside us. We’re going to get all of them back.”
“She made it clear that we can’t handle them that way. But there’s another way I’d like to handle them.”
Cristina and Lilah took another drink each and then left the Lady Ace headed for The Swampland, Brandy’s bar. Neither woman spoke as they walked the muddy streets. Both were wearing jeans and shirts. Men and women both who stepped aside, and as they approached the other establishment the onlookers gathered some sense of what was coming and fell in behind them. When they reached The Swampland, the evening crowd was just forming inside. Cristina stood in the doorway, Lilah beside her, with her hands on her hips, and she scanned the crowd. Brandy’s girls were working the crowd, leaning on the men and a few women and blowing in their ears. Two men were also working alongside the women, in pressed suits, standing by the roulette wheel and talking to a woman who seemed from her clothes to be a foreman from the gator farms.
“My name is Cristina de Luca!” she shouted. “Shut the fuck up and listen, because I have some news.” It was easy for her to get the men’s attention, her stern face and clothing adding to her appeal as it highlighted for them her and Lilah’s difference from the women who were trying so hard to turn their heads. “I’m now in charge of all the fun things that happen around here, outside of this cxnthold of a bar. And outside the cxntholds who work in this cxnthold of a bar.”
A large redheaded woman stepped forward. Her name was Amy, and she was the leader of Brandy’s women. Her hair was a deep red and hung in waves down below her shoulders. She had massive breasts and hips, and while there was not much fat on her elsewhere her bare shoulders and arms were obviously very powerful. She had a sultry beauty to her, in her own way as daring and strong-willed as Cristina and the opposite of Brandy’s warm, inviting face. She was wearing a blue dress that would have been modest on other women but on her only seemed to accentuate her appeal.
“Turn around and walk the fuck out of here while you still have teeth,” the redhead told her in a slow voice that seemed as pronounced as her feminine features.
“And I have another announcement,” Cristina shouted beyond the woman. “To kick off this new era, my girl Lilah and I will hold a little boxing tournament. Right now, down the street in the old turnaround. All of you are invited. And I was thinking that maybe you nice ladies could be enticed to provide our opponents,” she concluded, staring right into Amy’s green eyes.
Cristina and Lilah lead the majority of Brandy’s crowd away from The Swampland and down to a large clear area near the Lady Ace. Cristina told her hired men to construct a makeshift ring and after that to work security and to take bets. The ring would be what had once been a cul-de-sac, a few hundred yards of road off the main street of bars, huts, and the few brick buildings that still stood. Her men ran rope around the poles that encircled the dirt center. The audience was as many as two hundred people. Amy and a Black girl she had chosen to fight Lilah arrived not long after, now wearing jeans and shirts as well. The women eyeballed each other as the crowd grew and then settled in. Cristina could feel the throb of all these people here to watch her fight and the deep pounding of Amy’s staring at her. It had rained that afternoon here while Cristina was at the hotel, and the cool muck squished around her bare toes in contrast to the always-hot air on her face and bare arms.
One of Cristina’s men, the referee, stepped into the center. His name was Dulphur, and he would be the replacement for Ryan. He was physically imposing, with a scar that ran up the side of his head. Not as large as Ryan had been, he always gave the impression he was considering stabbing someone. He had not been with Cristina long--her shrinking realm of choice. “Lilah and Renee, step forward.” The two women came into the ring with him. Both teenage girls were wearing only jeans. Lilah’s green eyes were sharp in the flickering light. Her red hair brushed against the tops of her shoulders, and her lean arms and torso showed her strength well. Her breasts seemed a bit large against her frame, but they did not overwhelm her profile. In comparison Renee was nearly flat-chested. Her nipples were like black diamonds against her muscled chest. Renee’s skin was dark as the cherry wood of the posts that ringed the two women, a strong contrast to Lilah’s paleness that refused even the harsh sun of Florida. Where Lilah was pretty and referred to as “spunky,” Renee had a withdrawn handsome quality to her face and carried with her a quiet that suggested deep contemplation against the world. She was at least two inches and fifteen pounds smaller than Lilah but seemed the larger of the two. Cristina thought she seemed a poor fit for Brandy’s whorehouse.
On Dulphor’s call the two women began. They moved slowly in the soft muck. Lilah threw the first punch, a left jab. Renee ducked it and hit her in the stomach and then across the face and was out of her way again before Lilah could react. Lilah was a quick woman but she was outmatched here. Lilah lunged forward and threw another punch, but Renee hit her in the breast with a hook and stepped away. The two women circled each other in the makeshift ring, both breathing hard and Lilah holding her hands more cautiously in front of her face. This time Lilah waited her out, and when Renee came in to throw a jab Lilah took it on the nose and slugged Renee across the jaw. The Black teen stumbled back, and Lilah leapt onto her and drove her down into the mud. Renee scrambled away but Lilah followed her up. Cristina’s girl grabbed her from behind, pinning Renee’s arms to her side, and then with a growl she bit down into her shoulder. Renee screamed and wrenched herself free. She checked her shoulder without taking her eye from Lilah and found no serious damage. The two women were staring at each other, pacing back and forth.
Then Renee shouted “Bitch!” and the two ran at each other. Lilah had her arms out to grab hold again, but it was a mistake. Renee threw herself forward and put her shoulder into Lilah’s chest. They landed in the mud, and Renee was on top. She hit Lilah back and forth across the face and with a hard punch to the center of her chest, and then when Lilah threw her off with a desperate heave Renee got alongside her and rammed her knee into Lilah’s ribs. By the time Lilah got away Renee had given her a pounding. The Black girl got in close but this time Lilah somehow beat her to the draw despite the beating to her ribs. She popped Renee in the nose, and as the smaller girl winced and turned her head, Lilah slammed her in the side with her fist, again and again. Cristina’s girl had the chance to show her strength, now holding Renee with one arm and pounding her in the ribs and side of the head with the other. But to escape Renee had only to hit her in the stomach once and Lilah was forced to back away. Renee clipped her across the brow with a right hand, opening up a cut.
Renee pressed forward, driving Lilah back near the rope. Cristina yelled for Lilah to attack, but it was of no use. Lilah threw a wild punch as Renee got in on her, working her body again. Lilah got her arms around her, but she was too hurt to make use of it as she would have before. Renee stayed close to her, hitting her sides and breasts until Lilah seized her short hair and pulled her away. Lilah tried to throw her knee up into Renee’s face, but she was too tired and lost her balance. The two women were down in the muck now, and the fight was ending. Renee got on top of her and hit Lilah in the face until the redhead could not defend herself and Dulphor pulled her off. Brandy’s teenager had won the first fight.
Men helped both girls out of the ring and then Cristina and Amy stepped in. Like the girls, the two women were barefoot and wearing tight jeans. But before either could take off her shirt, Brandy Connor yelled, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” and hopped over the rope and stepped between the two of them. Her blonde hair was flowing freely, and she wore the jeans and open blouse from their earlier meeting. The material hugged her feminine curves as well as the other two women’s.
“She came in and talked shit about you and all of us,” Amy replied. “I aim to teach her some manners.”
“Shut the fuck up, you dumb whore,” Brandy told her. Turning on Cristina she said, “After that embarrassment you endured this afternoon, I’m surprised you would show your face at all around here. But I guess you and your little friend are both slow learners.”
“I just thought that these good people would want some entertainment tonight. Your girl seemed eager to provide some for them. I didn’t realize that she needed your permission.”
“I don’t need her permission to kick your fat ass,” Amy said.
“Would you shut the fuck up,” Brandy said to her, and she slapped her across the face. “Remember your place.”
“Scared of a real fight?” Cristina asked her. “Want to try someone who can hit you back?”
“I guess I could pick a fight with a smaller woman,” Brandy answered her, putting her hands on her hips and sticking out her chest. “If you’re so keen on entertaining this lot, then I can give them a taste of what your man betrayed you for.”
Cristina took off her shirt and threw it aside. She stuck out her own breasts, which hardly hung down despite their size. She took great pride in their firmness and their shape, jutting out from her chest, as much as Brandy took in hers. Cristina’s black hair hung down around her cold, beautiful face, and her jeans stuck to her thighs, firm as they were after years of manual work. Tonight Brandy’s face had none of its usual veneer of friendliness and charm. Tonight her hatred was an equal match to her sensuality in the beauty of her features. Her blonde hair curled about her wide cheeks and blue eyes. She was the same height as Cristina but likely had ten pounds on her, much of it in her wider hips and thighs and some smaller amount in her chest. Her nipples were like brown caps to the great mountains of her breasts. The broad cut of her hips, the lines of her thighs, and above that her tight stomach was like some great feminine valley, all power and fortitude. Her body was the equal of Cristina’s in its being desired by their audience as well as its capabilities. Brandy had as much experience brawling in her profession as Cristina had in hers.
The two women stood before each other as the moments leading up to their fight passed. It was as if each woman was staring into the heart of the other. Without another sound the two came at each other. Their feet made dull splats in the muck as they stalked each other, both of them with their hands curled into talons, each woman with her strong legs and hips and their heaving breasts moving in stride with that of her opposite. Brandy surged forward and threw out both of her arms, but Cristina flicked her foot up and put it against the wall of her stomach. The force put Brandy back a step and left a muddy print just under her breasts, against the pure flesh of her torso. It was as if some light brown part of Cristina’s Mediterranean hue had been marked against her. With a grim smile Brandy brushed the mark off of her and came forward again, more carefully. She threw out a lazy jab, but when Cristina went to grab her arm she slugged her in the side. With the thud of the impact the two buxom fighters clashed together in a whirling donnybrook. They turned a circle, holding on to each other and thudding open hands and fists against each other’s side and back.
Brandy drove Cristina back toward the rope. Cristina threw her feet into the ground and turned the blonde woman about and then with a heave tossed her against the post. Brandy hit the cherry wood with her shoulder but she was off it again too quickly and Cristina could not press her advantage. Brandy regathered herself and came forward again. Cristina hit her with an open hand to the face but Brandy took it and slammed her shoulder into her chest. The two women went storming across the opening and fell to the ground together. They rolled over each other, grabbing and pulling hair, the muck and the grains of sand and the water all sticking to them. Brandy got on top of her, sitting across her stomach, and she yanked Cristina’s head by the hair and slammed her into the ground. In relation Cristina grabbed hold of her breasts and squeezed with all she could. Brandy howled and pulled the hands out of her breasts and rolled free. As she was getting to her hands and knees Cristina leapt onto her. She threw one leg between the blonde’s and hooked her arm across her throat. With her other hand she drove weak punches up into her stomach and her breasts. Brandy hissed with the pain and rolled onto her back. Cristina worked her legs both between Brandy’s and then seized hold of her breasts again. She savaged Brandy’s imposing chest, digging her fingers in. Brandy howled in pain but she could not get free. At last she pulled one hand off her breast and then bringing it to her mouth she bit. Now it was Cristina’s turn to howl in pain and try to roll away. As she did, Brandy lashed out with her foot, catching Cristina in the ass and driving face first into the ground.
The two female brawlers rose to their feet. “I’m going to be chewing on those tits of yours in a few seconds, bitch,” Brandy told her.
“You fucking cxnt. I’m going to smash your pretty face into the ground.”
They came at each other again. Brandy threw a wild slap that caught Cristina across the face. Cristina slapped her back, but before she could do more Brandy hit her square in the upper chest with the palm of her hand. Then while Cristina was staggered, holding herself and gasping for breath, Brandy brought both of her hands together crashing into the brunette’s ears. The blow stunned her and brought her to her knees. Brandy took hold of her by the hair and was ready to drive her knee up into her vulnerable face, but Cristina regained herself in time. She put her face against the top of Brandy’s thighs and then clipped her in the back of the knees. Brandy tumbled over her and Christina got her down on the ground. As Brandy rose Cristina slapped her across the face, and then she hit her in the back and yanked her head up by the hair. She pulled Brandy by her blonde hair toward the rope that divided them from their audience, who was at this point yelling for either or both of them. Neither of these women would have cared had they heard them. The image of the two fighters, both with muck and sand stuck to their striking bodies and faces, black and blonde hair entangled, their buxom bodies with the black-haired beauty standing over the blonde, gasping for air and their feminine rage holding back the pain they both felt.
“You dumb bitch,” Cristina gasped.
Still holding Brandy by the hair Cristina pulled her up and drove her onto the rope, face down, so that the rope was across her upper chest. Howls of pain as Cristina dragged her back and forth across the material as it burned into her flesh. Brandy tried to push herself off the rope but pulling her hair with one hand Cristina held her down by pushing down on her upper back and punching her upper back as well. After she had hurt her like this, Cristina said into her ear that she had warned her that she was a stupid bitch who should not have fought her. Cristina also told her that she would make her hurt for what Brandy had done to her that afternoon. She came around in front of Brandy, leaving the circle and still holding her by the hair she slapped her lightly in the face on one cheek and then the other.
“Such a beauty,” Cristina said to the crowd in as loud a voice as she could manage. “Don’t you all enjoy seeing this great beauty get her ass kicked like this?” She reached down and cupped Brandy’s breasts, massaging the flesh and then digging in her fingers. “Such a pretty face, such a pretty body.”
With a burst of energy Brandy punched her between the legs. Cristina fell to the ground immediately, landing dully on the planks that formed the sidewalk in the turnaround. She lay clutching at herself, the pain in her sex and the air knocked out of her. She could see Brandy pushing herself off the rope, slowly, and resting with one hand on the nearby pole, her hair a mess and the scratches and red abrasions on her side, back, and breasts in the flickering light. The whole time she was watching the blonde the blonde was watching her. At last, Brandy had her legs under her again and came forward. She pulled Cristina up by the hair. Cristina hit her in the stomach but with no strength. Brandy took the blow easily and slapped her across the face with a right and then backhanded her with the same hand. On the second blow Cristina spun around and fell face down into the dirt. Brandy then fell on her, her knees driving into Cristina’s back. The pain went through her. Then Brandy rolled her over onto her back. Kneeling beside her, Brandy grabbed her by the hair and put her head between her thighs. She squeezed Cristina’s head between her legs and slapped and pinched her breast with her hand as she pulled her hair with the other.
“Say good night, batch,” Brandy hissed.
Cristina hit and pulled at her legs with no success. Desperate, she pried the hand off her breast with both hands and got hold of Brandy’s fingers. She began prying the fingers apart. The realization of what she intended had Brandy screaming and she released her scissors. As she did Cristina kicked her in the face, knocking her onto her back. Brandy got clear of her and stood watching as Cristina pulled herself to her feet. The two women came together again. Both of them were bent over, struggling to hold their hands up, hair dangling in front of their faces. Brandy threw a punch at Cristina’s face, but Cristina got under it. She hit Brandy in the stomach and then uppercut her in the breast. Brandy hitched in pain and tried to back up. Cristina pressed her. She slapped Brandy in the face and got hold of her hair. Brandy yanked her hair in return. The two exhausted women turned in a circle, pulling hair. At last Cristina let go of her hair and hit her in the stomach with both hands. When Brandy bent over Cristina hit her in the face. The blonde woman fell onto her back, arms and legs spread wide, her massive breasts heaving up and down as she breathed. Cristina stood over her, pushing her hair out of her face. Her own chest and face and stomach carried the same abrasions as the blonde’s. The crowd around her was alternatively cheering and booing her. Without a look at them she planted herself on the blonde’s stomach. She slapped her across the face and on the breasts.
“Now let’s see how you chew on my tits,” Cristina said, and then she saw Sheriff Lane step in front of her with a shotgun across the crook of his arm.
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Outstanding follow up and great story line. Well worth the wait. Love the build up and the balanced action. Also, enjoy putting the pictures to the names. Looking forward to your continued effort.
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Fantastically written story! Love to see more!
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Swampland, Ch 4
By Kim
The day after her fight with Cristina de Luca, Brandy Connor lay in bed. Upstairs, in the back rooms of the bar/whorehouse she ran, was her office and a bed she used to tease and hint with the right customers. The bed she slept in in the morning was in the basement, nearly twenty feet underground. As she lay still, staring up at the concrete ceiling, she listened to the sputter of the fans that drew in fresh air, pumped out the water, and ran the ice machine that provided the cold packs she had on her face, her breasts, her stomach, her ribs. It would be days before she went out in public. It was the only ice machine here in the slums, and one of only a few in the entire city. Cristina did not have one; Brandy imagined the brunette suffering in her own bed and smiled with her swollen lips. The ceiling fan clicked as it spun. She hated being in this cellar and the heat that drove her down here. Her family was from Edmonton, Alberta, where you could take a walk outside in the summer without passing out. And now this bitch Cristina was forcing her to lie in this makeshift bed and had malformed her face, exposed her body to the gawking hicks who had watched them fight. She had worked too hard for too long to be dragged down into the mud by the trashy daughter of a smuggler.
