[dcdave]

You Want Me To Do What Now?
by DCDave

"You want me to do what now?"

Heather asked this with a surprised tone, her hazel eyes widening as she leaned back on the plush sectional sofa in their cozy living room. The soft glow of a table lamp cast warm shadows across her face, highlighting the faint laugh lines that added to her charm. At forty-six, Heather was striking—fit from yoga and CrossFit, with shoulder-length auburn hair and a figure that still turned heads. She set her glass of pinot grigio on the coffee table, her gaze fixed on her husband, Dave, who sat across from her, looking sheepish but resolute.

Dave, forty-five, ran a hand through his full head of sandy blond hair, his grin betraying his excitement. He leaned forward in the armchair, elbows on his knees. His second marriage to Heather had reignited his spark, and tonight, he was testing a boundary he’d long fantasized about. “I know it’s wild,” he said, his voice steady despite his nerves, “but hear me out. I want you to participate in an arranged catfight. For me.”

Heather’s lips parted, amusement and disbelief flickering across her face. “A catfight? Like, clawing and hair-pulling in some dive bar?” She laughed, but curiosity gleamed in her eyes. Dave wasn’t one for reckless whims, and their marriage thrived on honesty after messy first marriages. She tilted her head, studying him. “Okay, I’m listening. Why are you so into this?”

Dave’s cheeks flushed, but he held her gaze. “It’s intense. The raw energy, two women going all out—it’s primal. I’ve watched videos for years, even before you. It’s not just the fight; it’s the confidence, the stakes. It’s hot.” His blue eyes sparkled. “And you, Heather—you’re strong, fierce. I can see you dominating.”

Heather smirked, playfully skeptical. “Fierce, huh? Flattering me into this?” She leaned forward, chin in hand. “Is this a fetish, or do you just want me scrapping for your entertainment?”

“Both, maybe,” Dave admitted, grinning. “It’s organized, safe. The women are into it—it’s about the thrill, not harm. I’ve pictured you in one. You’ve got that fire.” His enthusiasm was infectious, and Heather felt a stir of intrigue. The competition in her CrossFit box often got intense, and she loved the intensity. She felt the same way in her yoga studio, where she wanted to hold poses longer and more effectively than her…well, honestly, her competition.

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re nuts, but I’m not saying no… yet. I need details. Rules? Outfits? How do you even know this stuff?” Her teasing tone masked genuine interest, and Dave seized the moment.

“Let me show you,” he said, grabbing his laptop from the side table. He opened a private folder, pulling up three videos. “These are the best—SuiteFights, Mexican Catfights, and Crystal Films. Watch, and I’ll tell you why they’re amazing.”

Heather scooted closer, legs tucked under her as Dave angled the screen. She noticed that this folder was very full of files and connected the dots that Dave had been enjoying this in his fantasy life for some time. The first video loaded: SuiteFights, Jemma vs. Lexi. Two very chesty women circled in a mid-range hotel suite, wearing only thong underwear. Jemma, a platinum blonde with a model’s poise, lunged at Lexi, a yellow-blonde bombshell. Lexi grabbed Jemma’s tits, twisting hard, and Jemma yelped, retaliating with fierce hair-pulling. Their bodies strained, hair yanking intense, each fighting like hell to win despite the rules. Lexi always came out on top, her grip on Jemma’s chest forcing submission after submission.

“See this?” Dave said, voice thick with excitement. “They’re like models, but they’re fighting hard. Lexi’s ruthless with those tit-grabs, and Jemma’s fighting back, no quit. The hair-pulling—it’s so raw.” His hand rested on Heather’s thigh, his arousal evident.

Heather watched, lips parted, drawn to the intensity. “They’re not playing around,” she murmured. “It’s… hot, how serious they are.” She felt a thrill, noticing Dave’s growing bulge.

Dave clicked to Mexican Catfights, Miranda vs. Santana. The setting was a somewhat seedy room, a mattress shoved against one wall, thin mats on the floor. Miranda, a brunette in leggings and a skimpy top, tackled Santana, a blonde in similar attire. They slapped and grappled, hands buried in each other’s hair, pulling with abandon, their grunts echoing.

“This one’s gritty,” Dave said. “The setting’s rough, and their rivalry’s real—some Twitter beef, I think. They’re all in—slaps, hair-pulls, no holding back.” His hand tightened on Heather’s thigh as she slid her hand to his lap, stroking his hardness through his jeans.

