Maya walked nervously along the corridor of the storage room, under the flickering, humming neon lights, as she walked to her appointment with Zoya, who she intended to beat the shit out of. It was, after all, Sports Day, and this was going to be part of her appraisal.
It had all started innocently enough; the two rival departments, sales and accounts, would hold a series of games, such as draughts and tiddlywinks. It was intended as a bonding exercise. One year, there was a dispute between two of the secretaries over a tiddlywinks result, would you believe it? Words turned into blows, and before anybody knew, the women of both departments went at it in a massive brawl. Sales won by two knockouts and a breast maul. The next year, tensions were running high with the Accounts wanting to avenge their defeat. Management decided that the easiest way to calm the tension was for the two newest hires, the interns, from both departments to go at it and settle it themselves. That year accounts won by a pussy punt, everybody enjoyed the fight, tensions were lowered and everybody decided to make it a regular occurrence, fuck the tiddlywinks.
So, the winner would get a bonus and extra points on their performance review, leading to a job. The loser would still receive a bonus, albeit a smaller one, but their performance review would depend on how well they performed, how well the company was doing, and factors such as the number of jobs not being filled as expected. Long story short, someone, often the loser, would be let go. So, a good performance, i.e. handing the other bitch her arse, was considered vital to your future with the company.
Maya smiled and waved at the security camera on the ceiling, which was relaying her image to everybody in sales and accounts as they watched her walk to her appointment. Of course, management has decided to invest in the latest HD camera and 4K screens to enhance the viewing experience of the event. The feed was one-way. The audience could see and hear everything. But they couldn't say anything to her. No distractions. No one was allowed in. The winner was normally the one who could walk herself out, unaided, or whoever was not pleading for mercy.
Betting was encouraged, and a percentage of the winnings and the sales of the video file of the fight were given to the winner.
She knew her husband, Arjun, was watching, cheering her on with the rest of the sales department.
He was supporting her, before she descended the stairs to the storage room, he had kissed her and wished her luck.
The night before, he had prayed with her to Durga, the goddess of war. They had established a Sacred Space in the flat, a small altar dedicated to Durga with a picture of her. She had offered up flowers and sweets, reciting the mantra "Om Dum Durgaye Namaha" one hundred and eight times, exactly. Then she chanted the Durga Chalisa, scriptures dedicated to the goddess. She concluded the ceremony with Aarti, a ritual of waving a lighted lamp. She was not a devout Hindu, but the thought of the fight made her feel like a little girl again, dreading her first day at school. So, she revived the traditional rituals from her childhood. As she finished the ritual, she felt she had done all she could do. Her husband held her, telling her she would do fine, she would win, she would get the job. After that, they made love. He held her, comforting her until she finally fell asleep.
When she opened the door to the storage room. It was really a hall, an underground tunnel, linking the two offices, sales and accounts. Above her was a courtyard with people sitting in the sun, having lunch, smoking cigarettes, laughing, smiling, oblivious of the violence that was about to happen below them. For a moment, while her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she wished she could be with them. When she got her bearings, she put those feelings and the door behind her and began to move deeper into the hall.
Over the years, the ageing fluorescent bulbs had died one by one, until only a few flickering tubes remained. Their insect buzz filled the shadowy hallway. Moving around a shelf bulging with dusty ringbinders, Maya paused near a weird mechanical keyboard thing: a typewriter. Cautiously, she looked around.
Last time Maya checked, 10 minutes ago, but who’s counting? The betting was fifty-fifty between her and her opponent, called Zoya. Maya desperately wanted to make a success of this job and knew that the only way to do it would be over Zoya’s defeated body. The bitch was Pakistani, sure, and she was Indian, so some tension there, sure. But more than that she was from fucking accounts, and she was standing in the way of her job offer.
Maya was dressed in typical office wear. Short-sleeved, white button-up shirt, with a white bra underneath, black short skirt. A normal day in the office, apart from the fact that she was barefoot, wearing short black leather gloves, and no jewellery, as they didn't want anybody disfigured.
Maya cautiously made her way through the storage room, lined with dusty cardboard boxes and storage shelves. Nobody knew what was in the ancient files in the boxes, but they didn’t have the nerve to chuck them out. Maya walked barefoot on the old carpet, stepping on the odd piece of discarded paper or cardboard. There was supposed to be an area cleared out for their fight, an arena, their battlefield.
