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Members Catfight Polls! / Re: Penthouse Pounding : Broken Promise Nicole vs Chelsea

« Last post by Serene Savagery on February 04, 2026, 04:26:50 PM »

I want to thank these two incredible women for being nothing but amazing.  Well earned victory, extremely hard fought loss.  Both deserve all the accolades we can give them.  Definitely one of the better polls.I have been involved with. 

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Members Catfight Polls! / Re: Penthouse Pounding : Broken Promise Nicole vs Chelsea

« Last post by Serene Savagery on February 04, 2026, 04:25:14 PM »

The room holds its breath.

Not a glass clinks, not a whisper escapes. There is only the hush of wealth and anticipation, thick as velvet, pressing against the walls of this private chamber. 15 souls, dressed in silks and diamonds, faces illuminated by the low amber glow of chandeliers....lean forward, some with hands pressed to mouths, others with eyes wide and shining. They have paid fortunes to be here, to witness this private sacrament of dominance, and now they are receiving exactly what they craved.

And there she stands.

Nicole.

God, she is magnificent. The marble floor seems to rise to meet her, as if the earth itself acknowledges her excellence. She is a statue carved from violence and grace, her skin glowing with the sheen of exertion, her chest rising and falling in that slow, metronomic rhythm of absolute control. Her shoulders are broad and settled, her spine a straight line of authority. She does not pant. She does not tremble. She simply is, undiminished, untouchable, radiating a power so pure it makes the air shimmer around her.

Beneath Nicole's foot planted on her face, Chelsea lies ruined. The contrast is devastating. Where Nicole is architecture, steel and stone and terrible beauty, Chelsea is debris. Her body sprawls in an ungainly spread of defeat, breasts exposed to the cool air, skin flushed crimson against the white marble. Her eyes, when they flutter open, are glassy with shock, swimming with the humiliation of absolute surrender. She does not move. She cannot. The fight has been bled out of her, leaving only the hollow shell of what was once resistance.

I can see the guests processing it, the ones who wagered heavily on Chelsea shifting in their seats, faces pale; the ones who recognized Nicole’s predator grace from the first moment now nodding with the smug satisfaction of prophets. A woman near the front, some European aristocrat with pearls at her throat, has her hand pressed between her legs, eyes locked on the scene with an intensity that borders on religious fervor.

Then the applause begins.

It starts as a single clap, sharp, decisive, then swells like a wave breaking against stone. It crashes through the room, thunderous, primal, the sound of money and lust and awe colliding. The guests on their feet, a sea of tailored tuxedos and evening gowns, and the roar becomes full and constant. They are not just acknowledging a winner. They are bowing to a queen.

I move through the crowd, the heavy silk of the victory cloak draped over my forearm. It is midnight blue, almost black, embroidered with gold thread that catches the light like liquid fire. My heart hammers against my ribs, but my steps are measured, calm. I am the arbiter of this moment, the one who gets to touch the untouchable.

Nicole does not look at me as I approach. Her gaze remains fixed on the broken thing at her feet, that slight, terrible smile playing at the corners of her mouth, a smile that says I own this, I own her, I own everything. She turns and starts to walk away, her back to Chelsea, I step into her peripheral vision, her head turns slowly, and her eyes meet mine.

Christ.

They are burning. Not with violence, that has passed, but with a concentrated, nuclear pride that nearly stops my heart. She is high on it, intoxicated by the chemistry of dominance, and I can see the pulse thrumming in her neck, steady and strong. She is alive in a way that makes everything else in the world seem gray and distant.

I reach her and lift the cloak, unfurling it like a banner. The silk whispers as it settles over her shoulders, draping across the topography of her victory, her collarbones, the defined muscle of her arms, the sheen of sweat that glistens like oil on her skin. I step behind her, close enough to smell the heat rising from her body, the intoxicating scent of exertion and triumph. My fingers brush her shoulders as I settle the fabric, and I feel the coiled power there, the tremor of restrained energy that makes my breath catch.

