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Catfighting / Therapy Session (Part 8)
« Last post by AIWriter on Today at 03:43:20 AM »
Elise didn’t move yet. She let the silence draw long enough that it seemed to have its own pulse. Then, quietly, she asked, “Why does not knowing scare you, Morgan?”
Morgan hesitated. “Because it means I’m not in control. I’ve built my life around clarity, around understanding the motives of others. But this—this is different. It’s not theory. It’s me.” She looked down at her hands, unclasping them. “If I knew which woman I was, maybe I could make peace with it. But I don’t. I’m both. I want to resist, and I want to surrender.”

Elise listened intently. “That’s a rare kind of honesty,” she said. “And maybe that’s what’s always drawn you to these moments. They refuse simple categories.”
Alan spoke up then, voice quiet but sure. “I think I see which one you are.”

Morgan’s head lifted slightly, eyes sharp with surprise. “You do?”

He nodded. “You’re the one holding on. You want to understand everything—even the struggle itself. But part of you knows that the only way to really feel it is to stop thinking and just be in it.”

The words landed gently but undeniably.

Morgan’s lips parted as though to respond, but no sound came out.

Elise’s gaze lingered on her colleague, the corner of her mouth curving faintly—not amusement, not approval, something deeper.
“I think,” Elise said, “Alan may be right. But the beauty of this is, you don’t have to decide yet. Sometimes not knowing is where the truth hides.”
The air between them felt changed again—not heavier, not lighter, simply awake.

Elise sensed the shift first. Her gaze slid to Morgan with a precision that wasn’t hostile, but wasn’t soft either—something sharper, something assessing. “You hesitated,” she said quietly. “Not when Alan spoke, but when you did. That’s interesting.”

Morgan blinked, her posture straightening just slightly. “What do you mean, hesitated?”

Elise folded her hands neatly on the table. “You said you’re both women in that moment—the one resisting and the one holding on. But your body answered differently.”
Morgan stiffened a fraction, then forced herself to stay still. “How so?”

“You leaned forward,” Elise said. “Barely. Not toward Alan. Toward me.” Her tone was even, but the implication carried heat beneath it. “As though you were bracing. Or preparing. Or… answering a challenge.”

Morgan’s breath caught, subtle but real. “Elise, that’s not—”
“Not conscious,” Elise interrupted, raising a hand lightly. “I’m not accusing you of intent. I’m pointing out instinct.”

Alan stayed quiet, watching the two women with a strange mixture of awe and tension. There was no hostility in the room—none—but there was something coiled now, something neither academic nor personal. Something like two forces beginning to recognize each other.

Morgan’s voice lowered. “You think I was responding to you?”
“I think,” Elise said, leaning in just slightly, “that a part of you knows exactly what you’re drawn toward. You just haven’t said it aloud.”

Morgan’s fingers curled slowly around the edge of her notebook—not in fear, not even in defensiveness, but in concentration. A steady, simmering focus.
“And what makes you so certain?” she asked.

Elise’s eyes didn’t waver. “Because I felt you watching me when Alan described that moment. Not just listening—watching. As if you were deciding whether you would resist me… or try to overpower me.”

A flush rose in Morgan’s throat, not embarrassment but something closer to heat.
“That’s not how I meant—”
“Maybe not consciously,” Elise said softly. “But your body heard the question before your mind did.”

For a moment, neither woman looked away. The room tightened around the stillness.

Then Alan exhaled, barely audible. “This is what I meant,” he said quietly. “The pull between you two. It’s not something I imagined.”
Neither woman contradicted him.

Elise finally broke the gaze, only to angle her head slightly, studying Morgan like someone examining the first lines of a map.
“Tell me, Morgan,” she said—measured, clinical, yet carrying a faint undercurrent of challenge—“when you picture yourself in that struggle… do you imagine you’d be the one pushing the other woman down?”

A beat.

“Or the one being pushed?”

Morgan didn’t answer.

But her silence had weight.

And Elise, watching closely, recognized it.

Alan felt the tension in the room concentrate into a single, vibrating point. And as the silence held, his mind—almost against his will—drifted into comparison.
He saw them suddenly not as doctors, but as women. Real, physical women.

 Morgan—slightly taller than Elise, maybe by an inch. A little leaner through the shoulders, with longer lines and a quiet athleticism she probably never thought of as athletic at all. There was a steadiness in her posture, a subtle tension in the way she held herself, as if beneath the professionalism lived a woman who could dig in when challenged. Mid forties, he guessed, but carrying herself with poised, almost honed control—like someone who stayed in shape without calling it exercise, someone whose strength was understated but unmistakably there.

Elise—similar in build, but subtly different. Broader through the hips, with a strength that was less about tone and more about solidity. Her stance was compact, centered, the kind of posture that suggested she could absorb force without yielding an inch. There was a groundedness to her, a quiet physical confidence that didn’t need to announce itself. Even the way she held her shoulders—relaxed but ready—hinted at a woman who, if pushed, would push right back. And her gaze… it didn’t just carry weight. It held a steadiness that felt like pressure, as though she could size up an opponent with a single look and already know where the balance of strength lay.

He imagined them standing.

Facing each other.

Close.

Their bodies not identical—but balanced. Matched in a way that made his pulse thrum.

Morgan, taller, with the reach advantage. Elise, steadier, lower to the ground, the kind of woman who wouldn’t be easy to move once she’d planted her feet.
He realized, with a jolt of heat, that the idea of them physically testing each other was no longer just a fantasy—it was something that felt possible. Something the tension in the room itself seemed to lean toward.

His breath tightened in his chest.

Neither woman seemed aware of how intensely he was imagining them… or maybe they did, and simply weren’t acknowledging it yet.

Either way, the air thickened.

He had never been this close to watching two strong, intelligent women stand on the edge of something unspoken—but undeniably physical.

2

The Michelle vs Andi “fight” was a work. 

I'm surprised by how many think this was a real fight.  I guess that's a credit to the women for selling it so well.
3
Fictional Catfight Polls! / Photo Shoot Turns into a Catfight
« Last post by jozzan22 on Today at 02:55:18 AM »
They are both skinny models with lots of ambition to be on the cover, but there is place for just one.

