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Catfighting / Therapy Session (Part 11)
« Last post by AIWriter on Today at 02:21:15 PM »Morgan's muscles tensed against Elise's hold, her breathing shallow and quick. Alan could see the strain in her neck, the way her jaw tightened as she tested the restraint without fully committing to escape. Something in her posture shifted—a subtle yielding followed by renewed resistance.
"Not so easy, is it?" Elise murmured, her voice low enough that Alan had to strain to hear. "To let go of control."
Morgan's response was physical rather than verbal. In one fluid motion, she dropped her weight suddenly, bending forward at the waist. The unexpected shift pulled Elise off-balance for a crucial second. Morgan twisted, using the momentum to slip partially free of the hold.
But Elise recovered quickly. As Morgan tried to turn, Elise's arm shot out, catching her around the waist. Their bodies collided again, this time face-to-face, chests heaving with exertion.
Alan pressed himself harder against the door, heart hammering in his chest. The intensity between them had transformed into something electric—no longer cautious or exploratory but urgent and raw. He couldn't look away, couldn't even blink.
Morgan's height advantage became apparent as she used her leverage to push forward, forcing Elise to take a step back. But Elise was denser, more grounded, her lower center of gravity making her difficult to move further. They strained against each other, locked in a contest that had transcended any pretense of clinical exploration.
Sweat darkened the silk of Morgan's blouse along her spine. A strand of hair had fallen across her face, but she made no move to brush it away, her focus entirely on the woman before her. Elise's expression had changed too—her professional detachment replaced by something fierce and present, her eyes never leaving Morgan's.
"You're holding back," Elise said, her voice rougher now.
Morgan's lips curved in a tight smile. "So are you."
The words seemed to break something loose between them. Elise surged forward suddenly, using her compact strength to drive Morgan backward until her shoulders hit the bookshelf. Books tumbled, thudding dully on the carpet. Alan flinched at the sound, but neither woman seemed to notice.
Morgan gasped, not in pain but surprise, as Elise pressed against her, pinning her with the weight of her body. For a heartbeat, they were perfectly still, breathing each other's air, the contest suspended in a moment of pure connection.
The first motion was so fast that Alan almost missed it. Dr. Morgan, arms still braced against the bookshelf, pivoted at the hips and let Elise’s momentum carry her forward. Instead of bracing herself, she yielded, rolling her left shoulder in, and in the same movement, got both hands under Elise’s ribcage. Her fingers flexed, knuckles whitening as she dug them in, and for a heartbeat, both women were suspended: neither winning, neither yielding, but both straining so fiercely that Alan could see the tendons in their necks standing out like cables.
Elise’s lips parted, an unvoiced sound escaping, but she didn’t stop. She pressed harder, trying to use her body weight to drive Morgan back against the shelf a second time. That’s when Morgan dropped her center of gravity—fast, almost desperate—pulling Elise with her, twisting so that her own back was momentarily parallel to the floor. The sudden movement caught Elise off guard. They careened away from the bookshelf, limbs entangled, and staggered into the middle of the room.
For a second, they seemed to hover there, all four feet shuffling for purchase, their faces inches apart, breath intermingling, the air charged with effort and something else that Alan, even as a scientist, could only describe as animal. Elise’s arms fought for Morgan’s biceps, but Morgan was already moving, using the torque from her own twist to lever Elise’s upper body downward.
The fall was not the graceful, cinematic tumble Alan expected; it was awkward, limbs flailing, an honest and messy collapse. Elise went down first, landing on her back on the carpet, the impact shaking a muted gasp from her. Morgan followed instantly, not crashing down but controlling her own descent so that her knees landed astride Elise’s hips. In the next instant, Morgan was perched on top of Elise, her weight pinning her to the floor. For a breathless second, neither moved—they simply stared, faces red and shining with sweat, hair loose and wild, as if neither could quite believe what the other had just done.
Then, as if responding to a silent cue, Morgan pressed her advantage. She slid her hands up, one to each of Elise’s shoulders, pinning them to the rug. Alan could see the indentation of Morgan’s palms against the thin cotton of Elise’s blouse. Elise arched her back, straining, but Morgan held fast, her own arms locked straight, shoulders trembling from exertion.
