This was originally going to be one fight, the third one a sequel to 'Office Wars'
https://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php?topic=121494.msg781416#msg781416 with all the other fights mentioned in one sentence. I then decided that they sounded so hot I had to write the story.
I also had the bright idea of illustrating my story with AI, hitting the envelope of what image_fx will do. If you would like to see it, it’s on DA.
https://www.deviantart.com/mikehales67/art/Office-Wars-2-A-Clash-of-Cultures-1273818544This story does contain religious and ethnic slurs. It does not reflect my own opinions but I felt it was what the characters would say. If you are likely to be offended then do not read it.
Please, just don’t read it.
"Mira?"
Maya could hear the front door open from the kitchen. Her daughter was home from university. Mira would normally come home and tell her about her day when she arrived. Instead, she heard Mira's furious footsteps pounding up the stairs, sobbing as she ascended, then the slam of the door.
Maya didn't need a mother's instinct to tell her something was wrong. She waited a few minutes before climbing the stairs to her daughter's room. She stood outside the door of her daughter’s room. She could hear more crying; she was anxious now.
"Mira?"
"Go away!"
Maya ignored the command; she opened the door. Mira was lying on her front, crying into the bed. When she raised her head to look at her. Maya gulped. Her daughter's face, so pretty, was covered in bruises with a black eye. Her nose looked like it had been dripping blood, and her lip was cut in several places.
"Who did this to you?"
"Aisha", Mira sobbed.
This is the middle, I'll tell you how we got here, and the end will take care of itself.
It started with Tracy and Arya. They just didn't get on. University was the first time to meet people from diverse backgrounds, and they didn't like it. Tracy, a pretty blonde girl from Wales who grew up on a farm. Found Arya, an Indian girl from Bradford, just too much, too loud, too foreign, an arrogant curry muncher. Arya referred to Tracy as the 'hick from the sticks' or 'Sheepshagger'.
Unfortunately, this being a University, they had to share a kitchen. They had both thought of transferring but refused to move out because of 'that slag'.
It came to a head when Arya celebrated Holi, the festival of colours. The story went that the divinity Krishna was in love with Radha. However, he worried that the fair-skinned Radha wouldn’t like him due to his dark skin colour. Summoning his courage, he approached Radha and asked her to colour his face any colour that she wished. She accepted his offer, and they fell in love. Ever since, the playful colouring of one’s face had been celebrated during Holi.
Arya had loved Holi as a child and was determined to celebrate it at University. She’d bought some Rangoli powder, and she started celebrating it in the usual way, throwing the brightly coloured powder at people. She loved it when people threw it back.
Tracy was in the dining room, quietly eating her lunch. She heard a commotion and in burst Arya, laughing, squealing, throwing powder at her friends. She rolled her eyes and heavily tutted, trying to move her plate out of the way when wisps of the brightly coloured powder drifted towards her.
Arya kept on playing with her friends; their laughs and shrieks filled the dining room as they all got covered in bright colours. It was getting harder to protect her bangers and mash and gravy from the invading colours. Tracy sat there fuming, like a ticking time bomb. Eventually, she could take no more. She exploded. Jumping up, throwing her knife and fork onto the table, she screamed,
“Stop throwing that shit about!”
The celebrations stopped with a crash. Arya turned to look at Tracy, still holding the Rangoli powder. Yes, they had been a bit wild, for anybody else, she might have stopped and apologised, but not that cow. Insolently, she threw a small handful of the powder at Tracy, colouring her white peasant blouse. Tracy fumed.
“It’s only organic food dye. It won’t kill you, unlike that bacon you stuff your face with”. Arya sniffed.
Tracy reached behind her, grasping the plate of her half-eaten food. Smiling, she swung the plate, emptying its contents all over Arya’s T-shirt. And rubbing the plate on the Indian’s shirt.
“What’s the matter?” she said sweetly, “It's only food dye. It won’t kill you. Unlike that smelly shit you stuff down your face”
“Fucking woollyback!” Arya spat.
"Why don't you fuck off to where you came from!" Tracy shouted back, losing her temper.
Everybody in the dining room froze.
"What Bradford? Why don't you go back to fucking your brother, inbred!" Arya shouted back.
“Your kind always smell of curry”
“Better than smelling of cow-shit, taffy”
"Slut!"
"Whore!"
"Why don't you two just settle it with a fight?"
Louis, one of the boys, interjected. “It seems like you two can’t get along. Why don’t you settle your differences once and for all?” Stunned by the brilliance of his idea, he continued.
"The playing fields at five tonight?..."
"...you can settle it there. We'll come and watch".
He added, "We’ll all chip in and get a bottle of champagne for the winner!"
Neither girl knew this, but there had been much speculation in the common room about who would win when those two finally threw down. They were both good-looking girls. So, there was speculation on two counts: who would win in a fight and who had nicer tits. The Welsh girl from the valleys or the inner-city gal from Bradford? Tracy was the favourite in both categories, but only by a narrow margin.
Louis himself was in Team Arya. Yeah, Tracy was curvy, curvaceous; she definitely had the bigger bazoomers with more flesh on her bones, she probably had a large, light brown aureole, with stubby nipples. While Arya had a perfect hour-glass figure under all those t-shirts she wore, those round grapefruit-sized breasts, so firm to the touch, were topped with smaller, dark brown, almost black, perfectly circular aureole with cherry-sized nipples. While Tracy was a bruiser, Arya was a wildcat. His girl could take the Welsh witch no problem. He imagined. He prayed one day he'd get a chance to find out.
Yep, he was team Arya all the way.
Both girls were stunned. A fight. They had never been in a fight. But neither wanted to be seen to back down in front of the other.
"Look at her, she's afraid", Tracy jeered.
"Afraid of you? Never!" Arya shot back. Yes, she was scared; her mouth was dry, she could feel her heart beating like a drum, but she was determined not to lose face. Not in front of this cow.
“You wanna do this?” Tracy asked for confirmation. Thinking she’d chicken out.
She wouldn’t.
“Yes!” Arya hissed for emphasis.
"Okay"
"Fine"
With that, they abruptly turned from each other. And marched off to prepare for their meeting tonight.
At five o'clock, the two girls walked into the playing field, accompanied by their friends. They walked straight towards the crowd, the crowd partied for them, and they said 'see ya soon' to their friends who wished them luck. They stood facing each other on opposite sides of the circle, the crowd had cleared for them to fight in.
Some of the boys and girls had seen the earlier argument and wanted to see how it would end. Others had heard the news that it was finally going to happen. They had arrived before the girls turned up, and were now encouraging them to smash the other's face in.
Arya started moving her body side to side; she wanted to make it look like she was preparing herself.
"Last chance to walk away". She tried to sound as threatening as possible.
"Fuck you!" Was Tracy's witty riposte.
Arya slammed a fist into her hand, trying to look intimidating. A part of her was really hoping she'd take the offer. Then she realised there was a part of her that was glad she hadn't.
"No mercy", she said threateningly. Doing her best to sound intimidating.
"No mercy for you, you mean", said Tracy, stretching, not intimidated, ‘if that’s the way she wants it…’, she thought.
The girls faced off against each other as the crowd chanted “Fight! Fight!”. Were they really going to do this? It felt surreal. Like two gladiators from ancient Rome thrown into an arena with a crowd baying for blood. They were both inwardly terrified; at the same time, neither wanted to lose face in front of the crowd. Their hearts were pounding as they faced each other; both would have preferred to be anywhere else rather than here.
“My God, what if I lose in front of all these people?”
Thought the cute blonde. She began to feel like she needed to pee, but she knew that would give away the fact that she was scared.
