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This is a curiosity question. I am curious what types of matches the members are interesting in seeing or participating in. This can be real, fantasy, polls, or cyber. You can vote for as many options as you want or only 1 if that is your only category of interest. Thanks in advance for participating! If you have other categories I may have overlooked, please comment.

9

Catfighting / Wife and neighbor - rematch

« Last post by York on Today at 05:33:09 PM »

Where my wife Jenny has a second fight with our neighbor Christine.

At last I have found the time to write down - with the help of AI - the fight that is following the result of the poll.

https://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php?topic=123248.0

I have made some images that I am adding as I think they can describe better the fight.

My wife Jenny {alt}

Christine, the neighbor {alt}

=====================

Jenny tightened the straps of her sports bra in front of the bathroom mirror, her knuckles whitening as she pulled harder than necessary.
The faint yellow bruise under her ribcage had mostly faded, but the memory hadn't.
She pressed two fingers against the spot and exhaled sharply through her nose.

"Still thinking about it?" I asked from the doorway, watching her reflection.
The way her dark eyes flicked to mine told me everything before she spoke.
"Yes...of course..." Jenny hissed back, her fingers tracing the faded bruise again.
"I want to kick her ass and cancel that damn smirk from her face every time she looks at me."

Her jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitch.
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Fine," I said, turning toward the door.
"But if you're doing this again, there's gonna be rules."
Jenny didn't respond, just kept staring at her reflection like she was visualizing Christine's face in the mirror instead of her own.

The gravel crunched under my shoes as I crossed the yard to Christine's place.
The air smelled like cut grass and gasoline—her son must've been trimming the lawn earlier.
I knocked twice, harder than necessary, before Christine swung the door open.
She was barefoot, wearing a tank top and shorts, her blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail.
The smirk Jenny had mentioned was already there.
"Well, well," she drawled. "What brings you over, hubby? Here to beg for mercy before round two?"

"No," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets.
"Just setting some rules for the fight. I don't want either of you getting injured badly."
Christine sighed, rolling her eyes so hard I could almost hear it.
"Okay...so what do you propose?"
Her fingers drummed against the doorframe, impatient, like she had better things to do than entertain my attempts at damage control.

"Well, no punches or breaking bones," I said, "but only sort of wrestling, blocking till one gives up or cannot continue."
My throat felt dry. The words tasted like surrender already.
Christine smiled. "I am fine with that," she said, her fingers still tapping the doorframe.
Then she leaned forward, close enough that I caught the sharp citrus of her perfume mixed with sweat.
"But I want one further rule. The winner takes the loser as her personal slave for the weekend. I wanna teach your bitch of a wife a lesson once and for all."
Her grin widened, showing teeth. "Unless Jenny’s too scared to agree?"

I clenched my jaw. This wasn't just a fight anymore—it was humiliation packaged in rules.
But before I could respond, Christine tilted her head, her smirk turning predatory.
"What ? You think she can’t handle it? Or are you scared of what I’ll do to her?"
Her laughter was low, mocking. "I think she’ll be happy with the rules. Having you as her slave."
Christine laughed loud. "She will be a perfect slave, and once I give her back to you, she’ll be rendered like a soft doll."

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my throat. Jenny wasn’t going to back down, not with Christine twisting the knife like this.
"Fine," I bit out, turning on my heel before I said something stupid. Gravel skittered under my shoes as I walked away.
Behind me, Christine called out, voice dripping with amusement,
"Tell her to wear something easy to clean! She’s gonna be on her knees a lot!"

Saturday morning arrived humid and thick, the air clinging to skin like damp gauze.
Jenny stood in front of our bedroom mirror, rolling her shoulders in slow circles.
The white shirt clung to her torso, translucent enough to outline the lack of bra beneath, the dark nipples stark against her skin.
She yanked the hem of her jeans higher, adjusting the waistband before strapping on those thigh-high boots—
black leather, snug enough to creak when she flexed her calves.
"She likes kicking," Jenny muttered, running a palm down one boot’s curve. "Not this time."

She turned to me abruptly, fingers hooking into my belt loops to drag me close.
Her kiss was hot, insistent, teeth catching my bottom lip just shy of pain.
When she pulled back, her breath smelled faintly of mint and adrenaline.
"Good luck, darling," I murmured against her ear, my fingers tracing the tense line of her spine.
She exhaled sharply—almost a laugh—but didn’t reply, just squeezed my hips once before letting go.