Who wins?
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Members Catfight Polls! / Re: Jasmine_S und Rudispatz klären ihre Probleme
« Last post by Rock on Today at 02:19:12 AM »
I’ll take jasmine in this fight. She looks tougher to me.
5
Was it as good as the Michelle vs Andi?

Better.  Crystal Films had a website in the early aughts.  It was voted the 3rd most brutal Crystal Films fight ever.  From her mugshot (publicly available) Michelle is 5’4”, which means Elizabeth was about 5’9”. 

IMO Elizabeth was one of the prettiest fighters that fought for Crystal.  Yet despite the size disparity Michelle effortlessly overwhelms her.  Elizabeth never fought back.  But was reluctant to give up.

They were supposed to fight best 2 out of 3.  But when Michelle is about to get Elizabeth to give up (via ground and pound) women in the audience ask Michelle to get off her and let her catch her breath. 

Michelle obliges just to keep beating on her.  As Elizabeth gets up, one of the women in the audience yells “YOU CAN KEEP GOING”.  So it was really a 3 “round” fight.  Not 2 as was the common CF format back then. 

Add to that the element that Elizabeth was dating Michelle’s ex-husband, and you realize this was a grudge fight between 2 women that hated each other.  Elizabeth winds up witha badly bruised face, 2 black eyes (one on it’s way to swelling shut) and probably a broken jaw. 

The Michelle vs Andi “fight” was a work.  Not once did they punch each other’s faces.  Elizabeth’s face was a mess.
6
Sorry Im late for the party, well I guess its not going to be a party for that cxnt Laura, I get the phone call from that bitch Marlu saying that the title fight is finally on, for a minute there I that that coward Laura was afraid to face me, but I guess she decided to stick her pathetic tits out and actually put that title on the line against me!! So when I show up at Marlus large open floor plan apartment, it doesnt surprise me to see all of the guests that are already there, I wink and smile at Pat, and glare at Marlu, then I quickly slip my robe off showing of my skimpy thong bikini "this is a true apartment catfight, bikinis only bitch, that is until I rip yours off and choke the fuck out of you with it!!" as I throw my robe into your face, and glare at Laura waiting for the announcement for us to fight!! I limber up and stretch out, my strong tan thighs and toned arms tensing up as my full breasts bounce around in my black bikini, my hair hanging slightly curled and loose!! Yt
7
Catfighting / In Space, No one Can Hear You Brawl
« Last post by Guy Incognito on Today at 01:46:38 AM »
Sally and Yelena did not get on.

They weren’t enemies, per se, but they definitely weren’t friends. They were the kind of coworkers who would meet in the kitchen, chat politely about the weather, and then go their separate ways once the kettle had boiled. They wouldn’t be meeting up after work to hang out like they might do with their other colleagues, but for the most part they would go about their lives without conflict. In a normal workplace, they would simply keep out of each other’s way, and everything would be fine.

They did not work in a normal workplace. Sally and Yelena were both astronauts, and their current place of work—and their home—was the International Space Station, 400 kilometres above the Earth’s surface. Sharing a workspace with an incompatible personality can be challenging a times; sharing a living space, even more so. When that living space is as cramped and as isolated as the ISS, even the best of friendships will strain. Small differences in personality become pronounced, minor issues can fester, and dislike can easily turn to resentment.

The duo had many such differences; discrepancies in personality that caused them to rub up against one another from time to time. Sally was a hard-worker; conscientious in her duties, and a stickler for the rules. At least, that was how she would describe herself; behind closed doors, Yelena preferred words such as “stuck-up”, “bossy” and “know-it-all”. Yelena was laid-back by comparison; she liked to keep things casual, and do things her own way. Sally favoured descriptors like  “irresponsible”, “unprofessional” and “lazy”.

Despite all of their differences, the two maintained a level of professional courtesy; you don’t get to the point they had in their career by being the kind of person who lets themselves be dragged into petty rivalries in the workplace. While at work, the two women had little trouble keeping their feelings in check; with a full team aboard the station, they rarely had to spend too long alone together. Any disagreements that did arise were quickly mediated by colleagues.

Unfortunately, this state of affairs wouldn’t last; typically, the station had a crew of around seven people. Recently however, the number of crew members had reduced dramatically. Alan, Mae and Chris had all finished their mission, and had returned to Earth. Thanks to delays, their replacements were not due to return for a few weeks. Kalpana had ended her mission early due to a family emergency down below, and Alexei had returned to Earth to attend the birth of his child. This left only Sally and Yelena, alone on the station with the crewmate they liked the least.

Over the course of their first week together, tensions had started to build; the increased time they spent in each other’s exclusive company, combined with the additional stress of trying to keep a space station running with only two pairs of hands had caused existing differences to exacerbate. Sally was growing frustrated with Yelena’s laid-back attitude and refusal to adhere to the rules. Yelena found herself resenting her crewmate’s overbearing natures, and her insistence that everything be done the way she wanted it done. Gradually, their arguments became more and more frequent, and the veneer of professional politeness began to thin.

Everything came to a head on the eighth day alone on the station.

Sally was irritated before the day had even begun. The day’s tasks were scheduled to start at 7am sharp. The time was now 8:30, and her crewmate was nowhere to be seen. She was hunched over her workspace, desperately attempting a two person task with one pair of hands when Yelena floated into the room, yawning and stretching.

“Morning!” the Russian yawned. “Sorry I’m late, I overslept.”

Sally felt a pang of annoyance. Sorry I’m late? Almost two hours late for her shift and that feeble apology was all she got?

“Come help me with this,” Sally snapped without turning, hardly bothering to hide her irritation.

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be right over. I need to grab some breakfast first.”

Sally paused. Was this bitch serious? She reminded herself to take a deep, calming breath before responding.

“Look, you’re already late. We’re running behind on these experiments, so could you please come over and help me with this? You can get something to eat right after.”

Yelena frowned. She’s been mildly amused by the other woman’s tone before, but now her condescension was starting to grate.