"Perfect," I murmur against her ear, low enough that only she can hear. "Absolutely perfect."

Then I move to her right side, taking her arm. Her skin is hot under my grip, solid as oak. I lift it slowly, deliberately, raising her fist toward the vaulted ceiling. The crowd erupts again, a fresh crescendo of sound is loud and certain.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" My voice cuts through the din, rich and resonant, carrying the weight of the moment. I turn slowly, presenting her to the assembly like a priceless artifact, like a weapon, like a god. "Your victor! Your sovereign!"

The lights seem to brighten on her face. She stands there, arm raised, the cloak hanging from her shoulders like royal regalia, her foot still planted in the memory of her conquest. She is the axis around which the world turns now, and every eye in the room is devouring her, the flush of her cheeks, the set of her jaw, the way her hair frames her face like a dark halo.

I let the silence build for three heartbeats, letting them drink her in, letting Nicole feel the weight of their adoration pressing down upon her like a physical force.

"And now," I say, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial timbre that somehow carries to every corner, "the revelation."

I reach into my jacket pocket and withdraw the envelope, heavy, cream-colored, sealed with crimson wax. The room goes quiet again, suddenly, sharply, the curiosity palpable.

"Nicole," I announce, turning to face her, looking up into those burning eyes. "What you did not know, what neither you nor Chelsea knew, was that tonight was not merely for pride."

I pause. I can see the flicker in her gaze, the slight tilt of her head. Interest. Surprise, carefully guarded.

"Tonight," I continue, my voice swelling with the drama of the moment, "was for legacy. For history. For a quarter of a million dollars."

I rip open the envelope and hold up the check, turning it so the light catches the numbers, the zeros, the obscene amount of wealth now transferring to her by right of conquest.

"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars!" I thunder, and the room explodes.

The sound is primal now. Screams, cheers, the crash of a champagne glass hitting the floor somewhere in the back. The guests are on their feet, some weeping, some shouting, all of them witnessing the absolute apotheosis of this woman.

Nicole’s eyes widen, just for a fraction of a second, the only crack in her composure, and then that smile returns, deeper now, satisfied in a way that transcends the physical. She did not do this for money. She did this for the breaking, for the power, for the moment of standing over another woman and knowing she was supreme. But the money—the validation of it, the tangible weight of quarter-million-dollar proof, sends a shudder through her that I feel where my hand grips her bicep.

She looks down at Chelsea one last time, a glance that says this paid for you, and then back at the crowd, her chin lifting, her arm still raised high in my grip.

I lean in close, my lips nearly brushing her ear, my voice trembling with the passion of what I have just witnessed.

"Take it," I whisper. "Take everything. It’s yours. It was always yours."

And she does. Standing there in the center of the marble floor, cloaked in silk and glory, the defeated woman at her feet and the world at her feet, Nicole absorbs it all, the money, the power, the absolute certainty that she is, in this moment and forever, undeniable.

The crowd chants her name now, a rhythmic pulse that fills the room like a heartbeat. Nicole. Nicole. Nicole.

She does not smile anymore. She simply is, majesty incarnate, violence made beautiful, a woman who has taken everything she wanted and proven that she was always the only one who could.

I hold her arm aloft, my hand burning where it touches her skin, and I know, I know with absolute certainty, that I am witnessing something sacred. The birth of a legend. The coronation of a queen.

And somewhere, in the back of the room, Chelsea pulls the blanket over her trembling shoulders, already becoming a memory, already fading into the shadow of Nicole’s light.

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General Discussion about Catfights / Your ideal catfighters/wrestlers

« Last post by Love Fem Wrestling on February 04, 2026, 04:16:40 PM »

I would love to see two elegant and ladylike female business executives strip out of their pantsuits or whatever their office attire might be and have a competitive wrestling match or rules catfight preferably in their panties and bra. Who or what type of women would you like to see go at it in your ideal matchup? Ideal attire?