Heather’s breath quickened, the rawness on-screen stirring her. She unzipped Dave’s jeans, her fingers wrapping around his throbbing cock as the attractive ladies slid off their high heels to fight. “You love this, don’t you?” she teased, her voice low as she stroked him.

“Fuck, yeah,” Dave groaned, eyes flicking between the screen and her hand. He loaded the final clip: Crystal Films Video Magazine 17, Star vs. Amanda. Set in a hotel room, the women wore lingerie—Star, a leggy redhead, and Amanda, a petite, chesty blonde. This was a grudge fight, fists flying, aggression raw. They punched and wrestled, bodies slamming into furniture, no mercy.

Heather’s eyes locked on the screen, her strokes on Dave’s cock growing firmer. “This one’s different,” she said, voice husky. “They’re really angry. It’s… arousing.” She saw herself in Star and Amanda—their athletic builds, not the exaggerated curves of Jemma and Lexi. The aggression, the physicality, appealed to her deeply.

Dave’s cock pulsed in her hand, his breath ragged. He looped back to the SuiteFights video, Lexi dominating Jemma. As Jemma’s face contorted in pain from Lexi’s tit-grab, her expression raw and defeated, Dave’s hips bucked. “God, that look…” he gasped. Heather dipped down, swallowing his cockhead just as he erupted, his balls unloading as she took him deep, milking every pulse.

She sat up, wiping her lips with a sly grin. “Okay, I get it. It’s fucking hot. And maybe I’m in. But you’re telling me everything—rules, outfits, all of it.” Her eyes gleamed with mischief and resolve.

Dave laughed, breathless, pulling her close. “Deal. We’re doing this together.”

[emmaduncxn]

this is very exciting, and I love that you used actual references to real catfight videos!

[tr0tz]

Very very very hot! Also love the reference to SuiteFights, Mexican Catfights et al.

Is sponsoring/pre-sales available? And maybe helpful to get Heather a really skilled nasty opponent, i.e. Sarah Brooke, Santana or Nikki Darling?

[maturecatfan]

Love it, love the realism Heather knows how much it turns him on and deep down she’s jealous he gets off watching other women and wants to be the centre of his attention, I am intrigued to find out who she fights and in what setting, will she allow it to be filmed I wonder

[CatherineL]

Interesting beginning

[Mike_Lynn]

Dave-you’re one smooth talking (writing) SOB! Keep it going! Mike & Lynn

[maturecatfan]

Really hope this continues

[Tiberius J.C.]

Great title! And a highly promising opening. There'd better be more on the way, though, or there'll be wailing, gnashing of teeth, and a dump-truckload of dead fairies.

[Wifefightfan]

Dude, where's part 2 already?!  You're killing me Smalls. Lol. Great start.

[dcdave]

The hum of tires on the expressway filled the SUV as Dave gripped the steering wheel, his eyes flicking between the road and the late afternoon sun glinting off the hood. Heather sat beside him, one leg tucked under her, scrolling idly on her phone. The air between them buzzed with an unspoken tension, a leftover spark from their night on the couch that hadn’t quite faded. She’d been quieter since, but Dave caught her stealing glances at him, her hazel eyes glinting with something. Curiosity, maybe, or resolve.

“So,” Heather said, breaking the silence, her voice casual but pointed. She set her phone in her lap and turned to face him. “I’ve been thinking about the whole… fighting thing.” She paused, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “You know, your little catfight fantasy.”

Dave’s pulse quickened, his fingers tightening on the wheel. He glanced at her, catching the playful challenge in her expression. “Oh, yeah?” he said, keeping his tone light despite the heat creeping up his neck. “What about it?”

Heather leaned back, stretching her arms above her head, her fitted tank top hugging her toned frame. “I’m curious. How do you even find someone for this? Like, is there a secret catfight Craigslist I don’t know about?” She laughed, but her eyes locked on him, searching for details.

Dave grinned, his mind racing. He felt a familiar stir in his jeans, his body betraying his excitement as he tried to focus on the road. “There are websites,” he said, clearing his throat. “Private forums, mostly. FreeCatFights has a spot where women sign up, list their stats, experience, what they’re into. MeetFighters, too, though their vibe’s rougher. You post a profile, set terms, give your stats, and people reach out. FetLife also has a community of women who fight. It’s… organized.”

Heather raised an eyebrow, amused. “Stats? Like I’m listing my CrossFit PRs? ‘Heather, forty-six, killer deadlift, ready to yank hair’?” She snorted, but her fingers drummed on her thigh, a telltale sign she was intrigued. “So, you’ve been poking around these sites already, haven’t you?”