“I’ll only be five minutes,” she replied, irritation creeping into her voice. “The experiment can wait a little longer, surely!”

Sally gently placed her equipment down, turning to face Yelena for the first time. When she caught sight of the other woman, her scowl deepened. The cosmonaut wore a grey tank top and plain black shorts, her feet bare. Her back length blonde hair floated freely about her head.

Yelena hadn’t failed to notice Sally’s reaction to her attire; she’d been expecting it. The American woman wore the full uniform of the station; a blue jumpsuit and black boots. Her shoulder length brown hair was tied back in a ponytail as uptight as the woman sporting it.

The two astronauts stared at one another with naked irritation. A long moment passed in silence, neither willing to break the fragile peace, but equally unwilling to back down.

Finally, Yelena decided to extend an olive branch. “Just let me grab a snack, and I’ll be right back. I’ll be two minutes at most.”

Sally considered arguing further, but decided against it. She shot the other woman a curt nod.

Yelena took this as permission, and spun herself around. As she did so, her mane of unruly blonde hair fanned out from her head. The reminder of the flagrant rule violation triggered something in Sally, her irritation bubbling to the surface.

“You really should have your hair tied up you know.” she muttered.

Yelena had almost reached the edge of the room when she heard Sally’s grating voice from behind her. Bracing herself against a wall, she whipped back around to address her coworker.

“What was that?” she demanded.

“Your hair,” Sally repeated, louder this time. “You should tie it up. It could get caught in something. Or it could get in your eyes while you’re working and block your vision. It’s a safety hazard to leave it down like that.” She gestured towards her own ponytail as an example of how to do it right.

Yelena folded her arms. “It’s really not that big a deal. I always have my hair like this and I’ve never caught it in anything.”

Sally bristled. “The rules state that any long hair must be tied up at all times. Those rules are there for a reason, you know!”

Yelena laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, the rules! I forgot about them. You so rarely bring them up! Are they the same rules that say that you’re always right, and that you get to tell the rest of us what to do?”

“They’re not my rules,” Sally shot back. “They’re the station’s rules. And I can count a dozen violations this morning alone.” She counted on her fingers. “Hair not tied back, inappropriate uniform, improper footwear, tardiness…”

“‘Improper footwear’?” Yelena scoffed. “Why the hell do we need to wear ‘proper’ footwear?
Are my toes going to get caught in the machinery too?”

Sally opened her mouth to retort, but found she didn’t have an answer. She followed the rules as a matter of habit, no questions asked; most of them were there for a reason, after all. But even Sally had to admit that wearing large, cumbersome boots in an environment where your feet rarely touched any surface seemed redundant.

Yelena revelled in her coworkers inability to retort. She pushed off of the wall, slowly drifting across the open room.

“There’s nothing wrong, is there?” she said, smugly. “You just wanted an excuse to tell somebody else what to do! You love bossing people around!”

Sally’s inability to think of a response had only made her more irritated. She saw the other woman approaching and reciprocated, pushing off of the work surface behind her to propel herself towards the Russian.

“Maybe people just don’t want to have to look at your gross ass feet!” she spat.

They slowed to a stop feet away from one another. They glared into one another’s eyes, a week’s worth of irritation visible on their faces.

“My feet aren’t gross, you arrogant bitch!” Yelena snapped, her voice starting to rise.

“Don’t call me a bitch, you lazy whore!” Sally yelled back.

“Uptight  prude!”

“Dirty skank!”

“Self-righteous cxnt!”

SMACK

Sally hadn’t meant to do it. She was as shocked as Yelena when her open hand lashed out and struck the blonde woman’s cheek. She’d seen red as the argument reached a crescendo and hadn’t been able to stop herself. Yelena began to drift to the left from the force of the slap, her face a picture of shock.

The two women stared at one another, mouths agape, equally stunned at how things had progressed. Yelena raised a hand to her quickly reddening cheek.

“Yelena, I…” Sally started to say.

SMACK

Yelena’s hand caught her on the left cheek, slowly propelling her to the right. She raised a hand to her own stinging cheek in surprise, never breaking eye contact. The cosmonaut’s eyes were burning with anger, her shock vanished.

Something snapped.

SMACK

This time was no accident; Sally’s palm struck the opposite cheek, rocking Yelena’s head to the right.

SMACK

This time, there was no hesitation. Yelena’s counter attack reddened Sally’s other cheek and sent the woman spinning towards the wall. A moment passed in serene silence; the calm before the storm.

Then came the storm.

SMACK
SMACK
SMACK
SMACK

The two astronauts began to rain slaps down on each other, striking faces, arms and chests with wild abandon. As the flurry of blows intensified, the fighters began to drift apart. Instinctively, Sally reached out to prevent the other woman from escaping her range, latching onto Yelena’s mane of untied blonde hair and pulling tight. Letting out a yelp of pain and annoyance, Yelena reached around the American’s back, gripping her ponytail and pulling downwards.

They continued to slap at each other with their free hand, clutching one another tight with the other. Their scalps burned as their grips tightened, their faces growing ever redder from the onslaught.

The slapping stopped as Sally brought both hands into her opponents hair. Yelena kept a handful of ponytail, latching onto the neck of her enemy’s jumpsuit with her other hand. They pulled each other close, spinning in the air with the momentum of the previous slap fight. Their eyes met, faces inches apart.

“Let go of my fucking hair, bitch!” Yelena groaned, giving a sharp tug to the other woman’s ponytail.

“You fucking let go, cxnt!” Sally yelled back, pulling with both hands and earning a groan of pain from her rival.

For a moment they clinched in the air, wrenching at one another’s hair. Then, as if by mutual agreement, they released their grips. They shoved each other violently, launching themselves backwards into opposite walls with a thud.

For a moment, they simply floated, backs to the walls, breathing heavily from the exertion of the sudden brawl. Neither broke their gaze.

“What the fuck is wrong with you bitch?!” Yelena shouted. “You fucking pulled my hair!”

“You’re the bitch! You grabbed me first!” Sally shouted back.

