Sister Scrap
Growing up I swear the words I heard my daddy say most often were “Girls, stop fighting. Stop fighting!” My big sister Mary and I used to fight all the time, about anything and everything. Who owned which Barbie doll, who got to use the bathroom, what radio station would we listen too in the car, who would do which chores. Yes, we fought over who got the honor to cook dinner for our Daddy. You see when we were young we lost our mother in a car accident when I was six and my sister was seven.
Losing Mom made Dad so much more important to us, and neither me or my sister wanted to share him. Money was tight, Daddy sent us to Catholic school and it wasn’t easy to afford on his salesman’s commissions some months. We knew our Daddy loved us both, but there was only so much money to go around. He didn’t want us too, but we kept score on who got what. If Mary got new shoes I had to get new shoes too. If I road in the front seat on the way to a restaurant then Mary had to get it on the way back. Daddy tried his best but there was no stopping our fights, too much Irish in our blood. He hoped we’d grow out of it, but it just got worse as we aged. We grew into women, the spitting image of our mother, with dark hair and deep brown eyes. Neither of us was homecoming queen material, but we both did alright with guys. I took particular pleasure when I convinced Mary’s Junior year boyfriend to take me to Junior prom over Sis when I was a sophomore. Mary was so mad. Still I thought we really turned the corner when Mary went off to college. Of course I thought that, at 18 and a senior in high school I finally had Daddy to myself. But Mary came back from college for the summer and that meant I’d have to share Daddy with my 19 year old sister again.
Things did not go well from the start but the family vacation to Florida had been the breaking point. I hate to say it, but at some level my sister and I never matured our relationship from the point it was when we lost Mom. For the whole trip my sister and I had been bickering about who got the front seat of the car, where to eat, and when we got to the hotel which side of the bed we’d sleep on. We were staying at a Holiday Inn in Palm Beach, Florida. Daddy got us a room with just a double bed which he intended for me and my sister to share and a rolling cot to be delivered to the room for him to sleep on. Both Mary and I said there was no way we’d share a bed with one another, and Daddy’s efforts to point out we share things all the time just got us madder,
“We don’t share clothes,” Mary said, “Molly steals mine.”
“You steal my makeup,” I spat back.
Finally Daddy snapped, “Enough! Enough, you two, time to get in the car,” he said.
“Who gets to ride in the front seat?” I asked.
“No one! Both of you sit in the back and keep your hands to yourselves,” he declared.
Mary and I knew we were in trouble we were being treated like children, but then we had been acting like them so it was not surprising. We saw Daddy talk to a guy in the front desk for a couple minutes, we thought we might be leaving Florida early, but we hadn’t bothered to pack our bags. He just got in the car looking angry. Mary and I sat quietly trying to be good so Daddy wouldn’t be mad at us anymore. We stopped in a strip mall inside town, and Daddy left us in the car to stew while he did some shopping.
The heat of the Florida sun just raised the tensions in the car. I blamed Mary, she blamed me, just what for we couldn’t say. Before the argument got too out of hand we saw Daddy approach with a large paper bag in his hand.
“What did you bring us, Daddy?” we asked in unison.
“I got you girls what you always wanted,” Daddy said as he showed up the contents of the bag, “you’re going to get the fight you’ve been spoiling for.”
Sure enough in the bag were two new sets of boxing gloves. Mary and I stared at each other with wide eyes, we were incredulous. We were going to fight and Daddy wasn’t going to try and stop us from doing so. It was like you asked a toddler what she wanted for breakfast, she said chocolate cake, and then served her a slice. We never thought in our wildest dreams fighting was going to be a real option to solve our conflicts, Daddy always stepped in. It was like Christmas in the car now, both me and my sister knew we had a present waiting for us when we got back to the hotel, a chance to tear into each other. My sister and I bounded up the steps to our hotel room the whole time taunting each other.
“I’m going to kick your ass, little girl.” Mary threatened.
“Bring it.” I said.
Inside the hotel room Daddy told us to get ready to fight. He started pushing the bed to the corner of the room and moving the dresser. I tied back my hair, Mary already had her brown hair done up in braided pig tails that trailed behind her ears. She started taking off her shorts, and I followed suit so we were both in our panties and tank tops. We were good Midwestern Catholic girls. I had on virginal white panties, my older sister Mary was in the comparatively risqué robin’s egg blue panties with a hint of lace. The field of battle had been cleared for us, and now Daddy helped us don our weapons, two pairs of brand new black leather boxing gloves, tiny little six ounce things that were more a children’s toy than fight gear. We’d feel ever bit of stinging force from these gloves the thought of which only seemed to excite me, but there was also real fear in me as Daddy taped on the gloves. I knew it was too late to back out but I still wanted to know how far we’d go.
“What are the rules to the fight?” I asked
“Whatever you agree on.” He said not able to avert his gaze from his task of taping on my sister’s gloves with the white medical tape. This was our decision.
I looked my sister dead in the eye, and she did the same to me as we stood across from each other hugging the hotel room’s walls. She was scared just like me, but was trying to hide it. I didn’t want to look weak in front of Daddy, and more importantly I didn’t want to look weak in front of Mary.
“To the finish.” I said.
Mary flinched, but said, “To the finish” in agreement.
Now it was Daddy who looked scared, but he stepped back. “If that’s the way you want it… Fight.”