Although Arya looked confident, she was also secretly petrified; she was breathing heavily, and she felt sick. Arya wore a white T-shirt and denim shorts. Tracy was just wearing a white, peasant blouse with a short black skirt, and the two of them looked fantastic. Neither of them had ever done anything like this.
The crowd shouted their encouragement.
"Show her, Trace, Cambria ne'er can yield!"
"Pound her, Arya!"
“So, you want to fight, bitch?” Arya tried to sound tough, raising her fists.
"You wanted this", answered Tracy.
But neither one threw the first blow. They were both unsure what to do now. Neither had been in a fight before. They could feel the anticipation, their hearts beating fit to burst, the nerves. They had both dreamed of beating the other, and they had told their friends in great detail what they would do to the other girl if only they were given a chance. But this was real. There was no sure thing. Only one of them could be the winner; the other would be the loser. And they would lose in front of all these people, their friends, to whom they had made all those promises about what they would do if only given the chance. Well, they had been given a chance, and they had blown it. They would all know.
Just then, it started to rain.
The Mexican stand-off continued. Both girls wanted to throw down, but they were unsure of how. Some in the crowd started muttering disappointedly about a Kitten Fight. Until one of the girls in the crowd, standing behind Arya, impatient for the fight to start and sick of getting wet, muttered, "Fuck this, it'll be dark soon", and shoved Arya into Tracy. Acting on reflex, Tracy threw a slap which rocked Arya's head to the side. Tracy had never slapped anyone before; she liked it, the feeling of power, of raw violence. All her inhibitions were gone.
I got this! I'm gonna beat her!
Arya touched her mouth and found the trickle of blood where her lip had been cut. In that second, she changed from a nice, polite, good little girl to something else, something wild. She bared her teeth in a savage, feral look. She sprang at Tracy, launching her own slap that sent Tracy staggering back. She touched the new glowing red tattoo on her face.
"FFYCIN CONT!"
Tracy screamed as she lunged for Arya's hair. Nobody knew what she said, it was Welsh after all, but they could guess. Arya lunged as well, and they collided and pulled each other in circles, trying to snatch each other bald. Tracy yanked Arya's head to the side, firing a slap to the side of her face. Arya yanked back, causing Tracy to stumble, adding in her own backhanded slap.
The rain was not slowing them down; each believed justice was on their side. In her mind, Arya was fighting the evil sister Holika, who tried to kill the noble Prahlad, while Tracy was a fierce Celtic warrior, defending her homeland from foreign invaders. The words of ‘Men of Harlech’ ran through her brain.
“Upon their soil we never sought them,
Love of conquest hither brought them,
But this lesson we have taught them,
"Cambria ne'er can yield!"
[/i]
They stumbled in circles. Grunts, slaps, and curses filled the air. Adrenaline had taken over. All inhibitions gone. Their only goal, to win this fight.
Arya got her leg tangled with Tracy's, destroying her balance, and she tripped, falling to her knees. Arya started hitting Tracy's head and shoulders and started pulling her around the increasingly muddy field by her hair.
Looking for a better handhold, she started pulling at Tracy's blouse. It slid easily off, making Arya stagger back, tripping. Shocked, Tracy stood bolt upright, with her hands over her bra-encased boobs. While she froze, Arya tried for a punch to the belly, but Tracy kicked her in the stomach first. Her desire to fight overcame her modesty. Arya gasped, lurching back, clutching her stomach.
The crowd's fears of it just being a kitten fight evaporated; this looked like it would be a first-class catfight. These two really wanted to kill each other. People just using the playing field, turned to look and see the action, and came to watch.
Angered by the loss of clothing, the Welsh battler attacked, pulling at the Asian beauty's T-shirt, which stretched, giving everyone a view of her bra-encased boobs, but refused to tear. Arya kicked at Tracy’s shins. It hurt, but she was too angry to care. She reached for Arya's hair, pulling her in to meet her fist slamming up into Arya's face.
"Smack!" She hit Arya's eye.
"Smack! " she punched her head, shit, that hurt, Tracy noted.
"I'm gonna beat you up, slut!"
Arya's fist shot out in immediate retaliation, hitting Tracy square in the mouth. It made a satisfying thud, but Arya was disappointed that the yonee still had her own teeth. She was snapped out of her thought by two ringing slaps to the side of her head. Arya grabbed the bitch's head, pulling it into her rising knee. Tracy moaned. Elated with the result, Arya tried for another knee. Determined not to get pummelled by the Paki bitch, Tracy grabbed the back of Arya's knee and lifted. Arya lost her balance and fell to the ground.
Tracy tried to jump on top of her, but a kick to the gut made her stagger back. Arya jumped up, holding Tracy’s head down by the hair; she alternated between punching her face and kneeing her body. Wanting the beating to stop, Tracy threw her arms around Arya's neck. She managed to pull her to the ground. Wrestling on the damp ground, Tracy trying for a choke hold, Arya tearing at her hair.
Arya rolled on top. Her knees were digging into Tracy’s back. She yanked the blonde’s hair back by the hair, her other arm around her neck, so Tracy was looking up at Arya’s angry face.
“You were going to do what to me?” Arya growled.
Still tightly gripping Tracy’s hair, the other hand released its grip on her neck and explored what lay under Tracy’s bra. She managed to get her fingers under the bra cup of her right breast. Grunting, she pushed harder, getting her fingers between the bra cup and the succulent flesh it encased.
This was unknown territory for her; she had never touched another woman’s breast, and Tracy had never had hers touched. Her breathing got faster. Despite what was happening to her, she was turned on, the slut. Arya's fingers kept searching, probing until she found her target. A fat stubby nipple. Which wasn't so stubby anymore, it was erect, long, and hard. She enfolded the nipple in her thumb and forefinger; the whore’s breathing was getting ever faster. Her pupils dilated, and she started whining. Arya became aware of the hardness of her own nipples, pushing against the bra that covered them. Look at her, thought Arya, the dirty slut, she's SOOO turned on. I could totally fuck her now if I wanted.
But I don't want.
She dug her nails in hard. The whines turned to screams as Arya tried to pull the nipple off the bitch’s breast.
"Cojan!", Tracy screamed.
Her hands reached for Arya's, frantic to pull that hand away from her breast. The nipple stretched farther than it ever had before. Tracy bucked wildly, but Arya wouldn’t let go. She felt the power of what she was doing to another person. The bitch is mine, Arya thought.
Until Tracy went for a face claw, her fingers aiming for her eyes. Arya cried out in fear, shutting her eyes tightly, as Tracy’s fingers dug deeper. She couldn’t reach the eyeballs, but she could try to gouge them out of her sockets.
"No mercy", Tracy hissed, her other hand reaching for Arya's breast through her bra. She cupped the underside of the breast in her fingers, her thumb hooked into the nipple, pushing it in, then she squeezed and started pumping, pulling the breast out as far as it would go and then slamming the breast into Arya’s ribcage. Arya tried to stifle a scream.
Arya’s hands went for Tracy’s hands, her fingers digging into the wrists, trying to pull them off. She cursed that she did not have long nails; she couldn’t pierce the flash. Tracy’s hands wouldn’t budge; she was having too much fun. Arya gave up trying to stifle her scream and let it out. Then she started moaning as Tracy continued pumping.
“Like it bitch? LIKE IT? SUBMIT TO YOUR BETTER!”
But Arya refused to give in, and eventually, Arya managed to push that hand away. Tracy smirked when she saw the scratch marks she had made on those breasts; she did not have long nails, but she had some. They were lying side by side now, eager to resume her face claw. Tracy’s hand shot out. Arya’s hand intercepted it, but it still hovered dangerously close to Arya's eyes.
"I'm gonna scratch your eyes out bitch", Tracy hissed through gritted teeth.