“Only because you slapped me you stupid twat!” Yelena retorted.

“Come over here and I’ll do it again!”

With twin growls, the two women pushed off of their respective walls, launching at each other. They collided hard in the centre of the room, immediately locking up. Yelena grasped Sally’s ponytail with both hands, yanking with all her strength and wrenching the American’s head back. Sally retaliated by gripping handfuls of the Russian woman’s hair and tugging harshly in either direction. Both women yelped in pain as their opponent tore at their hair.

Their legs drifted apart until they floated horizontally, head to head, legs pointing in opposite directions. Before long, the relentless tugging loosened Sally’s ponytail and her hair cascaded around her face. Yelena attacked the loosened locks with renewed vigour. The air around them was soon filled with loose strands of hair, blonde and brown in equal measure.

They drifted as they dueled. Yelena felt her bare feet connect with a wall of the station. She kicked off, pushing herself into her enemy. Her forehead smacked against the other woman’s, their bodies rotating until they were chest to chest. Their momentum carried them to the other wall, and Sally’s body was crushed between the wall and the Russian.

The impact knocked the breath out of both combatants, and they released their grips on the other’s hair. Yelena bounced off and started to drift away. She managed to grab a wall with one hand as she did, flinging herself back towards the other woman, intent on pinning her. Seeing this, Sally launched herself off of the wall to meet her halfway.

Yelena spun as she flew, her awkward grip on the wall throwing off her trajectory. Instead of colliding with Sally face to face as she’d anticipated, she collided with the other woman’s chest, feet first. Sally let out an involuntary “oof” as the wind was knocked out of her. She recovered quickly, snarling as she grabbed the other woman’s bare feet and began to claw at the exposed skin. Yelena shrieked, flailing and kicking her legs in an attempt to push her enemy away.

Unfortunately for Yelena, Sally had a tight grip on her shins and wouldn’t let go. The Russian woman changed her strategy, managing to get a grip on the wall and spinning herself until the two women were head to toe. Yelena grasped her opponent’s legs, but the heavy boots she wore didn’t leave any bare skin to attack. She continued to kick with her bare feet, striking at Sally’s face, connecting with her chin. Without taking her hands off of her enemy’s feet, Sally retaliated with a kick of her own. Yelena saw stars as the heavy boot connected with her head.

The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on either woman; Yelena’s bare feet, the catalyst for this entire disagreement, were now putting her at a significant disadvantage.

“Bet you wish you were wearing proper footwear now, huh?” Sally crooned, revelling in smug satisfaction as she struck out again with her boot, feeling it crunch into the other woman’s nose.

Tasting blood, Yelena wrapped her arms tight around her rival’s legs in an attempt to keep them at bay. She struck out with her bare feet, slapping against the other woman’s face. Undeterred, Sally gripped the feet pressing up against her face, clawing the soft flesh. The other woman’s squeals of pain were music to her ears.

Yelena knew she was at a disadvantage, her bare feet no match the heavy boots. If she couldn’t find a way to even the playing field, she didn’t stand a chance in this fight. Releasing her grip on the other woman’s ankles, she grasped her left boot with both hands and tugged hard. Sally frowned, realising what Yelena was trying to do. She kicked out with her free boot, connecting with the woman’s cheek.

Yelena ignored it. Sally kicked out again and again, connecting with the other woman’s face, arms, chest and breasts. Yelena made no attempt to block the attacks, focussing all of her efforts on ripping off her rival’s footwear, persevering through the pain.

Sally kicked and flailed her restrained foot in an attempt to dislodge the would-be boot thief. Unfortunately for her, her movements only served to help Yelena to wiggle the shoe free. As Yelena gave one last good tug, Sally felt her left boot slip off of her foot.

Letting out a noise of triumph, Yelena wasted no time in pressing the attack. She tugged the American woman’s white sock down to the heel, revealing a stretch of bare flesh. Sally braced herself for the sensation of claws raking against her bare flesh; she was caught off guard when she felt teeth sink into the heel of her foot. The euphoria Yelena felt at her enemy’s outraged shriek more than made up for the pain in her own face.

Recovering quickly from her initial shock, Sally retaliated with gusto. She sank her own teeth into her rival’s bare toes, drawing blood. Yelena had been expecting this counterattack, and didn’t let is faze her. Tugging off the remainder of her rival’s sock, she gnawed at the bare sole. Meanwhile, she got to work on the remaining boot, tugging at it with both hands.

They battled like this for a time. Sally ravaged Yelena’s bare foot, leaving teethmarks in her sole, heel and toes. With her other hand, she clawed at the other foot, leaving scratch marks as high as the woman’s ankle. She kicked out with her free foot even as Yelena bit into it, smacking into her face and jamming her toes into the Russian’s mouth.

Yelena gave as good as she got; the playing field now closer to level, she bit and kicked every bit as hard as her rival. Her focus, though, was on that one remaining boot; once that was gone, so too was Sally’s advantage.

Sally was beginning to tire. The fight had been going on for a while, and even the two athletic women were starting to feel the toll. Worse still, Sally’s jumpsuit was restrictive, and designed to retain heat. She was drenched in sweat beneath the thick material, her attacks slowing as she overheated. Noticing her rival’s lapse, Yelena ramped up her attempts to tug the boot free.

This one came off easier than the last. Tugging with both hands, pressing her feet against her rival’s face for leverage, Yelena pulled the remaining boot free. Her moment of elation was interrupted as Sally kicked out with both of her now bare feet, striking Yelena in the stomach. Winded, the cosmonaut was unable to prevent herself from being flung backwards, releasing her grip. She collided hard with the wall.

For a moment, neither woman spoke. They stared at one another, backs against opposite walls, chests heaving from the exertion of the prolonged fight.

Although Yelena had taken the brunt of the battle damage, Sally had not escaped unharmed; Her face was red, her hair a tangled mess. She’d lost both boots and was down to a single white sock, her one bare foot riddled with scratches and teeth marks. Her jumpsuit clung to her skin, her body slick with sweat. Yelena sported similar injuries to her opponent, plus a bloody nose. Droplets of blood floated through the space in front of her as she tried in vain to wipe her face clean.

