[sinclairfan]

"GIVE US AN HOUR"

As Danielle and I remain awkwardly (at least to me; the psycho bitch is probably enjoying every minute of this) seated next to each other through the interminably droning speech in the ballroom, our shoulders, forearms, elbows and hips pressed next to each other through our silky fabrics, my inner thighs burn with a desire to have Danielle's throat pressed between them on the dirty tile men's room floor.  Neither of us will leave tonight without all the issues between us being resolved to my complete satisfaction.

Danielle continues to arrogantly peruse the binder of  sext conversations between her husband and me.  She pauses on the section where I asked her husband to compare and rank Danielle versus me in body parts and physical prowess.  I get a bit jealous.....ok, uncontrollably jealous....that his answers were balanced and give us each the edge in about the same number of categories.

Danielle appears to be deliberating on the correctness of each.  I had promised myself I wouldn't be the one to break the silence between the two of us, not wanting to betray my thoughts and have Danielle use them against me.  But, between the sustained body contact between us and the thrill of imminent competition, I crack.  I swivel my head to the left and, all the while trying to tune out the sweet smell and silky texture of Danielle's hair, discreetly whisper in my enemy's right ear:

> Anything of that list you disagree with, sweetie?

Danielle thinks pensively, not betraying any emotion, at least none that I can detect.

> Just two, my dear.

I scan around us, ensuring that we not draw attention to ourselves.  I wish we weren't in the center of our row of chairs.

> I'd love to hear which two.  Which I assume are two I came out ahead in.  Bitch.

Danielle looks around.  Audience members have noticed our whispering.  We need to find a different medium to carry on this conversation.  It's just as well.  Proximity to Danielle's hair has placed an almost irrestible desire coursing through my fingers to sink my nails into it and wreck the styling she appears to have done on it yesterday.

The muscles in our sides are hard and tense to the touch.

Danielle writes in the binder with pen, and hands it to me.

"Kissing--I'm better than you. 
Fighting, a fair fight--I'm better than you.  Curious how the results of our first fight never came up in these texts, not once  Lying bitch."

I write back on the same page and return the binder to me.

"There was no first fight.  It was an ambush.  You ambush better than me--good for you, cxnt.  The first fight is after this speech, and I will prove you wrong.
And I would love to prove you wrong on the kissing, too.
Before I mangle your face for a year, I dare you to show me how you kiss before we fight.  Chickenshit slut."

I'm getting annoyed at Danielle's Terminator unflappability.  My date is the craziest one I can come up with in the moment.  Danielle responds in writing.

"Fine.  We kiss until we know who's better.  And we fight and I remind you who's better.  You obviously forgot.  Sweetie."

"Fine.  Honey.  You don't scare me. "

"You are possibly the stupidest bitch I've ever met."

"Good.  And the one you'll most regret meeting.  Ever.  Whore.

Danielle reads my note but doesn't respond.  She closes the binder.

The speech ends.

We get up and mill out of the room.

We separate from the crowd, and march to the men's room as quickly ss our high heels allow.  Kendra is there waiting, ready to guard our privacy. 

Kendra asks me, "How long do you need?"

Danielle overhears, and says, "Give us an hour."

Danielle holds the door and lets me in first, comes in behind me, and locks the door.

The men's room and urinals are dirty, apparently not having been cleaned since Friday.

Danielle hops up on the row of sinks, mirrors surrounding us in three directions.

She waves me over.

"Let's go.  Let's see who kisses better."

She's going thru with my dare.  Our last fight, it was Danielle calling the shots.

I'm already winning.

I approach, standing against the row of sinks.  Her heels still on, Danielle wraps her feet around my back.

I gently pull on her hair, and go in for a kiss.

Our tongues meet, our mouths open.

Her arms wrap gently around my neck. 

We won't be fighting for awhile.  But, it will definitely happen.

Before we leave this room.

"I'm going to make you eat out of that urinal."

"We'll see."

"Yes, we will."

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

KISSING DANIELLE

At Miami, one of the college survival skills I learned freshman year was how to, when you're using someone you're not particularly into for sex, close your eyes and pretend it's someone else. 

That skill is being dusted off and revived as I stand in  T.F.Green Airport hotel men's room, facing Danielle as she sits on a row of sinks, our bodies embracing and kissing each others' faces.  I had dared her into kissing me as an impulsive, "I can be crazy, too, you psycho bitch" dare before our rematch catfight, and now don't know if Danielle is testing how far I'll take the dare, or if she's trying to weaken my determination before we fight, or if I've (yet again) just plain underestimated how many cards Danielle is of a full deck.