Arya's eyes widened in fear. She really thought she would. She had said 'No mercy' to intimidate, but it had set the tone for the fight. She tried to push back against the claws. Their hands were trembling as they struggled. Both girls were fighting hard for what they believed in.
Gasping, changing tactics, Arya suddenly stopped pushing Tracy’s hand and instead pulled it into her gaping mouth. Tracy screamed as Arya's teeth sank into the flesh.
"Fucking dirty animal!"
Tracey shrieked as she thumped frantically at the side of Arya's head, but Arya bit down harder, trying to hit blood. Tracey's other hand hit the damp ground. Snarling, she scooped a handful of muddy dirt into her hand and slammed it into Arya's eyes and started rubbing the abrasive soil into her eyes. Arya cried out, frantically kicking at Tracy's body. Tracy rolled away. She checked her hand for blood, bitch, finding there was none. Bitch. She allowed herself a brief smile of relief. Fuckingbitch. She was planning her next attack as Arya tried to get the mud out of her eyes. Maya
Some in the crowd got excited. Given the way it was raining! Thinking it could be the start of a mud wrestling bout.
While Arya was still clearing her sight, Tracy was up. Gripping Arya by the throat, she hauled her up, her other fist delivering blow after sickening blow into Arya's stomach. Arya tried to scream, but the hand on her throat meant she could only croak. Arya clutched at her stomach, gasping for air, trying not to throw up.
Satisfied with her work so far, Tracy kept holding Arya up by her wet hair and her throat. She spun her victim around, and then Tracy released her, letting her twirl away. Her legs tangled, and Arya slipped on the damp grass, falling to the ground. She rolled, ending up on her front. Tracy charged, ready to inflict more punishment and finish the Paki off, once and for all.
She slipped, falling flat on her face. She raised her head, only to see Ayra standing up. Her t-shirt was torn, her hair a mess, and her face covered in cuts and bruises. Her face twisted into a savage snarl, but she spoke slowly, deliberately. She quoted the ‘Bhagavad Gita’.
"I am become death, destroyer of worlds…”
“...your world, bitch!"
For a second, the stupid cow looked at Arya, uncomprehendingly, not realising just how fucked she was. No mercy. Arya turned and launched a spin kick into Tracy’s face. She screamed as her nose gushed blood. Her face twisted to the side, her mouth exploding spittle and, yes, blood. Tears formed in her eyes. The audience groaned.
Arya pulled Tracy up by the hair, launching uppercuts into her belly. Her body spasmed with every blow. She started gagging, drool running down her mouth. After the fourth blow, her belly started to cramp, and she sank to her knees, but was pulled back up by Arya's grip on her wet, soggy hair. Arya's knee went up, hitting Tracy's face with a sickening thump.
Tracy was sinking lower, but not low enough for Arya. Her knees started hammering Tracy's torso until Tracy just felt like dead weight in her hand. She let her go, and Tracy sank to the ground and curled up, trying to protect herself, but she was still moving, so Arya started stamping on her.
She kneed Tracy's left breast, hard. The knee flattened the breast with little resistance. Tracy moaned.
"Racist piece of shit. Give..."
She kicked Tracy's right breast, grinding her tit into her ribcage with her foot, while Tracy whined like a whipped bitch, which she was, thought Arya.
"...up! "
The crowd cheered her on, urging Arya to victory, as she tried to think of more torture to inflict. While Tracy's fans pleaded with her to get up.
Then the faint voice came.
"No more...please"
Tracy's trickle of tears turned into a flood. She didn’t care about the shame of losing any more; she just wanted the pain to stop.
Realising she had defeated her enemy, Arya released the hold on her enemy’s damp hair, throwing the unresisting head away like trash. Arya jumped for joy. “I did it, I won!”
“Ididit! Ifuckingdidit!”
Raising her arms in victory, she bathed in the applause of the crowd. She felt as if she'd passed a rite of passage. This was perfect, this was what Holi was all about: the Triumph of Good over evil. Just like Holika tried to vanquish Prahalad and failed, so the bitch had tried to defeat her and failed. In her excitement, she whipped off Tracy's skirt and knickers, twirling them above her head for everyone to see. She left her defeated opponent naked and sobbing, marching proudly through the crowd, twirling her plunder, her booty, over her head for all to see. She felt like a rock star. The crowd were pleased, although they would have liked to see more bare breasts; they got to witness a great catfight, so everyone was a winner. Except for poor Tracy.
Arya, in her exuberance over her victory against her long-time enemy, declared that Indian girls are the toughest. Then she headed to the university bar, where she sipped her celebratory champagne, while Tracy was taken to the infirmary. Later, Louis would gather the courage to tell her how magnificent she looked defeating Tracy, as he knew she would, and ask if she would like to go out sometime. It would be an honour for him to spend some of his winnings, earned by betting on her, on her, as she deserved. Flattered by the fact that he had bet his own money on her, she would say ‘Yes’. She left the bar with Louis and did not realise the events she had set in motion.
In the same bar, later, after Arya had left with Louis, some Pakistani girls who had watched the fight vocally disagreed with Arya's comment about how tough Indian girls are, saying, ‘No, Pakistani girls are the toughest’. A group of Indian girls, nearby, just as vocally disagreed; anyone who didn't admit that the Indian girls are the toughest was plainly an idiot. Or a stupid fucking Paki.
The Pakistani girls responded that the only idiots were those who believed a kafir could defeat a good Pakistani girl.
Fuelled by alcohol, the Indian girls invited the Pakistani girls to come and have a go.
The Pakistani girls replied, 'Anytime’.
From there, it really deteriorated. Threats were exchanged. Challenges were issued.
Rather than have a mass brawl there and then, which would disappoint some, it would attract too much attention. Cooler heads prevailed. It was decided to settle the matter by selecting champions to battle it out. Mira, captain of the university football team and having broken her share of bitches in scraps behind the bike sheds, was picked to represent Team India; she was honoured. She was the obvious choice. She would be taking on a girl named Aisha, who represented Team Pakistan and was the captain of the cricket team.
It was agreed, they would fight after the lectures finished in the girls' restroom, where there'd be no interruptions from boys or teachers. Some of the girls would stand by the door, barricading it, making sure the combatants would be free to settle their differences.
Mira was checked for weapons by the Pakistanis, while her own team checked Aisha as she limbered up. It was not necessary. They both wanted to prove they were the better woman, and they had attained their victory with their own bodies; they did not need to resort to cheating...to weapons, yuck.
They had both dressed for university. Mira was wearing a white tank top with a short black skirt, showing off her sculptured legs. Aisha opted for a denim shorts with a white t-shirt. Mira didn’t know much about her; they had spoken only once when they were setting out the rules, or lack of, for the scrap. She noticed that Aisha's legs were as well-muscled as hers; she was athletic, too. She looked like a tough bitch, but Mira had beaten tougher. She was fighting for the honour of her country. Who was she kidding? She was British. Her parents had taken her to India once, when she was a kid; too hot, too many insects, too smelly. No, she was fighting to prove who was the top bitch, Queen of the Campus. She bet Aisha couldn’t even find Pakistan on a map. Made for spicy trash talk, though.
They stood facing each other, like two Gladiators in ancient Rome. They knew what was expected of them as their sides urged them to fuck the other bitch up. They intended to try their best.
They walked towards each other and started pushing and shoving. Sending two-handed shoves, making each other stumble back. They were feeling each other out. This cycle of pushing, stumbling back, and surging together was repeated three times. With each shove, they were getting angrier and angrier. The next time they surged together, Mira gutted Aisha with a vicious blow to the belly that made her lose her lunch. Mira stood triumphant, laughing, mugging to her friends while Aisha wiped the puke from her mouth.