Minutes passed without a word. Both women knew that they should try to deescalate; they were professional astronauts, some of the most respected people in their field, and here they were catfighting like two schoolgirls.

And yet, neither could bring themselves to be the one to call for a truce.

Slowly, deliberately, Sally began to unzip her jumpsuit. Yelena watched in silence as she stripped down, throwing the garment to one side. Beneath, she wore a white tank top and a pair of skimpy white panties.

Yelana smirked. “So much for ‘appropriate uniform’! Look at those things, I can barely see them there’s so little material!”

Sally scowled back. “What the fuck does it matter what I’m wearing under my uniform?”

“Well you’ve certainly jumped at the opportunity to get your ass out.”

“I just wanted to make it an even fight!” In truth, Sally couldn’t bear to be stuck inside that restrictive, sweaty thing any longer.

“Oh, you wanted a fair fight! Didn’t seem that way when you were kicking me in the face with those fucking boots!”

You were the one who started the kicking bitch! Shouldn’t have started a fight you couldn’t finish!”

“Who the fuck said I’m finished, cxnt?” Spreading her arms wide, Yelena beckoned her enemy to come close.

Sally didn’t need to be told twice.

Pushing off of the wall behind her, she launched herself at her rival. Yelena kicked off to meet her.

They crashed together like two stormfronts, instantly tangling up in one another. Handfuls of hair were grasped, heads yanked viciously from side to side. Legs tangled, the two hellcats squeezing at one another with powerful thighs, bare feet kicking and scratching. They wrestled in the air, lurching back and forth as they tugged violently.

Hands tightly gripping the back of each other’s head, they pulled closer together. They snarled at one another, nose-to-nose, eyes locked in mutual hatred. Yelena gave her enemy’s hair a yank, revelling in satisfaction as Sally failed to keep the pain out of her eyes. Her excitement was cut short by a sharp tug to her own hair, eliciting an involuntary groan of pain. For a while, they hardly moved, focusing all of their efforts on causing as much pain as possible to their opponent’s scalp.

They might have stayed there forever, had Sally’s back not collided with the wall with enough force to make both women release their grip. As she began to drift away, Yelena reached out with both hands, frantic to stay close enough to inflict damage. She latched onto her enemy’s top, the momentum of her body stretching the material. A sharp tearing sound filled the air as the thin material came apart.

Sally let out a howl of rage at her torn garment, immediately taking hold of the other woman’s top with both hands and pulling in opposite directions. The material tore easily, opening a wide gash that revealed the cosmonaut’s black bra. Not to be outdone, Yelena tore into Sally’s top with renewed vigour, quickly shredding enough material to expose the American’s own skimpy white undergarment.

They made short work of it; within a minute, both women had been entirely stripped of their tops. Yelena was now down to only a bra and shorts, while Sally sported a bra and matching panties, along with a single white sock, bravely clinging onto her foot.

Tank tops now thoroughly dealt with, both women hunted for a new target. Fortunately, two brand new ones had just been uncovered. Yelena struck first, grasping a breast in each hand and squeezing tightly. Sally wasn’t far behind, taking two handfuls of tit. They held each other at arm’s length, squeezing and clawing at one another’s tender breasts. Moans of pain escaped from both women, tears glistening in each of their eyes.

Their legs flailed wildly as their hands wreaked havoc on one another’s chests. Sally connected with Yelena’s shin, eliciting a howl of pain from the Russian woman. Yelena returned fire by raking her toenails across Sally’s thigh, drawing blood that beaded off and drifted away from the wound. Sally responded with a swift kick aimed at the thigh, but found her foot colliding with Yelena’s. They locked up in a brief foot fight, pushing and shoving and pressing against one another before their sweat slicked soles slid apart. They kicked and scratched with their feet, all the while squeezing and clawing at one another’s breasts. Their eyes remained locked throughout, looks of hatred blurred by tears of pain.

Fairly quickly, Sally found herself at a major disadvantage. Yelena’s nails were long and intricately painted, and were wreaking havoc on Sally’s tits. Sally kept hers well trimmed, and while this made it easier for her to complete intricate tasks aboard the station, it left her severely lacking in the breast mauling department.

Their battle below the belt was a similar story; while Sally was not nearly as fastidious at keeping her toenails short, her one remaining sock limited her ability to claw and scratch. Yelena’s ten long, red-painted toes waged war against Sally’s five unpainted digits, and it was a slaughter. Angry red scratches soon criss-crossed the American’s legs, while the Russian woman’s were unscathed by comparison.

Eventually, Sally could take no more. Her breasts were in agony, her legs burning with pain from toe to thigh. She raised her socked foot between them, planting it against Yelena’s stomach and shoving hard. The Russian woman let out a gasp as the wind was forced out of her, Sally’s breasts slipping from her grasp as she hurtled back across the room. The momentum sent Sally in the opposite direction, and both women once again crashed into the walls behind them.

Yelena’s chest heaved. Every part of her body ached; her bloody nose, her burning scalp, her tender breasts. Her stomach, thighs and shins were battered, bruised and scratched. She felt like she’d been hit by a train.

As bad as Yelena felt, Sally felt worse. The last time their battle had lulled, it had been the Russian woman who had been worse off, with her face bruised and bloodied. This time though, Sally had taken the worst of it; her tits throbbed where Yelena had gouged at the flesh with her talons and her legs burned from the agony of dozens of scratches.

Their eyes met across the room. Sally felt like she should say something; she was on the back foot, she should make some scathing remark to hide how beaten she felt, to try to save face. She couldn’t think of anything.

Yelena was equally speechless; she wanted to gloat, to boast about how she’d come back from being on the receiving end of a boot to the face. Like her rival, words failed her. What was there to say now that the morning’s events hadn’t already made clear? What words could get across what a boot to the face, or a claw in the tit couldn’t?

And so they floated in silence, eyes locked as they caught their breath. This time, the thought of deescalation didn’t even register; they were in it until the bitter end. With four hundred kilometres separating them from the rest of the human race, there was nobody to stop them from seeing this through.