Then she turned and walked out. The back door creaked as she shoved it open, stepping into the golden haze of late morning.
I watched her nice ass swaying in those tight jeans with every deliberate stride, the leather boots flexing at the ankles.
The gravel path crunched under her steps, kicking up tiny pebbles as she headed straight for Christine’s back garden, shoulders squared like she was marching into war.

Christine was already there, standing proud with her hands on her hips beneath the twisted branches of the old oak tree.
The red shirt clung to her torso, unbuttoned just enough to show the swell of her tits and the matching ankle boots gleamed under the dappled sunlight. She cocked her head when Jenny approached, that smirk already curling her lips.
"Took you long enough," she drawled, rolling her shoulders back. "Thought you might’ve chickened out."

Jenny didn’t blink. She stepped forward until she was close enough to smell Christine’s perfume—something floral and sharp, like crushed petals and sweat. The air between them crackled, thick with the scent of cut grass and impending violence.
"I’m here to shut that big mouth of yours," Jenny said, her voice low and steady. "And I shall piss in your face this time."

Christine barked a laugh, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.
"Oh, sweetheart," she purred, rolling onto the balls of her feet, "you couldn’t piss straight if I held your hips for you."
Then, without warning, she lunged. Jenny barely sidestepped in time—Christine’s hand grazed her temple, close enough to ruffle her dark hair.

{alt}

The air between them crackled with the scent of sunscreen and sweat as Jenny retaliated, driving a knee toward Christine’s ribs.
Christine twisted, taking the blow on her hip instead with a grunt.
Their bodies collided again, leather boots scraping against dirt as they grappled near the oak’s gnarled roots.

{alt}

Christine’s fingers dug into Jenny’s biceps, her muscles corded with effort as she tried to wrench her off-balance.
Jenny hissed, twisting her wrist free and slamming her palm against Christine’s collarbone—but the blonde barely staggered. Instead, she hooked a leg behind Jenny’s knee and shoved. Jenny hit the ground hard, the impact punching the air from her lungs in a sharp gasp.

Christine loomed over her, grinning, her tank top riding up to expose taut abs glistening with sweat.

{alt}

"Told you," she panted, planting a knee on Jenny’s thigh. "I am much stronger."
Jenny’s fingers shot out, clamping onto the front of Christine’s shirt. With a snarl, she yanked—hard.
Fabric tore like wet paper, buttons pinging against the oak’s trunk.
Christine’s breasts sprang free, pale and heavy in the dappled sunlight.
"You little damn bitch," Christine spat, glancing down at the ruined shirt flapping loose around her waist.
"You ruined my—" Jenny didn’t let her finish. She bucked her hips, throwing Christine sideways into the dirt and lunged atop her,
knees pinning the blonde’s thighs. Christine’s laughter was breathless, her nipples pebbling against the sudden rush of air.

"Like what you see?" she taunted, arching her back.
Jenny snarled, grabbing Christine’s wrists and slamming them into the grass.
The blonde grunted, twisting her hips—but Jenny had leverage, her thighs squeezing tighter until Christine’s breath hitched.
"Give up," Jenny hissed, leaning down until their noses almost touched.
Christine’s smirk wavered, her pupils dilating as Jenny’s sweat dripped onto her collarbone.
"Or what?" she gasped, bucking again.
Jenny’s lips curled. "Or I’ll make you."

Their grappling turned frenzied, limbs tangling as they rolled across the lawn.
Christine’s knee found Jenny’s stomach—a sharp jab that made her wheeze—but Jenny retaliated by yanking
Christine’s hair hard enough to wrench her head sideways.
The blonde yelped, her nails raking down Jenny’s arms as they tumbled into a patch of dandelions.
Dirt clung to their skin, mixing with sweat as Christine hooked a leg around Jenny’s waist and flipped them.
Now on top, she pinned Jenny’s wrists above her head, her breasts heaving.
"Still think you can piss on me?" she panted, grinding her hips down. Jenny arched, teeth bared—then suddenly bucked, throwing Christine off-balance.

Christine scrambled to regain control, but Jenny was faster.
She twisted, wrapping her thighs around Christine’s torso in a scissor hold, leather boots locking behind the blonde’s back.
Christine gagged, her face flushing as the pressure squeezed her ribs.
Jenny leaned in, her breath hot against Christine’s ear.
"Tap out," she whispered, tightening her legs until Christine’s gasp turned into a strangled groan.
Christine clawed at Jenny’s thighs, her nails leaving red streaks, but Jenny didn’t relent.