Dave’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t deny it. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, his grin sheepish. What he should have said was, “Yes, just about every day. Why do you think we go through so much lotion?!” But instead, he said, “Just to see what’s out there.” His jeans felt tighter now, the thought of Heather in one of those fights, her strength, her fire, making it hard to focus. He shifted in his seat, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

She did. Her eyes flicked to his lap, and a sly smile spread across her face. “You’re getting off on this right now, aren’t you?” she teased, her voice low and husky. She leaned closer, her hand resting on his thigh, dangerously close to the growing bulge. “Okay, let’s say I’m in. I’d want someone like me. Fit, not some twenty-year-old bikini model. Someone my age, maybe, with some experience. But…” She hesitated, her tone softening. “They’ve gotta look good, you know? I’m not scrapping with someone who doesn’t take care of herself.”

Dave swallowed hard, his cock twitching under her touch. “Fit, forties, hot. Got it,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re worried about experience?”

“A little,” Heather admitted, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his thigh. “I mean, I’m strong, but I’ve never done… this. What if they’re some pro catfighter who’s been clawing faces for years?” She laughed, but her eyes narrowed, competitive. “I’d still hold my own, though.”

“Fuck yeah, you would,” Dave said, almost a growl. He could picture it: Heather grappling, her muscles flexing, hair flying. His erection strained against his jeans, and he knew she felt it when her hand brushed higher, teasingly deliberate.

They bantered as the miles ticked by, Heather tossing out questions about rules. “No closed fists, right? Like SuiteFights? But I’m okay with hair-pulling, slaps, maybe some wrestling moves.” She paused, her voice dropping. “I’m thinking… a pretty rough catfight. Somewhere between SuiteFights and Crystal Films.”

Dave’s head spun. That she remembered the names—SuiteFights’ polished intensity, Crystal Films’ raw aggression—sent a jolt through him. His hands gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles whitened. “You’re serious,” he said, half-laughing, half-dazed. “You’re really into this.”

Heather smirked, her hand finally grazing his bulge, giving it a light squeeze that made him groan. “Maybe I am,” she purred. “I like the idea of winning. For you.” She sat back, folding her arms, her expression mischievous. “So, can you find someone? Or is this all talk?”

Dave’s mind raced, his arousal warring with focus. “I’ll look,” he said, voice thick.

Heather’s eyes gleamed, a mix of nerves and excitement. “Then let’s see if some wife’s got what it takes to handle me,” she said, her voice bold, daring. She leaned over, kissing his cheek, her breath warm against his skin. “But you’d better make this worth it, Dave.” He laughed, dizzy with want, the road stretching out ahead as their plan took shape.

Dave had a few leads, and one struck him as the best. A guy on FCF had been posting about his wife, and the photos he posted on his profile looked epic. Were they real? How was he going to figure this out? Dave’s head buzzed with ideas.

[maturecatfan]

There are many Dave’s on this site, a very realistic and relevant story, don’t stop keep it going. I’m as horny as dave reading this ?

[dcdave]

The living room glowed under the soft light of late afternoon, the curtains drawn back to let the sun spill across the hardwood. Dave stood near the coffee table, his phone in hand, adjusting the angle as Heather struck another pose. She’d spent the last two days prepping—nails done in a sleek, deep red, her auburn hair freshly cut and styled in loose waves, and a new pair of shorts from Violate The Dress Code that clung to her curves like a second skin. The pink Sugar Shorts were daring, hugging her toned thighs and accentuating the undercurve of her ass, paired with a snug sports bra that showed off her CrossFit-honed physique. At forty-six, Heather looked fierce, and she knew it.

Dave cleared his throat, trying to keep his focus. “Okay, babe, this is for the verification photo. The guy from FreeCatFights? We moved to Trillian, and he asked for you in gym wear, holding a sign with his wife’s name. Keisha.” He grinned, his excitement barely contained. “I asked for Keisha in short shorts, a sports bra, and heels, holding a sign with your name. Fair trade. Tried to think of stuff that’d be hard to lie about or bootleg.”

Heather smirked, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “Keisha, huh? Sounds like she’s ready to throw down.” She grabbed a piece of paper from the table, scrawling “Keisha” in bold marker. “But I’m not just doing one boring photo, Dave. If I’m in, I’m in.” Her hazel eyes sparkled with mischief as she planted her feet, hips cocked, and held the sign across her chest, her free hand resting on her hip. “Take it.”