There was a subtle shift in the dynamic. Alan felt it before he could articulate it. In the struggle, something like trust had formed—a tacit acknowledgment of rules, boundaries, and consequences. But now, with Morgan on top, the boundaries were being redrawn in real time. Morgan’s breathing was ragged, but her face had softened, the earlier mask of academic detachment replaced by something raw and searching. Elise, for her part, looked up at Morgan not with anger or resentment, but with a kind of wonder, as if surprised to find herself bested.
They stayed that way for several seconds, neither moving. The silence was so deep it amplified every sound: their breaths, the thud of Alan’s heart in his own chest, the faint tick of the wall clock. Then Morgan leaned in, not pressing her advantage further, but lowering her face until her lips were almost at Elise’s ear.
"Is this what you wanted?" Morgan asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Elise didn't answer with words. Instead, she bucked upward, powerful thighs and hips lifting to unseat Morgan. But Morgan anticipated the move, shifting to maintain her position. Her hands found Elise's wrists, pressing them to the carpet on either side of her head.
The position was unmistakable—Morgan straddling Elise, their bodies aligned from hip to chest, both breathing hard. Alan could see the tremble in Morgan's arms, the effort it took to hold Elise down. And in Elise's eyes, something that wasn't surrender but recognition—a willingness to be where she was, at least for this moment.
"You're stronger than you look," Elise said, echoing her earlier observation, but the words carried new weight now.
Morgan's laugh was soft, breathless. "So are you."
Alan watched, transfixed, as the dynamic between them shifted again. The struggle hadn't ended, but it had evolved into something more complex than simple dominance. There was an intimacy to their contest now, a mutual exploration that made his skin flush hot.
Elise tested Morgan's grip, twisting one wrist experimentally. Morgan responded by leaning forward, using more of her weight to maintain control. The movement brought their faces closer, their breath mingling in the narrow space between them.
"Is this what you imagined, Alan?" Elise asked without looking away from Morgan. "When you described that moment to us?"
Alan struggled to find his voice. "Yes," he finally managed. "But more... more real."
Morgan's eyes flicked to him briefly before returning to Elise. "And is it what you imagined, Elise? Being held down?"
Something flashed in Elise's expression—not anger, not embarrassment, but a fierce sort of honesty. "I didn't know until now," she admitted.
The confession hung in the air between them, changing the atmosphere once more. Morgan's grip on Elise's wrists loosened slightly, not releasing but softening. For a moment, it seemed as though the contest might be over, resolved in this moment of unexpected vulnerability.
But Elise wasn't finished. With a sudden surge of strength, she twisted sharply, using her hips to create momentum. Morgan, caught by surprise, lost her balance. Elise continued the movement, rolling them both until their positions were reversed—Morgan on her back, Elise above her.
"Neither did I," Morgan said softly, looking up at Elise with a mixture of challenge and something deeper, more personal.
Elise's hands found Morgan's wrists, mirroring the hold that had been used on her. Their positions were perfectly inverted now, the power dynamic flipped but the connection between them unchanged.
Alan's throat went dry. The women had forgotten him again, lost in their private contest. He watched as they stared at each other, neither speaking, communicating through pressure and resistance alone.
Morgan tested Elise's grip, straining upward. Elise responded by pressing down harder, her body flush against Morgan's. The struggle continued, but there was a rhythm to it now, almost like a dance—each woman learning the other's movements, anticipating, responding.
Their blouses had come partially untucked, revealing glimpses of skin at waist and collar. Sweat gleamed on their throats and foreheads, and their hair had fallen completely loose. They looked different now—not the composed professionals who had begun this experiment, but women fully engaged in something primal and honest.
"Tell me," Elise said, her voice low and intimate, "do you want me to let you up?"
Morgan's chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her. "Not yet," she answered, the words barely audible.
Elise's lips curved in a smile that carried both triumph and understanding. "Good."
Alan watched as they remained locked together, neither yielding nor escalating further. The tension in the room was palpable, charged with something that went beyond the physical contest. He realized he was witnessing something rare and profound—two women discovering parts of themselves they had never acknowledged, finding truth in the struggle neither had expected.
And in that moment, watching them breathe together, locked in a stalemate that felt more like connection than competition, Alan understood that what had drawn him to these scenes all his life wasn't just the physicality or the dominance. It was this—the raw honesty that emerged when pretense fell away, when two people met each other with nothing held back.
Elise shifted slightly, adjusting her grip on Morgan's wrists. "We should stop," she said, though she made no move to release her.
Morgan nodded slowly. "We should." Her eyes remained fixed on Elise's, searching. "But not yet."