"Don't worry you'll fuck her up just like you did that Punjabi bitch!" Her friend Carol had told her as she helped her put on the gloves.
Carol was blonde and a couple of years older than her and had fought a redhead on a previous sports day, winning by a knockout. Carol had been assigned to train her, not too much involved, no one wanted to see a kung-phooey fight, just a proper woman-to-woman tooth and nail scrap. So, training was just two-mile jogs and learning how to throw a punch.
Maya smiled weakly at the mention of the Punjabi bitch. Yeah, about that...
The interview wasn't going badly, but it also wasn't going well. Maya realised the way this interview was going, he'd forget about her as soon as she walked out the door. She needed this job; how else could she and Arjun save for a house? She needed a way to make herself memorable.
Then they mentioned this sports day. It was a fight; he asked if she'd ever been in a fight.
Truth be told, no, she hadn't ever been in a fight. Just a bit of hair pulling when she was in school. But this was an interview, so truth be fucked. They seemed to want to hear a story, and she wanted that job, so she'd give them a story: a Punjabi woman who'd been making a move on her husband. Stupid, of course, Arjun would never even glance at another woman. But it would make for a good story. She closed her eyes and channelled the divine scribe Ganesha…
"Yes, I've fought before. I won", she declared.
“Where was this?”. Said the interviewer, leaning forward. Had she got his interest?
“We were at a party after a friend's wedding. The bitch, is it okay if I use the word bitch?"
"I've heard worse...", the interviewer smiled. A white man in his fifties. You might use the term typical pen-pusher. Receding white hair, the only other thing was his glasses, which he wore on the bridge of his nose, so he always looked like he was peering at you.
"...you can use anything apart from the C-word or the N-word"
"Thanks", Maya smiled. It was the first bit of engagement she'd gotten out of him. She continued.
"That bitch had been all over my man. I just told her she could have my man over my dead body.
She said she'd like to arrange that.
I politely suggested that we discuss this outside, our host had some really lovely furnishings I didn't want to break anything. Apart from her.
We went outside dressed in our Sarees. Hers was Red, mine Green. The crowd of spectators must have known what we were going to do; they cleared a circle for us.
I was about to ask if she wanted rules when the bitch kicked hard sideways catching me square in the stomach, I gasped as I staggered, bending over in pain. She followed up with a swinging fist to the side of my head that knocked me sprawling onto the wet grass.
But I wasn’t finished yet, I just waited until the bitch's foot came flashing at my ribs. My hands grasped the ankle, and I struck like a snake into her instep. The bitch screamed with pain and wrenched furiously at her trapped foot. It was too late. I was standing up, with the foot still in my hands, on one knee. I heaved and the bitch's other foot left the ground, and she crashed on her back with a thud. For a moment, she lay still, stunned.
Giving her no time to recover, snarling, I dived on top of her, clawing and tearing, and we went for each other’s clothes. I got her skirt, ripping it off, so everybody could see the tiny little thong she wore”.
“Wow, you wear thongs under those sarees?” The Interviewer asked. His face was rather red.
“Yeah, all the time”, Maya assured him, seeing how he liked that little detail. She continued, she was warming into this, she demonstrated with a few arm actions.
“The bitch was trying to hold me off with her elbows and knees and at last she managed to kick me off. She staggered to her feet and backed away, her lips bared from her teeth and the saree hanging in tatters from her body. She charged, her arms groping for a hold, and, as I leapt aside, she caught the neck of my saree and split it down to the hem. Bitch. But immediately, I twisted in close under those reaching arms, and my fists and knees thudded into her body”.
“Big mistake, her strong arms clamped around me, trapping my hands low down so that I couldn’t reach for the bitch's eyes. Then slowly, the bitch began cackling while she squeezed, while my legs and knees thrashed ineffectually. I think I heard a rib crack”.
“You were in big trouble there, all she had to do was fall on you and she could do what she liked, how did you get out of it?” The interviewer was caught up in this.
“I put my teeth to work”. Maya grinned.
“The bitch screamed blue murder as my teeth went to work on her breasts, when I started chewing on her nipple, she let go of my arms pretty bloody quickly, as she reached for my hair to pull my head back, away from her. But my hands were free now, and I pushed away from her”.