Dave snapped the shot, his pulse quickening. She didn’t stop there. Heather dropped the sign and raised her fists like a boxer, her biceps flexing. “How’s this for fierce?” she teased, then shifted, palming her breasts with a sultry grin. “Or this?” She turned, glancing over her shoulder, the shorts showcasing her ass as she gave a playful wiggle. “Come on, get all the angles.”

“Jesus, Heather,” Dave muttered, his voice thick, fingers fumbling with the phone. Her confidence was electric, and the way those shorts hugged her curves had him half-distracted. “You’re killing me.” He kept shooting, his jeans tightening as she flowed through poses, each one bolder than the last. She was talking now, her voice low and intense, as she moved.

“I want to fight her, Dave,” Heather said, dropping into a slight crouch, fists up again. “I keep thinking about it—grabbing her hair, pinning her down. Like SuiteFights, but with some of Crystal Films’ edge. I want to win.” Her eyes locked on his, a competitive fire burning. “You think Keisha’s got the guts to handle me?”

“Fuck, I hope she does,” Dave said, grinning, his cock stirring at the thought. “You’re a goddamn force right now.” Heather was excited enough that her top came off, carefully so as not to foul her hair and makeup. And Dave’s hands tried not to shake as he snapped photos of his wife showing her breasts, covering her breasts with her hands, ending with her with her fists clenched and arms raised, her nipples like pen caps.

He lowered the phone, stepping closer. “Okay, done. These are… insane. You look like you’re ready to step into a fight pit.”

Heather laughed, brushing her hair back, a flush of excitement on her cheeks. “Good. Now, let me see that profile you made for me on FreeCatFights.” She crossed her arms, leaning against the couch. “And I want you to post a couple of the tamer shots—fists up, maybe hands on hips. Save the spicy ones for later. Let’s keep Keisha guessing.”

Dave nodded, pulling up the site on his laptop. He’d spent hours crafting her profile: Heather, 46, 5’6”, 135 lbs, CrossFit and yoga devotee. Fierce, fit, and ready for a first challenge. Prefers intense, fair fights—hair-pulling, slaps, grappling OK. No pros, must be fit and 40+. He’d kept it straightforward but enticing, and now he uploaded two photos: one of Heather with her fists raised, eyes blazing, and another with her hands on her hips, confident and strong.

As he hit “post,” a notification pinged. A message on Trillian, from the guy. Dave’s heart skipped as he opened it. Keisha had a blast showing off for you. She’s ready to go whenever. What’s up, man? Heather backing down already? The taunt was subtle but unmistakable, and Dave felt a thrill at the challenge.

He read it aloud, glancing at Heather. Her lips curled into a defiant smirk. “Backing down? Oh, please,” she said, her voice dripping with attitude. “Tell him Keisha better bring her A-game, because I’m not here to play nice.” She stepped closer, her hand grazing his arm, her tone turning sultry. “And Dave? You’d better make sure this happens. I’m ready to give you a show.”

Dave’s breath caught, his mind racing with images of Heather and Keisha clashing. “Oh, it’s happening,” he said, typing a quick reply: Heather’s all in. We’re ready to swap photos. She’s coming for Keisha. You all game? He hit send, his heart pounding, knowing they were one step closer to making this real.

[DS79]

My bulge in my pants grows every time just like Dave's

[sinclairfan]

You know it's on when the woman says, "Oh, please."

[dcdave]

Heather leaned over Dave’s shoulder as he opened the FreeCatFights profile for Keisha, her curiosity piqued. The screen loaded, and Keisha’s details popped up: Keisha, 42, 5’6”, 140 lbs, lifts heavy, wife, mom, total dime, and the woman who’ll kick your ass. Record: 2-1. Loves body punching, face slapping, hair-pulling, and crushing with my thighs and hands. Bring it. A few photos showed her in gym gear, her physique powerful: strong arms, defined quads, and a confident smirk that screamed trouble.

Heather’s eyes scanned the text, her lips parting slightly. She wasn’t nervous, which surprised her. Instead, a warm flush spread through her, her breath quickening. “She’s a dimepiece, alright,” she murmured, her voice low, almost to herself. The idea of facing Keisha, her strength, her boldness, stirred something deep, a mix of competition and arousal that caught her off guard. So did the fact that Keisha was black. She never considered that her opponent would be anything other than white. “This is… interesting,” she said, glancing at Dave with a sly smile.