Her family owned a great deal of Edmonton. As the temperature rose in the US, and the economy and then the political structures collapsed, many people moved to Canada before that country built a wall along the border and tripled the size of its army. Brandy’s grandmother made a fortune selling or renting land to these displaced people, and she used a lot of that wealth to build an estate, protected by a private army of her own. Brandy had grown up there, running through the halls as a little girl, chasing butterflies. Her father was an idiot and a drunk, and he and her mother were thrown out by her grandmother when she was nine. The old woman would tolerate no fools in her household, she told Brandy many times, and no disgrace brought on the family. And then when Brandy began developing at an early age, and gaining the attention of the wrong sort of men in town—the sort of men who made eyes at a teenage girl who looked like she was twenty-five—her grandmother sent her off to a boarding school on Lake Claire in northern Alberta. It was there Brandy had her first fight real catfight against another grown woman.
The school was isolated, with its own supplies brought up by truck through the muck and the snow those few days they still had snow. The hallways were adorned with winter pictures, young ladies of generations past throwing snowballs and singing Christmas carols in fur coats. What had been trails for cross-country skiing excursions were now cross country courses for their summer physical education. The girls there came from some of the richest and most prominent families in the country, the opulence of their childhoods evident in their faces and bodies. But even among them Brandy had stood out. Her first days there, both the male faculty and the female students had stared at her. Although eighteen , she was still without the lived experiences even these sheltered girls from Toronto and Vancouver had gotten, and she was enrolled as a Post-Graduate at the school even though she had barely gotten an education at her grandmother’s estate. She was hardly a student, so far as the other girls and the faculty thought of her, and too much yet too little a woman. Brandy had not known how to carry herself when heads turned as she walked down the hall to her dorm room, one of the staff dragging her trunks behind her and leering at her ass. Her first roommate had been a silly, gossipy redhead from Ottawa, and after she moved out they gave her a quiet, nerdy girl from somewhere Brandy never learned to pronounce. By the end of her first semester there, she had learned to ignore the girls who did not matter and to evidence her disdain for the girls who did.
In the fall of her first full year there, her dorm received a new Dorm Mom and her husband, Dr. Stacy Pound-Coleman and Mr. Coleman. Mr. Coleman was their new phys ed teacher and basketball coach, a lean and sharp-featured man who always smiled and goofed around with the girls. Stacy, or Dr. P-C as the girls called her, was from Vancouver, where she had gotten her PhD in French Literature, but she looked more South Pacific than Pacific Coast. She was a few inches shorter than Brandy, and more pretty than striking, but she had very nice black hair and a curvaceous body that would have stood out on a co-ed campus, or one that Brandy was not living on. The girls soon discovered that Dr. P-C was pleasant to the girls who were quiet or subservient to her, and unpleasant to the girls her husband liked to joke around with before gym class or practice started. She wore low-cut and tight dresses, and when she was talking with a group of girls during study time or at dinner, many of her own stories began with another woman taking too much interest in her husband. The P-C-Cs, as some of the girls took to calling them, presented themselves as the new power couple at the school, and over the course of their first year it was stamped more and more prominently on their handsome faces, the new clothes they bought for themselves, the trips to Vancouver and Toronto they planned with their favorite students.
Mr. Coleman began paying special attention to Brandy after Christmas break, and Brandy did nothing to discourage him. She let her school blouse hang open as she bent forward for a tablet pen and positioned herself in front of him if he was crossing campus. And then as she slid past him after the Easter concert, Brandy gave him a good long pat on the dick. She had no desire for a gym teacher who had sought out a miserable parvenu for a wife. The next weekend, she was summoned by email to Dr. P-C’s rooms. The girls who lived close enough had gone home for Easter, and her husband a few other faculty had taken a busload of girls to town to go shopping. Stacy was standing in their living room, wearing tight-fitting sweatpants and a spaghetti top that showed off a great deal of her impressive chest. She dressed like that often. She was at least three inches shorter than Brandy and twenty pounds lighter, and she was able to carry the same type of figure Brandy did without risking being categorized a large woman, as Brandy might be as she aged. Dr. P-C’s hair was done in pigtails, as if she were the teenager and Brandy the adult. Brandy had been playing basketball with a few of the other girls still on campus, and she was wearing the school’s gym outfit a size too small, as most of the girls did.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Sit down, Brandy, I was hoping that we could talk for a bit.”
“I think I’m okay standing.”
Stacy looked at her for a long instant and then said, “Then I guess we can directly to it.” She put her hands on her hips and turned herself slightly so that she was facing Brandy directly. The girl and the teacher were about ten feet from each other. “I want you to leave my husband alone.”
“Why would I be interested in your husband? He’s old, and he’s a teacher. He’s poor. Yuck.”
“You spoiled little bitch. I saw what you did after the Easter show, and I see how you parade yourself around here. I know what you, and I know that you’re after my husband. You’re no different than the other stupid women around here. I’ve seen the way you all leer at him, and I know how you talk to him when I’m not around. I’m not going to put up with it.”
“Maybe if you didn’t walk around with an icicle up your cxnt, he wouldn’t be so keen to talk to other women. You’re just some short girl with a big ass who doesn’t have any money, and you’re jealous that I have everything you never will.” Both women were breathing hard now, their arms and legs tense, and as the conversation went along their voices had been rising.
Carefully, without taking her eyes off of Brandy, the teacher went around her to the door of the apartment. Throwing the deadbolt, she said, “I’m going to teach you a lesson.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Brandy replied.
The two threw themselves at each other, the woman and the teenage girl. She had never been in a catfight before, though, and she soon learned that her rival had. Brandy grabbed two handfuls of Stacy’s black hair and pulled, but rather than pull hair in return Stacy hit her in the stomach and then in the breast. Brandy yelled in pain and let go of the hair, holding herself and stepping back. Stacy then slapped her across the face, a series of blows from both hands, and Brandy was driven back into the wall. Her head was spinning, and she slumped against the wall with her hands in front of her face, turtling. Instantly Stacy was on her again. The older, shorter woman was hitting her from every direction, open hands and fists to her head, stomach, breasts. Brandy suddenly felt a rush of panic and with her arms open launched herself at her attacker. She pushed her backward, but Stacy took hold of her hair and slung her to the side. Brandy fell against the back of the couch and Stacy was on her immediately.
On the ground Stacy was just as much a force as she had been on her feet. The two women grappled together, rolling back and forth. Brandy felt like she was chained at the waist with a wolverine, all claws and strength, and despite her trying to fight back she felt herself being overwhelmed. She soon found herself lying on her stomach, her head pressed down in the carpet as the older woman hit and scratched her on every exposed piece of flesh she could find. Desperate, she pressed herself up to her hands and knees, but for Stacy it was only a new opportunity. She threw her legs in between Brandy’s and rolled over so that she was lying on her back, with Brandy on top of her, with her hips against the small of her back and her legs holding open the teen’s. Brandy thrashed her arms and tried to roll, but Stacy held her tight. Stacy then reached both of her hands under Brandy’s shirt and grabbed her breasts, squeezing through her bra. Brandy had never felt anything like it, and she howled in pain. In response Stacy just squeezed harder, digging in her fingers. Brandy stared down at the two hands as they worked under her shirt.
At first Brandy felt herself withdrawing inside, as she had when her grandmother had yelled at her. And then when Stacy said into her ear, their faces pressed together, that she was going to teach her to be respectful, Brandy felt some change take place within her and she was no longer the girl chastised by her domineering grandmother. She made a fist and jabbed back at the pretty face that had pressed itself against hers and then tore the hands off of her breasts. She got free of the other woman and then forced herself to rise to her feet at the same time she did. Stacy slapped her across the face, but Brandy took it and hit her back harder. The blow turned Stacy halfway around, stunning her, and Brandy took hold of her with both hands and flung her over the couch. Stacy was getting to her feet as Brandy came around to meet her, a dazed expression on her, her dark hair hanging over her face, and Brandy slapped her across the face again. The blow put her on her back, but she scrambled away before Brandy could abuse her further.
The two women were both on their feet. They were breathing hard, sweating, and they stared at each other with hatred. Wordless they clashed again. Stacy hit her across the face, but Brandy took it and slugged her in the stomach and then while Stacy was bent forward she gripped her in a headlock. The statuesque teen blonde held the older brunette by the head and squeezed. Stacy grunted and tried to pull away but she could not. Then reaching up she grabbed Brandy’s breast through her shirt and squeezed. Brandy held on as long as she could and then flung the smaller woman aside. The shirt ripped open as she did, exposing Brandy’s imposing breasts in a white bra. Stacy was sitting up as Brandy crashed into her. This time Brandy was the wolverine. She got on top and hit her back and forth, turning her head with each open hand. Stacy reached up and grabbed hold her breasts, ripping her bra in the process. Rather than howl this time Brandy clasped her hands together and brought them down onto her upper chest. Stacy’s grip on her chest faded. Brandy tore open her shirt and pulled down her bra and took hold of her own breasts.
“See how you like it, bitch,” Brandy told her. “Still firm for their age. Impressive.” She kneaded and twisted then, and now it was Stacy’s turn to howl.
She tried to pull the hands off, but she was too weak and then she tried to buck Brandy off of her but she had too much woman atop her. “Please stop,” she gasped.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that,” Brandy said. She took hold of the end of Stacy’s breast with her right hand in a great pinch of the flesh around her nipple. “What did you say? You’re an old frigid bitch?” Stacy moaned in pain. “Say the words or it gets worse.”
“I’m an old frigid bitch,” Stacy gasped, and with that Brandy’s first catfight was over.
Her grandmother made no effort to prevent the school from expelling her, and when she returned to the family estate she was turned away. Over the next year Brandy floated south. At times she was a mistress or girlfriend, living off of a wealthy man, but the defiance and the temper she had learned from her teacher got in the way eventually and she had to move on. Not long after she had turned twenty, Brandy was working in the nicest whorehouse in Dallas—although even there the competition from other establishments and from other girls was fierce and the profit margins thin. The city was oppressively hot all year, but there was still some money in oil, cattle, and the large army base built one hundred years previous to defend the country against incursions from Mexico. Brandy was the new face, a beautiful face on a beautifully-crafted body, and a favorite of some of the oil men who came there to drink and fuck their way through the last gasps of their businesses. In her travels, she had defended herself against two women whose men she had poached and one woman in a bar whose appearance had aggravated her.
In the Texas whorehouse, Brandy established herself quickly. The house was managed by a woman named Sandra, a sharp and tough-minded woman who kept close control over the girls and the customers. She was of average height and build but flat-chested, and her face was more handsome than beautiful. A dull-looking girl challenged her on her first night when one of her regulars chose Brandy over her, but when Brandy put her through a window and then paid for the doctor, the other girls saw her as fair as well as stern. In the years she had been on her own, Brandy had learned that it was more important to do what would serve her well than to do what she wanted. Doing what she wanted was a privilege of the rich, which she no longer was. And the next night she made a new friend, a tall and curvaceous redhead named Amy. Amy had been in Dallas for six months, and she was able to help Brandy make friends among the other girls and with the men in town who had more money than brains. Not long after her arrival, Brandy had a plan to peel away some of the best of the younger girls and with a stash of money head for territory where the competition was less organized and more tame.
The center of her plan to leave Dallas with money, a cadre of girls and Amy as her assistant involved a man named Richard Stelle, a boring old man who was a sort of private bank for businesses like the whorehouse. Amy got Brandy close to the man, and over a period of weeks she gained his trust and access to his house by fucking him as he had never been fucked before and listening to him talk about how he was paying the interest on investments people had made through him with money from new investments he took from other people. In the house he kept cash enough to make himself feel secure, and enough to give Brandy a new life. On one of her nighttime visits to his house, Stelle told Brandy, his head on her lap as they listened to an indentured servant play the violin, that he wanted to take her to Houston for a special trip. He would be sending his servants away for the vacation, and he wanted to give her money to buy new dresses so that he could properly show her off to the assholes in Houston he had to do business with.
Brandy told Amy to ready the other girls. She would take care of the boring man Stelle and then meet Amy and the girls with a truck and stash of gasoline she had seen in Stelle’s garage. That night Brandy put on her most alluring dress and went to Stelle’s house with his driver. Even in the well-off areas of Dallas few people had cars, and as the dark empty office buildings and apartment towers slid by she stared out the window and wondered if they would ever be full of people again. And then they were in the suburbs that had surrounded the city and where many people still lived, making small farms out of what had been parks and soccer fields. When the car stopped in front of Stelle’s house, with its gate and armed guards and then behind the gate the massive garage and swimming pool and electric generator with its own guards, and she wondered how long it would be until she owned a house like that and what she would have to do to earn it. Then she got out of the car and went inside.
Stelle met her in the entryway, wearing a suit. She kissed him and cupped his dick through his pants, rubbing it as she dragged her lips along his neck. “It’s going to be a great weekend,” she whispered.
“Oh it is indeed,” Stelle replied.
He lead her into the library, where there was gathered a small group of men all in suits similar to Stelle’s. On her entrance the men stopped talking and stared her up and down, taking in her striking figure, her dress, her face. And in the middle of the room was Sandra. Her brown hair hung down in loose curls to the middle of her back and in front of the meager cleavage exposed by the deep plunge of her own dress. The dress was dark green, stopping at mid-thigh, and it showed off her fit, athletic body to great effect. She was staring intently at Brandy, and Brandy began walking directly toward her. Two of the men in suits stepped between the women before anything could happen.
“So glad you could come tonight,” Sandra said. “We’ve prepared something special for you.”
“I doubt that many proper men have ever called you special,” Brandy replied.
“Oh, they have, and they will again after I give them a special treat tonight.”
“And what treat is that?”
“You of course, you upstart little slut. You came here tonight looking to steal and kill enough to make a new life for yourself. Steal from me as well as Richard here, taking away all of my girls.”
“You can’t handle the competition. Everyone here has gotten tired of your show, and you don’t know what to do next. So, because you’re too stupid to plan for your own future, you try to make things hard for a younger, hotter woman like me. Except that not only am I hotter than you, and younger, I’ve also got a better plan.”
“If you thought you were going to get away with this, then you aren’t as smart as you think you are. I’m going to rip your balloon tits off and stick them up your ass.”
“If you think you’re tough enough to do that, you aren’t as smart as you think you are.”
“We aren’t savages here of course,” Stelle said, taking a glass of wine from his servant. “You have a choice, Brandy. You can turn and walk out the door and nothing will happen to you.”
“Except that you leave Dallas, alone, naked and broke, and you don’t come back,” Sandra said.
“Well, yes, excepting that.”
“And if I stay?”
“If you win, you get to leave here with the girls and a sizeable winner’s purse. Not as large as what you had planned to take, but more than you have on hand now. I can’t let you have my truck, which you were probably planning on taking, but I’m sure you understand. I do need it.”
“If I beat you,” Sandra said, smiling, “then you get to spend the weekend with these nice men. I’m sure they’ll have a great time playing with your udders. Almost as much fun as I’m going to have. Except when I’m done with you not many men will be willing to pay for the privilege.”
The men in suits were leering openly at her in her white dress, with its low-cut front and the slit up the side that revealed her very shapely leg and its middle tight around her hips. Fat, smoking, balding, thin, oily, dry, and all of them lecherous. Brandy wondered what they had found to entertain themselves on previous weekends. She kicked off her shoes and told the servant to unzip the back of her dress. When she was standing before them in her white panties, her blonde hair hanging down near the large pink areolae on the front of her melon-sized breasts and just the hint of muscle showing through the skin over her stomach and shoulders, she raised her hands out to her sides, palms up. Still smiling, Sandra removed her own dress. She was near to the same height as Brandy but with a thinner frame. Her breasts were little more than bumps on her chest, her nipples like pink stars, and her jawline was a bit too strong for her to be considered beautiful. The look in her eyes told Brandy that she had done this before, and won, and that she had every confidence of doing so again.
The two women stepped forward slowly, bent forward at the waist, hands out and ready. Brandy slapped her across the face and then when Sandra tried to hit her back she stepped back out of range and circled around her. She got to Sandra’s side and hit her again, and again she got out of the way before Sandra could respond. Both of Sandra’s cheeks were red now. Brandy thought that she had the older woman handled, and she was proven wrong. As she dove in to land another blow on Sandra, the redhead hit her twice in the stomach, stopping her cold, and then gave her a mighty slap across the face. The striking of flesh and the shriek of pain were loud in the room. Brandy was turned all the way around and Sandra grabbed her from behind. But before she could get a good hold on her Brandy elbowed her in the stomach and scrambled away. She turned and brought up her hands but Sandra hit her in the stomach again, and then she tagged her in her breasts with a swarm of slaps and light punches. To end the blows Brandy hit her in the face and then throw both of her arms around her.
They turned in circles, grappling. Brandy tried to throw Sandra over her shoulder but the woman sagged down and used her weight to block it. Then Brandy got hold of her hair and pulling with all her strength and taking advantage of her weight advantage she slung her into a bookshelf. Sandra hit against the wooden corner with a grunt and slumped down, stunned. As she came back up Brandy pulled her hair again. Holding her head by the hair she hit her in the face and then yanked her up to her feet. Sandra hit her in the stomach but Brandy was already throwing her. She flung her and the thin woman went crashing into an end table and stuffed chair. The men in suits scattered out of the way of the two fighting women as Brandy threw herself after her with a primal snarl on her face. Sandra met her with open claws and they rolled over each other, pulling hair, their sweaty legs, torsos, faces pressed together.