“Wow, savage!”.
Maya went on. “We tore apart and backed away like cats, our shining wet dark-skinned bodies glinting through the last rags of our sarees and blood showing on the bitch’s exposed breasts. We circled warily and tore off the last of our sarees and threw them into the audience”.
The Interviewer was holding his breath.
“We were down to just our thongs now. The moon shone on our glittering bodies, and there was the whisper of hot, panting breath. Still, we circled slowly, teeth bared and breath coming harshly. The rain glinted off our heaving breasts”.
The interviewer’s eyes were wide like saucers, his face red, sweat collecting on his brow. Yes, she’d made an impression alright.
“The bitch made the first move with a sudden leap forward with arms held out like a wrestler's. She was trying to intimidate me, but I stood my ground. My right foot lashed out in a furious kick at her crotch that made a slap like a gunshot. She gave a wounded cry and clutched at her mangled cooch. At once, my other foot kicked up into her stomach, and I threw myself in after it. The bitch had fallen to the ground, so I jumped on her back and wrapped my long legs around her stomach and squeezed, she cried out. Then my clawed hands reached for her breasts and squeezed, gouging trenches into those heavy hangers. You know how you knead bread?”
The interviewer nodded.
“I squeezed boobies until she sobbed out her surrender”.
“Amazing!” said the Interviewer. “I wish I’d seen that!”.
“Yeah”, Maya grinned, “She never bothered me again”.
“They should make a movie out of it”, the interviewer effused.
“…or a book…”, Maya offered, before giving a really evil grin.
“…And then I finished her off”
“What?”, the interviewer could not believe there was more.
“In front of the audience, I removed my little thong…
…and then I face-fucked her to oblivion!”
“Oh my god!” The interviewer was gobsmacked.
“Yeah, I rode her face so hard with my pussy, I suffocated her!”
“After that I was still horny, so I grabbed my husband. I told him, ‘You’re next!’. I dragged, no, I didn’t have to drag him, he ran, up to one of the guest bedrooms upstairs, and we made out like rabbits”.
It had occurred to Maya that she had over-egged the story, that maybe the interviewer had read ‘From Russia with Love’, but she needed the job, and after that little epic, she got it. She knew he’d liked the story when he did not stand up to say goodbye. He continued sitting behind his desk, just putting his hand out, while squirming. Maya idly wondered if it was a stiffy or a cum-stain he was trying to hide. And yes, she was told all about the ‘Sports day’, but like the heat-death of the universe, it seemed so far away at the time.
Until it became tomorrow.
Until it became now.
Taking a deep breath, she resumed her walk down the corridor.
Making her way slowly around old, dusty equipment and discarded boxes, she paused from time to time to listen for any sound that might give away her opponent's position.
She crept up the hallway, her heart racing and the blood pounding in her ears like a war drum as she advanced into battle. As the cool, musty air of the hall touched her bare nipples, they began to harden. Was it the cool air, or was it excitement?
Coming in through the other doorway, Zoya closed it behind herself and walked slowly, deliberately down the hall. Stopping behind a large shipping crate, she looked carefully up the hall, alert to the slightest noise. She could feel her small, dark nipples beginning to harden in excitement and anticipation of the coming catfight. Carefully, she began to move up the hallway, darting from box to box as she advanced slowly...
As Maya moved deeper and deeper into the hall, the boxes became older and more numerous. Sometimes she had to turn sideways and wiggle to get between the stacks of leaning junk, squirming as she struggled to get through. As she moved, she would pause from time to time, jumping at the slightest noise.
Zoya continued forward. Moving and stopping, moving and stopping as she worked her way farther up the dirty hallway. How old is this stuff? Zoya thought to herself as she crouched behind a box and strained to see any movement in the dim light. Standing again, she moved forward another box as she found what she assumed would be their battlefield.
Maya stopped for a moment and stared. Had she seen a flash of something somewhere ahead? It was impossible to tell for sure. Moving forward again, she arched her back and slipped past a box of VHS videos, whatever they were. There was a small break in the clutter ahead of her, and Maya guessed that she must be somewhere near the centre of the hall. As she started to move forward again, she saw her opponent. She froze, shocked momentarily by the sight. The knowledge that this was the moment. This was it.
