Hi folks! I'm Braveheart and I am returning from a 9 month self-imposed exile. By the time I had left, I had 32 stories posted here. I now have 48. I will embark on a quest to repost them all, one a week, until all 32 are back up. Then I'll start originally posting the newer ones. So it will take a while.
This is the first. Please excuse the occasional typo or grammie .. I was a real newbie at this. So here we we go. Enjoy.
There are quantum physicists who say that there are infinite dimensions. Every possible world that can be imagined exists as a reality somewhere and sometime. Every finite change in our world is reflected on some plane as a dynamic existence. We just cannot travel between them ... yet.
Imagine a world just like ours except for just one of those finite changes. Imagine that a weaponless fight between two consenting adults of the same sex was considered in this culture to be a victimless crime like consensual sex between two adults and thus no crime at all provided it did not result in death or disfigurement and wasn't done for profit. No criminal charges, no lawsuits. The operative word is "consenting".
The following suburban saga starts in 1987 with the occasional flashback. The usual warnings about violence, adult language and behavior, character resemblance to real-life persons living or dead etc. all apply. All characters are 18 or older, although some reference to fights earlier in life may vaguely be made. It is purely a work of fiction. Unless of course, certain quantum physicists are correct ...Welcome to Sandbridge 1 – Meet the Monforts: Marcia
A Sandbridge Saga Tale 1
Intro
By all appearances, Marcia Monfort was your typical 18 year old. A little on the tomboy side I suppose, but cheerful, fun-loving and a good student. She was a senior at upper-middle class Sandbridge High, was a majorette in the band, a good athlete: a star on the swim team. She liked to hang out on the beach with friends, go to the movies with a boyfriend and loved being with her Mom, who was not only her mother but her best friend.
Oh yes ... and she loved a good catfight.
So much for typical. But maybe it was … at Sandbridge. It had a bit of a reputation for this sort of thing (and not a good one as far as the School Board was concerned) since '74 when the infamous "Brookside Brawl" took place one Saturday night under the football field bleachers, waged between the cheerleaders of SHS and Brookside HS after a game between the two rivals the night before. Brookside had narrowly won the game, but Sandbridge had won the fight in decisive fashion, beating the Brookside girls badly. After that the unwanted nickname "Catfight High" began to circulate and thirteen years later it was still around. By then students and some faculty were proud of it.
My name is Nick Sebastian. I’m a writer and work for film and TV producer Drake Coburn. Drake is not only my boss and rich as hell. He’s my buddy and golf partner. I discovered we not only loved golf, the Lakers and women, we both had this thing for catfights, and damn - what with his wife, his ex, his daughter and his female acquaintances, plus employees and actresses with whom he’s worked, he’d had lots of experiences. He’d heard of Sandbridge and its rep – not only Sandbridge High, but the whole neighborhood. He sent me down to there to do some research on the subject – something about a “project” on which he was working. He paid me well, but what I wouldn’t tell him was … I’d done it for nuthin’.
Maybe it was something they put in the town’s water supply, but it soon became obvious I had hit the mother lode. Women in Sandbridge seemed to have epic feuds around here over men, jobs, you name it. Housewives, businesswomen, waitresses, professionals. And they always appeared ready to settle it physically. The men just tended to get the hell out of their way and let ‘em have at it, winner take all. Asking around town, one name was frequently mentioned – Monfort.
There were two of these wildcats, mother and daughter. Word gets out around this neighborhood. The younger one, Marcia, learned of the presence of a Great and Powerful Hollywood Assistant Producer in town (I had exaggerated a little), and stopped by the makeshift office I had rented on the second floor of the newspaper building. The star-struck Marcia was about 5’2”, 125 or so, with fit limbs and stomach and an impressive chest I estimated at about 38D. Her dark brown hair was a mass of curls that reached her shoulders, framing an attractive if not beautiful face, big brown eyes and she had a grin that could light up a dark room. She was wearing a white shirt tied off at the midriff, a black spandex skirt and bare feet in high-heeled CFM sandals. In other words, this 18 year old was a real babe.
“Oh … my … God!” she exclaimed as she saw some of the photos on my new “I Love Me” wall. “Do you really know Don Johnson and Melanie Griffith?” Since the picture was that of me posing with the two of them, well duh, I guess I did. OK, maybe Marcia wasn’t cut out to be a brain surgeon, but I wasn’t recruiting for the USC School of Medicine. The girl clearly liked to talk, and that was what I was there for. After reading her mother’s letter that Marcia had handed me, giving me permission to interview her daughter, it was clear Mrs. Monfort knew exactly why I was in town and the subject about which Drake and I were interested. “I’m sure Marci can tell some fascinating stories about our mutual passion and provide your business partner plenty of material for his next project. If it is green-lighted, and it should be, we of course, expect to be adequately compensated …” I would have to meet this smart and greedy gal – and check my wallet and Rolex afterwards to make sure they were still there.