So, I buckle in for the long haul.  Danielle's husband has endorsed my kissing prowess, especially compared to Danielle herself.  So I just trust my abilities, and give Danielle a demo.  I aggressively lick Danielle lips, and roll her lips between mine, pursing my lips and sucking on hers, 2on1ing them one at a time.  Danielle alternates between passively accepting my kisses, and becoming a more active participant.  She flicks her tongue onto the front of my teeth, licking them wetly and enthusiastically.  Her hands massage my neck in repetitive circular motions, and then she removes her mouth from mine, and kisses the spots on my neck where she had just been massaging, kissing them in an erotic, subtly sucking motion, which would be thoroughly seductive were it not being performed by the woman who has been my tormentor and nemesis for 22 years.

(Other than that, Mrs Lincoln, how was the play?)

Does Danielle kiss her husband like this?  Or is she "putting on a show" and stepping up her game for me?  When I was showing him kissing, and how I kiss, and asking him to compare us, I meant mouth-on-mouth kisses only, and that was the only way he and I kissed.  It's the only way Kendra and I kiss, except for the occassional peck by whoever's turn it is to be in the back when we spoon.  Does Kendra wish I'd face her and kiss her neck and face more?  Why has she never really kissed me like this?

Or is this just one of Danielle's dirty tricks again?  I try to regain the initiative and hiss in her ear.

> Did you stop kissing my mouth because you admit I kiss better, bitch?

Danielle moves her mouth to my left ear, covering my face in her freshly cut brunette hair, reminding me of the whisper fight we had in the ballroom.  I cup her hair in my right hand as she hisses back at me.

> I just start thinking there's maybe a woman, just a part of one, who I had better take at least someehat seriously....and then you have to go and ruin it with a whiney comment from your nails on a chalkboard voice of yours.

But then she continues kissing my neck.  I resume pulling hair with my hands, somewhat harder than before.

I mean for my gesture to be vaguely menacing, reminding her of the physical violence I intend to perform on her body any minute now.  But between the neck kissing, the body-on-body rubbing through our silky fabric which, counting the time on our uncomfortable chairs back in the ballroom, has been underway for coming up to two full hours, and the intoxicating smell and texture of Danielle's long, straight, flawless hair, I feel my body slipling into a state of arousal.  My breasts press against my bra and my nipples become rock hard. I feel my panties soaking thru.  Maintaining my grip on Danielle's hair with my left hand, I slide my right hand down the skirt bottom of my outfit, my pussy badly craving touch and rubbing.  I stop suppressing my moaning, letting Danielle hear my enjoyment.

My arousal grows as I picture Danielle and I five minutes from now, throwing each other around the men's room sink, urinals, and stalls, like Kendra and Jen did in their fight at Weymouth South.  I picture us alternating turns getting the better of our even battle, like the fight Julie and I had on Memorial Day, staying focussed on outlasting the other.  I look in the mirror at the visual image of Danielle, immodestly and sluttily seated on the row of sinks, legs still in heels snaked around my body, enthusiastically kissing my neck.  I see it with my own eyes and yet still can't fully believe that we're actually kissing, of that we're actually going to fight.  Her clothes and hair are so beautiful, so sexy but glamorous, in the mirror.  Is this why people put mirrors in their bedroom?  I've never had one.  I've never watched myself making love.

> Talk to me.

> I hate you and think you're a slut.

> I hate you more.

> That's not possible bitch.

> Slut.

> cxnt.

Between the sustained body contact, the visual of the mirrors, and the juxtaposition of the refined clothes in the gritty room (I can't believe I'm in a men's room!), I cum much faster from my own touch than I normally do.

.Aaaaoooooouuuuhhhu

aaaaaaaazgggggvvvggvhhhhh

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

And then, it's over just as quickly.

My legs are stiff and cramped from standing and cumming on heels.  I step out of them, release my embrace from Danielle, and slowly and gingerly walk off the cramping.  I turn my back on her, but eye her through the mirrors.  The kissing event in our du-athalon is over--the fighting even will be starting any minute.  Kendra is going to come retrieve us after 60 minutes, and we must have just been kissing for 20 to 30.  Danielle lets her heels drop from her feet.  She removes her coat jacket and places it down, folded. 

Shit, I hope the cramping in my legs subsides before the fight starts.

I remove my coat and hang it on a stall hook.

Danielle speaks without looking directly at me.

> After our fight, you're going to text my husband that I'm the better kisser.