"Don't worry, once the fight starts and the adrenaline kicks in, you'll be fine". Carol had assured her.
Zoya was standing between two rows of shelving, so tall that if you were ever sad enough to want to reach a file from the top shelf, you'd need a ladder. At the end of the rows, Maya could see piles of empty boxes arranged in a large circle. Was that meant to be their arena? It looked like she wanted to fight among the shelves. Alright.
She studied the woman she was going to fight, observing her closely. Like her, she was in office wear: a light-blue short-sleeved, button-up shirt, but the top buttons were undone to the waist, revealing her taut navel. Not exactly halal, more like whore, thought Maya. She was doing stretching exercises. Showing off her curves, just the right side of big-boned, at least that's how her husband described her. She was heavier than Maya, but her breasts, although not insubstantial, were not as large. She filled out her clothes nicely, and the black skirt clearly displayed her tight, luscious, curvy backside.
She was not what you would call a strict Muslim; if Allah did not want her to display her body, he would not have given her such a good one. Her body only belonged to her husband. He was proud of her and was quite happy to display the jewel that was his wife, not hide her in a burka; he had bet quite heavily on her to win. When she saw the amount, she blushed.
"You're a bad Muslim!" She chided, though she was flattered.
"No, I am a good Muslim”, he grinned. “It's gambling that is haram; betting on you is not gambling. You will win, I know it!"
She kissed him passionately. Then she rode his rock-hard cock to a thunderous orgasm all the time whispering in his ear, describing the fight to come and what she was going to do to her opponent. He came inside her with the force of a ten-ton truck, and within ten minutes, he was hard again. She looked down at his yearning cock.
"You like these stories?" She asked.
He looked at her sheepishly.
"Yes".
They made love all night.
She'd had a few fights at school, with the mouthy chavettes who called her 'paki'. They were not so mouthy once she'd fucked them up, though. She'd fought only once at Uni. She entered some catfight league and drawn some white shit called Sharon, who'd beaten her up rather badly and humiliatingly. After that, she decided to spend the rest of her time at university studying rather than competing in any stupid catfight league. There was some consolation, later, when she got to see Sharon getting the shit kicked out of her by a skinny blonde girl.
She looked over at her opponent, hoping she'd beat her. Her confidence had been destroyed by that white shit. Getting stripped naked, your knickers around your ankles while your arse is getting spanked so hard it glowed red and she couldn't sit down in lectures for a week, will do that to you. She wanted that bonus, though and the full-time job that came with it. That little girl was smaller than her; she should win, she ought to win. She had prepared herself for the Jihad, the struggle; it was not a holy war. She knew there was not an Iman alive who would picture what she was about to do when they heard the word Jihad, but it was a struggle, it was war. While she exercised, she prayed to Allah that she would not end up as she did with that white shit, please no.
"Hello", she said.
"Hello", Maya replied.
Maya was struck by the absurdity of this situation. Here was a woman she'd never met before, a woman she might even like, be friends with. A woman she was going to try, no scratch that, she was going, to fuck up to the best of her ability. They would not be friends after this, would they? She didn’t care; she wanted that job.
"I'm Zoya, you must be the slut from sales".
"I'm Maya, and you're the whore from accounts".
"You ready, little girl?" Zoya asked, trying to be intimidating.
"Oh, I'm ready, fatty". Maya started making clutching motions with her hands, trying to show she wasn't intimidated. She was, but then so was Zoya.
They were both sweating, their lips dry. Their hearts were beating like drums. They circled each other, uncertain what to do; they could both feel an exquisite mixture of fear and anticipation. We're going to do this, we're gonna fight, Maya thought.
"I thought you said you were ready. You look scared to me. You're not gonna wet your panties, are you?" Zoya asked, faking concern.
"No, I'm not!" Maya shot back.
Breaking the deadlock, Zoya pushed Maya with both her hands.
"Slag!"
Maya was forced back a step. Determined, she moved forward, pushing back at Zoya.
"Slut!"
Over the feed, both sets of offices were cheering their girls to tear each other up.
"Whore!" Zoya pushed back harder.
Slap!
Maya's unexpected slap rocked Zoya's head. Maya had never hit another woman before, but the feeling of power she got when Zoya rocked back in pain was unbelievable.