“Wanna hear about two of our recent catfights, Mr. Sebastian? It’s about me and my Mom and these two bitches …” began an excited Marcia with another wide grin. You have my attention, sweetheart …
“Interview” would be the wrong word. I didn’t have to say much … I just turned on the tape recorder, sat back and let this outgoing young firecracker talk. I’ve tried to sort it all out since and this is what I came up with. This is Marcia’s Monfort’s catfight story …
1
Marcia, Jillie and the New Kid
It was earlier this year and senior Marcia Monfort was between boyfriends, a rare occurrence for her. As a chubby little girl as her early teens, she had blossomed into a sexy young woman. Competing on the swim team since her sophomore year, Marcia had developed strong and lean arms and legs and a powerful back. Her stomach had gotten trim and hard and her tits – well, she made the boys drool. Most of her friends were boys in fact. With the exception of her swim teammates, the other girls at SHS tended to be either jealous of her … or scared. Marcia wasn’t a bully actually. But if she wanted a boy she usually got him. And if that boy had a girlfriend so much the better. Marcia would fight her, beat her up and take him as her prize. In fact she preferred it that way. She loved the rush. Like mother, like daughter …
The predatory Ms. Monfort had hit a dry spell. She always preferred older boys, but most of them were now away at college. The underclassmen were mostly “just kids”. The few cute guys in her class to whom she’d been attracted, she’d dumped for one reason or another or in more than one case, had lost to some chick the same way she got him in the first place – she’d gotten her ass kicked.
Marcia didn’t mind really – she admired girls who earned their boyfriends in the time-honored “Catfight High” way and had beaten her up. She had actually befriended one or two of them after they’d brawled. Nothing personal and no hard feelings. She loved the thrill of The Fight and a fight lost was better than a fight never fought. Her mother had taught her that. The problem was that none of the current herd of drooling boys interested her. Until …
Jack Harrington had moved in down the street. He and his recently divorced mom had just moved into the neighborhood, just a few blocks away. Like Marcia, Jack had just turned 18. One look at the lean young stud with the sandy brown hair and the dreamy pale blue eyes, and she knew her luck had changed. The problem was, she had competition.
Jillian “Jillie” McCall was one of the girls who detested Marcia and the feeling was mutual. At 5’4”, 112 pounds, Jillie was an excellent student and the idol of all the nerd boys - she could talk Star Wars and Star Trek with the best of them. She had always been a tomboy despite her mother Barbara’s best attempts to make a lady out of her. A thick mane of red hair, fair freckly skin and green eyes betrayed her Irish heritage. She had an Irish temper as well. She and Marcia had fought like a pair of wildcats one day after class way back in sixth grade when Marcie was a chubby and Jillie was a buck-toothed pint-sized pixie with long red braids. Jillie beat her up and sent Marcie crying to her momma. They’d hated each other’s guts ever since. They’d almost come to blows a couple of times since, but it had always been broken up. Now they had another reason to fight and his name was Jack Harrington.
Jack and Jillie (no pun intended - honest) were both into science and had a few common classes. Marcie was more of an art student, so it was advantage: Jillie. He was also a science fiction buff, so they would spend plenty of time talking about Heinlein and Asimov, and he listened intently as the redhead yakked about her new yoga routine and boxing lessons.
Jillian had always been good with her hard little Irish fists as Marcia had learned the hard way back in sixth grade. She noticed the glazed look in his eyes when she talked about fighting and she pressed the issue. “Wanna see me beat the shit outta some girl?” asked Jillie, tossing her hair. “Very much,” gasped the new kid. “OK, maybe I will, Jack.” cooed the girl. “And maybe I’ll let you watch …” Neither noticed the tall blonde, peering around the corner.
As she was walking down the hall before first period one day, books in her arms, Marcia heard a familiar voice –
’Hey bitch! Wait up!”
She turned to see the happy face of her good friend and swim teammate, Jenny Lee Savoy.
“Hiya, skank! What’s up?” Marcia and Jenny Lee loved calling each other names. Jenny Lee was a tall blond junior. Tomorrow was her 18th birthday and had taken to the brunette her first day of practice three years ago.