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General Discussion about Catfights / Re: Girlfriend v wife

« Last post by papagala on February 04, 2026, 04:04:32 PM »

Where is the story

95

Fictional Catfight Polls! / Final Showdown: Jessica (MtF) vs Sonny (FtM)

« Last post by SunnyB on February 04, 2026, 03:49:50 PM »

Been fooling around & experimenting with AI, producing some naughty, erotic pics in the process about wrestling matches where the loser gets dominated & fucked by the winner ...   

So I've done some pics of myself clashing with a MtF opponent, Jessica ... so here are 2 pics from the first two matches ... 

FIRST MATCH

Here I am victorious    ... first dildo fucking her ass harshly while fingering my wet snatch ...   



then riding her face to a gushing orgasm    ... finally, striking a victory pose over Jessica, sadistically grinding my foot into her gurl-cock ... He! He! 



SECOND MATCH

Eager for revenge, Jessica challenged me to a rematch  (:catfight:) ... and to my shameful surprise & horror she turned the tables on me this time ... fucking & creaming my pussy ... then forcing me to lick her built in 'strap-on cock' clean ... OH MY GAWD!    



[/color]

FINAL SHOWDOWN POLL

And here are two AI face-off pics between Jessica and myself as Sonny in our climatic FINAL SHOWDOWN!!! 





Who would you MOST like to see win?  : :<3

The poll will only run for a few days, so vote quickly if you can  ... Any way, hope folks will enjoy & please comment too! 

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General Discussion about Catfights / Re: Somebody remember the website www.girlfight.net ?

« Last post by Mike_Lynn on February 04, 2026, 03:49:15 PM »

Alexis, I believe is Ellis Kent’s muse. Ellis is a member here and has written several stories about his devotion to Alexis. Really hot stuff.

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MMA, Martial Arts,Kickboxing and NHB / Bathroom Catfight between FtM & CIS Woman

« Last post by SunnyB on February 04, 2026, 03:38:25 PM »

Here’s a sort of inter-active story done with AI a few months ago. After setting the initial context of it being a bathroom catfight between myself as a FtM transman and a blonde cis woman, this is how AI responded … my inputs were minor and are enclosed below like this  >…> and in color.

I was quite amazed and aroused  … and hope others here enjoy the kinky experience with me … wink!  :

Will be posting the story in parts … so please check in regularly and comment!  

Sonny

************

INTERACTIVE AI BATHROOM CATFIGHT

You shove through the steamy bathroom door, the sharp scent of cheap soap and mildew thick in your lungs.

"Move it, princess," you growl, your low voice cutting through the humid air as your bare shoulder bumps hard against a slick, tiled wall.

Across the cramped space, a wiry woman with bleach-blonde hair whips around, water sluicing down her naked body, her eyes narrowing as they rake over your muscular frame – the defined pecs, the thick biceps, the trail of dark hair leading down past your navel to where your cock would be, if you had one. Instead, it's just the familiar flat plane, the thatch of coarse hair, your pussy exposed.

"Who the hell you callin' princess, *dude*?" she spits back, fists already clenching at her sides, water dripping onto the grimy floor between you. The tension crackles, thick as the steam.

> "You fucking, bitch ... ", I growl angrily, "I'm gonna teach you a lesson in humility ... and make you my slut!">

Her bleach-blonde eyebrows shoot up, then slam down into a venomous glare.

"My slut?" she snarls, water sluicing off her knuckles as she takes a step forward, her bare feet slapping against the wet tiles.

"Big talk for a dude with a cxnt."

Before the echo of her words fades, she lunges, not with a wild swing, but with a vicious, open-handed rake aimed straight for your eyes. You jerk back, the swipe whistling past your cheek, but her momentum carries her into you. Her bony shoulder slams into your sternum, driving you hard against the cold, slick wall.

The impact rattles your teeth, steam filling your lungs as her wet, wiry frame presses against yours, one hand clawing at your shoulder for purchase, the other already cocking back for another strike. Her breath, hot and sour with cheap coffee, hits your face.