"Fucking cun-"
Maya's eyes widened, her mouth opened in pain as Zoya's uppercut impaled her stomach. Pain shot through her body as she bent in agony, clutching her belly. The air exploded from her lungs in a tormented gasp. She stumbled, falling back into a pile of boxes.
Zoya moved in. Her earlier trepidation, remembering her loss to Sharon, was replaced with a blood lust. She realised that this was gonna hurt. But she would endure the pain, no fat-uddered cow from Calcutta was gonna stop her, she had worked hard to get this job, she was prepared to fight for it. She was gonna win.
Maya's kick slammed into her stomach. Zoya fell back against a storage rack.
Screaming, Maya launched herself up from the boxes she had landed in and, head down, buried it in Zoya's belly. Her breath exploded out of her.
Maya grabbed her by the shirt, the buttons flying. Swinging her into the storage rack on the other side.
Quickly, Zoya turned, her backhand landing with a crack on Maya's face. Maya flew back, her hands stopping her from crashing into a storage shelf. She turned to look at her foe, who was staring at her with anger etched into her face.
"Fucking fat pig" Maya hissed as she wiped her bleeding lip.
"I'm gonna make you eat those udders, cow!" Zoya hissed back. Her shirt was fully open now, and her bra was in full view.
Shit, that fucking paki as brought us down to the racist comments. Thought Maya.
She realised that this was gonna hurt. But she would endure the pain, no fat-arsed paki was gonna stop her, she had worked hard to get this job, she was prepared to fight for it. She was gonna win. All her pre-fight jitters were gone. Carol had been right about the adrenaline; all she could think of now was how to destroy her foe and invent new ways to do it.
Maya attacked, pulling Zoya's hair, grunting, forcing Zoya to bend at the waist. She reached up, burying her own hands in Maya's hair, twisting the hair in her hand and pulling her down. With her other hand, Zoya fired shots into Maya's rib cage. Wildly kicking at Zoya's legs, Maya swung her by the hair, smashing her into a storage rack. Then she banged her foe's head into the metal.
Once, twice.
Screeching, with a surging heave, Zoya swung her foe into the shelving. Grabbing her by the mouth and squeezing, she banged Maya's head into the metal, getting her revenge.
"Fucking…"
BANG! The shelving juddered.
"…give…"
Another bang, the boxes inched closer to the edge of the shelves.
"…Up!"
Two of the boxes fell off the shelves. Their contents were emptying over Zoya's head. A stapler hit her on her head, stunning her.
"Fuck you!"
While her foe was distracted, Maya's fist flew forward like a spear, crunching into Zoya's nose. Blood erupted. Stunned, Zoya's hands went to her face.
Maya was prepared to swing a haymaker. Before she could swing, Zoya blindly charged into her, putting her arms around her back, driving her towards an empty pile of boxes. Maya slipped on a piece of card lying on the floor, holding onto Zoya's shirt, she pulled her down with her, removing her shirt.
When Maya hit the floor, Zoya was on top, she slapped Maya's face back and forwards as she bounced her bounteous arse on top of her stomach. Then she pulled Maya's head up in her left hand while her other hand formed a fist. Like a piston, it shot into Maya's face, busting her nose. Maya's eyes widened in shock as the blood dripped down her face. Zoya's eyes widened in triumph.
Zoya shuffled up Maya’s body and triumphantly dropped her considerable arse on top of Maya’s face. Maya’s eyes widened in panic at the thought that she was going to be suffocated in such a humiliating fashion. Her nose was stuck between Zoya’s buttocks. And the bounteous flesh was sealing all her breathing passages. Zoya was laughing, posing for the camera, blowing kisses at her cheering husband. She winning the arse versus tits battle. She would rub the scrubber's face in her arse and make her kiss it.
“Oooh, you fucking shit!” Zoya wailed.
Maya bit down hard on those buttocks, then she started chewing until she tasted that zingy metallic blood taste. Zoya’s triumph turned to panic. She tried to lift her arse away from those teeth, but Maya determinedly held on. Then, Maya's hands reached for Zoya's hair and, with a harsh yank, pulled her off and into the empty boxes that surrounded their battlefield. She wrapped her legs around Zoya's body and delivered two thunderous slaps to her face, forehand, then a backhand. The slaps sounded like gunshots in the empty room. Then she tightened her legs like a noose. Zoya's tortured gasp filled the room. She pushed and pulled at the legs encircling her, desperate for release. Maya just laughed and pulled her legs tighter.