Brandy got on top of her and banged her head on the ground. Sandra got hold of her face and pushed and twisted, sticking her fingers into Brandy’s eyes and her mouth. Brandy bit down on the fingers, and Sandra howled. With a rush of force Sandra bucked the larger woman off of her and got on top of her. She banged Brandy’s head on the ground and then hit her across the face. Brandy reached up and instinctively tried to grab Sandra’s breasts but there was nothing for her to hold. Sandra hit her across the face again, this time stunning her. While Brandy lay dazed Sandra rotated so that she was holding her down in a crucifix. She had her legs on one of Brandy’s arms and was holding the other with one hand, lying crosswise with her upper body across Brandy’s upper chest and neck. With her free hand she gripped Brandy’s hair and looked directly into her eyes.
“Looks like I’m the smart one after all, bitch.”
Sandra turned her body and took hold of Brandy’s majestic right breast with her left hand. She dug in her fingers at first, pulling and twisting. Brandy moaned and thrashed under her but she could not get loose. Then Sandra pinched and poked around her nipple and then slapped at the feminine globe with all the power she could muster in the short space. Brandy began howling, and then Sandra used her teeth. She bit into her great breast and Brandy screamed. She wrenched her hand free and grabbed Sandra’s ear. She twisted Sandra’s ear as the woman had twisted her breast, and she was rewarded with a scream in return. Sandra began punching her in the stomach but in the thrashing about Brandy got her other hand out from between her legs. She sank her fingernails into Sandra’s ass, scratching at her cheeks and her asshole and what she could get of her lips. As soon as she could Sandra pushed herself off and rolled away.
Holding her hand to her freshly bruised breast, Brandy rose to meet her adversary. The hard look on Sandra’s face told her that the woman had liked being probed as little as Brandy had liked having her chest attacked. The two women came toward each other slowly. Brandy threw a looping punch, too slowly, and Sandra hit her in the chest and then as she backed up slapped her across the face. Brandy managed to get her hands up to block the next slap and she hopped to the side to evade the awkward kick Sandra aimed at her midsection. And then as the flat-chested brunette went sailing by Brandy snapped her elbow up into her face. Sandra fell to the ground in a heap, moaning and with her hands over her face. She was too slow in regaining herself and Brandy was on her. She kicked her in the side and then as she rolled away she kicked her again in the small of the back. Sandra rolled over onto her stomach, hands covering her head, and Brandy kept kicking her in the side. And then she stamped her foot down in the middle of her back and made her whimper.
She was still whimpering when Brandy turned her over onto her back and then she made a wretching sound when Brandy seated herself on her stomach. For some seconds, Brandy sat atop her with her hands on her thighs, breathing hard, her great breast with its bruises rising and falling, like a great queen perched above some lady she had mastered. Blood was flowing from Sandra’s nose, and Brandy wiped it clear and then began hitting her back and forth. One of the men who had been watching called for her to quit but Brandy ordered him to shut the fuck up. She hit her again and again and when she was done both of her eyes were swelling shut and the blood had flowed again.
“Looks like you’re the one who’s out of a job. Tangling with me isn’t very smart,” Brandy had told her that night as she rose from her throne.
Lying on her back in her private bedroom in the basement, Brandy reflected on the trip east. Stelle had been true to his word, and she left Dallas with the girls and the money. She and Amy had met Allison Barnwell in Atlanta and learned of her desire to upgrade the quality of services in Orlando. Replacing Cristina had been a part of their business arrangement, but as Brandy traced her fingers over the bruises on her face she thought of how much pleasure she was going to take in returning the beating she had taken threefold onto Cristina. First, though, she would have to live up to the agreement they had reached the previous night. She would be sending Selina to the Lady Ace and Cristina, for reasons she did not know. It was the price of her keeping her end of the business after being beaten by Cristina in front of everyone.
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Amazing story!!!! I can't wait to read more!!!
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Terrific writing! I can't wait for more.
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Swampland, Ch 5
By Kim
Selina Hu was sitting on the bar of the Lady Ace. It was the bar where she had first met Cristina de Luca and where she made her first mark on Orlando, specifically on the city’s public , such as it was. Dulphur was pouring drinks behind her. The bar was doing good business, and more than a few of the men were smiling at her and trying to talk her up. She was wearing shorts and a tank top and showing a lot of her brown skin, above and below, and she enjoyed letting them have a bit of a look. One tall, thin man with his fifth whiskey of the night put his hand on her muscular thigh and got knocked out by the blackjack Selina had put under the bar behind her, one precise swing that caught him above the ear. The rest of the bar laughed at his stupidity and two of his friends dragged him outside. It was pouring rain, as it had been all day, and they left him sitting up against the railing in front of the bar. Selina considered feeling sorry for him and decided against it.
It was three days since the fight between Cristina and Brandy and between Lilah and Renee, the black girl from Swampland. Selina knew her pretty well; they had gotten drunk once together and Renee told her about her coming down from Atlanta in search of work. Atlanta was a disaster, from Renee’s telling, run entirely by gangs that left foes and criminals swinging from streetlights as a warning. Selina had not been surprised by the girl’s showing against the redhead who had worked for Cristina. After the Sheriff had struck the new deal between the two women, sending Selina to work for Cristina and keeping the business arrangement as it had been set by the Mayor and his wife, Cristina told Lilah that she was being replaced by Selina. Lilah’s face and body were battered, and she packed up and left without opposition. She was living with her girlfriend now, Selina had learned, and Selina was certain that she was planning to get her revenge against Selina and Cristina both.
Some time before dawn, after breaking up two fights and one fucking, Selina took the money box and visited Cristina. She had spent the three days recuperating in bed, but now Selina found her doing pull-ups from the bar she had hung from the ceiling. She was wearing only a pair of shorts, and Selina stood watching the muscles of her back flexing as she moved up and down and listening to her groaning as she strained. And when she dropped to the floor and wiped the sweat from her arms and face she watched the swell of her breasts glowing and swaying with the exertion. The bruises on her arms, chest, stomach, and face had turned a dark blue, as if she had been covered in some patchwork of hatred. Cristina ran the towel over every bit of her upper body and her face gave no hint as to the pain it must have caused her. She was still beautiful covered in hatred and pain.
“Tonight’s take?” she asked. “How are we doing?”
“It seems that brawling in the street is good for business,” Selina answered.
Cristina smiled. “Violence spurs debauchery. And debauchery spurs violence. And on it goes.”
“Jealousy can spur violence as easily as whiskey.”
“We will profit from the one as well as the other.”
Selina put the money box in the trunk that was bolted to the floor and locked it. She waited for Cristina to slide the loose shirt over her head before continuing. “I fear that we will need to do something about Lilah and her little bitch.”
“I doubt that’s something that you actually fear.”
“She means harm to both of us, fear or not.”
“Of course she does,” Cristina said. “We will take care of her when she gives us reason and not before. I owe her that at least.”
Selina thought it was a mistake. “So how do we want to proceed with Brandy?”
“Were you happy working for her?” Cristina asked in response. She lay down on the bed, watching Selina closely as she did.
“It was good work. I got to meet interesting new people,” Selina said with a wink. “I didn’t enjoy watching over the whores. Fucking impossible. You have to keep them in line and keep them happy at the same time. I liked knocking their heads more than I liked petting them.”
“That’s funny. You struck me as a woman who rather liked the petting.”
“Brandy was surprisingly strict about that. She was surprisingly strict about a lot of things.”
“You admire her.”
“She’ll be standing down here when a lot of other people have fallen.” Selina sat down on the edge of the bed. “You want me to do something to prove that I’m with you now, and not her. That’s fair. But just tell me what it is and stop dancing around it.”
“I want you to do what you think best. I need a woman, not a robot.”
**************************
She was the manager of the Lady Ace now, while Cristina was out each night, on business that Selina was not yet privy to. She was wearing a long sleeve shirt and long pants to cover the last of the bruising. At one table was a game of poker and at the bar were a few old men halfway into the grave and looking to speed up the process. Selina had spent her time discovering Lilah’s plans. Lilah and her girlfriend Tara were looking to expand Tara’s general store to include more liquor sales. By telling the girls’ supplier that they had planned to ambush the first shipment and cut him out, Selina had made sure that the man wouldn’t sell to them and that no one else in town would either.
After midnight, Lilah and Tara came into the Lady Ace. Both women looked ready to kill. Lilah was both the looker and the leader of the couple, which Selina thought odd. She felt sorry for the two of them, confused and sad as they were in the midst of their self-righteous aggression. Some distant part of Selina wondered if she should feel bad for them as she hopped off the bar and blocked Lilah from Cristina’s office. The slender redhead tried to slide past her, but Selina put her hand to the wall, directly in front of her face.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” Lilah said.
“No, I don’t think I will.”
The two women locked eyes. “I’m going to talk to her, and I’ll knock you flat on your ass if I need to to do it.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“I doubt that.”
“We didn’t come here for this,” Tara said from behind Lilah. “We just want to talk to Cristina. She’s fucked us over because she’s jealous that Lilah left.”
“Is that what you told her?” Selina asked. “Your girlfriend got fired. I’ve replaced her. Now take your piece of Irish ass out of here before I decide to stop being so nice, you dumb bitch.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth Lilah was grabbing her hair. Selina hit her in the ribs and then in her medium-sized breasts. The girl still held on to her hair and Selina seized hold of her shirt and pushed her against the wall and then drove her knee up into her stomach and then hit a glancing blow to the head with the blackjack from the bar. All the strength went out of Lilah and Selina let go of her so that she slid to the floor, her face turning red as she clutched at her stomach. Selina drew back her foot to kick her but the other girl yanked her backward by the hair and the shirt instead. Tara put her against the bar. The wood hit Selina in the stomach and chest and as she looked up Dulphur was standing in front of her. She winked at him and whipped her elbow around, striking the other girl in the head. She turned and grabbed the front of Tara’s shirt in her fist and punched her in the nose. As she brought her fist back to hit her again a pair of arms clamped down over hers, hugging her. Lilah had gotten up to defend her partner, but she had no strength. Selina wrenched herself back and forth, trying to get free as Tara stood in front of her. The brunette slapped her across the face and hit her in the stomach.
“Had enough?” she asked.
“Keep on her!” Lilah yelled at her.
But Selina was already taking advantage. She kicked Tara between the legs, making contact against her mound with the toe of her shoe. And then as she dropped to the floor, Selina torqued her body around so that she was facing the bar with Lilah still holding her from behind. She put both her feet against the bar and shot her legs out, sending both of them flying into the table behind them. They broke through the table and fell to the ground in a heap. Lilah took the worse of it, and Selina turned and got on top of her, one leg between hers and the redhead lying in the broken wood. She slapped the girl back and forth until she stopped moving and then got up. Without a look at the bar patrons who were staring at them Selina stood over Tara, who was still lying prostrate where she had fallen.
“Told you I was going to stop being nice, you dumb bitch,” she said, and picking her head up by the hair with her left hand she slugged her across the face with her right. Selina turned, shaking the pain out of her hand, and saw Lilah getting to her feet. “Want some more?”
“We’ve just gotten started, your Oriental cxnt.”
Lilah threw a wild punch that Selina dodged, but then she threw another punch to the breast that caught her unawares. Lilah followed that up with another slap the face. To escape the blow Selina rushed her and grabbed her hair. The two women grappled together for some seconds but then Selina threw her over her leg. Lilah landed on the floor and Selina stood bent over her. Lilah grabbed her hair but Selina pumped her fist down into her body, her stomach, breasts, her face. After punishing her body with her fist Selina kicked her in the stomach and then dragged her to her feet and put her against the bar.
“Looks you weren’t ready to start after all,” Selina said. The bar was holding Lilah up, her hair a mess and her eyes glazed over. She was still gasping for air. Selina hit her in the stomach and in the breast. “And it’s Asian, not Oriental, you ignorant bitch.” So saying her slugged her in the face and dropped her to the floor. Selina stood looking over the wreckage she had left, panting, and she pushed her hair back from her beautiful face and strode into the back office. “I’m taking the rest of the night off,” she said as she closed the door. “Get this fucking trash out of here.”
After Selina had washed her face off and changed clothes, she came back out to the bar to finish the night. Standing at the bar, with a whiskey in her hand, was Amy, the buxom redhead from Swampland. Her hair was hanging loose around her face, and she was wearing a tight black shirt that did nothing to conceal her impressive figure. Her beautiful face was all business, even as she laughed with Dulphur and touched him on his muscled arm. She finished her drank and asked him to pour her another in a voice that was meant to trick men into thinking that she liked them. Selina wondered if Dulphur had the sense to know how she was working him. As he poured her drink he took in a long look of her cleavage, and Selina decided that he was as worthless as Lilah had been.
“I’ll get her drinks for her,” Selina told him. “Go check the stocks.”
“Aw, we were just beginning to have fun,” Amy said. “I think that he likes me.”
“I’m sure that he likes you as much as every other man in this swamp likes you. What brings you down to this side of the street?”
“Maybe I was looking for some excitement. I heard you had some yourself tonight.”
“And you came down here just to check up on me? I’m lucky to have a girlfriend like you.”
“It looks like you could use a little help in that department. Among others,” she added, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Appearances matter. You have to take care of yourself, or some younger, hotter woman is going to come along and take what you have. Oh wait, you don’t have anything I want.”
“I’ve got a job. I have prospects. And I turn the heads of men who don’t spend all of their time drinking and stabbing people.
“I’ve got all three. And the first one you were good enough to provide for me. Thanks to your move down to the minor leagues, I’m Brandy’s right hand.”
“The right hand of a loser.”
“We’ll see,” Amy said. She drained her glass and stepped away from the bar. “I just wanted to check in, see how you were. And I see that you’re just as you always were, tasteless.”
Selina winked at her and said, “See you around.”
“That’s the one thing you can be sure of,” Amy replied.
******************************
A few days later, Selina left town in the middle of the night to ambush a shipment of gold coming through the swamp for Brandy Connor. She carried a knife worn horizontal across the small of her back and she wore tight jeans and a shirt that would have demonstrated her athletic and yet womanly outline had she any viewers. Her black hair was tied in a ponytail behind her with a few bangs framing her beautiful face. Her breasts for large for a Chinese woman, and when she had slid on her shirt she had wondered if she had some Swedish grandmother somewhere in her. Her green eyes were large and open and the Asian girls she had grown up with had always hated her for her open eyes and her curves. She had always preferred moving alone and the thought she had given her appearance on setting out that night was for herself and not for some man or woman who would have seen her. Those girls who had hated her when she was young had given Selina her first taste of fighting. She enjoyed the fighting and she enjoyed what she could gain from it, how she could establish herself with other women.
She followed a broken highway north out of the city. She walked all night and spent the next day dozing and waiting in an abandoned gas station. By dusk of that afternoon she had positioned herself at the edge of the swamp to the north of Orlando. A hard rain started as she sat under her tree, the water dripping onto her head and her body but she did not move. At last she saw three shapes in cloaks walking along the grass strip between the two lines of concrete. She let them go past and then followed at a distance. They were moving slowly and two carried a box between them. Over the rain she could hear them arguing over the weight of the box and whether they should have brought horses. They dropped the box repeatedly and then when one of the men started coughing they broke into an old two-story house that was alone on a large field well off the highway.
Selina waited outside under one of the windows until they had a fire going, crouched low. As she waited for their noise to die down she stared out at the highway over the hill and silent and dead in the rain. It rained and rained and her feet began to sink down into the mud and still she waited and watched the highway. At last she judged that the three had gone to bed. She pushed the door open and crept through the house. It had been ransacked many times over the years. Brandy’s men had used the last of the furniture for their fire on the concrete of the back porch. She could see its flickering through the great windows of the living room. Selina had known such houses where she had grown up in Chicago. The mansions built by the men who had owned the meat people ate and the coal that still powered their homes. She crept through the house and going out through the garage came around to the back of the house. The rain felt cool on her skin after the stale hot air of the house.
The years of abuse had broken out the glass around the patio long ago. The roof over the concrete floor was very large and the men slept out of the rain around the fire. Selina crept without sound all the way to them and then drawing the knife from behind her back threw back the blanket and found an empty bedroll. The other bedroll was the same. She stood next to the fire, feeling worse and worse, the knife still in her hand, and then she turned around. The cloaked figure was standing at the edge of the patio where Selina had entered. Selina turned to face the figure, knife held out, crouching and ready. It was Amy.
“Looks like you’re taking to your new job well. Sneaking around, stabbing people in the back, blending in with the dark.”
“Sorry, it looks like the cows have all wandered off for greener pastures. So you won’t be able to blend in as well,” Selina replied. “How’s it feel, stepping into my shadow? A bit small for you?”
“Only where it matters, honey.”
“When was the last time you were someplace that mattered,” Selina replied. “You were standing against the wall while I was at the Swampland, wanting my job but too much of a little bitch to try to take it from me. So you talked shit about me to Brandy to get rid of me behind my back. But now here you are, doing my work. Badly, of course.”
“I knew that you were following us. I knew you’d try this.”
“And yet all of your grand scheming has left you here to fight me. A fight you’re going to lose.”
“No, I’m going to stomp a hole in your face and leave you in the rain.”