The air reeked of crushed grass and desperation.
Christine’s muscles trembled, her breaths coming in shallow bursts. Her smirk was long gone, replaced by a grimace of exertion.
She bucked once, twice—useless—before her body sagged.
Jenny felt the shift, the way Christine’s resistance melted into exhaustion.
"Say it," Jenny growled, loosening her grip just enough to let Christine suck in a ragged breath.
Christine’s lips parted, but instead of surrendering, she spat in Jenny’s face.
The saliva trickled down Jenny’s cheekbone like a tear.

Jenny didn’t flinch. She wiped it away with the back of her wrist, her dark eyes glinting with something feral.
Then she leaned in, her weight pressing Christine deeper into the dirt.
"Wrong move," she murmured, her voice low and dangerous.
Her thighs clamped tighter around Christine’s waist, the leather of her boots creaking with the strain.

Christine gasped, her chest rising futilely against Jenny’s smothering weight.
The scent of crushed dandelions and sweat thickened the air between them.
From my spot near the fence, I could see Christine’s body squirming under Jenny—her fingers clawing at Jenny’s thighs,
her hips jerking in desperate, futile thrusts. The fight had drained from her movements, replaced by ragged exhaustion.
Jenny had her pinned, her breathing steady despite the exertion. My pulse hammered in my throat.
*Finish it already,* I thought, willing Jenny to press her advantage.
The sooner this was over, the sooner we could all walk away—well, most of us.
Christine wouldn’t be walking anywhere if Jenny had her way.

Then I noticed Christine’s hands twitching, her fingers flexing as if testing their strength.
A slow, calculated shift—her palms sliding up Jenny’s sweat-slick arms, her wrists twisting subtly to avoid Jenny’s notice.
Jenny, still riding the adrenaline high, didn’t register the movement.
Not until Christine’s hands shot up, fingers clamping around Jenny’s throat with a sudden, vicious grip.
Jenny gasped, her eyes widening as Christine pushed upward, leveraging her entire upper body strength to lift Jenny’s torso off her—just enough to break Jenny’s hold on her wrists.
The sudden shift threw Jenny off-balance, her thighs loosening fractionally around Christine’s waist.
Christine seized the moment, bucking her hips violently to dislodge Jenny’s legs.

Jenny barely had time to register the betrayal—her body flung sideways by the force of Christine’s thrust, her back slamming into the dirt with a dull thud.
The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, leaving her momentarily stunned, blinking up at the dappled sunlight filtering through the oak leaves above. Christine loomed over her, chest heaving, blonde hair streaked with dirt and tangled with torn grass.
A trickle of blood from her lower lip dripped onto Jenny’s collarbone, warm and metallic-smelling.

But Christine didn’t pounce.
Instead, she slid alongside Jenny’s sprawled form with deliberate grace, her leather boots scraping against the dirt
as she positioned herself behind Jenny’s shoulders.
Jenny twisted, attempting to roll away, but Christine’s knee pressed hard into her ribs, pinning her in place.
“Oh no, sweetheart,” Christine murmured, her voice low and honeyed with menace. “You don’t get to run this time.”

With a fluid motion, she wrapped one arm around Jenny’s throat from behind, her forearm pressing snugly against the delicate hollow beneath Jenny’s jaw. Jenny’s hands flew up instinctively, clawing at Christine’s forearm—but the blonde only tightened her grip, her other hand gripping the back of Jenny’s head to angle it just so, deepening the choke.
Jenny’s movements turned frantic, her legs kicking uselessly at the dirt, her boots sending up little clouds of dust as she struggled. But Christine’s thighs bracketed Jenny’s torso like iron clamps, her knees digging into Jenny’s ribs from behind, leaving no space for leverage.

The panic should have been immediate—wild thrashing, desperate gasps—but Jenny’s face remained eerily composed.
Only her eyes betrayed her, darting side to side as she calculated, her fingers scrabbling for purchase against Christine’s sweat-slick skin.
The choke was flawless, clinical—no wasted energy, just steady pressure that squeezed Jenny’s windpipe with ruthless efficiency.
Christine leaned in, her lips brushing Jenny’s ear as she exhaled slow and warm, her words deliberate.