Zoya's gloved fingers dug into Maya's thighs. Maya just squeezed harder. As the pressure on her ribs grew unbearable. Zoya joined her hands together, raising them over her head before bringing them down like an axe into Maya's stomach. Spit exploded from Maya's mouth as her legs shot open, like a cheap whore looking for a fuck, Zoya thought, as she repeated the move, Maya's body jack-knifed as her hands clutched her devastated belly. Anxious to escape more punishment, she rolled, kicking Zoya in the head, knocking her back.
Both women scrambled with the untidy, dusty boxes, trying to get up. Zoya threw a box at Maya, who batted it away, but Zoya was right behind the box, diving on top of her rival and renewing the hairpulling. Maya, too, went after Zoya's hair as the girls were locked together in a rolling catfight, locked in a tight embrace, looking like the convulsions of two snakes put into a pit to fight with each other. Arms and legs intertwined, seeming to have minds of their own, the pair heaved and writhed their way on top of the boxes. Tearing, punching and gouging as they went. Knees and hands jabbed or grasped at flesh. Grunts, squeals, and cries, which were not words, punctuated their efforts. They rolled together on top of the boxes until they came to the end of the pile, as the last one collapsed with a bang. Zoya was the one on top, throwing left hands to Maya's face.
A desperate Maya bucked and kicked, finally getting Zoya off her. As Zoya stood up, ready to pounce on Maya again. Maya kicked out her right foot, slamming into her stomach. Zoya fell back, barely able to keep her balance, gasping for breath, giving Maya the chance to get to her feet, and they faced each other. The blood mixed with the sweat, running all over Maya's brown features. Her hair dishevelled, and their shirts in tatters.
Maya swung a haymaker to take Zoya's head off, but Zoya blocked it with her arm, leaving Maya defenceless for her haymaker. When it landed, spit exploded from her mouth, spinning her out of control, and crashing into a shelf. Luckily for her, only a few sheets of paper fell, she wasn’t blinded. Zoya grabbed her arms and swung while putting her leg behind Maya’s, tripping her over. Maya fell face-first to the rough carpeted floor. She felt the wet smack of Zoya’s half-naked body as it fell on top of her.
Zoya's knees dug into Maya's back as her head was yanked back savagely by the hair. Then she felt the other hand tearing open what was left of her shirt, she heard the ripping, then the hand fumbling, reaching underneath the bra cups and digging her nails into Maya's boobs, pulling the fleshy lobes out from under the cups, leaving her bra hooked up but no longer providing cover.
Maya screamed as her nipple was tightly clasped between thumb and forefinger and yanked down hard. Tears flooded her eyes as Zoya released her hair and her other hand yanked at the other breast with the same excruciating hold.
Zoya yanked one breast down, then the other. Repeating the action again and again as though trying to milk the breasts as her fingers gouged furrows into Maya's breasts.
Maya was freely sobbing now from the tit torture. In the office, Arjun had tears in his eyes as he pleaded with his wife to fight back. Sanjay was cheering his wife on. Zoya was feeling that she had victory literally within her grasp; she could taste it. She whispered into her enemy's ear.
"Told ya..."
Left tit down, right tit pulled towards the face, almost at eye level.
"...I was gonna make you eat them...".
Right tit down, left tit up, and both tits twisted, horribly deforming them.
"...I'm gonna..."
"Aaarrghh!"
As Maya's gloved fingers stabbed into her eyes, Zoya screamed out in fear. She released her tit hold as Maya turned over, she was on top now and Zoya was on her back, desperately trying to clear her vision.
Not giving her foe time to recover. Maya tore open the front clasp on Zoya's bra, raised her fists and brought them down with all her might onto Zoya's breasts. The breasts splattered, pancaking as Maya's fists sank into them. Zoya screamed, and her body spasmed.
Without mercy, Maya brought her left fist down on Zoya’s left fist with a splat.
"Tum..."
Right fist and grinding the fist down hard into the flesh.
"...chodo..."