“When I’m done with you, you’re going to be my little pet. Sorry, my big pet.”
Amy took a knife out of her cloak and backed out from under the roof and stepped down into the yard. Selina followed her. The light of the fire just reached them. She could see the smile come onto Amy’s face as she tossed her knife onto the patio and took off her cloak. In so doing she exposed her magnificent feminine body to the storm. She was dressed much as Selina was, but she had a much larger chest and wider hips, and already the cotton of her shirt was clinging to her breasts and her large nipples were showing through. Her red hair was plastered down around her face with its pointed, demonic beauty. While Selina had worked for Brandy she had always wanted to test herself against this woman and her voluptuous body, and Amy had never hidden her desire to put Selina in her place. Now each would have her chance. One would leave the rain-soaked yard the better woman.
The two women stepped toward each other. Their feet splashed puddles of water; the grass of the yard was to their knees. The big redhead was waiting for Selina to make the first move, and she did. She darted forward and slapped her across the face and then punched her in the breast. The other woman grunted and slapped her across the face in return. Selina’s head spun all the way around and the woman tackled her to the ground. Selina landed face down with Amy on top of her. She started hitting her in the side of the face immediately. The rainwater and muck and grass was splashing into her mouth and eyes with each blow. The weight of the bigger woman was on her. Selina reached back with her hand and grabbed hold of the first thing she could. It was the redhead’s ear. Screaming in pain and anger Amy got off of her and Selina got to her feet as quickly as she could.
It was not quickly enough. Amy slapped her across the face back and forth and then hit her in the stomach. The Chinese woman folded nearly in half over the fist and then she fell to her knees. Amy grabbed her hair and pulled back her head so that her face was pointing up at the black sky. In that moment Selina could feel the rain pouring down onto and she could see the flashes of light from the fire on Amy’s body and her face staring down at her, as oppressive as the rain. She had drawn back her fist and she meant to pound Selina’s face. Before she could, Selina hit her in the back of the knee. The big redhead stumbled and fell on her and the two women were on the ground together. They rolled back and forth in the watery mess, Amy still holding onto her hair. The two women slapped and grabbed at each other clumsily. Then Amy got her forearm around Selina’s head and wrenching her she drove her fist into her face. Selina took the blow on the nose and then instinctively she opened her mouth around the massive breast pressed against her face and bit down.
Amy’s scream filled the yard. She let go of Selina’s head and rolled away. She got to her knees, facing away, holding onto her breast and wincing, but Selina willed herself up and was on her before she could recover.
Selina leapt on her with a snarl. She rode her to the ground and then snaked her legs against the insides of the woman’s thighs, spreading her legs out so that she could not get her feet under her to roll or stand. She slapped and hit her in the head and the sides. Then she pushed her face into the water and grass and held her there. Amy flailed her hands in the air but then she braced herself and with a great push bucked the smaller black-haired beauty off of her. The two of them came together, face to face, hands going to pull hair. The mass of the larger woman drove Selina onto her back. They rolled back and forth, pulling hair and hitting each other. When Selina got free and away from her she stood, backing away. Amy rose more slowly with a heavy glare in her eyes. Both women were head to toe in mud and water and bruises. The rain continued to fall on both of them. They were breathing hard and their shirts were a ripped and rotten mess. Selina backed away as Amy stalked her, the arms and legs of the former like fleshbrown pistons and the latter a huntress with buxom figure.
Amy rushed her and Selina put a fist square in her mouth. The big redhead was stopped short and Selina moved in close, hitting her in the stomach and breasts. The woman was stunned but not enough. She brought her knee up into Selina’s stomach. All the air rushed out of Selina and as she bent over Amy ripped her shirt up over her head. The material tore away and Selina stumbled away topless. Her medium-sized breasts rose and fell with her breathing, her small brown nipples hard from the adrenaline of the fight. The sight of her firm and well-made breasts seemed to drive Amy mad. She tackled Selina to the ground and straddling her began mauling her breasts. Selina cried out from the pain and desperate she reached up for Amy’s hair but it gained her no respite. Then she ripped open Amy’s shirt and sunk her fingers into her massive breasts. Amy howled and then with a snarl she began curling her fingers into her breasts.
In a few seconds Selina had taken her hands off Amy’s breasts and was trying to pull the hands away. The big redhead was over her, staring down at her, and it was as if her face was framing the rainwater falling around the two of them as they fought. Selina got her feet under her and with a push she rolled the other woman off of her. Amy landed next to her and Selina swiveled her hips around and kicked her in the side. That put the bigger woman on her back. They lay like that, both of them gasping for air, and then they rose one last time. As she stood Amy slid off her ruined shirt, exposing her massive breasts. Her enormous nipples were like light brown feminine discs in the firelight. The two women stared at each other from under their ruined hair, their taught stomachs and muscular backs and their being themselves as they came together.
Selina slapped her across the face and Amy slapped her back. Amy hit her again in the face and then Selina hit her in the stomach and then with uppercuts to both breasts. Amy tried to hit her back but Selina blocked her wild looping punch and slugged her in the stomach. Then she wrenched her arm behind her back and yanking her hair so that her head was looking up at the sky she ran her into the wooden siding of the house. Her breasts flattened out against the ancient and rotten panel, the feminine flesh smashed flat. She groaned and went limp in Selina’s grasp. But Selina pulled her off and spun her around and put her up against the wall and then staring into her eyes with the last of the firelight in them she knew that she had beaten her spirit. Pinning her with her forearm across her throat Selina hit her in the stomach, over and over. As Amy slunk to the ground Selina dragged her forward by the hair. She put her on her back in the middle of the yard and straddled her. Amy moaned and coughed. Her breasts swelled against the insides of Selina’s thighs and the rough material of her jeans. Selina slapped her with rights and lefts, her head rocking with each blow. Then she grabbed hold of her breasts and squeezed, taking pleasure in the pain she was causing the redhead. Amy began moaning in pain and Selina began moaning as well as she pinched and turned her nipples.
“Ready to give, bitch?” Selina asked. The rain had finally stopped and it was the two women in the weeds and the mud. Water was running off of Selina’s luscious black hair and her proud breasts.
“Yes,” Amy gasped. “Please stop. You win.”
“And does that mean you’re ready to back to Orlando and be my little worker drone?” Amy closed her eyes tight and did not answer. Selina dug her fingers into her breasts. “Are you ready to submit to me, or do you need some more persuasion?” she asked, letting go of her breasts. She sat up straight, her hands on her thighs. Her confidence was rewarded with Amy’s nodding and the tears that were rolling down her cheeks.
“That’s what I thought,” Selina said, and she pulled Amy up by the hair and took her inside the decrepit mansion.
Still dragging her by her wet red hair, Selina led her up the stairs to the master bedroom and threw her on the floor. The first lights of dawn were coming in through the window. The bed was full of mold and what had been expensive chests of drawers were now a few nights’ worth of kindling. Amy squirmed and moaned, one hand over her chest and the other over her face. Both of them bruised and both of them sights of her being beaten by Selina who now stood over her. She ordered Amy to kneel before her, and when she hesitated Selina offered her another round instead. Amy got on her knees before her and slid her jeans down over her muscular, tired thighs and her calves. Then she kissed her, starting on one hip and following the line of her thong across the bottom of her stomach and to her other thigh. Selina fondled her ruined hair and traced the outline of her cheeks and jaw and the base of her neck.
Amy got to her feet and kissed Selina on one cheek and then the other and then on the mouth, holding Selina by the back of her head. Selina leaned into her so that their breasts were pressed together. She ran her hands lightly up and down the larger woman’s back and then leaning back she touched her index fingers to each of her breasts. She tapped her fingertips against the bruises on the ends of her breasts and Amy grunted with each point of contact. Selina stopped but Amy told her to keep doing it and as Selina prodded the bruised flesh Amy sighed deeply with her face pressed against Selina’s and grabbed both cheeks of her tight ass. Selina cupped her breasts with both hands, moving them up and down, and Amy kissed her full on the mouth. Selina felt all of her femininity pressing on her and she took it all in, this woman she had beaten and now controlled and who desired her, desired the absence of her, as someone who was not there. Selina allowed Amy to put her on her back and slide down her thong and then to trail kisses from her stomach across her mound to her lips and to start tonguing and licking her and Selina threw her head back in a silent howl.
-
Swampland, Ch 6
By Kim
When Cristina de Luca went to visit Allison Barnwell, the wife of the mayor, she took Selina Hu with her. The two of them spoke little while the men rowed the flat-bottomed boat south and east through the shallow water. The sun was still out and it had been raining all day. Cristina felt as if her shirt had seeped into her flesh and the mosquitos up into her nose. They slid past a gas station. Inside were a man and a woman with two children, two little boys. All four of them were watching with keen eyes the boat with its leader, her tenente, and her guards. Cristina ordered the boat to veer toward the building and as they went by she threw them one of their water bottles. The man said his thanks in a voice too low to hear and Cristina nodded her head in response. As she squat down alone in the front of the boat, down low between her knees, she reflected on the rats and the roaches crawling over the city, higher and higher each year. This was the wreckage she meant to rule.
At the end of the water north of the City, they left the boat and took the horses waiting for them. They road through along the curling ramp onto a short highway and then down into what had once been Disney World. The welcome sign was still there over the top of the road, and an ancient tour bus was turned over across the road as a blockade. Two of the sheriff’s men were on top of the bus, rifles in hand, and they waved Cristina and her men through. The roads here with more dirt than concrete, and their horses clomped through the mud as they rode up to the two massive hotels that had once served the resort. Cristina knew that her men hardly understood what a resort was. To most of the people who worked for her vacations and escape were ghosts from some forgotten land. Selina was riding next to her, and Cristina watched the Chinese beauty, miserable in the rain and heat. She wondered if her new tenente understood their relationship with these holdovers from the previous era, and then she wondered if her new tenente understood their relationship with each other. She wondered if she understood it herself, two women who intended to grab everything for themselves and with no intention of sharing.
Allison Barnwell had made her residence in the ground floor of one of the hotels. The enormous rooms were where she ran what was left of the city. Taxes were counted and records were filed at desks arranged in rows by the dozens. One room they passed was labeled “Training,” and inside a group of would-be clerks were learning to read and write. The Lady Mayor herself met them at the end of the cavernous hallway. Two men were following her, pressing more papers into her hands, and she yelled at them and said that she was not going to look at any more communiques from Mexico City until they had something different to say. When she saw Cristina and Selina, she told them to wait. Then she told the two men that they were to write back to Mexico City and explain that they were to increase their importing of alligator skins, as they had agreed, or she would have to revisit the rest of their agreement. With another yell she sent the two men running and then ordered the two women to follow her to her office.
“Welcome to the heart of the city, such as it is,” Allison said. She lit the lamps and poured wine for the three of them. The room stunk from the mildewing paper, the same as the rest of the rooms. “This is where we gather all that we can from what’s left and track the long, slow decline of the same.”
“It looks like hard work,” Selina said.
“Can you read?” Allison asked her.
“Of course I can. Math, literature, history, economics.”
“Then you’re several steps ahead of this lot. If you can read and make the numbers come out right, you’ve got half the work done.”
“And still the other half to master,” Cristina said. She finished her cup of wine and brought it down hard on the desk.
“And what is the other half?”
“Force. Power. Getting other people to do as you will,” Allison said. She poured herself a second glass of wine and leaned back in her chair. “What was it you wanted?”
“Only what is rightfully mine,” Cristina said. “The business in the swamp.”
“Is old business,” Allison finished for her. “It’s Brandy’s. Brawling with her in the street doesn’t exactly convince me that you’re a better choice to run the swamps for me than she is.”
“On the other hand, her brawling with me doesn’t speak in her favor,” Cristina replied.
“No, it doesn’t. But since you two are equally unspoken, and as far as I can tell you’re equally matched in other areas with the rather large exception of Brandy’s greater resources, I’m not hearing anything new or interesting here. Which means I’m bored. And that’s bad for you,” she added in a condescending tone.
“And would your life be interesting with your Mexican problem taken care of?”
“It might be. How do you feel about traveling?”
*******************************
Three weeks after her meeting with Allison Barnwell, Cristina was landing on the east coast of Mexico. Puttering across the Gulf in their old seventy-five foot fishing boat was smoother than the last time Cristina had been on the ocean, with her father. With her were fifteen of the Barnwells’ men and Selina. Cristina was to make a new arrangement with the Zedillo family, who ruled in Mexico City over the central and southern parts of what had been Mexico. Northern Mexico was now a separate country, the people who had once been called Zapatistas having won their freedom and united the north of Mexico with parts of the desert southwest of America. The Zedillos had made a business partner where past rulers of Mexico had made enemies, and they sent drugs and whores from Northern Mexico to America, the Caribbean, South America. The Barnwells wanted Cristina to gain them more preferential treatment from one of the richest and most heavily armed families in the hemisphere.
They landed at the port rebuilt miles inland from what had been Heroica Veracruz, where they were met by what seemed a small army of men carrying assault rifles. Cristina counted forty of them, all dressed and armed and—judging by the way they stood covering the port as Cristina stepped off their pathetic boat that had been battered about by the storms of the Gulf—trained better than her own men. Hers had spent most of the trip drinking and playing poker. The Zedillo men looked like they had never had a drink of whiskey or touched a hand of cards in their lives. The men had done those things and more, she was certain, but she took clear notice of their discipline, the discipline that made it possible for them to seem as if they had been born trained and ready. Stepping forward was a woman wearing the same grey fatigues as the men. She was quite pretty, with a pleasantly curvy figure evident under the uniform, and she had sandy blonde hair.
“We’re from Orlando. Mayor Barnwell and his wife send their regards,” Cristina said.
“And the Zedillos receive them,” the woman answered in English with only a slight accent. “Have your men load whatever you’re bringing into our trucks. We leave in twenty minutes.”
A colder reception than she had expected. Cristina wiped the sweat from her forehead and said, “I’m Cristina de Luca. I’m here to speak for the Barnwells.”
“I know who you are,” the woman replied. “Twenty minutes.”
Selina stood beside her. “She seems nice.”
“I’m starting to think that the Barnwell name doesn’t hold much sway outside of Orlando.”
The Zedillos had come to the coast to pick up other cargo as well, and they had an entire convoy of trucks. Cristina directed her men to load the crates into the trucks and they all set off for the drive to the capitol city, high up in the mountains. Cristina sat in the back of one with Selina and the Barnwell men, riding in the dust and heat. She could feel the men stealing looks at her as she bounced with the jostling of the truck. For all the wealth of the Zedillo family, three of the trucks broke down before the day was over. Each time as they stood waiting for the two mechanics to bring the ancient machines back to life Cristina could feel the look of the blonde woman on her. Her name was Regina Zedillo, Cristina had learned from their driver. She was the niece of Jorge Zedillo Martinez, the patriarch of the Zedillo family and Mexico.
When the third truck broke down at dusk, they made camp for the night. Regina’s men built fires and distributed rations to everyone and posted guards. Cristina and Selina were sitting on rocks eating canned fish with some of the Zedillo men, who had turned out to be better conversationalists. She used what Spanish she knew and the men used what English they had. They knew quite a bit of what life was like in what had once been the United States, and they bragged that Mexico City still had cars running on its streets and nightly electricity when many American cities were little more than war zones or fortresses for those who still had wealth, as Minneapolis was, where the rich families of the Midwest had put up walls and used a private army to drive out the less desirable people. When Cristina asked about the poor people she had seen gathered near the dock and along the side of the road, the men said that Mexico had poor people, as every other country had, but that here people were not butchered and left rotting or draped from highway signs, as they had heard of up north.
“You don’t like our country?” Regina asked. She moved one of the men aside and sat across the fire from Cristina and Selina. “You don’t approve of our supply of gasoline and our security forces? Our laws?”
“Well, it does seem problematic to be burning all of this oil.”
“Problematic? Thought you’d confuse the poor Mexican girl with your fancy words?” Regina replied, tilting her voice in the manner of a peasant song. In a serious tone, she said, “It’s our oil. We dig it out of our ground and run our own refinery. And we aren’t the fuckwhats who ruined the entire world. That was you.”
“You expect us to fall down and kiss your ass over some guns and a few trucks that are always breaking down?” Selina asked, rising. “It seems to me that sleeping by the side of the road in Shithole, Mexico isn’t much different from sleeping next to the side of the road in Shithole, Florida.”
Regina glared at her and then smirked. “Care to put some force behind your words? I’d love the chance to work on that pretty face of yours.” As she spoke she took off the top of her uniform and then the shirt under it. Her breasts were large for her frame, her skin dark relative to her dirty blonde hair. She flexed and stretched her arms, and Cristina could see the woman’s strength and admire the way her breasts swayed with her movements.
In answer Selina took off her own shirt and moved with Regina away from the campfires and into the open dirt field that lined the road for miles in either direction. Regina was a bit taller and thicker in the arms and legs. Selina moved more easily, but Cristina took note of the way Regina tracked her as the Chinese woman circled around her, far out of range. She also noted the determined look on her face and the way she held her arms in front of her, her hands half-closed and ready in front of her face. She was not a beauty as Selina was, but she had an impressive and capable body. Her breasts were larger than Selina’s with larger nipples, and Cristina saw her tenente’s eyes darting down at the other woman’s chest more often than they should of. Some deep part of her also thought of Selina’s noticing of the slight differences between herself and the other woman.