"I'm gonna fuck you up!" Aisha promised as she charged into Mira's belly.
Mira stumbled, and they both fell to the floor, Aisha on top. Firing forehands and backhands into Mira's face, while at the same time pulling at her tank top, using it to bash Mira's brains out on the floor, the material stretched and tore. Mira's hands scrambled at Aisha's t-shirt, trying to pull the bitch off her, likewise shredding it. She pulled Aisha in for a slap; the sound cracked across the bathroom. The crowd shouted out their encouragement to the battlers. Aisha paused for a moment, taken aback by the slap, then resumed her attack with renewed vigour.
Tired of getting her face lit up, Mira thrashed wildly, kicking Aisha off her. Her feet thudding into Aisha's chest. Sending her lurching back, her feet tangled, she fell to the floor. Mira followed her down, straddling Aisha's stomach, bouncing as she fired slap after slap into Aisha's face, paying back the earlier beating. Aisha tried to parry the blows, but they were relentless.
Aisha pulled at Mira's shirt, but that didn't even pause the beat that Mira was slapping out on her face. Instead, she slammed her fists together, with Mira's left tit in between. Mira screamed, clutching her tit. Pressure released, Aisha scrambled her legs and kicked out, sending Mira skidding back on her arse along the floor.
They both stood and charged. Mira, still nursing her battered tit, kicked out, her foot pounding Aisha's belly. Croaking in pain, clutching her stomach, she bent over and charged again, slamming Mira into the bathroom wall, while her head harpooned Mira’s stomach. Mira started driving her elbows into Aisha’s back. Aisha grabbed Mira’s thighs with both hands and, lifting, slammed her feet down on the floor; the shock waves thundered through her legs as they almost buckled.
Desperate, Mira grabbed Aisha’s hair, using it to drive her face into her raised knee. Aisha screamed as her nose shattered, spraying blood. Snarling, Aisha blindly pushed Mira away. Once clear, she held her oozing nose, gently sobbing. She moved back and drove her head in again. Mira gasped in pain, but before she could pull back for another blow, Mira had her arms around Aisha's neck, driving her head into the wall instead. Once upon. Twice. Aisha got her arms around Mira's neck, pulling her by the hair to the sides. They started dancing in circles, trying to stamp on each other's feet. Hands going for hair, knees thudding into bodies, fists going for faces. Their clothes went the way of the rule book. Torn to shreds. Mira's tank top hung in tatters around her waist, her bra half on, half off. Aisha's t-shirt, too, was in tatters.
With a surging heave, Mira swung Aisha into the sink. Giving out a yell, she leapt onto her back. With her left hand, she turned on the tap; with her right, she slammed Aisha’s head into the water, holding it there. Mira cackled as Aisha’s arms flailed in the air, and her mouth made a gurgling sound. Aisha’s hands pushed against the sink, her neck muscles tightening, trying to resist Mira’s pushing. Eventually, she managed to raise her head above the water, and she gasped hard. Mira pulled her head back, reaching for the soap dispenser. She rubbed the stinging soap into Aisha’s face.
“Better clean off that puke”, Mira jeered, smearing the soap, rubbing it into Aisha’s eyes, before she slammed her head down again, deliberately catching her head on the sink and opening a cut on her forehead. Then she resumed the dunking, laughing as Aisha gurgled and slapped her hands on the sink counter in frustration.
Summoning all her strength, Aisha pushed back with her feet. Sending them both flying back. As Mira banged her head on the tiles, Aisha fired her elbows back into Mira’s belly, pounding the air out of Mira’s lungs and forcing her to release her grip. Quickly, Aisha turned around, spitting out water at the same time, ripping off what was left of Mira’s tank top, leaving her in just her skirt. Her magnificent, ripe, firm mounds didn't need a bra; her nipples, firm and erect, stood out from the large dark aureole as she was swung into the counter with the sinks.
Still coughing, Aisha ripped off the sweaty tatters of her own T-shirt, glad to be free of the confines of the tattered, sweaty rags. She loved the feeling of fighting flesh on flesh. Like Mira, she didn't need a bra, and they were just as magnificent and erect as Mira's. Determined to get revenge for her near drowning, she stepped forward into Mira’s piston-like kick into her belly. Gasping, Aisha fell back against the wall.
Mira turned to attack, hurt but determined not to lose; her pride and Honour were on the line. She pulled Aisha's head in for another knee. But Aisha grabbed Mira by the knee and shoved her to the floor. Mira crashed on her back. She rolled and tried to scamper on her hands and knees. Aisha, her face twisted in anger, stamped on her back. Mira wailed as she fell to the floor, her arms splayed out. Aisha raised her foot again and stamped again, another wail from Mira.
“Break her, Aisha!” someone in the crowd called out.
There was fear in Mira’s eyes; the bitch was trying to break her back. She had to act fast. Mira rolled, executing a sweeping kick, hitting Aisha in the face and sending spittle flying as she staggered backwards.
Mira jumped up and, grabbing Aisha's hair, swung her into the wall. Aisha rebounded off the wall into Mira's fist to the stomach. Aisha fell to her knees. Mira moved in, but she was dropped with an upper cut to the guts. Mira staggered back, bent over, holding her stomach. Aisha was up and sent a right hook again into her belly. Mira staggered blindly into one of the stalls. Holding on with her hands for support.
Aisha moved in. Mira kicked, aiming for Aisha's stomach, but Aisha caught her foot in mid-strike. Aisha grinned as she started swinging Mira by the trapped foot into the toilet stall. Then the wall. Then the stall again. Determined to put an end to this, Mira pivoted her body, spinning her other foot; it thwacked into Aisha's face. Girls in the audience winced. Aisha slammed back into the bathroom wall, her legs buckling.
Mira moved in, easily missing the exhausted left hook that loped past her head. Mira grinned. The Paki bitch was on the ropes. Mira moved in to put her down.
As the right hook slammed into Mira's head. Spittle flew from her mouth as she spun into the toilet stall, holding out her hands to cushion the impact, but also, if truth be told, to hold her up.
They stood frozen in time, their sweat-covered, half-naked, magnificent young bodies, breathing heavily, glaring at each other as they struggled to get air into their lungs.
"Fu-fucking pa-paki bitch", Mira wheezed.
"Fu-fu-fucking fat cow", panted Aisha.
"Fa-fat sow", returned Mira.
"Idolatrous slut", spat Aisha as she moved unsteadily from the wall. Her fists raised shakily.
Mira staggered toward her foe. Her own fists raised, taking the challenge.
Aisha jabbed at Mira's face as smugly, she moved out of the way, firing a right hook into Aisha's kidneys as she moved. Following up with a kick to her torso.
Aisha fired two kicks at Mira's legs. Then she jumped in, grabbing her hair, pulling her head from side to side. Mira responded in kind. They both staggered in a perverse dance, trying to unbalance the other. Aisha slammed Mira into one of the stalls. Mira slammed Aisha into the wall. Mira yanked Aisha’s hair back hard, tearing out hair by the roots. Aisha stamped on Mira's foot, Mira grunted, and hooked her leg around Aisha's, destroying her balance. Aisha kept her grip on Mira's hair, pulling her down with her. They landed on their sides, flailing with their legs while pulling hair, grunting and cursing as their fans cheered them on.
"Rip her hair out, Mira!"
"Smash her face in!"
Mira managed to roll on top. Putting her entire body behind it, she slapped her foe on the face. Snapping her head to the side, spraying spit, Aisha tried to reach up to slap Mira's face, but she was blocked. Aisha writhed and heaved, and now she was on top, raining down slaps on her struggling enemy.
Mira yanked hard on her hair, and the whore fell to the side. But she grabbed Mira's arm, holding it straight out, then her feet pushed against her body. Her arm was immobilised.