Left fist down with a loud smack that echoed around the room as Zoya moaned.
"...yonee!"
"Fuck her tits up hon", Arjun cheered his wife on. In the other office, Sanjay was pleading with his wife to fight back.
Maya squeezed the pliant flesh between her fingers. As the deformed breast flesh oozed around her fingers, Zoya's face filled with tears. Her legs cycled in the air hysterically. Luckily, she caught Maya in the face, pushing her away.
Slowly, they both rose. They threw off the tatters of their wrecked shirts and bras and stood, their dark skin shining in the neon light, covered in sweat and blood. They were clad only in their black skirts now. They faced each other silently, with the hum of the air-conditioning the only sound.
Suddenly, they both gave a war cry and rushed together. Grabbing hair, trying to throw the other to the ground and firing punches into each other's breasts. They pounded into each other, toe to toe, sending body blow after body blow into each other’s battered bodies.
They drilled into each other, without pause, mechanically. The watchers in the offices went quiet, transfixed. Listening to the rhythmic, heavy smacks of fists upon bare skin. Neither woman was a skilled boxer, but what they lacked in skill, they made up for in venom. Time lost all meaning as their eyes bulged, their bare teeth flashed, and their stomachs received uppercut after uppercut. With blow after sickening blow, Maya could feel Zoya’s stomach weakening, turning purple; she guessed her’s was as well. It sounded like a perverse duet, a grunt, the smack of fist on flesh and then a groan of pain.
Suddenly, the Zoya thrust her hand beneath Maya’s skirt, thrusting her thong aside and stabbing her fingers like daggers deep into her crotch. Maya screamed.
“You fucking bitch”
Her hands shot down to try and pry Zoya’s hand away. Zoya began alternating between pulling out pubic hair and the stabbing action.
Panicking, Maya couldn’t dislodge Zoya’s hand, so she started sending punches to her face. Both of Zoya's eyes were starting to swell, it was getting hard for her to see, but still the bitch hung on.
"I'm gonna wreck your twat!" Zoya proudly boasted.
Copying Zoya's actions, Maya reached up under Zoya's skirt and grabbed her thong and yanked up hard. The material bit into Zoya's crotch. She screamed.
"Not if I wreck yours first!" Maya proclaimed.
Zoya twisted her fingers. Her face had a savage grin despite the tears streaming down her face.
Maya yanked up harder.
"I'm gonna cut you in half, whore!"
They lay there on the carpet, locked in a savage duel. Both knew that the only way to make the pain stop was to hurt the other bitch more. Pained cries and sobs were all that could be heard above the humming neon.
"That job is mine, loser!" Zoya growled.
"You won't even be able to get a job as a whore after I've fucked you up" Maya started making sawing motions with the thong, cutting into Zoya's sensitive flesh. Leaving bloody scratches.
"You'll never fucking breed, vermin!".
Zoya thrust her fingers into Maya's twat has far as she could. Then, clawing her fingers, ripped them out. As Maya screamed, Zoya looked at her gloved fingers disappointed that the gloves had stopped her ripping out chunks of the bitch's flesh. Maybe try again. As she did, Maya screamed. She kicked out with her knee, aiming for Zoya’s crotch. It landed with a dull thud. There was a dull croak, and the stabbing motion paused. Maya kicked again. She heard the sickening thud of knee on bone. Zoya gasped as Maya shoved her away.
Both women lay on their backs, clutching their devastated pussies, sobbing bitter tears. Their bodies were racked with agony, and they did not know how much more they could take.
Neither husband was particularly religious, but Arjun had just prayed to Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, pleading to grant his wife victory. He had always been worried by the thought of his wife fighting; she was such a beautiful creature. He had been amazed at the bravery she had shown; he was so proud of her, but he could not stand to see her hurt; he wanted it to stop.
Sanjay was silently pleading with Mohammed that he would grant her victory over the infidel. Yes, his heart had surged with pride when he saw his beautiful wife fight like a tiger, then he was sick to the pit of his stomach when he saw that little Hindi shit repay the beating with a vengeance. He willed his wife to emerge victorious from the battle, not caring what she was doing to another human being.
Both offices were silent, dumbstruck at the savage violence they were seeing.
Both women were lying on their backs, feeling the ancient carpeting that they both just wanted to fade into, to make the pain stop.