Slowly, Sally reached down to peel the remaining sock from her foot; at this point, it was nothing more than a hindrance. She tore the article free, allowing it to drift away. Yelena took the act as a challenge. Reaching around behind herself, she slowly unhooked her bra. Sally failed to keep the surprise from her face as the garment floated away, setting free Yelena’s sizeable breasts.

Surprise notwithstanding, Sally wasn’t about to let the other woman superior; she quickly unhooked her own bra and let it drift away. Yelena simply stared, unimpressed. After a brief pause, Sally reached down and, in one swift motion, tore her panties free. Yelena’s eyes widened in surprised; she hadn’t fully expected the prude to take her top off, let along strip off entirely. Not to be outdone however, she quickly removed her own underwear.

Two astronauts floated at opposite ends of a room, naked as the day they were born. Debris filled the air around them; articles of clothing, strips of fabric, clumps of hair, equipment from an experiment long forgotten. Stripped down to nothing, hundreds of miles from the next nearest person, nothing remained to keep them from each other.

They pounced.

They collided chest to chest, breasts flattening painfully. Immediately, they wrapped their arms around one another in a bear hug and began to claw at the sweat slickened skin of their rival’s bare back. Their legs intertwined and began to wrestle wildly, feet rubbing together. Their faces were inches apart, eyes wide with fury, noses flattening.

For a while, they struggled in the air in a stalemate, two naked bodies writhing like a pair of mating pythons. Despite both of their injuries, they remained evenly matched.

Sally broke the stalemate. With a snarl, she lashed out, biting down hard on Yelena’s cheek. With a shriek, the Russian woman lurched backwards, ripping her face away from the enemy’s grip. Her shock soon turned to fury.

“YOU BITCH!” she screamed.

Lurching forwards, she clamped down hard on the American’s nose with her teeth. It was Sally’s turn to shriek as she tried in vain to pull her face away from danger; Yelena’s grip on her nose was tight though, and she had no inclination to let go. She tried desperately to escape, grabbing the other woman’s hair and trying to yank her head away. When that failed, she tried throwing punches, pounding on the woman’s bare back, stomach and chest. Still nothing.

Tears in her eyes, Sally made a last ditch attempt to free herself. Reaching down, she squeezed her hand between the pair’s interlocked legs and dug her fingers into her enemy’s pussy. Even her short nails were enough to cause excruciating pain to the sensitive flesh between Yelena’s legs and the Russian woman instinctively opened her mouth to scream.

Sally capitalised, placing her hand against the woman’s cheek and shoving hard. Their torsos came apart, tightly locked legs keeping them together. Sally made no move to remove either of her hands.

“YOU cxnt!” Yelena screamed, her voice muffled by Sally’s hand.

The cosmonaut thrust her own hand down between Sally’s legs, her fingers sinking into the tender flesh. Sally couldn’t help letting out a yelp of pain as the Russian woman’s long nails dug in. She retaliated, raking her own nails across Yelena’s pussy. At the same time, she dug the heel of her palm into the woman’s cheek. Yelena retaliated, slamming her own hand across Sally’s face and pushing hard.

Both women forced the other’s head back. Yelena felt teeth sinking into her fingers as she pulled at the corner of Sally’s mouth. Sally felt teeth sinking into her palm in response.

Meanwhile, in the small gap between their legs, an even more vicious clash was taking place. Claws were dragged back and forth across the skin, each woman taking great pleasure in the moans of pain they elicited from their rival.

There they remained, locked in a stalemate in the air, clawing and biting and straining against one another. As she raked at her enemy’s pussy, Yelena noticed something; there was a wetness between the American’s legs; not blood or sweat, but… something else.

She smirked. “Well, well, well! Seems like you’re enjoying this! Maybe you’re not as much of a prude as I thought!”

Sally should have been mortified; her body had given her away. As painful as the attack on her pussy was, the non-stop grinding of the pair’s legs, the closeness of their bodies, and the motion of Yelena’s hand as it rubbed between her thighs had caused an involuntary reaction. She’d hoped that Yelena would be too distracted by the pain to notice.

Fortunately for Sally, she wasn’t the only whose body had betrayed her.

“Like you can talk!” the American spat. “You’re enjoying this as much as either of us. It’s like a swamp down there!”

Yelena’s smirk dropped. “Oh please! You’re wetter than I am. I guess you aren’t used to this much bodily contact!”

“No fucking way I’m wetter than you! Just look at your face, it’s bright red. You’re so turned on by me it’s embarrassing!”

“You’re so much wetter, you dirty bitch! Feels like you’re about to cum any minute now!”

“Fuck you, slut! You’re gonna cum way before me!”

“Wanna bet?”

Their struggle slowed as they argued. They removed their hands from between one another’s legs, burying them in one another’s hair instead, still wet. The wrestling of their legs didn’t stop—but it did change pace. Their writhing was slower now, more sensual than before.

As their pussies grinded together, their gazes remained locked. There was something different in their eyes too; the hate hadn’t gone, but something else had joined it—lust. Yelena moaned as Sally yanked on her hair, digging her claws into her rival’s cheek is response. Their groans of pain quickly became indistinguishable from their mounting moans of pleasure. They pulled closer and closer together as their movements got quicker and quicker.

As their noses met, Sally felt two hands bury into her hair behind her head. She quickly responded, pulling the Russian woman in as close as humanly possible. She could feel the heat emanating from the other woman’s cheek as it pressed against her own, hear her breathless moans as their lips brushed. Yelena felt the frantic beating of her rival’s heart as their chests met, see the the look of pure ecstasy in the woman’s piercing gaze.

As she struggled, Sally opened her mouth wide, forcing her tongue into the cosmonaut’s mouth in a kiss as passionate as it was hateful. Yelena reciprocated, forcing her way past her enemy’s lips.

They were close now. Yelena struggled to hold back. She was acutely aware of every point where their bodies met—their pussies grinding harder by the second; their tongues wrestling and writhing in their mouths; their rock hard nipples digging into each other as their breasts flattened; their sweaty feet rubbing together as their legs rose and fell.