> I'll do no such thing.  You'll text him that you stopped kissing my mouth and....seduced me.

> You always make fucking excuses, Stephanie.

<<<<Danielle hops down from the countertop and approaches me.>>>>>

> You spend a lot on that haircut, sweetie?

> Ya, why, you like it.

> I'm going to fucking ruin it.

> Let's go, then.

To be continued......

[ralbright2010]

ZzDanielle deduces Stephanie after doing her ice queen act in the meeting room, Daniel clearly is psychologically ahead and always one up in the mental game. Now she has Stephanie sexualh sated while SHE Danielle is still aroused and seeking sexusl release giving her the hunters advantage in the fight. Yes zDani is another classic antagonist.Great work.........just wish we got more background on Danielle. How many other women hes she dominated mentally and physically? What drives her. Would have loved more character development on her ti compare with Stephanie!

[sinclairfan]

DANIELLE VS STEPHANIE 2

Danielle slanted her body to the right, lowered her right shoulder, and charged at me, her head and shoulder striking my hip and, because of my cramped legs, causing me to fall onto my butt and to slide backwards into a stall door.  My hands flailed outward in a desperate attempt to latch on to any part of Danielle's body or clothes, not wanting a second consecutive fight wiyh her to occur where she sustained not even so much as a scratch.  I clung to the bottom of her skirt with every ounce of strength in my 10 fingers, momentarily causing my enemy to lean forward and start to stumble.  But sensing what was happening, Danielle just as quickly undid the button on her skirt and gracefully stepped out of it, and tore off the hose underneath.  She was wearing no panties at all, and her bush was stubble of maybe 3 to 5 days of growth, having apparently been shaved just before that.

Taking the skirt in her right hand and rolling it into a knot, Danielle again lowered her right shoulder and fell onto my jaw, the back of my head thudding onto the hard tile floor, leaving me motionless as Danielle wrapped her twisted skirt around my neck.  She grabbed onto it with both hands, now able to lift and drag my head at will, with her skirt now effectively serving as a sling around my skull, but also constricting the airflow thru my throat.  My hands flailed ineffrctively, alternating between trying to remove the skirt from my throat and desperately grabbing for any piece of Danielle I could touch.  A couple of times I grabbed locks of Danielle's brunette hair, but she moved my whole body with the leverage provided by the skirt-sling, and was now standing and dragging me towards the urinals against the wall.

Although it was not the closest one to where we were located, Danielle was dragging me towards the filthiest urinal in row, one with gum, a cigarette butt, and what appeared to be a used condom in it.  Where the used condom had been was anyone's guess, but I already knew where Danielle was trying to put it next--unless I fought back, she was going to use the skirt-sling to dunk my face into the urinal.  With my fear and rage at an 11 out of 10, I stretched out my arms against the surface of the unrinal, trying to keep my face away from it, while Danielle struggled equally as hard to move my face forward.  We had at a stalemate for now, but with the skirt tight around my neck, and my legs still cramped from standing while we made out, I was getting weaker by the minute.  Without something changing, Danielle would inevitably win this struggle.

My mind went into overdrive.  Think, Stephanie, think.  For the second consecutive fight, Danielle was in the process of completely humiliating me without so much as breaking a nail.  After our first encounter, I had attributed this outcome to my unfortunzate lack of girlfight experience.  But I had a legit fight, versus a legit opponent (Julie), under my belt now, and yet I was equally impotent against Danielle.

Worse, it wasn't like she and I were even really fighting during our showdowns.  She was simply calmly and coolly....neutralizing me, using everyday objects as deadly weapons.

It was like she was some sort of trained military special forces spy.  Was that possible?  Think, Stephanie, think.  What did I really know about Danielle.  She had come into my life in 1995 literally out of no where, and for ghe only apparent purpose of trolling my ex-husband.  Is it possible she was spying on him?  Think, Stephanie, think. 

Danielle was some sort of programming savant.  Is it possible she was trained in programming?  Think, Stephanie, think.

I remember my ex-husband telling me that his family was Bahi'a, and that they had fled Iran during the 1979 Revolution, leaving behind an enormous amount of jewelry which they still hoped to recover someday.  Would some other country spy on him?  Would his own, trying to seize his family's hidden wealth?  Think, Stephanie, think.

Everyone called Danielle Dani except for me.  What if the Dani isn't short for Danielle?  What if it's short for Daniel?  The Book of Daniel.  The Old Testament Jew in captivity in Persia who wins the trust of the Persian Emperor.  What if there's a symbolic importance to that name?  What if Dani is some sort of international spy?