"Hey yonee", Maya's voice shattered the silence. Gone was the girl nervous about her first fight. She had become a primordial savage lying on the floor, struggling to fill her lungs.
"What cow?" came the reply.
"FUCK YOU!" Screamed Maya, her voice hoarse.
Then silence apart from the hum of the lights and the laboured breathing of the two women. Both pairs of mountainous breasts trembled as they rose and fell, as they struggled to get air into their lungs. Their sweat-soaked, brown skinned bodies shone in the harsh neon lighting. They were half naked, just down to their skirts, but they did not feel ashamed, no, they were warriors, fighting body to body, woman to woman.
"Hey, fat udders", Zoya called out. Gone too was the frightened girl, unsure if she could regain her confidence after her last thrashing. She too, had gone feral.
"What fat arse?"
"FUCK YOU!" Zoya screamed back.
Slowly, painfully, they rose, both determined to end it. The battered fighters approached each other, shuffling tired legs, moving towards a conclusion that would be the end for one of them.
Maya couldn’t take another hit. As she limped towards her opponent, she tried to work out which of the five Zoyas she could see, through her bruised, swelling eyes, was the one she was supposed to hit. Her hands felt like lead weights, and she felt like she was running on fumes. She reminded herself how much she wanted this job. Please, Druga, grant me victory.
Zoya knew she was on her last legs as she stared with battered, half-open eyes at the slowly limping figure coming towards her through a blur of sweat and blood. Her hands hurt so much. She needed this job. She needed to win; she wanted to win. Please, Allah, please.
They knew it would all come down to that one final killing shot, and as they entered striking range, Maya threw low, aiming for Zoya's battered belly, instead of her head, mustering what was left of her strength to launch a hook to drive her victory into Zoya’s gut.
As Maya's punch struck home, she saw the point of an elbow as it collided with her face. With a crack, Maya's head snapped to the side, sweat exploding as Zoya’s elbow cruelly crunched its way across her cheek, Maya’s eyes rolled up to the back of her head, her body swayed and crumbled. Zoya knew for that triumphant split second that she had done it. She had won. She had fucking won.
Or she would have. If that cowing twat had fallen backwards.
Instead, Maya stood there, eyes glazed, a gobbet of puke burbled from her mouth as she swayed on her feet. Then she fell…
…Forward.
She crashed into the very fucked-up Zoya. They landed in a heap. Zoya involuntarily cushioned Maya’s fall as she weakly gasped, the air driven from her lungs while the back of her head crashed against the hard floor, the carpet not doing much to protect her. And then darkness, as Maya's breasts engulfed her face with a splat.
For a moment, Zoya was aware of their sweaty, battered, half-naked bodies pressed together and the sweaty, musky odour of her breasts, overwhelming her senses, slowly suffocating her, as she faded to blackness, one thought flashed through Zoya's brain.
FUUUUUU C C c c c c
k
k
k
k
!”
Both fighters were still. Both rooms were silent. Somebody suggested that whoever comes to first wins the fight. The husbands both said No, call it a draw. They had learnt that as hot as it is to watch your beautiful wife beating the shit out of some other good-looking woman. Watching your beautiful wife getting the shit kicked out of her, is not so hot. They wanted it over. The appraisals be damned.
The husbands rushed out to the battlefield. They gently held their beloved before taking them off to separate hospitals. Each woman spent a couple of days recovering before they could even think about returning to work.
When Maya was nervous, she finally went for her job appraisal. She shouldn't have been. According to HR, both girls had shown the drive, courage and determination that the company needed. In a break with tradition, they were both offered a full-time job without any discussion. There was a brief informal ceremony where they were handed a bouquet of flowers with their official job offers.
Maya was overjoyed with how her first fight had gone. She had fought that bigger bitch from accounts to a standstill. She had proved that she belonged there. Yeah, she felt she had become a woman.
Zoya, too, felt she had proven her worth. Nobody judged her harshly for the draw; instead, they were astonished by the bravery with which she fought. She had erased the humiliation of her defeat at the hands of Sharon. She had proven her worth, her bravery, to her husband, her family, to the world.
However, the ceremonies were done separately; funnily enough, nobody thought it would be a clever idea to have them in the same room.