What was up was: what Jenny Lee, the consummate gossip, heard and saw after chemistry yesterday between the new guy and “that McCall whore”. Marcia seethed. “She wants him bad, Marci. She wants to punch out some chick while he watches. You should have seen the look on his face when she said that. I thought he was going to let her suck his cock right there!”
“I gotta do something, Jenny. I hope it’s my lights she wants to punch out, I really do. I’m going to make sure it is. Then I’m going to fight her and beat up the bitch once and for all. I’ll really give our catfight-loving Jack a show he’ll never forget. Wanna help? Meet me at lunch tomorrow.”
Lunch time the next day couldn’t come fast enough for Marcia. She and Jenny Lee went out to the woods behind the parking lot. They stopped and Marcia said, “OK, girlfriend. Slap me.”
“What?”
“I said slap me. Right across the face and hard. Leave a mark.”
“Bitch! Are you craz … oh wait. Yeah, good girl,“ grinned Jenny Lee – she wasn’t as dumb as she looked (not quite anyway). Marcia braced herself and brushed her hair away from the left side of her face to present an easy target. The other swimmer was rangy and strong, with big hands and long nails. Marci had seen her fight a rival competitor after a swim meet once and she’d slapped the girl out. It was going to hurt.
Jenny rared back and bitchslapped her pal hard upside the left cheek. “Aww!” groaned Marcia, her face twisted to the right from the impact.
“You OK?” asked a concerned blonde.
Her friend smiled. “Yeah. Thank you ma’am. May I have another please? Make it bleed some.” Jenny Lee reluctantly obliged, using a little bit of fingernails this time. A stunned Marcia took a step back this time as her head rocked, and shook the dizzies from her head. “Shit, bitch. Fuck.” She felt a swelling lip and a little trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth where the sharp nails of the blond had nicked her. She steadied herself again. “Now, I need a little touch up on the other side. Slap me stupid, whore.” She hung out her face.
“Gawd nutsy! What a crazy cxnt you are,” admitted her girlfriend and she really got her shoulder into the next one high across the cheek with a big left hand. The full slap dropped Marcia on her ass. One of her shoes had come off. She sat there glassy-eyed for a few seconds. “I hope you don’t want anymore, you silly cocksucker.” said the blonde, shaking her hand.
Staggering to her feet, Marcia grinned, gathering her shoe. “Mother…fuck. You slapped me out of my shoes, bitch! I’ve had enough. How do I look?”
“Like shit. Here,” replied Jenny, handing the now disheveled brunette her compact.
Marcia looked at herself in the mirror. Two red cheeks, a puffy lip, lightly scratched on her left cheek and what looked to be the beginnings of a bruise on the right cheekbone. “Damn, girl! If anybody asks, we had a fight and you beat the hell out of me. You’d be half right. Thanks … and Happy Birthday!” “You’re welcome. Anytime you want a re-match, bitch, bring it on,” laughed her friend and Marcia laughed with her has the headed back across the parking lot. Time for stage two …
After classes that day, Marcia Monfort simmered as she watched Jack and a giggling Jillie McCall waiting for the bus that would take her back to her perfect little house and her perfect cxnt of a mother. Jillie couldn’t keep her filthy little hands off of him. Marcia had to go to band practice and Jack was on the track team so they both had to stay late. Luck had it they finished their respective practices at the same time. Perfect.
“Jack! Hiyee!”
“Marcia! What happened to you?”
Marcia beamed brightly feeling her still smarting cheeks and bruised eye. She hoped she looked awful. And sexy. Awfully sexy. “Oh it’s not too bad. It hurts but nothing a little make up won’t fix. Bitch slaps hard.”
She could see Jack start to sweat. Jenny was right – he’s her kind of guy. “Did you get .. uh .. into a, uh, fight or something?”
“Yeah. With Jenny Lee Savoy. We had a real catfight and I lost.” She told the entranced teen how she and Jenny Lee had gotten into an argument over something silly at lunch and had it out. “We slapped and bit and pulled hair and shit. I punch hard and I worked over her belly,” playfully faking a punch to Jack’s middle. “I had her by the hair and I was going to finish her off, but then she grabbed my breasts.” Marcia thrust her big tits toward Jack, nearly popping the buttons on her blouse. “She really got her fingers in there and dug ‘em around. It hurt sooo bad. Then stated slapping me all over – my face, my tummy, my big girls (another boob thrust). She slapped me silly, then she got into my hair (hair flip) and spit in my face like this (spits on the sidewalk). How icky is that? My scalp was on fire. She was killing me. I quit. Jenny Lee had kicked my ass. We kissed and made up later though. I had been such a dirty bitch and I got what I deserved.”