Alan leaned against the door, heart pounding, knowing he was witnessing something that would change all three of them forever. The struggle continued, quieter now but no less intense, as the afternoon light filtered through the blinds and cast long shadows across their entangled forms.
"Not so easy, is it?" Elise murmured, her voice low enough that Alan had to strain to hear. "To let go of control."
Morgan's response was physical rather than verbal. In one fluid motion, she dropped her weight suddenly, bending forward at the waist. The unexpected shift pulled Elise off-balance for a crucial second. Morgan twisted, using the momentum to slip partially free of the hold.
But Elise recovered quickly. As Morgan tried to turn, Elise's arm shot out, catching her around the waist. Their bodies collided again, this time face-to-face, chests heaving with exertion.
Alan pressed himself harder against the door, heart hammering in his chest. The intensity between them had transformed into something electric—no longer cautious or exploratory but urgent and raw. He couldn't look away, couldn't even blink.
Morgan's height advantage became apparent as she used her leverage to push forward, forcing Elise to take a step back. But Elise was denser, more grounded, her lower center of gravity making her difficult to move further. They strained against each other, locked in a contest that had transcended any pretense of clinical exploration.
Sweat darkened the silk of Morgan's blouse along her spine. A strand of hair had fallen across her face, but she made no move to brush it away, her focus entirely on the woman before her. Elise's expression had changed too—her professional detachment replaced by something fierce and present, her eyes never leaving Morgan's.
"You're holding back," Elise said, her voice rougher now.
Morgan's lips curved in a tight smile. "So are you."
The words seemed to break something loose between them. Elise surged forward suddenly, using her compact strength to drive Morgan backward until her shoulders hit the bookshelf. Books tumbled, thudding dully on the carpet. Alan flinched at the sound, but neither woman seemed to notice.
Morgan gasped, not in pain but surprise, as Elise pressed against her, pinning her with the weight of her body. For a heartbeat, they were perfectly still, breathing each other's air, the contest suspended in a moment of pure connection.
The first motion was so fast that Alan almost missed it. Dr. Morgan, arms still braced against the bookshelf, pivoted at the hips and let Elise’s momentum carry her forward. Instead of bracing herself, she yielded, rolling her left shoulder in, and in the same movement, got both hands under Elise’s ribcage. Her fingers flexed, knuckles whitening as she dug them in, and for a heartbeat, both women were suspended: neither winning, neither yielding, but both straining so fiercely that Alan could see the tendons in their necks standing out like cables.
Elise’s lips parted, an unvoiced sound escaping, but she didn’t stop. She pressed harder, trying to use her body weight to drive Morgan back against the shelf a second time. That’s when Morgan dropped her center of gravity—fast, almost desperate—pulling Elise with her, twisting so that her own back was momentarily parallel to the floor. The sudden movement caught Elise off guard. They careened away from the bookshelf, limbs entangled, and staggered into the middle of the room.
For a second, they seemed to hover there, all four feet shuffling for purchase, their faces inches apart, breath intermingling, the air charged with effort and something else that Alan, even as a scientist, could only describe as animal. Elise’s arms fought for Morgan’s biceps, but Morgan was already moving, using the torque from her own twist to lever Elise’s upper body downward.
The fall was not the graceful, cinematic tumble Alan expected; it was awkward, limbs flailing, an honest and messy collapse. Elise went down first, landing on her back on the carpet, the impact shaking a muted gasp from her. Morgan followed instantly, not crashing down but controlling her own descent so that her knees landed astride Elise’s hips. In the next instant, Morgan was perched on top of Elise, her weight pinning her to the floor. For a breathless second, neither moved—they simply stared, faces red and shining with sweat, hair loose and wild, as if neither could quite believe what the other had just done.
Then, as if responding to a silent cue, Morgan pressed her advantage. She slid her hands up, one to each of Elise’s shoulders, pinning them to the rug. Alan could see the indentation of Morgan’s palms against the thin cotton of Elise’s blouse. Elise arched her back, straining, but Morgan held fast, her own arms locked straight, shoulders trembling from exertion.
There was a subtle shift in the dynamic. Alan felt it before he could articulate it. In the struggle, something like trust had formed—a tacit acknowledgment of rules, boundaries, and consequences. But now, with Morgan on top, the boundaries were being redrawn in real time. Morgan’s breathing was ragged, but her face had softened, the earlier mask of academic detachment replaced by something raw and searching. Elise, for her part, looked up at Morgan not with anger or resentment, but with a kind of wonder, as if surprised to find herself bested.