Fuck.
The whore was twisting her arm. Hard.
"Bitch", Mira shrieked. Aisha just grinned and twisted harder. Straining, Mira painfully twisted her body; her other hand was now positioned to come down in a fist. Smashing into her soft, juicy tit. Aisha shrieked, Mira's turn to grin.
"Splat" Her fist came down again. There was another shriek, and Mira felt the pressure on her arm decrease, but not released. Mira used her other arm to rise. She was standing now, unsteadily, but she was standing. The whore was on her back, still holding on to her arm. With her free hand, she clawed at Aisha's face. Holding her head in her claw, she raised the bitch's head and then slammed down into the hard floor. Aisha shrieked, her legs scrambling at Mira's body, pushing her away. Mira lost her balance, and she fell to the floor.
Both rose, Aisha massaging her tit, Mira trying to shake life into her left arm.
"You fucking skank, you punched my tit", Aisha wailed.
"Fuck you, you tried to break my arm".
"Think you're tough?" Aisha held out her hands.
"Tougher than you, Paki"
Mira held out her hands, accepting the challenge. As they moved together, the girls grasped each other’s hands, going into a trial of strength. Their bodies straining against each other, Aisha in just her shorts, Mira in her skirt, the muscles in their young, sweaty bodies gleaming in the neon light of the restroom. The air was filled with animalistic grunts, their chins on each other's shoulders as they struggled for supremacy.
Then Mira brought her knee into play. Aisha gave a croaking gasp, sinking to her knees, and blindly she threw her arms around Mira's thighs. Hugging tightly to save her from more punishment. The attempt was only partially successful.
While Mira was prevented from using her knee again, both hands were free, and she used them. Grasping the now tangled and dishevelled black hair with the left, she began to land hard slaps to Aisha's bare shoulders and back with the right. The pain she was causing drove Aisha to a desperate response. Letting go of the legs and forcing herself upwards, she thrust with her arms. Her palms squashed Mira's breasts hard enough to get a scream.
Releasing Aisha's hair, Mira stumbled back a few steps. Bracing herself on spread-apart feet, Aisha swung a punch as Mira returned to resume her attack. The wildly thrown blow was effective. The crowd held its breath as Mira walked straight into it, hitting her dead centre on the forehead, it cracked like a snooker ball. For a second, she hung in mid-air, then her eyes glazed. As Mira collapsed to the floor, before everything went black, she saw Aisha, open-mouthed, her eyes open wide, astonished at the effect of her blow.
For a second, the room was silent. Then the Pakistani team erupted, the Indian team giving out a low groan.
When she came to. Aisha was standing over her, her shorts and panties around her ankles, naked. Reminding her of the forfeit they'd agreed beforehand, the loser must eat the winner out. Mira reluctantly nodded her head. Why the fuck did she agree to that? Because she thought she would win.
With a whoop of unbridled joy, Aisha crashed down onto a prostrate Mira. Shoving Mira's face between her thighs. Her bare crotch was open before Mira’s face. Aisha grabbed Mira’s dishevelled hair like it was reins, pulling her face deeper into her womanhood, and she started shouting instructions. Mira obeyed. Mira was finding it hard to breathe. The image of eating sushi off a sawdust floor jumped into her head. She could hear Team Pakistan laughing, shouting advice, and total silence from her own side.
"Oh fuuuuck. Yeah, that's more like it, loser," she purred, digging her fingers into Mira's hair and pulling her closer, further into her needy snatch.
Mira looked up at her from between her thighs. Aisha looked down.
"You're so fucking cute..." Aisha giggled.
"...I love it. "
Aisha's dripping wetness finally extinguished Mira's reluctance: her natural competitive nature kicking in. If she had to eat her out, she would give her the best cunnilingus she’d ever fucking had! Mira gripped Aisha's taut thighs and slurped on the woman's clit, wet and sloppy sounds mixing with moans from both women.
Mira’s tongue flicked out, slowly circling her target. Aisha was going crazy with ecstasy. There were rumours she was a lezzbo carpet muncher; this proved it. She bounced on her victim’s head, riding her furiously as her cries of pleasure grew louder and louder.
The electric jolt with each new motion, the heat burning inside her, the look on the loser's eyes. Acknowledging her victory. HER VICTORY. HERS. It intoxicated her. The sensation of dominating this woman, who had fought so hard, now bending to her will, her desires, sweetened the sex like sticky-sweet icing with a cherry on top.
"That's more like it! What a good... little...loser," Aisha gasped, each pause breathy and oh so horny.
Mira licked her in sloppy, wet strokes that made Aisha tighten her thighs and curl her toes. She moaned, humping her foe's face with increasing vigour.
Saliva dripped down her thighs, and her whole body felt so fucking hot. Mira's lips on hers as she slurped, snogged, and licked made Aisha shut her eyes in ecstasy. This was sooooo good. She wanted to fight her impending orgasm. She wanted...she wanted...
...she so wanted...
...this woman...
...to worship her like this.
Forever.
But it couldn't last.
Aisha’s entire body spasmed uncontrollably as she hit orgasm. Praising Allah for her victory. She shuddered and moaned, climaxing in waves of pleasure that buckled her knees, leaving her gasping. Her flailing arms slapped Mira back into the depths of unconsciousness. The feelings subsided, and she finally opened her eyes. The world popped back into place as she looked down at her unconscious, defeated foe. She looked around at her ecstatic, cheering teammates. She took in their praise, laughing.
When Mira came to, the victorious team had left. They decided to celebrate at the University bar. Most of Team India had left too, deflated, unwilling to see their champion debased, leaving only a few of her friends to attend to her. They dried the juices off her face, bundled her into a car and drove her home. Nobody wanted to go in with her and explain her state to her mother. So solemnly, they left. Leaving Mira alone in her room to contemplate her loss.
"You did what!?" Zoya, Aisha’s mother, exclaimed, appalled by her daughter’s behaviour.
" 'If they fight you, then kill them. Such is the retribution of disbelievers..." Aisha proudly quoted.
"...and hey, I didn't kill her. I only made her eat me".
Zoya rolled her eyes.
"You forgot, 'and if they cease, then God is forgiving and merciful'..."
"...you humiliated the poor girl. When the prophet won in battle, he never made the vanquished give him a blow job..."
"...in this house we follow the teachings of Mohammed, blessed be his name, forgiveness and mercy, not some sayings from a shrivelled-up ancient Inman, who will dictate how you should dress……"
"...or who to love". She looked pointedly at her daughter.
"What you did was wrong, and tomorrow we will go to the university, we will find that girl, and you WILL apologise".
"Do I have to?"
"Yes!"
***
"Is that her?"
Zoya asked, pointing at Mira, who was standing outside the university.
"Yes", Aisha answered, not exactly looking forward to what was to come.
Zoya roughly grasped her daughter's hand.
"Come with me", she dragged a reluctant Aisha towards Mira.
"Hi...are you Mira?" It was pretty obvious, as no one else there was sporting two black eyes and covered in bruises, apart from her daughter.
"Yes", the girl answered in the affirmative.
"My name is Zoya, my daughter would like to..."
"YOU!"
Zoya turned to look at who spoke and was face-to-face with Maya.
"It's been a while, you filthy bitch..." Maya greeted her.
"...when I heard what your filthy whore of a daughter did, I should have known she crawled out of your disgusting, filthy yonee".
"My daughter beat yours, fair and square. She showed who was the better woman. It's not my fault your daughter is such a cry-baby" Zoya squeezed Aisha's hand defensively.
The two daughters exchanged puzzled looks. Before their fight, they had never met or even spoken to each other. How come their mums? What was going on here?