Dumbass would have married her on the spot if he could have. A noticeable woody was pressing his jeans. “I wish I’d been there.” Jack managed.
“So do I. I’d love for you to see me catfight some bitch and beat her up. Not Jenny Lee, though. She owned me today. Call it a birthday present from me to her. We’re friends again. Do you know of anyone?”
“Well, I …”
“Aubrey Lawson maybe? Linda Sue Carlson … no … she’s too scared of me to wanna fight. How about Jillie McCall, that little redhead whore?”
There’s a swing and it’s a long drive to center field! Going, going, gone! It’s a homerun for Marcia Monfort!
2
Face Off
I’ll let Marcia tell this one in her own words. I’m a professional screenwriter and I’m sorry to say I can’t beat this myself … Nick
So anyway, the next day I see Bitch Jillie in the hall and she sees me. We usually avoid each other, but not today. Everybody is between classes and the hall is full of kids, so I know she won’t start anything. But she’s got something to say and gets right in my face. I mean, our noses were about touching.
“Bitch! How dare you! Jack’s my boyfriend. Get your own or start licking some girl’s vagina like I know you want to do …”
I give her this sweet smile. “Why Jillie dear, I don’t know what on earth you are …”
“Don’t give me that shit, whore! All Jack could do today was talk about you! Don’t walk away! Listen up, Monfort! Jack says you want to fight me and he wants to watch. Well, I want to fight you, too. And I want him to see what cheap trash looks like when it’s ready to go out with the garbage. I’m gonna mop you up. I’m gonna beat you up like I did in sixth grade. I’ll punch you to sleep, then I’ll wake you up and do it again.”
I hiss at her, “Bitch, I’m not going to say what I’ll do to you. I want it to be a surprise. Look at me, skank! We’re not little kids anymore. You know my rep. You know what I can do to a bitch. Yes, I’ll fight you … no rules. I’ll not only bust you up bad … I’ll ruin you. Jack is mine already. You’re just too stupid a little whore to know it yet.”
Bitch is spitting into my face “Okay, slut. After school. Today. Bring that bimbo Jenny Lee with you. She can’t interfere, but I want her to see what I do to you and what she’s got coming. And Jack will be there, too. No rules …”
“In the park, bitch. The ball field. Just the four of us. Jenny will stay out of it. Bring a spare set of clothes … and bandages. You’re gonna bleed, carrot-top.” I grin at her and say out loud, “Well, Jillie dear, it’s been nice chatting with you. Excuse me – I’ll be late for class.”
Well, I never thought the day would end. I’d told Jenny Lee that she could come along, even takes picture, but if she interfered, even if Jillie was killing me, we were done as friends. And if she opened her big mouth about the fight and more kids showed up, the fight was off. This was between me and the bitch. She pinky-swore. I saw McCall a couple of times and Jack once that day, but ignored each other except for the knowing wink Jack gave me. Made my fucking day.
Band practice was finally over. I had on a black bra and panties under my AC/DC t-shirt and a pair of denim shorts. I was wearing sweat socks and sneakers. I picked up my gym bag and walked to the park with Jenny Lee.
“Kick her in the stomach, Marci. She can’t take it down there. Let’s see your fingernails. Sweet – dark nail polish hardens them. Not too long, not too short. Perfect. And watch out for her straight right after a left hook to the belly. She’s been taking boxing lessons and that’s what those boxer dudes do on ESPN. And don’t forget …”
“Oh shut the fuck up, Jen! Oh my God. For real, bitch!”
We got to the ball field and there was Jillie. She’s looks a little harder than she did in phys ed a couple of years ago. Her hair was in a long red pony tail and she was wearing a blue sports bra and panties. She was limbering up barefoot in the outfield with yoga exercises and I hated to admit it, she looked pretty good. She had a nice little rack – maybe 34C. Her arms were well defined and her belly was ok, but her ass was a little thick and she had skinnier legs than me. Her nails were unpolished and fairly short, but they looked sharp. This wasn’t going to be easy. Good thing I’d brought bandages, too. Sitting against the fence was Jack, who stood as we approached. A real gentleman.
Jenny Lee went over to him, gave him a quick hug, kicked off her shoes, and they sat down to watch the show. I peeled off my shirt and pants, took off my shoes and socks and with my rings and earrings, stuffed them in my bag. Jillie actually gave me a minute or so to get loose, then it was catfight time. I’d been waiting for this for years …
3
Showdown in Center Field
We approached each other and Jillie said, “Let’s do this, slut.”
“Go for it, whore.”
And it was on.