The two women circled in the dirt, their dancing and tripping feet throwing up dust that hung in the air around them and behind them the mountains of Central Mexico framing their bodies. The Zedillo men were cheering for their woman, the Barnwell men for theirs, and soon the dim white circles of antique flashlights were on the two women. Selina jumped forward and threw a looping punch that Regina easily sidestepped. She tagged Selina across the face as she did so, and then as Selina was turned away Regina hit her in the back and then yanked her head back by the hair and turning threw her into the dirt. Selina rose carefully, eyes on Regina as she did, but the Mexican did not press her. Selina rushed her again and the two women exchanged quick jabs to the face and stomach. The flat thuds of their fists and their grunting in the hot night air. The dust swirling around them.
They came together, grappling, arms wrapped around each other’s torso, and then Selina put her leg across Regina’s and jutted her hips into the other woman’s and threw her over. As the blonde woman landed Selina was on her, throwing slaps at her head, then she was put over and the two of them were rolling over each other. The dust coated their bodies as they fought. They punched each other’s bodies, pulled hair, squeezed breasts, slapped faces, bit. Selina got on top and straddled her at one point, but as she drew back her fist the other woman threw her off with a burst. Then Regina got on top of her, her round, firm ass planted on Selina’s face, and she pounded her breasts and stomach for too long before Selina was able to get out from her under her. They fell to fighting on the ground again, bound together lengthwise with their legs intertwined and their hands running over each other’s strong, graceful bodies. They groaned and grunted with the pain and the exertion of their fight and the men watching yelled and cheered for both of them. Cristina said nothing and she did not move.
Selina took the worse of it. Regina got on her again and slapped her face and then pounded her head in against the ground. Selina tried to push the hands away and then she grabbed the breasts swaying in front of her. Regina howled and pried the hands off her chest. Then she got off Selina and before the beauty could respond Regina hauled her up by the hair. Still holding her by the hair Regina punched her in the stomach, twisting her hips as she threw the blow so that Selina lost all her strength. She pivoted and fell against Regina’s strong body and they stood together for an instant, two women covered in dirt and sweat so that it was smeared in dark brown streaks across their bodies, their arms and backs and busts. Then Regina threw another vicious punch into her chest and as Selina yelped in pain she punched her across the face and Selina fell flat on her back.
Regina stood panting, her breasts rising and falling, over the woman she had knocked into the dust, and she pushed her sandy blonde hair from her face. She was waiting for Selina to rise but the fight had gone out of her. “Looks like your friend has had enough,” she said between deep breaths. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in a dance.”
Cristina stood and walked toward the two of them. She could feel every pair of male eyes on her own body, on her ass and her breasts encased in her shirt and jeans and her hair and her face as with her body more beautiful than either of the other women. “If you like, we could dance a few turns.”
“Would you like that?”
“I would,” Cristina answered her. She had reached Selina and now helped her off the ground.
“Sadly, I doubt that my uncle would like for me to have maimed his guest’s beauty before he has had a chance to gaze on it. He does love his beauties, my uncle.” She signaled to her men to help clean and dress Selina. “No hard feelings. You fought well, and I’m sure my men enjoyed the show. We hit the road again at dawn.”
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Mexico City was now called Zedillo City, and the Zedillos had made changes. Mexico City had been one of the most populous in the world by the end of the twenty-first Century, when the global economy had begun its toppling. At that time, much of its population had lived in shanties that had spread out across the valley. Now, the Zedillos had shrunk the city down; they emptied the shanties and built a wall around the new city, beyond which its population could not grow. More men with rifles stood above the gate the convoy passed through. Selina was riding next to her in the back of the truck. Her face was bruised, her eye swollen, and every bounce of the truck showed on her face. Perhaps despite herself Cristina put her arm around the woman and drew her against herself as the city’s gate closed after the last truck was through.
Inside the gates were rows of small white houses arranged around shared gardens and walking paths marked with white paint. Everything she saw inside the city was painted white. The Zedillos had torn down the wreckage that had once filled the streets and replaced it with clean, simple housing for the small farmers who worked the family’s fields and the mechanics and workers who kept the power plant and oil wells running. The security men who rode with them that day had told Cristina that the family positions were all inherited, locked into place by decree the year that Jorge Zedillo Martinez’s great-grandfather had built the city wall. Their own fathers had carried guns for Jorge’s father. The parents had employment and stable civil governance and in return their children and grandchildren would be just as they had. Cristina recalled her grandmother’s lessons about feudalism before she had been taken from Italy by her father, but she had not imagined it would be so quiet.
The trucks rolled into a warehouse, where the men immediately began unloading the supplies. Cristina told Selina to stay and oversea the safety of their crates and their men, and she got into a jeep with Regina and two of her men. The women both sat in the back. The jeep crawled along the city streets, honking at laborers wearing white clothes and pushing aside carts pulled by mules. Cristina had never seen so many people moving with purpose outside of the videos she had watched from old datapads as a young girl. And all of them wearing white, the same as the buildings and everything else they could paint. They were thin, and in the corners of buildings or under shade out of the midday sun Cristina saw children huddled, watching the city go by with wide eyes. She had no water to toss to them now. She saw few of the Zedillo security men among the people or in the street. Most seemed stationed on the wall or in the Zedillo family buildings. Those buildings that were not part of the city itself that the family owned, Cristina thought.
“Have you ever seen a real functioning city before?” Regina asked her.
“When I was a girl, our hometown in Italy was getting along well enough. We were in the Alps. Things weren’t too bad, really.”
“And Florida?”
“It’s more interesting than this.”
“Too bad for the people of Florida.”
“How are you feeling today?” Cristina asked her. “I hope your body fared better than your face did last night.”
Regina turned and smiled at her. She was bruised and swollen around her mouth and her cheeks. “Would you like to inspect my body? Is that what you’re into?”
“I wouldn’t mind the chance to give your body a thorough going-over. I doubt you would enjoy it as much as the inspection. I would enjoy it a great deal more.”
Regina laughed and the jeep went on. Soon enough they were at the Zedillo mansion. It was white as well, behind a white wall nearly as tall as that around the city. The mansion seemed to Cristina a collection of rectangles and plain walls that rose up out of a rock garden to four stories above them. They parked the jeep with a collection of work vehicles and went inside. The first room was a guard room, where three men were smoking and playing poker. The men greeted Regina warmly and scrutinized Cristina and her body and then Regina led her into what seemed like a separate, interior house. The cold wave of air conditioning hit Cristina and after her lungs had adjusted the air seemed hollow to her. They passed through another set of rooms and then they were in Jorge Zedillo Martinez’s office and it was as if Cristina’s lungs had been filled again.
The man was sitting behind an enormous black desk. He was old, with thin white hair and a heavily wrinkled face. He was fat. Cristina had not seen many fat people in her life. Zedillo Martinez had a double shin and a stomach that pushed against the dark blue suit he wore. He had a red tie knotted snug against his throat, and he touched his index finger to the tie as he stared at his niece and her companion. Then he lit a cigarette and tossed the case to the young woman standing next to him. She was the most beautiful and the most well-formed woman Cristina had ever seen. She was perhaps as tall as five foot ten, and she had straight black hair that hung well below her shoulders, splayed across her massive bosom. Her face was a form of chiseled beauty, as if she were a statue made real, but her body projected heat. She was wearing a white blouse and red skirt and her curves were straining against the fabric of both. Cristina thought the other woman’s chest several inches farther across than her own, and her broad hips were offset well by her slender waist and obviously strong thighs. The woman grabbed the cigarette out of the air without taking her eyes off of Cristina and took one out and lit still while staring at Cristina.
“My name is Jorge Zedillo Martinez. Let me welcome you to my home, young lady. And a very pretty young lady, too, I see. So refreshing to see a fresh face. We don’t get enough visitors here, and we don’t travel as much as we might. Not enough travel in the world today,” the old man added with a snort. “I hope that your voyage across the Gulf was without incident? Our ships run into storms so often.”
“It was a pleasant trip,” Cristina said. “And your niece here has given us a warm welcome so far.”
The old man laughed. “I understand that it was quite a warm welcome last night. I hope that you and your friend are finding yourselves at home here. Please don’t hold our little diversions against us.”
“Oh, we are finding ourselves quite at home,” Cristina assured him.
“Stop being nice to her,” the beautiful woman said. “She’s here to steal from us. Just throw her back in the ocean and be done with it.” She had still not taken her eyes from Cristina’s.
“Please forgive my wife. She can be rather direct. Alejandra, shake hands with the American beauty and let her know that we are all friends here.”
Alejandra came around the desk in such a way that Cristina readied herself to be attacked. The two women shared a tense handshake, each appraising the other’s appearance and physique as she shook and then removed her hand from the other’s grip. Cristina was intensely aware of Alejandra’s looking down at her and the other woman’s firm breasts pressing against her hand as she yanked it away and she was aware of her state of dress in sweat-stained jeans and shirt in relation to the other woman’s spotless attention.
“See, now we can begin again as friends,” the old man said. Alejandra had not moved and the two women were standing close enough that Cristina could feel her breath moving in and out. “Alejandra, darling, the Barnwells sent this young lady all the way from Florida to make their case. Do you not think that we owe it to them and our long relationship to treat her with respect?”
“I think she’s a stupid, ill-mannered bitch,” Alejandra hissed, and Cristina edged closer so that the tips of their breasts were pressed together and their noses were nearly touching. “Did you want to say something, bitch?” Alejandra asked her.
“Stop antagonizing her,” Regina said. She was still standing on Cristina’s other side. “Trust me, she’s not smart enough to answer Uncle and trade dirty looks with you.”
“Looks like your little friend is giving you a way out,” Cristina said in a low voice. Nearly a growl.
Alejandra smirked but she returned to her husband’s side. “So tell us this business proposition that you have brought us from the Barnwells,” she said. “We will give it its due consideration before rejecting it.”
“How can I be expected to present our offer when one of your own is so obviously intent on spiting me personally?”
“If your offer benefits us more than our present arrangement, rest assured that we will give it serious consideration,” the man in the suit said.
“It wouldn’t have to be much to improve on what we have with them now,” Regina said.
“Right now we sell you gator skins, and you send us gold, with some gas and assorted necessities. The Barnwells would like to expand that trade, considerably. They have sent me here because I am their most trusted smuggler and you are the most accomplished businessman in these areas.”
“And which area are we talking about?” Alejandra asked. “We don’t trade in gator shit or molded oranges.”
“I have brought with me samples of what we’re calling fuse. It’s proprietary, but we are making it ourselves and we can make enough to supply whoever you are able to sell it to.”
“A drug? We already have plenty of those.”
“The Barnwells think that you will find that their design will allow you to sell more to those who can afford to pay, for a longer period, than what you currently offer.”
Jorge Zedillo Martinez watched Cristina for some time and then shrugged and nodded his head. They talked about prices and shipment sizes and as they did Zedillo gave her wine to drink. Cristina drank with them as the patriarch gazed over her body and the two women stood on either side of her and she thought of Brandy Connor back in Orlando. Cristina was making a new connection that would take her far beyond running individual tanks of gas and sacks of pills while Brandy sat in her swamp thinking that she had gotten the better of Cristina. Zedillo said that they would have to test the merchandise to determine its safety, quality, and potency and that Cristina and her companions should stay with them until that was done. He said they would throw a banquet to honor the new relationship. “We will find a room and suitable clothes for a woman of your station as well,” he added.
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Extremely well written!!! I love this series... Hope to read more soon!
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Thanks!
I'm glad people are enjoying it.
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Swampland Ch 7
By Kim
Cristina found her first morning in the Zedillo’s mansion comfortable. After lying on the clean sheets, the dull rumble of the air conditioning overhead, for nearly half an hour she realized she might never have experienced real comfort before. She ran her fingers up and down her abdomen and thought about the mornings she had awoken in her room in the back of her bar or under a tree in the swamp. The sweat and dirt ground into her skin and her hair while here the Zedillo family had been living in opulence, with clean water, electricity, and guards, all dependable. For years now Cristina had spent every day thinking about the next connection or the next betrayal, the danger behind each face and all the men who thought her too weak to hold onto what she had and the women who tried to take it from her. And she thought about the woman from whom she had taken her first stake in the business, her first route into Orlando.
When Cristina was eighteen, she had been drifting from job to job. She drank too much and argued with the boss too often. The men she worked for all put up her for a time with because of her looks—even then a full-figured woman with a sharp, intelligent beauty in her face and luscious hair the men could not but notice as it shone black in the heat. But too much yelling and second-guessing put her out of work again, and she got to know the alleys and bars of Orlando as well as anyone. In one of those bars she met Talia Eason. Talia was a young woman herself, the curvy beauty of mixed German and South Asian descent who had recently married Doc Eason. She offered Cristina work supplying the Doctor with rubbing alcohol, bandages and the like. Cristina came to the fourth delivery having been stood up by a guy she had been seeing from time to time, whom she later learned had been pressed into a local militia headed north to raid a train that ran across south Georgia. Angry, she demanded more money from Talia for the supplies, and Talia refused.
The two young women fought until it seemed Cristina could not remember a time they had not been fighting. Cristina had never been in a fistfight with another woman when both were sober, and Talia had, as Cristina learned when the two sat down and drank together six months later. Cristina had a height and weight advantage and she pressed the smaller woman hard. They started trading slaps and then brawled all over Eason’s office and then after Talia threw her through the back door they fought in the alley, rolling on the ground pulling hair and squeezing breasts and on their feet hitting anything they could. As she lay in bed in the Zedillo’s mansion, Cristina remembered the exhilaration she had felt, her desire to match herself against this other young woman with her looks and her body and her feminine rage. In the end Cristina found herself on her back under the other woman unable to rise and she was forced to give up when Talia sat atop her with her fist cocked, threatening to pound her face in. As she staggered back to her single room, Cristina had thought about the fight and she had known that she wanted to do it again. Six months later Cristina went back and fought her again and won, and then a week later they drank together and talked all night.
The bitch Alejandra, with her attitude and her stunning looks and her well-kept hair, the bitch who obviously had grown up with food, medicine, cleanliness and order. It was all marked on her body and her face. Cristina wondered how many times Alejandra had been forced to sleep outside so that she could make sure that someone didn’t steal what she had worked for. How many times had she fought off someone trying to take what was hers, this woman who had gotten the richest and seemingly oldest man in the country, one of the few men anywhere who could do as he pleased. She slept on clean sheets in a cool room every night next to her husband’s rotting body and when he was gone she would be in charge of everything, and no man was going to get it from her. She was already close to being the boss, Cristina reminded herself, and she was another woman trying to keep Cristina from securing her place in the world as much as the other way around. Alejandra was going to prevent Cristina from getting her contract settled with Zedillo, she had made clear. As she lay in Alejandra’s house on the clean sheets dressed in new black panties while the beautiful Mexican would have seen her sleeping naked in the mud, Cristina thought of fighting her woman to woman and the skin of her arms, legs, her torso and between her thighs sparkled. She was alive with her desire to hit her and throw her to the ground and stand over her.
Cristina dressed in new clothes, khaki shorts and a white t-shirt that clung to her body and sandals, and went downstairs. She ate a real breakfast in the kitchen with the husband and wife who did all the cooking for the Zedillos. The two did not speak a lot of English but Cristina laughed when they laughed and noticed how much flesh the two of them carried and the lettuce and carrots in bowls on the counter. After breakfast she went outside and found Regina, the niece of Jorge Zedillo Martinez who seemed to be the family security chief. Regina gave her a looking-over and then returned to polishing her hunting knife. She wore her sandy blonde hair loose around her shoulders and her face bore little trace of her fight against Selina, Cristina’s own woman. Regina was sitting on a bench by the garage, and when she saw Cristina approached her she patted the open seat next to her. “Come and sit next to me,” she said, sliding the knife slowly into its sheath and putting it on her other side. “I promise not to bite.”
“So our good lady doesn’t like you so much,” Regina said. “It’s okay. She doesn’t like a lot of women very much. She doesn’t like me. After her marriage to my uncle she put her own mother in a small house outside of town and no one sees her anymore.”
“She’s going to keep me from getting this deal done.”
“She wants us to stay in business with the Brazilians. The Brazilians like for their partners to stay monogamous when it comes to addictive substances. Their state government still fights them and they do not want the distraction. They are a very serious people, the Brazilians. Very serious, very rich, and very well armed.”
“I got the impression that people here are all about those distractions.”
Regina laughed. She picked up the knife still in its sheath and tapped its point against her thigh. “You have a lot to learn if you intend to do business here. And the first lesson is that here,” she said, indicating the compound with the knife in one half-circle, “is not the same place as there,” she concluded, pointing the knife south.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“My uncle made our family synonymous with Mexico. We have packs of mountain lions that dominate the mountains here. They have killed the coyotes. When one large pack controls a region, it knows which prey to kill and which to leave for the next season. It tends to the land like a farmer. A relationship develops. But there can be a female, large and powerful, that roams on its own. This female kills other females, she hunts for the sake of hunting rather than to feed her young. She needs to kill and through force of will she will make the pack into herself. There is something noble about a pack that lives in balance. The competition makes us honest and makes us vital.”