It's a long shot, but when your face is inches away from eating the contents of a urinal, you'll take it, trust me.

I shout out in desperation, "Dani, I told your husband I know you're a spy."

Like a miracle from the Book of Daniel itself, the skirt-sling is released from my neck.  I fall to all fours on the floor, freely sucking in air.

Danielle straddles me, rolling me over to my back, without shame of her exposed pussy.  She sits on my belly, her knees pinning my arms to the tile floor.

"Talk, bitch."

To be continued.....

[ralbright2010]

Great plot twist. Now it is getting really good!

[sinclairfan]

"FIGHT ME, DANIELLE"

I'm completely bluffing, at this point, a complete amateur at psychological warfare versus a stone cold professional.  One wrong turn of phrase and Danielle will snuff me without thinking twice.

Then again, for an amateur, I've got her pretty rattled.  The gist of my guess about her background must be true.  On top of that, she now thinks that I pursued a sexting affair with her husband despite knowing she was a spy.  So HER wheels must now be turning about MY background and bona fides.

> Danielle, you stupid bitch, I've got you all figured out.  You can break me like a twig with your McGyver weapons, I can that.  [Hopefully this acknowledgement on my part will prevent her from doing it.]  But you appear out of no where 20 years ago, sneaking behind my back and speaking Farsi to my ex-husband [another calculated guess by me], get him to financially contest our divorce so he has to disclose his assets [and another one], and then get mysteriously married yourself right after September 11 happens so you don't get deported [and a hat trick for Stephanie--sure do hope those are mostly true--I try and read Danielle's face, but she's stoic].  Wanna know why after all this you still don't scare me, cxnt?

> Enlighten me, loser.

> Because you're not a real woman.  Real women fight hand-to-hand.  Honest answer, slut:  ever been in a real catfight with a woman.

> Honestly?  No.

My entire 25 years of torture with Danielle became worth it in this single moment.  I, Stephanie, the 49 year old fight virgin, had been in a catfight before Danielle had.  I had taken the initiative and set up a catfight with my high school enemy, Julie.  (And won, but that wasn't even the point.)  Danielle hadn't challenged anyone.  Not even me, after I had had an affair with her husband.  The challenge had just been issued.  By me.  To her.

Danielle climbed off of me and stripped.  We both knew what we needed to do next.  There were no other options.

I got up and stripped as well, my throat parched. I guzzled cold water from the sink, cupping it in my shaking hands.  Was I tired?  hungry?  thirsty?  afraid?  Was Danielle?  If she was, she still managed to say:

> Enjoy it.  The next sip you're taking is out of the toilet.

> And the next sip YOU're taking is my pee.

> Fuck you.

> Bitch.

Our naked bodies approached, grabbing each others' hair and yanking downward.  Was Danielle intending to fight fair.  No doubt she would while she was winning--but what if she started to lose?  Why couldn't she and I have just gotten this over with in 1994, at my wedding, or the week before?

As our nails sank into each others' aroused breasts, I realized we were each even more turned on than when we were making out earlier.  Had Danielle lost her stoic separation accidentally, or on purpose?  Did this make her more dangerous or less? 

We roll onto the disgusting floor, my soul thirsting for revenge for the time last year that Danielle peed on me at my condo.  I attempt to surprise her and mount her.  Damn, too soon--she escapes my leg scissors.  And, in my anticipation, I've squirted pee onto my legs and on the floor.  We both roll in it, our bodies now stinking of sweat and pee.  We know it foreshadows a horrid post-fight humiliation for the loser.  Out catfight becomes desperate, vicious, and barbaric, more primal than when Danielle was trying to literally choke me.

The only human experience more primal than our fight on the floor is...sex.  And, so, our confised hormones react as they would to sex.  Our chests and pelvises expand to gigantic sizes and firmness.  We attack with our nails and our teeth.  Blood from the gashes on our faces, chests, and forearms mixes with the pee on the floor, as I am unable to turn off my slow leaking.  The cuts on our flesh sting as if a thousand scorpions are stinging us.  We both start to cry.

Danielle must have never cried.  Or, correction--whatever made her the psycho bitch she is made her cry long before, and she's remembering what it's like now. 

I mount her face, and I ride. 

I didn't drink toilet water that night.

But Danielle did drink pee.

Thank you, Julie, for the tuneup fight. 

Thank you, Kendra, for taking me to two fights.

Thank you, Mom, for teaching me how women fight.

And thank you, Danielle.  For the best fight I'll ever have.

THE END