“Your bitch of a daughter humiliated Mira…” Maya shot back.
“…and she tried to break her back!”
"And your whore of a daughter tried to blind poor Aisha, filthy cow”.
Zoya looked, sneering at Maya.
"Time has not been good for you, Najis. I bet you’re covered in stretch marks, and I bet your yonee looks like a turkey’s neck”.
“My body is fine, unlike yours…” Maya looked Zoya up and down.
“…porky!”
“Slut”
“Whore”
“Kafir”
“Mahbal”.
SLAP!
Maya’s slap sounded like a gunshot. Mira and Aisha’s eyes widened in horror.
“Mother not here!” Mira called out.
Zoya touched her glowing cheek.
“The cry-baby is right. Not here!...”
“…I will get my husband to arrange a suitable venue, where I bash your brains out. I will gladly show you who the better woman is".
“Fine”
“Fine”
"Next Week?"
"Yes, next week. I can make myself wait that long". Zoya made clutching motions with her fingers.
“I will have my revenge for what your daughter did”. Maya threatened.
“And I will have you lick my juicy clit”. Zoya licked her lips.
The daughters were mortified. This had not gone the way they expected. As they walked away, Mira asked.
“What was that all about?”
Maya smiled grimly.
“Ask your father”.
And she did. They both did.
"Father, mother challenged this woman to a fight. She said you would arrange a venue..." Said Aisha, obviously puzzled and worried.
"...But mum's never been in a fight". Said Mira.
“…What does Mum know about fighting?” Asked a clearly puzzled Aisha.
It was then that their fathers told them. All about the vicious fight in the storage room of the company that they both worked in. How they beat each other to the edge of oblivion. How it had ended in a draw. The daughters sat open-mouthed. Not believing her mother, HER MOTHER, HERFUCKINGMOTHER was capable of such violence.
The husband continued.
"She never fought again. Oh, there were offers. Everyone wanted to see a rematch. It looked possible. You're supposed to fight and then have a newfound respect for one another. That never happened. In fact, they hated each other more. I did think that she…But then we had you. She was off work. The company folded, and we never found out what happened to the woman she fought". He concluded, and he looked over at his daughter.
"So are you saying having me..." Aisha asked.
"...ended mum's career as a fighter? " Mira asked.
"No, your mother never wanted to be a fighter". Her father explained.
"Apart from the ‘piss-drinking-slut’" Aisha’s father explained, using air-quotes.
"Apart from ‘The blood-sucking parasite muzzie’ ", Mira’s father explained, air quotes again.
"Your mother didn't like the way the fight ended. She wanted a chance to show she was the best. And now she has her chance..."
"...darling, your mouth is open”.
Embarrassed, Aisha shut it.
Elsewhere, Mira's mouth was likewise open as she heard of her mother's past.
***
“O Allah, You are my strength, and You are my support.
For your sake, I go forth
And for your sake, I advance
and for your sake, I fight”.
[/i]
“Mum?”
Aisha knocked on the changing room door gingerly. The husbands had done an excellent job finding a venue. There would be a proper ring with matting, and there were changing rooms where the fighters could prepare. The husbands were torn; the first fight had excited them, a hot fight between hot chicks. As the first fight progressed, they found that it's not so hot when your wife is the one being destroyed. They knew they could not stop the fight. So, they tried to do it safely.
As Aisha walked into her mother's dressing room, she saw her mother dressed in a green robe with the Pakistani flag on it. Donated by a fan. Aisha had been surprised by the support the community had given her mum for the fight. Her mother, whom she had never seen fight, was being treated by a heavyweight champion.
Her mother was kneeling on a prayer mat, bowing a reciting her prayer. Silently, Aisha knelt beside her mother, bowing and repeating what her mother was reciting in Arabic.
“Mum. I’m sorry…”
“…if I hadn’t made her…”
Zoya turned to look at her daughter.
“No”
She touched her daughter’s shoulder.
“I am grateful for the chance to finally settle things with the bitch. I am proud to defend your honour”
Aisha smiled.
“Come, let us pray together”.
"I hope you beat that idolatrous slut, mum". Aisha said before starting her prayer.
"Inshallah..." Zoya smiled at her daughter.
“...’ If they fight you, then kill them. Such is the retribution of disbelievers’ " Zoya quoted back the words of her daughter.
In the other changing room, Maya and Mira bowed before the picture of Durga, decorated with flowers and burning incense. As she repeated the mantra
“Om Aim Hreem Kleem Chamundaye Vichche”
[/i]
A powerful nine-syllable mantra to invoke Goddess Chamunda, a fierce form of Durga, for courage and the destruction of negativity and evil forces. She counted the number of times she had repeated the mantra on her prayer beads.
Maya turned to her daughter.
"It means a lot that you would perform these prayers with me. I have not performed this ritual since my last fight, but it brings me comfort, performing the customs of my childhood".
“Mum. You don’t have to do this”, Mira looked pleadingly into her mother’s eyes.
“Yes, I do”.
“I’m fighting for your honour, and a chance to see…” Maya frowned.
“…it has always preyed on my mind, if we had not been broken up. Could I have beaten her?”
They continued reciting and counting on their prayer beads.
“Mum?”
“I love you, Mum. I hope you beat that muzzie”. Maya said.
"Bhagavan ne chaha to". ‘If God wills it’, replied Maya. She knew he would.
Zoya walked from her changing room, into the warehouse, towards the ring. The crowd gathered around the ring, yes, they had actually gotten a proper ring, with canvas matting. Her supporters are cheering her. It was meant to be a private fight. But their daughters had blabbed. Word had gotten around, and...funny story. The company that they worked for, which had put on the first fight, had gone bust a while back. But the servers which held videos of the fight had been sold off and had found their way onto a Discord server administered by one Molotov-Minks, where they had gained a devoted following. The British followers of the site were overjoyed by the chance to see a rematch. One of the members, Lyna had promised to post pictures when her girl beat the shit out of the woman her rival, Berkleigh, liked. Excitement was high on-line and off-line. Some were excited by the idea of a Pakistani-Indian catfight rematch. Shit, it had even attracted sponsorship from local businesses.
Oh well, what’s done is done, Zoya thought, and it would make the whore’s inevitable defeat all the sweeter if it were in front of a cheering crowd. She took a sip from the water bottle her husband gave her and removed her robe, to the cheers and hollers of the crowd. She wore a green bikini that highlighted her magnificent body. Her belly was flat and taut. Yes, she worked out, how did you guess? Yes, her breasts needed some help from the bra cups, but not much. Yes, she knew, yes, she was fast approaching her forties, but she wanted to show the Hindi bitch who had the better body.
She saw her daughter smiling at her, giving her the thumbs-up. She had taken her place at one end of the ring, in the space reserved for families. To prevent ‘problems’ the families had been given opposite places, so they faced each other with the ring in between.
She looked over to see Maya climbing through the ring ropes, removing her robes, while all the time staring at Zoya. Like Zoya’s, her red bikini showed off her body to perfection. Like Zoya she had worked out, and she obviously had larger breasts than her opponent. The applause was deafening. She smiled. This was the first shot of the war, to see who the better woman was; who had the better body? The audience was split.
Both women stared at each other with expressions of hatred. There was no one to say 'Begin'. There was no need for a referee. Both women had expressed the opinion, in colourful language, that there was no need for rules, as that cheating whore would break them anyhow. And the winner would be obvious, it would be the one able to walk away. It would not be a draw this time.
Their eyes locked across the ring.
"Ready whore?"
'O Allah, I ask You for Your bounty' Went through Zoya's head as she slowly, deliberately walked to her date with destiny. She had dreamed of this moment.
"Oh yes, I'm ready", was the curt reply.