We circled each other warily with fists up. We may have hated each other but there was plenty of respect – she knew my reputation and experience and I knew the bitch could use those tight fists. She threw a couple of left jabs. They missed, but shit, she was fast. I raised my hands a little higher to protect my face, then her right leg came up and her little bare foot whacked into my ribs. Ugh, that hurt! I dropped my hands and she came right over the top with a straight right which caught me under the eye. As I staggered back, she delivered a pair of jabs to my right tit, then came up into my bare belly with a big right hook and another with her left. Jesus …
You’re no girl, Mr. Sebastian. That’s for sure. (glad she noticed) But let me say any girl who’s been through it knows how it feels to have another chick punch her in the stomach like that. It’s the weakest part of a woman and it just kills her. My mom taught me how to punish a gal’s middle and how to take it, but she admits that she hates getting worked over down there. I always try to pound on a chick’s belly and I guess so did Jillie. If this story gets filmed, make sure the actress playing me shows how much getting punched hard in the tummy hurts. At first, it’s just surface pain, you know? Then it’s the ab muscles. Then it sinks in. I mean all the way in. To the womb. You get this wave of funky vibes and shit and you can’t breathe. You make stupid noises and you get a goofy look on your face. Then the throbbing starts and later in the fight, maybe after, you get sick. I mean stupid, puking sick sometimes, man.
Jillie really folded me up. She went down there again and I saw stars as she clipped me in the jaw with a quick left cross which dropped to my knees. I was coughing and gasping for air. I hear this squeaky voice mocking me, “What’s wrong, tough girl? Can’t take it down there, huh?” Then I feel another hard bare foot nail me in the ribs as I’m on my knees all bent over. “Get up asshole,” growls Jillie and she hauls me up to my feet with two fistfuls of my curls. She shook me all over the place by the hair, then stepped back and popped me right in the middle of the face with a pair of jabs. God, am I bleeding already? Yeah, my upper lip was wet with something and it wasn’t snot. Nerd Girl is busting me up.
“Too easy, bitch. Just too easy”, taunted Jillie. I took big swings with slaps and punches, but she easily avoided them. Each time I missed, she’d make me pay with jabs to the tits and face and hard little shots to my sore belly. I went down again from a right to the jaw, and Jillie stomped my tits. Gawd … I relied on Jenny Lee’s description for this part of the story because I was all fucked up and don’t remember much of it. She said Jillie sat me up by the hair and twisted it, showing off what she’d done to my face to her and Jack. Bitch laughed at me and bragged she was just getting started. Jen said it was all she could do to keep from doing a WWF run-in and going cavegirl on her, but she remembered her promise to me. Thanks, girlfriend.
Okay, so maybe getting into a fistfight with a boxer wasn’t such a great fucking idea. Jillie was good – better than I thought she would be. She was beating the shit out of me. I was bleeding from the nose, my lower lop was cut, my left eye was closing, my tits were getting red, I had a bellyache and was gasping for breath. The only damage I’d done to her was skinning up her knuckles with my face. My foggy brain was thinking: What the hell is happening? Why is this happening? As Jillie’s hard fists continued to punish me, I get this from Princess Obvious by the fence … “Come on, Marci! You’re a catfighter! Catfight the bitch!” Jenny Lee shouted at me. Yeah, baby. Time to rock …
I tried to draw her in by pretending I was hurting even more that I was, but Jillie was having none of it – each time I staggered, went wobbly-kneed or dropped to the grass, instead of diving in, she stepped back and continued to use me as her personal punching bag, like at her gym or something. I noticed every time she kicked me in the ribs, she’d follow with a straight right to my bruised face. I brought my hands up to protect my face, leaving my ribs open. She whacked me there hard with her size 6. I groaned with pain again, but sucked it up, ducked down and dove into her middle with a shoulder as a felt her right fist just graze my scalp. Down we went to the grass in a heap. I landed on the skinny skank and I heard and felt the air whoosh out of her mouth as we hit the ground.
We mauled and brawled down there, and things were looking up. She wrapped her bare legs around my throbbing ribs and squeezed, making me gasp. But I made her relax a little by getting a hand free and bitchslapping her twice, forehand and backhand across the face. We rolled around for a while with Jillie twisting her fingers around in my hair and pounding frantically at my back. I yanked on the inviting target of her ponytail and made her squeal for the first time in the fight. Music to my ears. My fingers worked on the band that held it together until it broke, and suddenly all that red hair was all over the place. Nice. I wrapped my hand around a haunk of it twice and shook the shit out of her.