“That’s it…just like that,” she coaxed, her voice velvet with mock sweetness.
Jenny’s hands twitched weakly, her nails scraping Christine’s forearm one last time before her fingers slackened, her arms collapsing limply into the dirt. The fight left her body in slow increments—her thighs stilled, her toes curled tight inside the leather boots before relaxing.
Christine watched, rapt, as Jenny’s eyelids fluttered, her gaze drifting unfocused toward the sky as her mouth fell open in a silent gasp.
Still keeping her hold on Jenny with the right arm, Christine moved now the left one in front, going down Jenny’s open shirt,
touching her naked tits, then down inside the front of her jeans, till her entire hand disappeared inside.

Then she began moving. Her fingers worked with methodical precision, curling against Jenny’s slick heat, her thumb pressing firm circles where she knew Jenny was most sensitive. Jenny jerked weakly, a soft whimper escaping her parted lips—half protest, half surrender—as Christine’s grip on her throat loosened just enough to let her breathe.
But the reprieve was fleeting; Christine’s fingers dug deeper, her wrist twisting in a way that made Jenny’s hips buck involuntarily against her palm.

“That’s right,” Christine purred, her breath hot against Jenny’s flushed cheek. “Let’s see how tough you really are.”
Jenny’s moans came in ragged bursts, her body trembling between Christine’s thighs like a live wire. Her hands, once clawing for escape, now fisted uselessly in the dirt, her nails carving crescent moons into the earth.
Christine’s fingers moved faster, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet of the yard.
Jenny’s back arched, her leather boots scraping against the grass as her thighs clenched around Christine’s invading hand.
A strangled cry tore from her throat when Christine crooked her fingers just so—her body locking tight for one suspended moment before shuddering violently.

Christine withdrew her glistening fingers with a slow, deliberate drag, holding them up for Jenny to see before smearing
the slickness across Jenny’s parted lips.
“Good girl,” Christine whispered, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction as she watched Jenny’s dazed expression.
A dark stain bloomed across the front of Jenny’s jeans, the fabric clinging obscenely to her thighs.

But Jenny barely registered the humiliation.
Her vision swam, her limbs leaden as Christine leaned in again, her forearm pressing back against Jenny’s throat with renewed purpose. “But now I have to finish this…” Christine said loud, her fingers tightening mercilessly.
Jenny’s hands fluttered weakly at her sides, her breath coming in shallow, useless gasps as the edges of her vision darkened.
Christine’s smirk was the last thing she saw before everything went black, her body going completely limp beneath the blonde’s relentless grip.
Christine held the choke a moment longer—just to be sure—before finally releasing her, letting Jenny’s lifeless form slump into the dirt with a dull thud.
The winner stood up, placing one foot over my wife's sleeping face.

{alt}

"So, that's it..." she said looking at me, her boot pressing down just enough to make Jenny’s cheek squish against the ground.

{alt}

Christine’s chest rose and fell with exertion, her torn shirt barely clinging to her sweat-slicked shoulders.
She tilted her head, studying my reaction with those predator’s eyes.
“You saw the rules,” she reminded me, grinding her heel lightly against Jenny’s slack jaw.

“She lost. Which means—” her grin widened—“she’s mine now.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of the agreement settling like a stone in my gut.
Christine’s fingers curled around the ankle of Jenny’s boot, the leather squeaking as she tugged.
My wife’s body jerked limply across the grass, her arms flopping like a discarded doll’s.

A thin trail of saliva glistened on her chin. Christine didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate—just dragged her prize toward the house,
Jenny’s hips bouncing over uneven ground. The hem of her ruined shirt rode up, exposing the faint tremor of her abs, still twitching from the aftershocks of her forced climax. At the back door, Christine crouched, sliding one arm under Jenny’s knees and the other behind her shoulders.
She lifted her effortlessly—Jenny’s head lolling back, her dark hair swaying like a curtain—before cradling her against her chest.
The sight was surreal: Christine’s bare breasts pressed against Jenny’s damp shirt, her muscles flexing as she adjusted her grip.
She paused at the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder with a grin that sent a chill down my spine.

“Oh, and hubby?” she called, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “I’ll send you photos of her training.” Her gaze flicked down to Jenny’s slack face, her thumb brushing a smudge of dirt from her cheekbone. “You’ll love them.” The door clicked shut behind her, sealing Jenny inside.

===========

During the following 48 hours I received several photos from Christine, showing how she was "training" my now tamed wife.
Let me know if you like to watch them and I could add them below.

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