As Maya watched Zoya get closer, she prayed to Druga, "O Goddess, grant me good fortune, grant me health, grant me supreme happiness. Grant me beauty, grant me victory, grant me fame, and destroy my enemies"
With the determination of two ancient Roman gladiators, both knowing it would be the end for one of them, only one of them was going to walk away from this. They strode towards each other and immediately locked up, arms intertwined. They both gripped hard onto their foe’s biceps, digging in their fingers. They should have been grateful that their husbands had insisted that neither could have long nails. Each woman would have quite happily scarred her opponent for life, but cooler heads had prevailed.
They struggled in a perverse dance of hatred.
“Kess Ommak!” Zoya hissed as her arms grabbed Maya’s. Trying to swing her to the side, Maya stumbled but held her ground. Cursing, she kicked at Zoya’s shins. Zoya took the blows and kicked back.
“Fuck you. I will hand you your soft, flabby arse". Maya jeered back. As she pushed her foe backwards, Zoya's knee flew out, aiming for the crotch. Maya blocked it with her knee.
They pushed against each other, trying to drive the other back. Grunts were coming from each woman as they pushed back against their foe. Sweat formed on their foreheads as they struggled for supremacy.
The audience called out to stop dancing and start fighting.
Zoya broke the stalemate. Deliberately she spat in the face of Maya, then the top of her head smashed into Maya’s face. She heard a crunch.
Maya staggered back in circles, vainly trying to staunch the flow of blood streaming from her nose.
Zoya stood back, gloating.
“That’s it, twat the cow!” her daughter called out.
“Mum”, Mira called out, alarmed.
Confidently, Zoya moved in. Ignoring the shouted advice from the crowd, she had her own plan. She was going to fuck that cow up.
Then she saw Maya smile. Then she felt the haymaker hit her chin.
The little shit was faking! Zoya staggered back, hitting the ropes of the ring. She held on to them to steady herself. Then she felt the little shit leap on her back, grabbing her head by the hair, trying to scalp her, forcing her head against the ropes, trying to scour her fucking eyes. Her eyes. Zoya screamed. She writhed manically, trying to get the little shit off her back, but she was stuck on her like glue.
Her mind whirled until she put her hands on the ropes and pushed. They both fell back, but Maya was under her. Zoya threw back her head. She missed. Cursing, she rolled over and straddled Maya's belly, bouncing on it to drive the air out of her lungs. She started raining slaps down on her face. Maya bucked but failed to remove her. Then she went for her breasts. Zoya tried to pull her hands off, but Maya wouldn't let go.
Maya tried to rise, pushing Zoya onto her back. She half succeeded; they were both sitting on the floor, then Zoya went wild for her breasts. Putting her fingers on the top of the aureole and her thumb underneath, she squeezed. Maya groaned and, fighting fire with fire, she tore off Zoya's bikini top, getting a cheer from the audience, took both of Zoya’s breasts in her hand and squeezed back.
Zoya gripped Maya's breasts with renewed vigour and started pulling them back, stretching them back. Then grunting, Zoya grinned maliciously, she pulled Maya's top off, wrapping the string bikini around Maya’s left breast. Maya was puzzled until Zoya took both ends of the bikini top and pulled like she was tying a knot. The flesh ballooned out hideously as Maya's breast was garrotted. Maya wailed in pain, furiously twisting Zoya’s own tit, her fingers gouging into the flesh digging furrows into the pliant flesh. But Zoya would not be denied.
“Sindh”, Zoya muttered. Referring to the battle when the Muslims defeated the last Hindu dynasty. Pulling ever harder on her bikini garrote. Sweat was dripping off her face.
“Battle of Rajasthan”, responded Maya, referring to a famous Hindu victory, twisting each tit in opposite directions.
“Fucking bitch”, replied Zoya, pulling the bikini top harder, taut like she was tying a bow. The titflesh ballooning, turning white as circulation was cut-off to the breast. She was moaning, but that bitch was moaning harder.
Maya was going down on her knees, fully aware that she was losing the titfight. Maya grabbed the front of Zoya’s bikini bottoms and yanked hard. Zoya tried to stifle a scream as the material sliced her body in half; pain screamed from her crotch. She released her garrote, it fluttered to the canvas.
Maya kicked, hitting Zoya in the gut, flipping her so she landed on her back on the canvas. They didn't have time to register the fact that their breasts were bare. Even if they had, they didn't care; the crowd, their husband's and daughter's screams were just a blur. The only thing world consisted of was trying to find new ways to inflict pain on their mortal enemy. Both pairs of breasts swayed alluringly. Although not the breasts of twenty-year-olds old they had stood up to gravity remarkably well. The almost black aureole stood out on coffee-coloured skin. Nipples standing to attention, ready to battle.
Zoya rolled, getting on her hands and knees, trying to get up. Maya leapt on her back, one arm going for her throat, the other for her breast, determined to resume her kneading. To mangle her enemy's sacks.
Zoya writhed like a madwoman but could not unseat her. Then she went backwards, slamming Maya's back into the turnbuckle. Maya groaned.
Zoya spun around and fired a one-two punch into Maya's gut.
Maya’s uppercut ploughed into Zoya's chin. She staggered back. Head down, Maya charged in after her. Maya’s head barrelled into Zoya's belly, driving her back into the opposite corner.
Zoya pulled at Maya’s hair, slamming it into the turnbuckle. Maya was stunned by the impact. Her head bounced back. Zoya grabbed the head again and repeated the slam. Maya’s head splintered into the turnbuckle. Zoya pulled her head back for another smash. Knowing she couldn't take much more of this, Maya reached down, pulling at Zora's legs, upending her, sending her onto her arse.
Maya started stomping like a madwoman. Zoya's body jack-knifed, her arms going for her belly.
Zoya leaned forward, grabbing Maya's legs. Wrapping them in her arms, she destroyed Maya's balance. She fell to the floor, and Zoya crawled on top of her. Grabbing her hair, she used it to bang her head on the mat.
Maya's slap made her see stars.
Maya reared up, locking her legs around Zoya’s and twisting. Zoya tried to kick Maya's face, but she moved out of the way, grinning. Then kicked Zoya's belly, and air exploded from Zoya's lungs.
“No running away now!”
Maya forced her legs between Zoya's and forced them open. At first, Zoya grimaced at the pain. Then Maya shuffled further forward, forcing them open further. The pain was unbelievable, Zoya screamed at the white-hot agony in her crotch.
She leaned forward, trying to grab at Maya’s legs, move them, gain relief. Maya’s axe-handle smashed into her face, and she fell back onto the canvas. Raising herself, she tried to scoot back on her hands. Maya just inched forward, maintaining her leverage action. Maya’s grin grew wider as Zoya’s pain increased.
“Submit to me, bitch. Or I’m gonna rip your twat in half!” she hissed. Zoya just moaned.
She scrambled to prop herself up on two arms. Moaning, sobbing, she managed to get herself sitting up Then she raised her right fist, trembling from the effort brought it down with all her strength into the crotch of Maya. Her fingers clawed as far as she could into the tender flesh. She clawed her fingers, then, bending them, she ripped them out of the crotch. Maya screamed. Through a haze of pain, she saw Zoya bringing her arm back for another claw. She untangled her legs and sent a kick into Zoya’s own vulnerable crotch, sending both Zoya and Maya back.
They lay there on the canvas rocking side to side. Their hands in their crotches, vainly trying to make the pain go away.
“Fucking cow piss drinker!” Zoya moaned as she lurched in pain.
“Whore, by the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll drink my piss!” Maya moaned as she fruitlessly tried to soothe away the pain.