You don’t have to teach a woman how to pull hair – it’s instinct. I bet cavegirls and those Roman ladies did it. Something about a full head of hair says, “pull me” to a chick in a catfight. And guys, don’t think for a minute it isn’t effective. First, it hurts like hell. Then you can control the other woman’s head and the fight by controlling her hair. And it’s so fucking humiliating to have something you’re so proud of and spend so much time grooming, the first thing a guy and other girls notice about you, getting twisted and shaken and maybe pulled right out of your head. But not every woman is an expert. My Mom is one of them - a world-class hairpuller. She’s taught me a lot, and still has forgotten more than I know. She also knows how to take punishment up there. You know, how to have your hair pulled with real skill and strength and still keep your head clear and shit.
I used to keep my hair real short. I knew my Mom loved to catfight and she had this big thick early eighties hairdo. Still does. I asked her why she didn’t cut it short – wouldn’t that be harder for a bitch to latch onto? Yeah, but it’s every woman’s instinct to go after as inviting a target as a shitload of hair. If you can take the scalp pain and keep your concentration, she won’t be getting into your face and tits with those fingernails. Also, her arms will be up high and you can work over her body easier. The next day, I started growing my hair out.
Where was I? Oh yeah. Me and Jillie were fighting and now it was my kind of fight, not hers, We were on the grass, rolling and wrestling, and I had all that red hair out where I could really pull the fuck out of it. I was stronger than her and she now knew it. Her freckly Irish face was turning almost as red as her hair as she was trying to match strength with me and get out of that tangled knot we her in. We pulled hair when we could get a hand free and each time one of us did, that chick would have the advantage for a while. It was still pretty much a blur to me but I remember Jillian working one of my boobs out of my bra and giving it a bite … and I screamed. I don’t care how fucked up you are, you remember that.
My legs were a lot stronger than hers – I kept mine tangled with her chicken legs and applied pressure. I scraped ‘em up and scratched her little bare feet as often as I could with my sharp toenails. I used elbows on her, a couple of close-in headbutts and got a knee in her crotch. I tried to smother with a tit after getting her in a headlock. I used every part of my body to hurt this bitch as we rolled around on the ground. Anything to avoid those sharp, hard knuckles of hers.
It wasn’t all me down there. Jillie had her moments. After I had let go of her sweaty hair once, she stunned me with a quick headbutt of her own, rolled me over by my wet mop and got on top. Bam, bam … slapped me twice right and left and got the balls of both her thumbs in my eyes and rubbed. Holy shit … I mean I saw thumbs, then things went black and I felt the pressure, then the pain. Fuck me, man … I screamed and pulled her out of there by the wrists, but my eyes hurt and it scared the hell out of me. I called her a motherfucker and spit right up in her face. I got it in her eyes and we both let go to rub stuff out of our eyeballs. I recovered first, getting both hands in her nasty hair and rolling her off of me.
That was it. That wasn’t gonna happen again. Like, dude … I wasn’t ever going to let go of her hair after that. I mean, Mr. Nick, I swear if we died as old ladies, they’d have to bury us together with one of my hands in her hair. My tits, my belly, my hair, fingers and toes, even my cxnt. But not my fucking eyes.
Our legs were still all tangled up. Mine where aching from the strain, but I knew Jillie’s had to really be hurting and her occasional yelp or gasp proved it, but now it wasn’t so much wrestling as it was a hair pulling match on the ground, and I was getting more confident. If every fight I was in was like this, I’d win them all.
My scalp burned like hell – Jillie surprised me. She knew what she was doing in a girl’s hair and how to really make it hurt, but I was tearing her up. I had her head bent to one side with one handful of it and was twisting another bunch of this stringy red shit with the other. She was gritting her teeth, sweating like a pig and her face was as red as an apple. We weren’t rolling any more - I was on top and loving it. Jillie still had one of my legs trapped, but the other was free and in her ribs. I pushed my big tits in her face and made her gasp for air. Teary-eyed from her impressive hair pulling talent, I was finally rewarded with a squeaky and pathetic “Owww! You cxnt! Shit, my hair’s killing me! Fuck!” Yeah, baby! That’s music to any catfighter’s ears and to me, it was AC/DC – hearing a bitch admit out loud you’re hurting her.