They stayed that way for several seconds, neither moving. The silence was so deep it amplified every sound: their breaths, the thud of Alan’s heart in his own chest, the faint tick of the wall clock. Then Morgan leaned in, not pressing her advantage further, but lowering her face until her lips were almost at Elise’s ear.
"Is this what you wanted?" Morgan asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Elise didn't answer with words. Instead, she bucked upward, powerful thighs and hips lifting to unseat Morgan. But Morgan anticipated the move, shifting to maintain her position. Her hands found Elise's wrists, pressing them to the carpet on either side of her head.
The position was unmistakable—Morgan straddling Elise, their bodies aligned from hip to chest, both breathing hard. Alan could see the tremble in Morgan's arms, the effort it took to hold Elise down. And in Elise's eyes, something that wasn't surrender but recognition—a willingness to be where she was, at least for this moment.
"You're stronger than you look," Elise said, echoing her earlier observation, but the words carried new weight now.
Morgan's laugh was soft, breathless. "So are you."
Alan watched, transfixed, as the dynamic between them shifted again. The struggle hadn't ended, but it had evolved into something more complex than simple dominance. There was an intimacy to their contest now, a mutual exploration that made his skin flush hot.
Elise tested Morgan's grip, twisting one wrist experimentally. Morgan responded by leaning forward, using more of her weight to maintain control. The movement brought their faces closer, their breath mingling in the narrow space between them.
"Is this what you imagined, Alan?" Elise asked without looking away from Morgan. "When you described that moment to us?"
Alan struggled to find his voice. "Yes," he finally managed. "But more... more real."
Morgan's eyes flicked to him briefly before returning to Elise. "And is it what you imagined, Elise? Being held down?"
Something flashed in Elise's expression—not anger, not embarrassment, but a fierce sort of honesty. "I didn't know until now," she admitted.
The confession hung in the air between them, changing the atmosphere once more. Morgan's grip on Elise's wrists loosened slightly, not releasing but softening. For a moment, it seemed as though the contest might be over, resolved in this moment of unexpected vulnerability.
But Elise wasn't finished. With a sudden surge of strength, she twisted sharply, using her hips to create momentum. Morgan, caught by surprise, lost her balance. Elise continued the movement, rolling them both until their positions were reversed—Morgan on her back, Elise above her.
"Neither did I," Morgan said softly, looking up at Elise with a mixture of challenge and something deeper, more personal.
Elise's hands found Morgan's wrists, mirroring the hold that had been used on her. Their positions were perfectly inverted now, the power dynamic flipped but the connection between them unchanged.
Alan's throat went dry. The women had forgotten him again, lost in their private contest. He watched as they stared at each other, neither speaking, communicating through pressure and resistance alone.
Morgan tested Elise's grip, straining upward. Elise responded by pressing down harder, her body flush against Morgan's. The struggle continued, but there was a rhythm to it now, almost like a dance—each woman learning the other's movements, anticipating, responding.
Their blouses had come partially untucked, revealing glimpses of skin at waist and collar. Sweat gleamed on their throats and foreheads, and their hair had fallen completely loose. They looked different now—not the composed professionals who had begun this experiment, but women fully engaged in something primal and honest.
"Tell me," Elise said, her voice low and intimate, "do you want me to let you up?"
Morgan's chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her. "Not yet," she answered, the words barely audible.
Elise's lips curved in a smile that carried both triumph and understanding. "Good."
Alan watched as they remained locked together, neither yielding nor escalating further. The tension in the room was palpable, charged with something that went beyond the physical contest. He realized he was witnessing something rare and profound—two women discovering parts of themselves they had never acknowledged, finding truth in the struggle neither had expected.
And in that moment, watching them breathe together, locked in a stalemate that felt more like connection than competition, Alan understood that what had drawn him to these scenes all his life wasn't just the physicality or the dominance. It was this—the raw honesty that emerged when pretense fell away, when two people met each other with nothing held back.
Elise shifted slightly, adjusting her grip on Morgan's wrists. "We should stop," she said, though she made no move to release her.
Morgan nodded slowly. "We should." Her eyes remained fixed on Elise's, searching. "But not yet."
Alan leaned against the door, heart pounding, knowing he was witnessing something that would change all three of them forever. The struggle continued, quieter now but no less intense, as the afternoon light filtered through the blinds and cast long shadows across their entangled forms.