Yelena knew she couldn’t hold it back any longer. Sally could sense how close she was too, it seemed; she ramped up her grinding even further. Yelena’s muffled moans reached a fever pitch. She felt it building up inside her. She knew it would only be seconds now. Her breath was getting quicker and quicker, her arousal growing. She closed her eyes, ready for the bliss to overcome her, and then…

Sally screamed. She arched her back as she came hard, the ecstasy coursing through every inch of her body. Yelena’s release came a second later.

They separated, slowly drifting apart. Both women were hot, sticky with sweat, blood and cum, and flushed red from head to toe. Their chests heaved as they recovered from the physicality of the last hour.

The room was silent but for the heavy breathing of the two combatants. Yelena considered saying something; a boast, perhaps, a wry comment on the bizarre situation they’d found themselves in. She could think of nothing to say.

Slowly, for what felt like the first time in hours, Sally broke eye contact. She spun, placing her feet against the wall and pushing off, drifting dejectedly towards the bedroom.

Yelena was exhausted. She was drained both physically and emotionally, covered in bruises, bleeding from a dozen different scratches and bites, her nose clogged with dried blood. As the adrenaline of the fight waned, her myriad wounds started to throb with pain.

And yet, she felt nothing but elation; when she’d woken this morning, she’d dreaded spending the next few weeks stuck with the woman she hated, four hundred kilometres removed from the rest of the human race. Now though, that dread was gone.

Yelena smiled. Six more days remained until the rest of the crew returned, and she was going to enjoy every second of it.
8
Catfighting / Re: Maria's first fight
« Last post by catftluver on Today at 12:29:02 AM »
Great story, love one sided beatings!!
9
Live Action Clips / Re: Weight can be a major asset.
« Last post by Kkrryy on Today at 12:01:38 AM »
Hot videos! It is true that weight can be an asset. But, a very hot counter example can be found here:
https://www.festelle.eu/en/download/susan-vs-helen:3484

10
Sexfighting and Titfighting / Re: A Texas Blonde Tumble
« Last post by sexfightwriter on Yesterday at 11:31:01 PM »
Chapter 2: Jacuzzi

24 hours later, as Nikki got back from work, she was still struggling to process what had happened. Never before had a girl...done things to her like Reagan had just done. Even as she had fingered herself in the bathroom at work, images of Reagan had come into her head almost as much as images of Andrew, but they had always been followed by anger and confusion. No girl had a right to be this hot, to make her feel this turned on. She was straight, goddammit! And then, as Nikki drove home, an idea had come into her head. An idea that would not leave. A deliciously perverted plan to give that fucking lesbian a taste of her own medicine, and pay her back for all these confused sapphic feelings....

Reagan sank down up to her neck in the hot water. Ever since Andrew had found her this apartment, the gloriously massive jacuzzi tub-crown of a bathroom that was bigger than the entirety of her old place-had become Reagan's inner sanctum. Stretching her tired muscles out in the bath, being massaged by the jets, having a long, exquisite session with her favorite rubber dildo or positioning herself so that one of the blessed streams of water hit the sweet spot between her legs-if there was anything in this world closer to paradise, Reagan couldn't imagine it.

It was just then that Reagan's bliss was interrupted by an insistent knocking on the door. At first she ignored it, but the pounding repeated itself, then did so again. Nervously, Reagan got out of the tub and put on a white, fuzzy bathrobe, then walked to her front door and put an eye to the peephole. And when she did, Reagan almost jumped back in surprise before opening the door just to see what was going on.

It was Nikki, wearing nothing but a fuzzy red bathrobe and high heels. As soon as Reagan opened the door, the woman stepped through and closed it behind her, and the two stood, staring at each other in the foyer of Reagan's apartment.

"Just what are you here for?", said Reagan, more than a little flustered.

"Opposition research.", said Nikki, a little too nonchalantly. Reagan could just hear the other woman's shallow intake of breath.

"And just why should I let you do that?", said Reagan.

"Because if you're any good," said Nikki in a self satisfied tone, "maybe you'll get a chance to do a little... research of your own." As she said the last bit, Nikki untied her bathrobe and slowly pulled it away from her shoulders before letting it fall into a puddle of red fabric at her feet.

Underneath, she was wearing absolutely nothing. Reagan's heart caught in her throat as she stared at her rival's naked form. The perfect figure, pink nipples, shaved pussy...it was an image that had haunted Reagan's dreams for months. But after a few seconds, Reagan recovered. Wordlessly, she untied her own bathrobe and shrugged it away from her shoulders, joining her rival in nakedness. Nikki's heart stopped for a second-she'd obsessed about her rival just as much as Reagan had, and seeing her bare in the flesh, jutting nipples and shaved pussy just as Nikki had imagined...for just a little bit it was too much. For a minute, both girl's eyes roamed shamelessly over each other's bodies, before Nikki carefully stepped out of her high heels and walked over to Reagan. Slowly, she raised one hand and placed it on the small of Reagan's back, pulling the other woman in. Reagan did the same, and the two women embraced and kissed-a long, slow passionate kiss, their naked bodies rubbing together. Nikki felt the droplets of water on Reagan's skin, then ground her thigh into Reagan's womanhood, being more than a little satisfied to feel moisture there as well.

"Wet, are we?", said Nikki in a breathy, romantic voice.

"Yes," said Reagan, her voice catching, "I was just relaxing in my jacuzzi. Maybe"-Reagan's voice lifted with sudden inspiration-"we could take this over there."

"Sounds like a good idea to me", said Nikki. Slowly, Reagan took Nikki's hand and led the other girl to her bathroom, and the two women got into the massive jacuzzi, slowly stretching out and luxuriating in the steaming water before resuming their kiss. Nikki broke it, then gently pulled back Reagan's hair by the head, planting a little group of kisses on Reagan's neck before making a line of them across Reagan's collarbone and down toward her breast. Nikki sucked both of Reagan's nipples in turn before kissing her way down Reagan's stomach. Reagan began to give a soft, faint moan with each kiss, and Nikki had to stop herself from smirking at how easy this little seduction had been.