We were both nearly exhausted so we rested like that for a while, all tangled up. I stopped pulling and so did she, but we maintained our hair locks. No trash talking, just heavy gasping from both of us, our bodies heaving as we looked into each other’s eyes, searching for a sign of weakness. Sometimes it’s like that, you know. Even though you may hate each other, in a tough, even fight you feel this bond. You look in her eyes and think, yeah babe, I know what you’re going through now. It’s just the two of us in the whole wide world and the rest of it can go fuck itself. That’s what it was like with me and Jillie right then. Finally the breathing came easier for both of us, in and out our noses rather than our mouths. Let’s go. “Ready, girl?” I hissed as sweat from my face dripped onto hers. “Hell yeah,” Jillie whispered. Then it was on again …
Jillie must have figured out she wasn’t going to beat me on the ground in a hair pulling match any more than I was going to beat her in a stand-up fistfight. So I guess she wanted to try something different. She released my hair with her left hand and dragged the three middle fingernails kinda slow down my wide open right cheek, digging in pretty good. Her nails weren’t real long, but sharp – girlfighting nails like mine. I screamed and my hand went to my cheek. My fingers came away bloody. She took advantage of my shock to shove me off of her. Her wet hair slipped from my grasp and mine from hers. Suddenly we were facing each other on our knees and we both knew it was about to get nasty, personal and bloody.
Jillie took control, cracking my face with a solid slap. She blocked my return slap, forked her fingers and poked at my eyes. She missed, but her nails cut me underneath the swollen left one. She gave me a stiff jab in the guts, then grabbed my bra with both hands, ripping it off my body. Back to the belly again, another face slap and as I gaped at her stupidly with my sweaty boobs swinging free, I knew what was next and I was right. Each hand of the bitch dug into a tit and her fingers were working.
I looked down at her fingers in my breasts looked back into her close face, opened my mouth and screamed as the pain hit me. I’m sure my eyes were as wide as fuckin’ coffee cups, dude! And I screamed loud. It ended with something real stupid like “motherFUCK! My tits! Oh NO!” I pressed her hands in deep, trying to ease the pain. I was staring through teary eyes right in Jillie’s face, green eyes, a nose and a tongue sticking out of a wet red hairball as she concentrated hurting me as much as she could, itching with those nails. That’s enough feeling sorry for yourself, Monfort, I thought through the pain and humiliation at what this bitch was doing to my Pride and Joys. I let her have her way with my tits, brushed the hair from her puss, and raked eight nails down her sweaty red face.
Now it’s Jillie’s turn to howl right in my face. My nails are even longer and sharper than hers and while I didn’t dig them in as deep as hers dug into my cheek, they were sure to leave welts, maybe blood. She let go of my breasts and I could see while they were pretty scratched up, no serious damage. Jillie was covering her burning face and groaning. Payback’s a bitch. I doubled my right fist and sank it to the wrist into the whore’s unready white belly. God, did that feel good. Again, I slugged her deep in the guts. And I really enjoyed the guttural gagging sound she made, her wide open mouth and the stink of her breath as all her wind left her. I straightened her up with a left uppercut, then caught her by the hair before her could fall to her back. On your knees bitch, right on front of me. That’s where I want you, I thought. She was coughing and wheezing, not resisting at all as I reached around her back and undid the sports bra, flinging it toward a wide-eyed Jack and a cheering Jenny Lee.
Now Jillie was naked to the waist as well, and I deliberately dragged my red nails down her front side from her shoulders down her bare tits and the length of her aching tummy. I wanted to leave long painful marks and I did. Nothing welts up as red and as fast as a freckly, pasty-skinned redhead. We were both sweating like crazy and scratches and sweat don’t mix well. My many scratches were smarting and I wanted Jillie to feel even worse about hers. She was just crying like a baby now, holding her wounded little tummy and trying to keep her lunch down. After giving her two quick slaps to see how much fight she had left in her – not much - I brushed the hair out of Jillie’s bawling face again and examined it. The scratches looked pretty ugly, and I told her so. Them I noticed the knot on her forehead, probably from the headbutting we’d done earlier. I imagine I had one, too. Hers was an angry red lump and it looked full of blood. I grinned through my pain, licked my lips, then fastened my open mouth on the lump and began to chew.