“More in line with God?” Cristina asked.
Regina laughed at her. “How can a woman who grew up in Florida believe in God? God is not here. Here there are only mountain lions, the last of our oil, and the heat.” Regina hopped off the bench and walked toward a Jeep. “Come with me. I think you should see something.”
Cristina got into the Jeep with her and they left the Zedillo compound. They drove slowly through the city’s streets, taking the same route by which they had entered the city the day before. Cristina had been in the country for two days and she felt like she had seen more food and clean clothing than she had in her entire life to that point. The people who lived close to the family’s buildings worked directly for the family and they lived better than those near the city’s walls, but Cristina suspected that the children who lived at the bottom of society here would turn their noses at how Cristina had lived as a girl after her father died and then later when she began working with other crews and yet later when she first put her own crew together with a loan from Talia Eason. She could feel each gear in the Jeep’s engine turning under her as they went up hills. The heat and dust felt as if they were somehow inside her face and she missed the crisp air of the Zedillo house.
When they were outside the city walls and driving alongside the broken mess that had once been a paved road, Cristina asked, “Do you still want to beat my pretty face in?”
Regina laughed and they drove on before she answered. “I like competition. You strike me as a woman who likes competition. You also strike me as an interesting woman.”
“Are you going to say that I’m a woman who knows what she wants?”
“I’d like to think that you are intelligent enough not to believe that you can actually want a specific thing. Desire is like a snake, always winding its way through world by its own logic without regard for our own plans, our own needs. Plus, it looks like a dick.” The two women laughed together and drove on through the heat.
An hour later they arrived at an oil refinery. They got past the outer checkpoint and then the inner security gate and parked next to what had once been a management building of some kind. Cristina counted 20 security men, all carrying assault rifles, and she saw a handful of workers eating lunch under the shade of the management building and two repairing what she thought was a valve. As they walked through the rusted steel carcass of the refinery Regina said that they this was the only refinery still running. When she was a little girl there had been three. Their engineers had once been trained in a school, but now they passed expertise from teacher to apprentice. And, she said, their oil wells were running dry and they no longer had the technology to find new wells. Without oil they would lose not only their vehicles. They would lose their access to their guns and the electricity and supplies that made the compound possible. They would lose everything. Cristina asked how long they had, and Regina said that it would be a few years if the family were careful.
“But Alejandra is not careful. She has my uncle focused on being more powerful than the Brazilian families and humiliating the Americans who fucked the whole world with their arrogance. Building more and more cars and shopping places as the world started to melt. That’s why she wants to fuck you, because she blames your people for fucking the world. A lot of people here do.”
“I’m not an American. I’m from Italy.” They were sitting alone in an abandoned office building now, out of the sun. Regina recovered a bottle from a secret stash and they drank together.
“She doesn’t care.”
“Why is she looking to ruin your family?”
“She is beautiful and ferocious and now that she has used those qualities to marry my uncle she has power. She’s a bitch.”
“You were calling me that recently, I believe. Or agreeing with her as she did.”
“That’s how the game is played. And you are a bitch. I look at you and I see someone who can match Alejandra in looks and in competition, and you’re the woman we need right now.”
“I just got here.”
“No other woman is arriving now. Alejandra has been married to my uncle for a year and no other woman has arrived here who can challenge her. And you’re the woman I need now.”
Regina leaned in and kissed her as Cristina had known that she would. Cristina had felt this coming since sitting next to her at the house and she let it happen. Regina slid her hands up and down Cristina’s bare thighs and then over her abdomen and her ribs and then her large breasts, squeezing them through the thin material of the shirt, the flesh as if it were some marker of her femininity, her person. Cristina put her hands on the small of Regina’s back and pulled her in close. The two women kissed again, and then Regina pulled Cristina’s hair back and kissed her on the neck and then pulled her shirt up over her head. She trailed kisses down across Cristina’s collarbone and then the beginnings of the swell of her light brown chest and then kneeling down her stomach. But rather than pull down her shorts, Regina focused on her full thighs, her hands holding tightly on her wide hips. Cristina ran her fingers through Regina’s hair as she kissed her and held her lower body. Then Regina stood and grabbing her shirt led her by the hand out the door of the office building.
They got back in the Jeep and drove to a small lake. Still without speaking Regina led her down to the water. It was warm and she felt as if the sun were layering a thick wet blanket over her as she moved. Standing to their knees in the water, the mud oozing around their toes, the two women pulled each other’s clothes off, slowly, tracing their fingers and their mouths over the outline of each other’s bodies as they did. Cristina traced the woman’s large, dark nipples with her thumbs, and Regina stood in front of her with her arms around her neck and her eyes closed as she did. Then Regina slid around behind her and brought her out to where the water was to their shoulders. At first she embraced her from behind, then she began rubbing and gripping her breasts. Each one filled her hand and Cristina leaned back into her as the Mexican woman massaged her breasts, squeezing them and pinching her nipples. The two women began grinding their hips together and as they did Regina nipped at Cristina’s ear and neck with her mouth and slid her hands down her stomach and over her mound. Cristina could not stand it any more and she turned around and kissing Regina with all her force she guided her hand inside of her. The feeling of this other woman moving inside of her body, flicking at her cxnt lips and sliding in and out of her. Then when her legs started trembling she started fingering Regina and pulling her hair and moaning from deep inside of herself. When both women were finished they stood in the water like that, arms around each other’s bodies and heads leaning together, the warm water of the forever summer of central Mexico surrounding them.
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Cristina stayed in Mexico for another week. The Zedillos had left well before dawn the morning after Cristina’s country escapade with Regina, on some business on the coast that Cristina could not determine. Regina stayed, and Cristina spent early evenings touring different parts of the Zedillos’ business with her and Selina Hu: oil and gas production, farming, repairing the housing units their workers lived in, recruiting and drilling security forces. Their security trained at what had been a police station before the world fell apart. A collection of raw youths were sitting in the lobby when they arrived, smoking and laughing, and Regina had them doing pull-ups and running sprints outside in the heat until they fell down. “Toughens them up,” she said, and then she led Cristina into the basement. Young men and women both were receiving basic self-defense and firearms training, and with gentle prodding Regina got her onto the wrestling mat. They put on a good show for the excited recruits, and Cristina found her as strong and capable as she had expected. The two women both enjoyed straining against each other as their audience enjoyed watching them. After they left the training station they went back to the Zedillo estate and ate dinner and then after dinner Cristina and Regina slipped off together. Regina had an array of dildos, cuffs, lingerie, and other toys and the women spent their nights fucking every way they could think of. There was a tall, muscular soldier Regina kept around for her use, and he joined them and one night brought two friends of his, an equally fit man and middle-aged woman. They were a tangle of bodyparts the horizon of which Cristina could not feel.
A week after their departure the Zedillos returned from the coast. While there, they had overseen the activation of the first set of solar panels in anyone’s living memory. Jorge Zedillo gathered everyone in the mansion’s entryway and from the balcony told them that, on the direction of his beautiful wife who was standing beside him, he had begun an electrical engineering school on the Pacific coast. As he talked about their plans to begin installing the panels on the estate and the houses of their managers in the next month, Cristina noticed the edge of beauty on Alejandra. She was wearing a black skirt and red blouse that showed the regal curves of her chest and hips, and her black hair set her face to excellent effect. Cristina felt the entitlement and superiority rolling off the woman, and it seemed to be aimed directly at her. When Jorge was done talking, Alejandra stepped to the edge of the balcony. “You are all invited to a special dance tonight that we are having here, to celebrate my family’s triumphs and our bringing this great advance to our city.”
Another woman was standing next to Alejandra. She had a dark complexion but her hair was a caramel color, dark with blonde coloring to it, and her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that hung midway down her back. She was several inches shorter than Alejandra, and she seemed to be more athletic in her build but with an enormous chest that seemed every bit a match for Alejandra’s or Cristina’s. She was also a stunning beauty, and Cristina had to rethink her initial impression that Alejandra was the most beautiful woman she had seen. She was wearing a light brown blouse and tight pants and her flesh seemed ready to explode from her clothing. She also wore glasses and black boots. Cristina scrutinized the woman’s face and thought she did not care about how people evaluated her appearance the same way that Alejandra did. Rather, the newly arrived woman was looking at Cristina now with the same intensity Cristina had been looking at her. As the two women stared at each other, Cristina deduced that she was close to Alejandra and that she had been brought to the city for some reason that bode ill for Cristina. “This is my half-sister, Isabelle,” Alejandra said, at which Isabelle stepped forward and nodded her head at the audience. “She has joined us from the coast to help with our new projects and to oversee some of our ongoing operations.”
Afterward, Cristina was summoned to Jorge’s study. Before she went, Cristina changed into new clothes she had gotten while in Mexico, a sheer white blouse that revealed the outlines of her nipples and the underside of her large breasts. Jorge was waiting for her, alone, and when she entered he rose unsteadily and kissed her on the cheek and brought her to his couch. “I’m glad you came to see me, dear,” he said, glancing down at her chest. The cold air of the room tightened her nipples against the fabric of the shirt. “I wanted to give you some good news, well, most of it is good,” he added. He leaned in close to her, and Cristina could feel his impending death seeping out of his skin. “My wife is a big fan of these new solar panels, but this new program is expensive. I’m afraid that she does not have a good understanding of the complexities of the financial systems we are a part of. We are going to need to be in business with your Florida acquaintances, probably for as long as we are making these panels.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” Cristina said, letting the words drip out in a low voice. “I’d like to continue working here with you and your family. Someone will need to oversee the business, of course.”
“I’m afraid that my wife would not approve. She doesn’t care for you, as you are aware.”
“I suppose she’s a bit jealous.”
Zedillo laughed, which turned into a cough. His face turned red and he covered his mouth with a handkerchief. As he was hacking, Cristina put her hand on his back and rubbed up and down and as she did she hoped that Alejandra would walk in on them. She could feel the old man’s ribs and spine through the jacket he was wearing. “Thank you,” he said when the fit had passed. “You might be right about Alejandra. We do need to do business with the Barnwells, thanks to her and these fucking panels. And you are the woman they have sent to represent them.”
“If only there were a reason for me to stay besides this deal with the Barnwells,” Cristina said, and he nodded eagerly. “Like, say, if you and I were to start having an affair. Bet your wife wouldn’t like that.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” he answered. “You’re a bit rural now, but I see so much potential in you. I could give you so much, bring out the beauty that I see inside of you,” he said, and he leaned in to kiss her.
But Cristina pulled away. “And how would I benefit from that?” she asked.
“You would have a very nice life, of course.”
“In which I would get to play wife number two to Alejandra.”
“You’d hate that, wouldn’t you? But couldn’t that be part of the fun?”
“For you, maybe. Not for me.” And Cristina rose and left the room.
That night she arrived at the dance an hour late. She was wearing a tight black dress that wrapped itself around her tight midsection and strong thighs and out of which her cleavage seemed to pour. Her hair was wrapped around and hung down over her right shoulder in flowing waves. The dress and hairstyle had both come from a woman in town whom Cristina had paid with a set of gold candlesticks she had taken from her room. Around her neck she wore a gold necklace the stylist had let her borrow after the old woman had exclaimed over how beautiful she was. Before she left the old woman’s house, the woman told her a story. She had been the head of staff for Jorge Zedillo’s father, Eduardo Zedillo Ruiz, and then Jorge after his father died. She said that she had always gotten along with Senor Zedillo and that the father had always been good to her. But then after Jorge took over it changed. He reduced her pay and then her staff and when she complain he pulled her into his office and asked her if she liked having a house of her own and if her husband liked his job. From that day on she never made another complaint and when Jorge’s first wife was dying she got her permission to retire with a stipend. And when she was in the ground, Jorge moved his favorite mistress into his bedroom and told her that he expected her to show up for work. She told Cristina that Jorge Zedillo knew what he wanted and did not let anyone tell him otherwise. She was glad that she had never been a beauty, and she said that if she looked like Cristina she would leave and never return.
There were vases of roses standing next to each doorway and the lights had been turned down so that shadows hung over each face and body. Still it was as if a light shone on Cristina as she walked into the room. Men and women both stopped talking and stared at her. At the bar she found Selina, looking beautiful herself in a strapless green dress that stopped above her knees. Selina had two older men in jackets and open shirts talking to her, but when Cristina approached both men turned away from Selina and toward her, openly looking her body up and down and then asking her name. Selina introduced her as her boss and then the two men nodded and both said that they had heard of the great beauty visiting from Florida. The one with grey hair said that he had heard that the Zedillos were looking to make Florida part of Mexico, and the other asked Cristina if she was planning on staying. Cristina assured them that the first was not true and that the second remained to be seen. She had seen a great many wonderful things in their country, she said, but she also had her own career and her own home to think about.
Cristina saw both men’s eyes widen before a haughty woman’s voice spoke behind her. “I cannot imagine that anything in Florida could tempt a proper woman to stay,” Alejandra said. She was wearing a red dress with thin straps and a slit that revealed her feminine, powerful leg up to the top of her brown thigh. Her back was bare and the front revealed as much of her larger, firm breasts as Cristina’s dress. Her black hair hung loose around her shoulders, and her eyes were alight with the anger she felt toward the Italian beauty. The two women stared at each other for some time. As they stared, each woman brushed her hair back behind her ear, as if they were mirrors of each other in their agitation and their drawing attention to their faces and their dress, their being compared to each other by the men and the women who were gathering to watch the clash.
“I find that it’s the improper things that tempt me the most,” Cristina said. Next to them was the bartender with a pitcher of clear tequila and a set of glasses he had been filling for the guests. Cristina took a glass of tequila from the bar’s offerings and downed it, turning the glass over and banging it on the bar when she was finished. “Something tells me that you know more about the improper things than you’d like your guests to suppose.”
At that Alejandra smirked, a look that conveyed her disdain for the people who filled her house and her displeasure at being confronted by a woman toward whom showing disdain would play as insincere. “Perhaps the best part of obscene wealth is that one’s own history disappears,” she said, and then she put down a tequila with force equal to Cristina’s. “You should be careful, little girl. Foreigners don’t do so well with our intoxicants. It can be very dangerous.”
“I’m confident that I can handle myself.”
“You certainly seem to be confident in that dress. It looks wonderful on you,” Alejandra said, suddenly leaning in closer. She brushed her hair back off of her shoulder and put her hand on the upper arm of the man with grey hair. “Don’t you think that she looks great in that dress, Umberto?” she asked him, and he nodded stupidly. “So much prettier than the tattered dress and pants you were wearing when you landed here. Only a week, and look at how life here with us has improved you. I just can’t imagine wanting to go back to the slums after seeing yourself in such beauty.” Alejandra had been staring at her the entire time she was talking, and she paused to take another drink of tequila. Cristina drank another as well, and the two women slammed the glasses down at the same time. “But, perhaps the thought of standing next to me every night could send you running back to the shithole you crawled out of.”
Cristina slapped her across the face. Alejandra shrieked as she was spun around but in an instant she slapped Cristina in return. The force of the blow drove Cristina back into the bar. Selina and the two men were moving out of the way as Alejandra came for her. Cristina got her knee up in front of her as the larger woman crashed into her, but Alejandra still cracked her in the face with an elbow. The two women stood leaning on each other, both stunned. Each could feel the hair, the perfume and beauty of the other in her face. They came back to life simultaneously. Cristina hit her in the stomach as Alejandra brought her fist up into her breast and then before Cristina could respond Alejandra grabbed her by the hair and pushed her back across the bar. With a snarl she grabbed the pitcher of tequila and poured its contents into Cristina’s face. Cristina felt as if they had been gagged and blinded by paint fumes. Alejandra slugged her in the stomach and then flung her to the ground. As she fell, Cristina came partway out of her dress.
The other woman was on her before she could regain herself. Pulling hair, slapping, their legs and hips pushing against each other and their breasts falling out of their dresses, the two women rolled back and forth on the floor. Alejandra punched her in the side and then in the breast, and in retaliation Cristina ripped down the front of her dress and sank her teeth into her enormous chest, the brown female flesh hot in her mouth. The woman screamed and pulled with incredible strength at Cristina’s hair, so that Cristina had to let loose of her grip on the woman’s tit. Alejandra got on top of Cristina and banged her head on the floor. Cristina gripped one of her exposed breasts, dangling above her face, and squeezed as she tried to break the grip on her head with her other hand. The shocks rattled her brain, and everything was turning into a screaming madness when the other woman was lifted off of her. Zedillo security men were dragging both women to their feet. Cristina saw that Selina had already been restrained by one of their guards, and she also saw that Isabelle was standing next to her.
Alejandra lunged at her, trying to break free. “Let me go! I’m going to ruin that pretty face of yours!”
Cristina strained against the man’s grip that held her. “You come and get it, slut! You’re just jealous of how your husband looks at me.” When she said that, Alejandra came to a stop. “You didn’t know that he offered to let me stay here as his mistress? I was going to turn him down, but if all your parties are this good, I might have to stay.”