"Let's see how humble *you* feel when I'm done with you!" she spits, her knee driving upwards, not towards your groin, but aiming to slam into your exposed thigh muscle, trying to buckle your stance.

PART 2

> Ummmppph", I groan …

Stunned by the bitch's sudden attack, I react slowly, but manage to raise my leg so her knee only slams into me sideways, glancing my thigh. And immediately I try to knee her in her crotch ...>

Your knee jerks upward instinctively, catching her bony kneecap at a glancing angle instead of the solid impact she had intended.

Pain flares through your thigh muscle, hot and deep, but you grit your teeth and drive your own knee forward with a guttural roar. It connects hard and low, slamming into the soft crease where her thigh meets her pelvis – not a direct hit to her pussy, but close enough to make her gasp, a sharp, wet sound that echoes off the tiles.

She staggers back half a step, her grip on your shoulder slipping, her eyes wide with shock and fresh pain.

Water streams down her contorted face as she sucks in a ragged breath, her free hand instinctively flying down to cup the bruised junction.

"Fuck!" she hisses, her voice tight, the venom momentarily replaced by raw discomfort. The steam swirls thickly between you, the humid air heavy with the scent of sweat, cheap soap, and the sharp tang of aggression.

> "Oooh, did that hurt?", I taunt, "It's nothing compared to what I have in store for you ..">

Your taunt hangs in the steamy air like a challenge thrown down. The blonde woman's pained grimace twists into something feral.

"Hurt?" she rasps, pushing off the wall she'd staggered against. Water drips from her clenched jaw as she straightens, her hand still pressed to the reddening welt on her inner thigh.

"Try *this* for hurt, you arrogant fuck!" She doesn't lunge this time. Instead, she feints a low kick towards your shin, but it's a distraction. As your weight shifts defensively, she explodes forward, driving her shoulder low into your abdomen.

The force lifts you slightly off your feet, slamming you backwards into the row of dripping shower taps. Cold metal digs into your spine, and the sharp clang echoes painfully in the confined space.

Before you can recover your breath, her wiry arms snake around your waist, fingers digging into the muscles of your lower back as she tries to lock you against the pipes, her wet skin slick and hot against yours. Her breath comes in ragged gasps against your neck.

"Still feel like teaching lessons?" she grunts, trying to wrench you off balance onto the wet floor.

> "Owww!!!", I grunt in surprised shock as my back slams hard and painfully into the shower taps under the water spurting from the shower head above, drenching us both, and I feel my feet slipping under me on the soap floor, and in desperation I grab her long hair, trying to yank her off balance as I start to fall …>

TO BE CONTINUED …

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Members Catfight Polls! / Re: lexibabe nyteshade {a reckoning}

« Last post by SunnyB on February 04, 2026, 03:32:30 PM »

Oooh, Lexi, I bet my vibrator on you winning ... LOL! 

Tsk, tsk, sorry Nyteshade  ... you're very hawt!  But going down in this one! 

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Live Action Clips / An inspired match up.

« Last post by presenterfan on February 04, 2026, 03:15:27 PM »

Any girls who fight or wrestle on film is interesting but sometimes the producers find a perfect pairing.   For me Crystal films hit the target when they set Star and Amanda against each other.   They certainly fought each other at least three times..  This for me was the best and there was no winner.    Another great couple of fights happened when Mary and Theresa faced off (twice).  The similarity in these fights was the ladies ladies dished it out but more importantly, they took it back without complaint.

https://xfights.to/videos/7108/festelle-cvs12-6-amanda-vs-star-the-rematch/

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Catfight Art / Re: Divorce Disagreement

« Last post by papagala on February 04, 2026, 02:25:46 PM »

Amazing as usual! Rivalry between  women over the same man can be very hard indeed. Let me mention here what my wife told me a few years ago, that if she would find another woman flirting me,  she would wrestle her, throw her down and grab her by the pussy till it gets torn out. Although it is not possible of course,  I was very excited about this possibility.
I would like to see some pussygrabing or titfight in your next poses, if you agree.