Before Dave could respond, Trillian pinged. A new message from Keisha’s husband, with an attached photo. Dave clicked, and Keisha appeared on-screen, striking a pose in exactly what he’d requested: tiny booty shorts, a sports bra, and sky-high stripper heels. She held a sign reading “Heather” in bold letters, her expression fierce. Keisha’s Black girl body was undeniable and hot as hell. Big boobs, wide hips, and a round ass that filled out the outfit perfectly. Her mocha colored skin gleamed under the light, her curves accentuated by the daring ensemble.

Heather’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide. “She’s fucking hot.” she said, half-laughing, half-stunned. “I didn’t even think about how confident she’d look… wow.” She stared at the photo, taking in Keisha’s confidence, the way she owned the frame. Dave was trying to play it cool, but his quickened breathing betrayed him as he typed a reply, attaching Heather’s verification shot—the one with her holding the “Keisha” sign, hips cocked.

Heather leaned closer, her hand on his shoulder. “Send more,” she said, her voice firm, a glint in her eyes. “The one with my fists up. And… the one where my tits are out, sports bra pulled up.” She smirked, catching Dave’s stunned glance. “Let’s see how she handles that.”

Dave’s fingers hesitated, then moved fast, attaching the photos. The fists-up shot showed Heather’s athletic intensity, her biceps flexed, eyes locked on the camera. The second was bolder: her sports bra lifted, breasts bared, a defiant grin on her face. He hit send, his cock twitching at the thought of Keisha’s reaction. “You’re wild,” he muttered, half in awe.

The Trillian chat exploded into a back-and-forth. Keisha’s husband fired back with another shot of her, this time flexing her thighs, the sign now propped against her hip. Through her husband, Keisha says Bring it, Heather. You sure you’re ready? Heather read it aloud, her voice dripping with defiance. “Oh, I’m ready,” she said, nudging Dave. “Tell him I’ll pull that hair and slap that smirk off her face.”

Dave typed her response, grinning as Heather hovered, suggesting quips. Keisha’s side kept it spicy too: another photo, her hands cupping her boobs, taunting, This is what’s coming for you. Heather laughed, unfazed, dictating a reply: Better hope those thighs can save you when I’m done with you. The banter escalated, each woman’s confidence fueling the other’s, their husbands typing furiously, barely keeping up.

Then, a message from Keisha’s husband: Keisha’s wondering if that soft belly of yours can take a punch. Bet it can’t. He followed with a winking emoji, but the jab landed.

Heather’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a determined grin. “Soft? Oh, hell no.” She turned to Dave, her voice steady but electric. “Tell them body punching’s in. I want it rough. Full on Crystal Films rules. I’m not scared of her, and my fists can take her fists.” Her hand grazed Dave’s lap, feeling his hardness, and she smirked. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Dave groaned, unable to even hide his dizzy lust, typing the reply: Heather says bring the body punches. She’s ready to trade blows. His heart raced, the stakes climbing higher. Then, another ping. Keisha’s husband suggested a FaceTime call, writing: Let’s see if you’re both real.

Dave glanced at Heather, who nodded, her expression a mix of nerves and fire. They set up the call, and soon Keisha’s face filled the screen, her dark eyes sharp, lips curved in a challenging smile. Her husband, a stocky guy with a goatee, stood behind her, grinning. Heather leaned into the frame, her auburn hair catching the light, her gaze unflinching. Dave hovered close, his hand on her back.

“Well, damn,” Keisha said, her voice smooth, teasing. “You look ready, Heather. But you sure you can handle me?” She flexed an arm, her tone playful but edged with steel.

Heather laughed, leaning closer to the camera. “Handle you? Sweetie, I’m gonna own you. Hope those thighs are as strong as you think.” Her voice was bold, but her pulse raced, the reality of facing Keisha sinking in.

The husbands chimed in, trading logistics, but Keisha’s guy cut through the chatter. “Why wait? There’s a roadside motel, thirty minutes from you. We’re close. Meet us there. Now.” He raised an eyebrow, daring them.

Dave froze, glancing at Heather. Her eyes widened for a split second, then hardened with resolve. “Yes,” she said, her voice steady, a fire in her chest. “Let’s do this. Now.” Keisha’s laugh crackled through the speakers. “Oh, it’s on, girl. See you soon.” The call ended, and Heather turned to Dave, her breath quick, her body buzzing with adrenaline.

“Grab my gym bag,” she said, already heading for the door. “We’re not backing down.”

Dave scrambled to follow, his mind reeling, cock throbbing at the thought of what was coming. The roadside motel loomed in his imagination, a gritty stage for Heather and Keisha to clash, and he couldn’t wait to see it unfold.