"Hmm...maybe she is a lesbian after all," thought Nikki to herself as she lifted both of Reagan's thighs out of the water and onto her shoulders, deliberately not noticing that the water wasn't the only thing making her wet. "This little ending is going to be so delicious," Nikki's inner monologue continued, "for me." Nikki barely concealed her smirk as she kissed around Reagan's inner thighs, eliciting more moans from the other woman. Slowly, Nikki kissed circles around Reagan's womanhood, building up anticipation in the other woman. Then, Nikki ran a line of kisses along each one of Reagan's lower lips, driving Reagan's anticipation to fever pitch. For just an instant Nikki gazed at her prize: Reagan's womanhood, red with excitement and soaked by anticipation-and then she dived right in.

Reagan's whole body jolted as Nikki's long tongue penetrated her. The tip found Reagan's g-spot, while the length of it rubbed against Reagan's clit. Nikki moved the tip of her tongue around Reagan's g-spot, as if she was beckoning the other woman with it, and Reagan moaned and gasped. Nikki completely covered Reagan's clitoris with her upper lip and sucked in as she worked Reagan with her tongue. And Reagan responded, her body writhing as she moaned and whimpered in pleasure. Andrew and other men had eaten her out before...but not like this. Reagan didn't think tongue could completely replace dick-but god, it was close.

Nikki, for her part, had never realized just how amazing giving pleasure to a woman could be. Nikki's mouth was filled with the pleasantly tangy taste of Reagan's pussy, and the control she had over the other woman, the feeling as Reagan's body bucked and shuddered under her, was intoxicating. Nikki could feel Reagan's climax approaching, and was almost sad for what she was about to do. Almost.

Reagan's mind, meanwhile, had left the world entirely. The hot, steaming water, the pure, heavenly feel of Nikki's lips and tongue-it was all too much. Reagan could feel her climax building, her body went stiff, her mouth opened in a scream-

-and just then, just the instant before her pussy would have clenched on Nikki's tongue, it shot right back into Nikki's mouth. Nikki pulled away, looked Reagan directly in the eye, and laughed.

"No, no, nooooooooo!", screamed Reagan in a pleading, longing protest. "Nooooooo!" Reagan's hand shot forward, to salvage just a bit of her ruined orgasm, and Nikki grabbed it. Reagan whimpered and wailed in protest as her beautiful orgasm died.

If Nikki had left, right then, the night would have been an overwhelming win for her. But she could not resist staring at the look on Reagan's face, cackling at the oh so easy victory she'd won in Reagan's happiest place. And as the dreadful, horrible emptiness sank into Reagan, as she realized just how easily and diabolically Nikki had played her, Reagan's desperate longing was replaced with white hot fury. Instinctively she balled her hand into a fist to punch the smirking, laughing Nikki in the face-but then, Reagan had a better idea.

Nikki was still laughing when Reagan's arm shot out, wrapping around Nikki's body. Nikki barely had time to react as Reagan pushed her to the side of the jacuzzi, pinning Nikki with her body. Before Nikki had fully realized what was going on, Reagan took her right hand and shoved two fingers straight into Nikki's womanhood. Nikki gasped, started, and tried to pull Reagan's hand away. Furiously, Reagan's left hand fought both of Nikki's, as the first two fingers of Reagan's right hand worked Nikki's g-spot and her thumb landed directly on Nikki's clit. But then, the waves of pleasure began to course through Nikki. "Gah," thought Nikki, "this bitch has no right to feel this good!" Seemingly against her will, Nikki found herself melting into Reagan's hand. Her resistance slowed and slackened-and then, when Nikki's body was limp, Reagan pulled Nikki's legs apart, lowered her head, and plunged her tongue deep inside Nikki as far as it would go.

"Fuck, Fuck, FUUUUKK!", screamed Nikki as Reagan ate her out like a woman possessed. Nikki gasped, moaned, and writhed as her own beautiful, glorious climax built-and then a sickening realization hit Nikki. Reagan wasn't going to let this end with Nikki's orgasm, not after what Nikki had done. Nikki opened her closed eyes and looked down at Reagan. The woman was focused on eating Nikki out and sucking her clit-but her eyes were cold, hard, merciless, and yet, somehow, dancing with delight.

"Please, Reagan," said Nikki. "Please! Oh, my god, Reagan, you're the best pussy eater in the world, I'm so sorry, PLEASE, REAGAN, PLEASE!" Reagan withdrew her mouth from Nikki's pussy, instantly replacing it with her hand again, before standing up to lean over Nikki. Her eyes were steely and merciless as she looked down on Nikki, their faces a few inches apart.

"Beg harder, bitch."

"Oh fuck, please, I'll do anything Reagan, please, please, please!" Nikki's voice was truly desperate.

"Convince me," said Reagan coldly.

"Fucking let me cum, I'll eat you out so good, I'll do anything Reagan, please, please."

"Say my name," said Reagan. "And don't stop."

"Reagan, Reagan, Reagan, REAGAN!!!!" The last became a shriek as Nikki came.

Reagan kept her hand inserted into Nikki as the spasms of orgasm washed over her-and then, as they stilled, but before Nikki had recovered, Reagan dragged Nikki to the center of the tub. Reagan straddled her rival, legs gripping Nikki's neck like a vice, before she shoved Nikki's face directly into her pussy. "Eat it, bitch." Nikki obeyed, dining on Reagan's pussy like her last meal.

"Yes, yes, yes, YEEESSS!" Reagan's voice rose to a high pitched shriek as she came. For a few minutes Reagan stood, like a queen on the throne of Nikki's face as her body spasmed and her mouth opened in a perfect O. Then, as Reagan's climax washed over her and she began to recover, Reagan pushed Nikki away.

"Get out, bitch!" Nikki looked at Reagan's hard eyes, then hurriedly got out of the tub and ran to the foyer, hastily throwing her robe back on. As soon as it was tied, Nikki ran out and Reagan slammed the door behind her.

And the threesome hadn't even happened yet.
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