Face biting? Are you for real, Mr. Sebastian? Of course we bite faces! We bite everything. When you ask what goes on in a catfight, how do people answer? (Scratching, biting, hair pulling?) Yeah. Biting is the second thing out of their mouths (I’m sure no pun was intended). I’ve been bitten just about everywhere, from head to toe. Toe biting is the most painful to me. The scariest is a face bite – to see some chick’s open mouth closing in on your face? Shit, man. And a good long cxnt chewing is the most damaging. I’ve gotten just a couple of quick bites down there and even that was no fun. Some gals love to bite, some don’t. Mom likes biting – finds it sexy. Me, not so much. But once I start, I can’t stop. I guess I just get hungry …
I opened the whore up like a can of tomatoes. Man, it was gross – and I loved it. To see Jillie McCall like this, a girl I’ve hated all my life, one who beat me up when we were just kids and ruled it over me ever since like it means shit to me now? Now to see this cocksucking cxnt with teeth, with her hair all pulled, sick to her belly, all scratched up and crying and now with blood running out of her forehead, into her eyes and down her face, dripping off her chin, I thought I would cum right there! I licked her face a couple of times, just to drink her blood. I dropped my blood-smeared face – some mine, some Jillie’s – to each white tit, chewing on it until it bled, punched her red belly again, then gave that raw forehead another chewing to get the blood flowing again. Jillie wasn’t even screaming any more, just crying like she hadn’t cried since she was in pigtails. “I’ve been there, Tomato-Face,” I whispered in her ear. “Take it like a big girl, and let’s see if Jack has made a decision.”
I “helped” her to her feet by the hair shaking her just to be mean. Neither of us could walk very well, but we had each other to keep us steady. I had one arm around her shoulder and a fist in her hair. Jillie had an arm around my waist and the other clutching her sick belly. Like I said, I’d been there and I know the feeling. I again whispered “Stop crying Jillie. It’s about over now. Notice I left your panties on. Next time I’ll destroy your asshole. Your cxnt, too and all that shit inside. Do you understand me?” She nodded stupidly and her crying dropped to a whimper.
Half naked we staggered over to where Jack and Jenny Lee sat. Jack was shamelessly “jack”ing off despite the presence of three woman – well maybe two and a half. Jenny Lee looked full of pride. “Kicked her skanky ass, Marse! I knew you’d do her! Fuckin’ A!” she announced.
“Okay, Jack, whaddaya think?” I panted trying to catch my breath as my tits, belly and face all throbbed.
”I think you’re … magnificent!” he gasped. Then he stood and applauded. I had won.
I faced my humiliated enemy, thinking my victory complete. Then I remembered how “Sugar Ray” here had bragged how she’s going to knock me out. She nearly did, but ya’ know what I said about payback. I squared up her shoulders, measured her a couple of times with light jabs to the eyes, then dropped my shoulder and clocked her with the best punch of the fight, right in the jaw. She flew back just like in the movies and laid there out like a light. I spit on Sleeping Beauty as she laid there bloody and beaten, then posed as Jenny Lee, photography buff that she is, recorded the moment for history with her ever present pocket 35mm. I flexed over the destroyed redhead, foot on her belly. Then Miss Savoy dropped her own load of spit on Miss McCall and raised my hand as if I was the new Lightweight Champion of the World. I felt like it as my new man gave me a congratulating kiss.
4
When She’s Ready, She’ll Find You …
“So what do you think, Mr. Nick? Like it?” asked Marcia as I turned off the recorder.
“Can’t wait to get back to the suite and take a cold shower, drink a little Johnnie Walker. Maybe the whole bottle. Like it? You gotta be kidding, young lady. Awesome! If you don’t make it as a … uh, whatever, you’d make a great screenwriter. Of course I have no way of knowing for sure if it’s true. No offense, but how do I know you and/or your Mom didn’t just make this up?”
Marcia just smiled that “Dear, boy …” smile. I’m sure she’d learned that from her Mom, too. “No offense at all. In fact Mom knew you might think that, being a cynical Hollywood veteran and all. That’s why she had Jenny Lee give me these. These copies are yours …” She reached into her bag and presented me a manila folder. Inside were a series of black and white 8x10s, 35mm. Tri-X film probably, pretty sharp and taken at high speed to freeze the action. They were from a fight between two sexy gals: one was a slender one with a long pony tail which in later shots was a shaggy mane. Her hair was a light color, probably red. The other was the young lady sitting before me. The last photo was this babe, bruised, bloody and half naked, grinning as she posed over the other one, also half naked, bloodier and out like a light.
“You Monfort ladies think of everything.”
“We try. Hey, gotta go. Can I come back tomorrow afternoon and tell you what happened when Jillie’s Mom found out about me kicking her ass?”
“Not just yes. Hell, yes! And I’d like to meet your mother. How can I get ahold of her?”
The “Dear boy …” smile again as she sauntered to the door. “Mr. Sebastian, you don’t get ahold of my mother. When she’s ready, she’ll find you … bye bye!”
End of this chapter of “The Sandbridge Saga” … Stay tuned. Next, a well-bred but hot -tempered lady needs to make sure her mouth doesn’t write a check her ass can’t cash in “Welcome to Sandbridge – Meet the Monforts: Carly//Braveheart
© 2013 by Braveheart. All rights reserved. TXu 1-910-919