Alejandra stared at her, then leapt forward with such strength that she got free of her man. Cristina kicked her legs out in defense, and the rest of the men got between them before they could start fighting again. “I’m going to fucking kill you!” Alejandra screamed as they took her away.
“You’re welcome to try!” Cristina screamed back.
“Stop it,” Jorge Zedillo Martinez said from the doorway.
“Is this puta lying?” Alejandra hissed at him. “Tell everyone that she’s lying. Go ahead. Let everyone see how you treat me. How you put your selfish perversions ahead of the family.” She jerked her arms away from the guard holding her and stepped toward him. “You want some dumb American to run loose in our family because she has big boobs and a pretty face. That’s all you care about.”
“How dare you,” was all he could reply.
“How dare I?” Alejandra said, laughing. “This is how I dare. I’m going to kick this woman’s ass and throw her out of my house,” Alejandra said to their guests, who had been watching. “You are all welcome to watch.”
Alejandra’s dress had been pulled open in its front, leaving her enormous breasts hanging in the open. Cristina’s dress was in worse shape, ripped completely open. The two women kicked off their shoes and then peeled their ruined dress down their voluptuous bodies. Cristina was left in black panties that came up high on her wide hips, the sweat already beading on the smooth skin of her breasts and her hard nipples catching the dim light of the room. Alejandra was in white panties, cut equally high. Sweat was on her even larger chest and her wider hips as well. Tangled black hair hung down in front of their gorgeous faces. Alejandra was taller than Cristina and broader in the chest and hips as well. As the two women circled each other, their breasts swayed slightly with their paces and the deep breaths they took and the muscles of their thighs flexed and twitched. One could only think of two great lionesses ready to clash, to establish their position, each the embodiment of feminine beauty and competition.
Simultaneously they ran forward and threw their arms around each other. Faces and chests pressed together, they gripped each other around the back, pushing and pulling and turning in circles around the room. They crashed into the bar and came off of it and Alejandra got Cristina tumbling backwards and she drove her into the wall on the far side of the room. Guests dashed out of the path of the two brawling women. The collision knocked the air out of Cristina and Alejandra hit her in the stomach with both fists and then as she bent forward clutching herself Alejandra got her in a headlock. Her face was pressed against the swell of the Mexican woman’s breast. Holding her there Alejandra hit her in the face and before she could hit her again Cristina sucked all the flesh into her mouth that she could and bit down on the tit. Alejandra screamed and let go, staggering away holding her chest with both hands. She was paying no attention to Cristina, and Cristina dove into the back of her knees. The women went down to the floor, Alejandra on her stomach and Cristina on top of her. Cristina punched her in the back repeatedly and then sitting up she yanked Alejandra’s head back by the hair. She held the black hair in one hand like a bridle and pulled so that Alejandra’s entire upper chest came up off the floor. She was going to smash Alejandra’s face against the wood floor but the other woman anticipated the vicious move and planted her arms on the floor. Instead Cristina smashed the side of her fist against Alejandra’s face. At last Alejandra had to use her hand to protect her face but when Cristina tried to smash her head forward the two women ended up rolling on the floor together.
They pulled hair. They slapped faces, asses, sides. They squeezed breasts. And they did it all with their faces pressed tight together, so that the smells and sounds and textures of the other woman were as close as they could be. When the two rolled apart they came up to their knees facing each other, gasping for air, sweat running freely down their magnificent bodies, hatred in their eyes. Cristina slapped her across the face with all her might, and Alejandra was turned away but then she came back and slapped her even harder. Cristina was put face down on the hardwood with such force she could not resist as Alejandra pulled her up by the hair and her arm. Holding her by the hair on the back of her head, their faces pressed side to side, Alejandra punched her in the stomach and breasts over and over. Cristina hit her and managed to spin free, but the larger woman followed her. She punched her across the face, putting Cristina down on her ass. Alejandra went for a wild kick to her face, but Cristina saw it coming and had the presence to sit back so that the foot went flying over her and Alejandra lost her balance and fell to the floor. She banged her head on the wood and Cristina crawled on top of her. Sitting atop her she hit her back and forth but the woman under her was still all strength and fierce violence. She slapped Cristina across the breasts with a blow so sharp it rung out over the yells of the crowd still watching them. Cristina opened her mouth in a silent gasp and thrust down her hands. She put one hand around Alejandra’s throat and the other on her face. But the woman bit her fingers and when Cristina reflexively let go she bucked her off. Cristina found herself on her back now with Alejandra on top of her. The dominant woman thrust her fingers deep into Cristina’s buxom breasts, mauling her with all her strength. Cristina screamed and banged her feet on the floor. The pain was so much and the sight of this beautiful woman on top of her torturing her. Cristina grabbed Alejandra’s larger breasts, swaying above her face, but she could not get a grip in their sweat, her panic, her position. Finally in one last surge she pulled Alejandra’s head by her hair to the side and thrust her hips up and rolled Alejandra off of her.
The women staggered to their feet. Cristina hit her across the face and Alejandra hit her back immediately. Cristina threw a weak slap that Alejandra took and she gripped Cristina by the hair and pushed her head down. She held her in place by the hair and drove knees up into her stomach and chest. Cristina grabbed at the knee crashing up into her and threw a punch into Alejandra’s crotch. It stunned the other woman but did not hurt her enough. The two women stood in front of each other, bent at the waist, gasping, and then they clutched together. They grappled turning in a circle and then Alejandra forced her upright and hit her squarely across the face. Cristina was knocked back into the crowd, who shoved her forward. Alejandra took her by the hair and running with her propelled her onto the bar. With a howl of rage she dragged Cristina along the bar by her hair, pushing her face and chest through the spilled wine and tequila and beer, and then off the bar to the floor. Alejandra pulled the exhausted Italian beauty to her feet and leaned her against the bar. She hit her in the face and then in the stomach and then with an uppercut to her breasts. Cristina moaned and shoved Alejandra in the chest but accomplished nothing. Then Alejandra yelled for the guards to open the double doors that led outside to the back of the mansion. “I told you I was going to throw this bitch out of my house.”
Alejandra dragged her by the hair to the door and shoved her onto the concrete balcony above the pond that made up most of the lawn. Cristina hit against the railing with a thud but forced herself to her feet and turned to face her competitor. The women stood still for some seconds, sucking in air, their bodies lit by the torches outside and the heat of the night air. Their noses and lips were bloodied, their torsos and breasts bruised and aching, yet framed in the light they seemed the avatars of femininity, every inch of them signifying the brutality and the elegance of their fight. They came together for their final test. Cristina ducked Alejandra’s first punch but took another to her stomach. She hit the larger woman across the face and in the chest, but her blows did not have enough effect. Alejandra shrugged them off and with a slap rising from below and behind her hip hit her across the face. Cristina was flung back, colliding with the concrete balcony, and then Alejandra kicked her in the stomach and it was over. Cristina fell to her hands and knees, her entire body convulsing, and Alejandra stood over her. She lifted her head up by the hair and hit her across the face, spilling her prone on the ground. Then she kicked her in the side. Cristina tried to roll away but Alejandra lifted her to her feet. Cristina was turned away and she felt Alejandra snake her arms under her own and clasp her hands behind her head in a full nelson. Alejandra turned her to face the entirety of the party, her hands overhead, her battered face and body on display, and she shook her back and forth so that her breasts wobbled for the guests’ pleasure. Then she turned Cristina and drove her into the balcony and then flipped her over into the pond water.
Cristina landed face down in the water. When she rose, she was covered in muddy water and strings of the lilies that decorated the pond. Before she could react Alejandra landed on her feet beside her. She pulled her up the arms and dragged her through the water and then with a snarl heaved her up onto the grass. Cristina landed on her back, her breasts rising and falling as she gasped for air, her arms and legs splayed out. She was done. Alejandra stood over her. The Mexican beauty’s legs, hips, chest were all outlined sharply in the night. “I told you I was going to kick your ass,” she said, and she sat down across Cristina’s stomach. Cristina weakly put up her arms to defend herself, but Alejandra pinned them down. She leaned forward and smashed her breasts down into Cristina’s face, swinging them back and forth before Cristina could react. “Bite my tits, will you, bitch? Let’s see how you like it.” Alejandra bit down on Cristina’s breast, drawing a scream that filled the estate. By now the guests were gathering around them, and some were calling for Alejandra to stop. Leaning forward so that their faces were only inches away, her hands still pinning Cristina’s, her breasts swaying under her, sweat dripping from her face and chest onto Cristina’s prone body, Alejandra stared down into her eyes. “I’m richer than you are, I’m better looking and I have a better body, and now everyone has seen me throw you out of my house. How you like that, bitch? Ready to have some fun now?” So saying, Alejandra rolled off of her and told her guards to take the beaten Italian woman to the basement.
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Kim... Awesome story.... This saga is one of my favorites!!!! Can't wait to read what happens next!
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I won't be the first to throw praise about a "new" Author of catfight stories - because I only discovered him today.
Kim, you may have been inspired by the legendary J.T. Edson, but you certainly give the ladies more percentage of action space than he did. You describe characters and motives as well as the late Ajax (who left us before these blogs existed) and Cage, though you won't go, or did not step over the gore and death situations they sometimes described.
As tou wrote above, jealousy, whisky, violence, and lust make terrific combinations. And like those three favorite Authors of mine would add, greed, too.
May you add many new fight encounters to this saga, for our enjoyment.
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Thanks everyone!
To address a few things:
1) I'm thinking there will be one more story in Mexico and then 2-3 more back in Florida. That would be the end of this series. I have one or two ideas for a new series that would involve a minor character from this one. We'll see how that goes.
2) I have a lot of admiration for Mr. Cage (who seems to be retired now?) in his ability to craft characters, create situations, and write descriptive passages. This specific series was inspired by my discovering J T Edson's books--I have two other series, one concluded and one aborted (I just felt like it lacked energy) floating around the internet, with a contemporary setting. But yes, I absolutely won't do series injuries or deaths, even if it means bending reality a bit to keep the violence toned down (meaning, yes, when people are punching each other, they get broken noses, eye sockets, and hands, but I won't include it). I also admire whoever wrote the old Michelle/Sue/etc. stories. You can find a few on Diane the Valkyrie's website, and they used to be on an old geocities site I believe, the name of which I'm blanking on. The author did a good job of sketching the characters and handling the action.
Link to one of the Michelle stories, for those not familiar: http://www.thevalkyrie.com/stories/1misc10/vacation.txt
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Swampland Ch 8
By Kim
Cristina was sitting at the brow of her boat as it approached the port for Orlando. The sun was bringing all its empty weight down on her but she did not notice. The port was a set of four buildings made of rotten wood and sagging roofs. More than half of her men had returned from Mexico with her, the rest staying for the chance at higher pay, better equipment, and lower risk than they would ever see at home. She was the only woman on the boat and she was returning with no deal with the Mexicans. Halfway across the Gulf the boat’s engine had broken down. It took the mechanic two days to fix it and when he was done the old wreck had lost half its speed. The day the boat clanged against the dock they had drunk their last water and the day before they had eaten their last food. As the Barnwell men tied the boat into place Cristina climbed slowly onto the dock and then she staggered into the best-kept of the buildings in search of a meal.
She and her men had left Mexico two weeks after her fight with the beauty Alejandra, the new leader of Mexico. The first week she had spent recovering from the beating that she had received, the bruises on her face, thighs, chest, her stomach and back. During this time she had lain in bed, alone, much as she had that morning she had fantasized about taking control of the family and the land from Alejandra, except for the guard outside her door who kept her from leaving. The second week Alejandra’s more beautiful sister Isabelle had come into the room. She was wearing a white robe that could not obscure the luscious curves of her body. She was four inches shorter than her sister and two inches shorter than Cristina, but she carried herself as if she were the center of the world. Without speaking she dropped her robe to reveal her naked body and sitting next to Cristina she bent down and kissed her deeply on the lips. Then turning her over she slapped her hard across the ass and pulled on her hair. “So beautiful,” Isabelle said in her ear.
She held Cristina by the back of her hair and pulled her face to her. Cristina kissed her lightly on the mouth then dragged her lips over her chin and her throat. As Cristina kissed her Isabelle traced the outline of her enormous breasts with her fingers, sliding the edges of her nails over the curves of Cristina’s chest in the lightest way. She flicked Cristina’s nipples with her thumb and then grabbed the entire mound of her breast, squeezing softly at first then harder until Cristina moaned. Cristina pushed Isabelle onto her back. She straddled her and pinned Isabelle’s arms down on the bed and hovering over she stared down into Isabelle’s eyes and smiled. She sucked on her nipples while Isabelle ran her hands through her hair and then pulled on it. Then Cristina kissed her on the stomach and the hips and then kissed her on her pussy and licked her until Isabelle lost herself squirming and moaning. After Cristina was done the two women lay together, spooning, Isabelle with her arm draped over Cristina and absentmindedly playing with her breasts and massaging her stomach and hip.
After Isabelle was done with her they dressed and Isabelle took her to the special room in the basement. Inside were two large beds and a rubber mat covering the floor. Cristina’s woman Selina was already there, on the bed with Alejandra. When Cristina saw her she screamed and ran at her. She collided with Alejandra but at the same time Isabelle struck her from behind. The three of them fell to the mat together but in only seconds of tangling the two Mexican women had her handled. Isabelle pinned down her hands while Alejandra sat on her and threatened to have one of her men smash her teeth if she tried anything like that again. Cristina bucked her hips and Alejandra slapped her back and forth and repeated her threat. The rest of the week Isabelle and Selina did as they pleased with Cristina. Midway through the week Cristina provoked a fight with Selina but after the depravations she had endured she was no match and the Asian looker beat easily enough and then spent the afternoon enjoying the magnificent body she had mastered. In turns or all at once, the women pinched and slapped, licked and kissed her face, breasts, stomach and made her do the same to them. And while Cristina was recovering Selina and Isabelle kissed and licked and fucked.
When the week was over Isabelle came and sat next to her on the bed. She told Cristina that they had drank their fill of her and that she was free to return to Florida with the men who were still with her. Selina would not be going, she said. Rather, she, Isabelle, would be going north to Colorado and she had decided to take Selina with her. “I must say that you have been a remarkably good sport about the past two weeks, more than most would have been,” Isabelle told her, as she slid her finger up her thigh and along the swell of her breast. “One might think that you enjoyed it.” Isabelle went on that she was tired of living where it was hot all the time, and she was tired of being the second sister to Alejandra. She was prettier than Alejandra, and smarter, but her sister had married as well as she could have. “I think that I’m more like you,” Isabelle said. “I don’t want to marry into power. I want to take it. I want to make everyone else recognize my greatness, and I’ll beat them into it if I have to. Of course, I’m a bit prettier than you, and I’d guess that I’m smarter since I’m sitting where I am and you’re where you are. So the comparison only goes so far.”
When she said this, Cristina’s arms and legs tensed, her eyes opened wide. “I suspect that you’d like to continue this comparison,” Isabelle said. “But you’ve had a tough week, and before that you had a very bad night at the hands of my delightful sister. I’m not as large as she is and I’m younger, but I assure you that I’m faster than she is, and I’ve had a good deal of experience in these matters as well.”
“Or you could call your guards in here to hit on me if I come at you.”
“I could,” Isabelle replied. “Or, I could make Selina come in here and fight you again, see if she can give you another beating. You came here on a fool’s errand and you are going back the same. We don’t need Florida for anything and my sister doesn’t want to be in business with a bunch of poor people who live in a swamp without electricity.”
“So she’s letting you go live with the savages in the mountains. So your sister thinks you’re the same as us swamp people, then?”
Isabelle slapped her across the face. It rocked Cristina and before she could respond Isabelle pulled her by the hair off the bed and slung her to the floor. Cristina rolled over ready to be attacked again, but Isabelle had stood and backed away. “If you want to do this, okay. Let’s see what kind of claws you have, bitch.”
Cristina rose and the two women circled. Isabelle was wearing expensive white shorts and a white top, and her body made clear its athletic ability as well as its femininity in the swell of her breast and the lean strength of her stomach and legs. Her black hair framed her beautiful face, the wild strands of her hair in contrast to her intelligence and her fierce spirit in her face and eyes. Cristina rushed at her but Isabelle jabbed her in the face as she came and then dancing to the side hit her in the breast. Cristina grunted in pain but she swung around and slapped Isabelle across the face. Isabelle was spun around by the blow and Cristina grabbed her from behind. She threw both arms around her and squeezed and braced herself to lift Isabelle up and throw her to the ground. Isabelle grunted with pain but she twisted and spun free of her grasp. There was surprising strength and speed in her body. As Isabelle turned to face her Cristina hit her across the face. But Isabelle took the hit and punched her in the stomach and the breast and then shoved her back into the wall with a loud thud and then put her hands around her neck and choked her. Cristina pried at her hands and then started hitting her in the head and body. Isabelle let go of her neck but then rammed her knee up into her stomach. Cristina was banged into the wall again and she fell to the ground, stunned and out of breath. Isabelle was going to kick her in the ribs when the guards knocked the door open and separated the two women.