Both daughters, biting their fingers, willed their mothers to rise. They didn’t want their mother at the other bitches mercy. As if on a signal, they did, moving toward each other on legs that looked like they could buckle at any moment.
Arms out, Zoya swung Maya into the turnbuckle, her head bouncing off it. Standing behind her, Zoya turned her around. She grabbed Maya's bare breasts by the nipple and pulled down hard. Maya screamed. She bent over, her hands going to her breasts.
Zoya launched a kick into Maya’s belly, making a crack like a gunshot. Maya bent over, gasping. Falling to the mat, she wrapped her arms around Zoya’s legs, and Zoya’s fists slapped down, trying to break her hold. She wouldn’t. Maya shoved with her arms, Zoya lost her balance, and they both fell to the floor, rolling, hands going for hair, slapping and kicking with their feet.
Zoya was on top. Maya had her hand under Zoya's chin, trying to push her head back. Zoya had her hand around Maya's neck, her other hand launching punches into Maya's ribs. Zoya grunting from the exertion, Maya from the pain of the knuckles on her ribs. She hoped she would not feel a crack. Then she realised her leg was between Zoya's legs. She took the shot. Her knee crunched into Zoya's open crotch. Zoya moaned. Quickly, Maya rolled Zoya off her and stuffed her enemy's head between her thighs and squeezed. Zoya's cries were soon muffled as Maya squeezed with all her might on the head, trying to pop it. Zoya's face was turning bright red. Grabbing her hair, she pulled Zoya's head towards her, slapping her face. Zoya was stunned, but she still knew where she was. She opened her mouth and bit down on Maya's crotch through her panties. Maya screamed, releasing her scissors and tenderly stroking her crotch as she whimpered. Coughing, Zoya rose to her knees. Grabbing Maya by the feet, she rolled her over onto her back.
She clambered over Maya's body, pinning her arms. Slowly, she removed her panties, preparing herself for the act which would seal her victory. Finally, she would prove that she was the better woman. The crowd was silent, her daughter's face beamed as she realised what her mother was going to do, and Mira's face was ashen. Zoya rejoiced; the bitch was helpless. Now to seal the deal. She would do her as her daughter did her daughter. Giggling, giddy with excitement, she brought her open crotch closer to Maya's trapped, struggling head.
"Lick it!" She commanded her helpless victim.
Maya was down, exhausted, but not out. She would not let it end this way. Not to this whore. Not here. Not in front of her husband. Her daughter, who she could see in the crowd, with tears in her eyes, begging to do something. Anything. One thought boomed through her brain,
"NO!"Maya's teeth tore into the offered crotch. As they tore, droplets of blood appeared around her teeth. As Maya's teeth chewed on the sensitive flesh. Zoya's screams were ungodly. Energised by her foe’s agony, Maya grabbed Zoya’s thighs in her hands and pushed herself up, so she was sitting, slamming Zoya onto her back, with Maya holding her legs in the air. Savagely Maya yanked Zoya’s legs apart, then with renewed intensity thrust her head between her legs, and chowed down on the vulnerable, open snatch before her, shaking from side to side. Zoya’s screams were pitiful; she slammed her hands on the canvas. She’s surrendering, thought Maya, Tough. This was not to submission, it’s to the finish. No mercy. She shuddered when she thought of what Zoya would do to her if their positions were ever reversed. The screams were getting ever more incoherent, the taps ever fainter.
Mira looked across at Aisha; there were tears in her eyes. She felt pity for her; she knew what it felt like as a daughter to see your mother get pummelled. She felt less pity for the whore whose vagina was getting wrecked; that whore had tried to hurt her mother, and now her mother was winning; her sympathy was limited. She had her own tears. Tears of joy, as she screamed support for her mum to end the whore.
Zoya's incoherent screams had turned to delirious babble, the taps had turned to twitches. It was time to finish this.
Maya, with the last of her strength, worked her way up Zoya's body, so she was face-to-face with her foe. For a moment, she stared into her opponent’s eyes and allowed herself a smile. Then she dropped. When her breasts smashed into Zoya’s, they collapsed, the flesh mushrooming out of the way beneath the conquering pair. Zoya gave a despairing groan; she knew what Maya had done. When Maya looked down, she could see the despair in Zoya’s eyes. She dropped again, the breasts smacked together again, as Zoya’s breasts retreated before her mighty mammary glands. The look in Zoya’s face told her she had proved her point; she had shown whose breasts had better been able to withstand the test of time and gravity.
She looked down at the devastated bitch, that once awesome rack she’d pulverised, now sitting there like two sad pancakes. Her nipples, which once sat so proud, firm, and erect, now lay sad and defeated in the crater of her aureole.
They had both known this all along; there could only be one winner and no mercy for the loser. It was God’s will. Now to end this.
She shuffled just a bit more forward, so her breasts dangled over the bitch’s tear-filled face. Maya fell, belly flopped, on top of Zoya, driving the last remnants of breath from her body. Slowly, deliberately, Maya's breasts engulfed Zoya's face as her eyes widened in disbelief, her brain unwilling to accept what was going to happen to her.
Her hands furiously scrambled at Maya's body as she tried to dislodge her. Maya grimly hung on, gently rocking, perfecting her seal; it was all she could do. She did not have the energy to strangle her or knock her out with a killer blow. No, this would have to do. Last time she had done this by accident, this time she was going to savour her victory. Then as she started to lose oxygen, Zoya’s mad scrambling turned to gentle caresses.
Gently, Maya started singing a nursery rhyme she remembered from when she was a child, ''Nini buyo baby'.
Sleep buyo baby
Butter, bread and sugar
Sleeping on a red bed
Baby sleeps.
[/i]
By the time she had finished, Zoya's hands had dropped lifelessly to the floor, twitching occasionally. Maya just lay there on top of her foe; she had no energy, and even thinking was too much effort.
She felt hands touching her. As if from a far distance, she faintly heard her daughter's voice, the words,
"You won!"
It did not register until she felt her husband's arms around her, gently lifting her off her unconscious opponent.
Suddenly, it was mayhem, as the entire crowd wanted to congratulate her. Someone in the crowd started lifting her, and the crowd carried her away from her daughter and husband. She saw Zoya's husband and daughter frantically tending to her. She heard something about prize money.
It was a blur until eventually she was back in the changing room. Quickly, she ran inside to the calm, the peace. Her daughter was there; she ran to her. Her daughter's arms around her.
"Mum, I was so worried".
Mira pulled slightly away from her; she frowned.
“And don’t ever do anything like that again!” She admonished.
“What fight?”
“Yes, fight. I was worried sick about you”.
“So, it’s okay for you to fight, but not for your mother”.
Mira creased her eyebrows.
“Yes…”
“…I don’t want you ending up like your opponent did today”.
Maya grinned. “I fucked her good as you young people say”
“Yeah, you did, Mom, you did. But promise me never again”.
“I promise”
“Pinky Swear?”
“Yes, Pinky swear.
Solemnly, they locked little fingers. Mira looked in her purse and withdrew a green pair of bikini bottoms. She held them up.
“Look, I got you a present”. Smiling, she held the panties in her fingers, swinging them from side to side.
Mira mouthed at her mum.
“Love you”.
Maya mouthed back.
“Love you too”.
There was a knock on the door.
“That’ll be Dad, I asked him to give me a minute while I spoke to you”.
Maya walked to the door to let the rest of her family in.
Meanwhile, in another part of the city.
Lyna pressed ‘Send’ with a smile. Her frenemy would very shortly receive the ringside pictures she had taken of her girl winning. She’d gotten a few good pictures of her girl wrecking greenies twat, but she especially liked this picture of the woman who Berkleigh had boasted could take her girl no problem, unconscious and drooling on the mat. Not only had she got to watch the fight, but her girl had won!