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On the trip back across the Gulf of Mexico in the rickety boat, Cristina sat in her cabin. The first day Cristina used her satellite phone to tell Allison Barnwell the results of the endeavor in a brief call. The men who returned with her played cards and smoked the cigarettes they had stolen from the store near the docks and their mechanic repaired the engine when the oil it had been leaking caught fire. She could feel the decrepit engine vibrating the metal surrounding her and the men yelling at each other and fighting and she could feel their desperation. They would have abandoned her and hired on with the Mexicans, as Selina had, would the Mexican family have accepted them as they had Selina. Now Cristina was limping across the Gulf in a metal shitpot with nothing to show for her trip except bruises and losses. She was in the same situation her father had been, bouncing from one job to the next except that she was on the water and he had been floating above it. She had allowed herself to become one of the people being used. She still had her looks and she could still convince men to do what she wanted but that had gotten her a trip in someone else’s deathtrap and an asskicking from a more beautiful woman.
After the boat docked, two of their men took Cristina to the Barnwells’ private house. Cristina noted the parallels to her drive with Zedillo’s men—who were now more Alejandra’s than the old man’s, thanks in part to her incompetence—to their mansion, except that the Barnwell’s house was isolated in a swamp rather than in the middle of a functioning city. And it was smaller. The men led Cristina inside to an office in the back of the house. She was wearing tight jeans and a newly made shirt that Isabelle had given her when she left, a sort of payment for their time together. Few people in Florida had clothes less than a decade old, and the woman who served as Allison’s assistant took notice of her fresh appearance as well as the men did. The paint was peeling away from the wall, and the room had the stench of mold to it despite the sputter of the air conditioning unit mounted in the window. Cristina was told to wait in the chair until Allison was ready to see her.
As Cristina waited, a busty redhead came in and sat on the couch opposite her. It was Amy, who had become Brandy’s right hand. Her curly hair hung down to her shoulders and framed a beautiful face that wore openly its disdain for Cristina. She had on tight jeans and a tighter shirt that revealed the curves and strength of her feminine body, her flat stomach perpendicular against the sweep of her hips. The women became more tense, each deliberately not looking at the other. Cristina crossed her legs and shook her foot; the other woman flipped her red hair and sighed in a loud voice that grated on Cristina. Amy sighed again and stuck out her imposing chest as she did and the two women locked eyes.
“Do you mind not making that noise?” Cristina asked.
“Do you mind not being a dumb cxnt who cost us all a bunch of money?”
Cristina and Amy rose to their feet simultaneously, fists ready, alert and breathing hard. At that moment Allison Barnwell came out of her office and barked at them both to get inside. She indicated for Cristina to sit in the chair facing her desk as she sat, and Amy stood behind her as she spoke. Behind Amy was a set of French doors onto a patio, and beyond the patio was a natural pond about 50 yards across. A ring of trees and overgrown grass and shrubs surrounded the pond, and Cristina stared at the greenage while Allison spoke. Her husband had moved to Atlanta to develop their business interests there. Alejandra Zedillo had become the head of the family business and she had cut off the Barnwells for good for their insults Cristina had made to her and the incompetence she represented. The Zedillos were now looking to make a connection to Colorado, Allison told her, her frown deepening, where the crops grew better and some people were working to re-establish an actual state, with dependable laws and electricity. She would be moving to Atlanta to join her husband once the transition was complete.
“And Brandy is going to be taking over the business down in your old part of town,” she concluded.
“Doesn’t this seem like an overreaction? It’s one piece of bad news. Only a few weeks ago you were looking to expand your business with Mexico, now you’re moving north?”
“We were always moving north, honey. Just looking for the best way to do it. I don’t want to spend my last years melting down here.”
“So where does that leave me?”
“On the trashpile, where you belong,” Amy said.
“She your new bodyguard? Bit of a weakling.”
“I’ll show you what I can do.”
“She is a liaison for right now. It takes communication to maintain relationships. Brandy understands that, but I’m sorry to say that that’s something you never figured out, Cristina.”
“She’s telling you that you aren’t wanted here anymore,” Amy said. She stepped in front of the desk and crossed her arms across her large chest. “And you should know that your friend Selina had been working with me before you left. We turned her, and you never knew about it. Then you lost her because you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”
Cristina rose and stepped right up to her. Their faces were nearly touching. “You want to get rid of me, you fat bitch?”
“Do you two want to do this?” Allison asked.
“I’m ready if she is,” Amy said.
“I’m going to rip your tits off,” Cristina said.
“Then you two can go outside and settle it like women.”
Cristina and Amy went out the French doors and across the patio and into the field next to the pond. Both of them kicked off their shoes as they crossed the patio and the grass was warm under Cristina’s feet. The swing of their hips and the gentle swaying of their breasts bare under their thin shirts, their nipples clear and hard through the material in the rush of adrenaline before their fight, as they walked with purpose and desire. They were walking side by side, out of reach of an early attack and so that they could see each other. When they were in the clearing among the trees they turned toward each other. They circled like two great cats, hair erect and claws flexing in their eagerness to rip each other apart, the Italian brunette and Florida redhead equals in stature and allure. There was no sound other than the chirping of birds, no audience to stimulate.
The redhead rushed forward and slapped the brunette across the face and the brunette slapped her back. Amy threw another slap and Cristina grabbed her hair and pulled her in close. The two women grappled, breasts pushed together, each with one arm gripping at the other’s back and the other driving punches into her opponent’s stomach and side. Their legs and hips twisted and writhed in their struggle. They went down into the grass still clinging together, churning over. They pulled hair, their buxom bodies pressed together, sweat now running freely and mixing with the grass and dirt as they grunted and panted. Amy got on top of Cristina and slapped her across the face, hard, stunning her, and then ripped open her shirt with a triumphant snarl. In response Cristina threw a hooking punch into Amy’s breast that sent her tumbling off of her, screeching in pain. The two women came to their feet, Amy holding her breast and Cristina tossing aside the remains of her shirt.
“That was a new shirt, you white camp bitch,” Cristina hissed.
“Then do something about it.”
The two great cats struck at each other again. They threw wild punches at each other and after some exchanges Cristina nailed Amy across the jar, spinning the redhead around and when she was facing away and stunned Cristina threw her arm across her neck. The two women stumbled about like that, back to front, Cristina holding her in place and choking her and Amy trying to break free, the two grinding against each other in their struggle. Then Cristina yanked and pulled at Amy’s shirt and sliding her hand up under the material she grabbed the enormous breast underneath and squeezed. Amy grunted and threw her elbow back into Cristina’s stomach with all her strength. Cristina lost her hold and stumbled back, clutching herself, and then with a snarl Amy dove into her and the two went down into the dirt again. They rolled back and forth, a writhing fury of catfighting: yanking hair and slapping faces, their hands all over each other’s bodies as they mauled each other. Cristina got on top of her and pulled Amy’s shirt up so that it covered her face and then slugged her across the face and when she was stunned she hit her in the stomach and breasts. Amy struggled under her and Cristina hit her in the face again and then Amy bucked her hips up and rolled her off.
Again the two female brawlers came to their feet, both of them now topless and their jeans tight as skin as Amy took off her ruined shirt. Sweat glistening on their skin, streaks of dirt and grass crossing their torsos, magnificent feminine globes rising and falling on their chests as they gasped for air, hair matted to their foreheads and shoulders, beautiful faces contorted in equal parts rage and exhaustion. They walked deliberately toward each other to finish their fight. They fistfought with the last of their strength. Amy hit Cristina across the face, Cristina slugged her in the stomach and then when she was bent over she kneed her in the breasts. Amy knocked her senseless with a blow to the temple and Cristina backpedaled until her head cleared. Slower and slower they moved, feet plodding through the tall grass, throwing punches into each other’s faces, chests and stomachs. Cristina ducked under a haymaker and punched her in the stomach as she went past, driving the wind from her, and then while Amy was facing away from her Cristina gripped her hair like a bridle and punched her in the back. Amy weakened and fell down to her hands and knees and Cristina stood over her, still holding on to hair, and punched her in the side of the face and head. Amy was moaning with each blow but then she reached back and tripped Cristina. Cristina went to the ground but she was getting back to her feet before Amy could. Amy pivoted and lunged forward, her head down and arms reaching out, trying to ram Cristina, but she was too fatigued and moving too slowly. Cristina blocked her and turned her to the side and Amy went to the ground. She lay sprawled on her back, breasts rising and sinking, staring up at the sun. Cristina sat on her face, Amy’s arms under her powerful thighs, and she punched her in the stomach and her breasts until Amy stopped moving under her. Then she sank her claws into Amy’s chest, mashing and kneading the feminine flesh, as Amy mewed weakly under her. She sat up, hands resting on her knees, gasping for air, sweat pouring into her eyes, and she pushed her black hair back behind her ears and stared down at the magnificent body of the woman who lay beaten under her and then when her desire was satiated she rose and stumbled back to the Barnwells’ house.
***********************
Cristina was alone in her bedroom. She could hear the yelling and camaraderie from her bar and the rain pounding the roof above her. She was sitting on her bed, her legs curled under her and her forearms braced on her knees, and then she rose and stretched her body. She put on her red panties, her black stockings, sliding each up her muscular legs, and then her red demi bra with her voluptuous breasts spilling over the thin material. She had spent the last of her money on the red dress that hung on the closet door, and she paused to look at herself in the mirror before putting it on. She admired the curves and the force of her body. The dress when she put it on emphasized her hips, her breasts, her legs, every inch of her, and her black hair framed the beauty of her face. She put on the lipstick and eye shadow she had gotten from Talia Eason and looked at herself one last time and then left her bedroom.
The mud was thick in the streets and the entirety of the slums and when Cristina had arrived at The Swampland her shoes were ruined. She kicked them off and checked herself as she passed by the glass front of the whorehouse. She tossed her umbrella aside at the door and despite it her head and body had become soaked in her trek. The black tresses hung around her face and the dress clung to the wetness of her skin and it was as if she were alight with sensuality. As she entered the bar men and women both stepped aside for her. The women stared with envy and the men with desire and she ignored both of them. She went to the bar and said that she was there to speak with the cxntslack Brandy Connor. One of the whores went upstairs and the nearest bartender poured her a whiskey that she downed. She refused the second. While Cristina had been in Mexico Brandy had started remodeling the bar. There were two-by-fours nailed into place that would double the length of the bar and two new poker tables in the middle of the floor.
“Looks like you’ve come into some money,” Cristina observed to the bartender. The man ignored her and went to wipe down the bar at the far end.
“Run a business right, it grows,” Brandy said from behind her. “Run it like a slack-jawed bitch, it dies.”
Cristina turned, expecting to be rushed, but Brandy was standing with her hands on her hips some twenty feet from her. Everyone had cleared the space between the two women. The Swampland’s manager was wearing a blue dress that exposed the deep valley of her white cleavage and the broad sway of her powerful hips. Her blonde hair lay in curls about her shoulders, and her beautiful face evidenced nothing but contempt for the brunette smuggler. The sweat of the thick night air hung on her skin as the water beaded on the skin of the other woman. Cristina turned completely to face her and the two women stared at each.
“Bold talk for someone who got her ass kicked last time.”
“You here to try me again?”
“I’m here to take away everything you have.”
“And I’m here because I owe you an ass-kicking for what you did to Amy a few weeks ago.”
“I’m going to take a great deal of pleasure giving the same to you.”
“This is between us,” Brandy said to her men. “No one interferes.”
The two women began circling. They stared into each other’s eyes, their hands out to their sides and their breath quickening. Brandy tried to throw a slap but Cristina ducked under it and slugged her in the stomach. Brandy grunted and was driven back a step but when Cristina tried to hit her with a wild right to the face the blonde lunged to the side and out of the way. Cristina rushed her but Brandy hit her with a short punch to the chest and then slapped her across the face as she covered herself with both hands. The two women came together in a clinch and turning in a circle they punched each other in the sides. Cristina shoved her away and Brandy stumbled as she hit the table and then she fell to the floor. As she got back to her feet Cristina grabbed hold of her hair and holding her in place slugged her across the face. Then she brought her to her feet and hit her with a left and right to the face. The blonde toppled back to the floor and Cristina dove atop her. The two women rolled over each other, pulling hair and hitting as best they could. At last Brandy got on top of her and slapped her face with rights and lefts and then she pounded her head on the ground. Cristina reached up and grabbed hold of her breasts, ripping away the front of the blue dress as she did. Brandy screamed in pain and got off of her.
Cristina pulled herself to her feet on one of the new poker tables. Her hair, face, and dress showed the signs of her fight. Brandy looked much the same, with the front of her dress torn away and her buxom breasts swinging freely as she moved. The two women stopped and drew sharp breaths and then snarling ran at each other. Brandy reached for Cristina’s hair but the Italian beauty lowered herself and put her shoulder into the chest of the other woman. She drove her legs forward with all her strength and rammed Brandy into the wall. Cristina tried to raise herself up to punish the blonde but she found herself held in place. Despite the force with which she hit the wall Brandy clamped her arm around Cristina’s neck in a headlock and with her other arm pounded her fist into her back. In return Cristina hit her in the thigh and the side but neither woman could make sufficient impact. After the two had beaten on each other in this fashion Brandy lifted her feet from the ground and they fell in a tangle on the floor. Scrambling and grunting in their effort they pulled hair, their bodies straining against each other in the most feminine style, breast to breast and hip to hip with their legs intertwined and all of themselves struggling against the other woman. Brandy got Cristina pinned against the wall and after slapping her face repeatedly she slugged her in the stomach with all her strength. Then she hauled the Italian to her feet by her hair and wrapping her left fist around the material of the front of her already ruined dress she slugged her across the face with a wild right. The dress tore away and Cristina was sent tumbling through a table and set of chairs to the floor. She lay motionless at first, her dress ripped entirely open, her breasts rising and falling as she gasped for air. The force of the punch sent Brandy into the table as well nearly as spent as her opponent.
Cristina rolled onto her stomach and tried to push herself up but Brandy was first. She brought her foot down onto her back, driving her into the floor, and then she kicked her in the side. Then she bent over and dragged the remains of Cristina’s dress off of her shapely body. Cristina swiped her hands to ward off her tormentress but Brandy had the once-beautiful dress away from her too quickly and too easily. She paraded the red shambles for the crowd of the The Swampland, who cheered and applauded. And then Brandy draped the red cloth across her own ruined dress, sashaying and gyrating for their entertainment. Cristina saw that the blonde was mocking her and in a new rage she pushed herself to her feet and came after her. Brandy turned to face her but Cristina slapped her across the face and hit her in the stomach and as she was bent over she drove her knee up into her chest. The blow put the blonde down on her hands and knees and Cristina in her exhaustion fell down on top of her. She got behind her and locked her legs around the blonde’s waist. Then while squeezing as she could with her thighs she clamped onto her breasts and mauled her. In her pain Brandy writhed and yelled and pulled at the hands on her breasts. At last Brandy twisted around and snapped her elbow back into Cristina’s face. She was stunned and she lost her hold of the blonde.
The black- and yellow-haired brawlers lay side by side on the ground. Slowly they got to their knees, the two of them now topless and wearing only their panties and the remains of their stockings. The ruins of their dresses and bras were on the floor but their feminine desire was unquenched and they crashed together on their knees, breast to breast, hands dug into hair. They rose to their feet together. Brandy was the first to let go and she hit Cristina in the stomach. But the brunette took it and turning her hips she flung the blonde into the bar. Brandy slumped face down on the wood. Christina hit her in the back and then she lifted her head up by the hair and slammed it down into the bar. Then she lifted her off the bar again and turned her around and shoved her so that her back struck against the wood again. The women stood facing each other. Their large breasts topped by erect nipples, the sleek lines of their torsos running down to their wide hips and legs all running with the honest sweat of their exertions.
Christina turned her around and wrenching her head by the hair and her arm up her back propelled her toward the door. But as they rushed outside Brandy grabbed the doorframe and sent the two women spinning into the quagmire of the street. Rain was pouring down and they slid through the mud. Cristina was sitting up when her blonde opponent leapt upon her. The two churned over each other in the mud, yanking hair, slapping bodies, mauling breasts. The Swampland’s entire constituency watched them fight. At last Brandy was straddling her and Cristina could not push her off. Brandy slapped her across the face and then took both of her breasts in her hands and squeezed. Cristina sobbed as she tried to pull the hands off and then she hit Brandy across the face and hit her breasts but she did not have the strength left to hurt the woman as she was hurting her and then she was crying out with pain and rage and humiliation. Then Brandy rotated so that she was sitting facing the other direction, with Cristina’s arms under her womanly thighs, and she slapped and squeezed her breasts and pounded her stomach until Cristina felt that she had died. When Brandy finally stood, Cristina rolled over in the mud, covering herself, unable even to cry or say that she gave.
Brandy rolled her onto her back and stood over her. Cristina was forced to look up at the jutting breasts and beautiful face outlined by the flickering lights of the street and the pounding hot rain. “And don’t,” Brandy panted, “you show your ugly fucking face here again.”
THE END
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Wow-just keeps getting worse for Christina.
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Yeah, and it's going to stay that way as that's the end of the series. Currently thinking about the next series (which might be shorter than this one, which was in turn shorter than the first one I wrote), but realistically it's going to be a little while before I can start writing.
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Wow what a nice series. Well written :-*