The gravity of the situation sunk in. It was me and Mary one on one to the death. I took a few brave steps away from the wall and lifted my hands up. Mary was the more aggressive of the two of us swinging out probing claws as she crossed to my side of the room. She was on me almost too fast for me to react, I shoved her back with my gloves. This alone would have brought a scolding from our father, but he was a silent spectator. Mary drove in again swinging at me managing to hit me in the breasts. I grabbed her out of instinct, managing to snare her tank top with my right hand and punch her with my left. We began to spin around the room in a vengeful dance of pain. Both of us were firing punches that fell onto unprotected chests. Mary had grabbed hold of my shoulder while I clung to her top, trying to both tear it away and pull her into my punches. We were at war not just with each other but with ourselves. We were trying to pull each other into range of our own punches while at the same time escape the punishment our sister had in store for us.
I was afraid to get hit, I’ll admit it. Mary was a year older than me, a year bigger, and damn if she didn’t hit hard. Fighting has a way of teaching you about yourself, and 30 seconds into our fight I learned something about myself: I could take a punch. More with luck, or just volume Mary caught me on the chin. Both of us had been avoiding each other’s face till this point in the fight. We had an unspoken agreement to avoid marking each other up until this point in the fight, but my chin had just been tested. I was still standing, still swinging and I was going to make my sister pay for hitting me. She broke our unspoken deal, I’d break her face.
Now it was my gloves doing the dirty work on Mary’s face. I smacked her twice, as hard as I could, and Mary shoved me off. We each took a deep breath and started swinging at each other again. Our strikes were as likely to be slaps as punches. Neither one of us knew a thing about boxing, not that this was a boxing match, the only rule was for Daddy to stay out of this till we settled things. We were roaring at each other through clinched teeth like lionesses. Even though our claws were sheathed in mitts we still swatted at each other as primal fighting techniques took over. Mary didn’t seem to like having my gloves in her face, and that suited me just fine. I wanted her to suffer the way she had made me suffer for all these years and kept slapping at her ugly face.
In our barrage of slaps and scratches Mary got a hold of my hair, I knew I didn’t want to let her tee off on my face again, so I tried to escape. I shoved her back as I spun away. Though she yanked on my hair she couldn’t get a firm grip with her mitts. As I broke free I managed to catch Mary with a wild back fist as I scrambled away. Mary stumbled into the wall and now I press my advantage. I covered her mouth with one hand while I hit her with the other. She hit me with a solid punch to the stomach and then pushed me to the center of the fighting arena.
I was hurt and knew the only thing that could make me feel better was to hurt her in return. Instinct took hold and I ripped at one of her braids. Mary grabbed at my hair in retaliation and we shook each other’s heads as we tried to pull each other’s dark hair by the roots. I screamed in pain but kept fighting, I managed to land two solid uppercuts to my sister’s belly and chest before she wrapped me up in a clinch.
Now our wrestling match was on. Mary was still shaken from when I hit her, so I was able to overpower her and slam her into the wall. That only seemed to make her mad and she spun me around and slammed me into the corner of the room.
“Watch the door,” Daddy yelled, unable to remain silent any longer as he watched his two daughters tear into each other like savages.
I had forgotten he was there at this point in the fight. Destroying my sister had been my entire world since the start of the fight but knowing Daddy was watching just made me fight harder. I shoved my sister off me and gave her a kick to the thigh for good measure. Mary looked to Dad to see what he’d say about that, but he didn’t say a word. While she was looking for help, I was looking to punish my big sister. I connected with perhaps the best punch of the fight so far, a straight right hand that had Mary stumbling. I swarmed her with more clawing slaps from my gloves, my left caught her behind the ear and I used that hand to steady her as I slapped her with the other hand. Mary was scared and hurt now but still fighting mad. She grappled with me and got me in a headlock with one arm and tore at my top with the other hand. Hurting each other wasn’t enough, we wanted to expose and humiliate each other it seemed. As she tore at my top I charged forward sending us both crashing to the ground.
Falling to the carpet did nothing to quell our battle lust. I started pounding on my sister’s face almost immediately with hammer fists from her side. She swung back at me from the ground, though she hardly had a good position to fight back. I was already trying to improve my situation by climbing on top of her, but Mary fought back, shoving me back with two up kicks that sent me tumbling on to white panties. Mary sat up and our legs became entangled we were now as close to each other as we were when we played patty cake as girls. Now instead of clapping hands the sound leather smacking our faces filled the room. Mary proved to be the better boxer, throwing straighter punches that knocked me on my back while I had just slapped her.
She was on top of me in an instant. My saving grace is I kept a knee up as I went down from her punch, and my sister couldn’t get a full mount. I tried to sit up, but Mary knocked me back down with hammer fists of her own as she crawled on top of me. I kicked at her but me leg slipped off her naked thigh, so I did the next best thing. I wrapped my legs around Mary’s waist and squeezed for all I was worth. While she rained gloved firsts down on me, I pulled at her hair some more to force her head to my chest. From there I stuck back pounding her exposed face with my free hand. A few good hits and Mary realized her position wasn’t so safe. She started pulling at my hair and I broke my body scissor of my sister. I did manage to get a hold of her free hand with my own, which meant she couldn’t escape me like she planned. I kicked her in the guts as she tried to get away from me and she doubled over on her knees.
I got to scrambled to my knees and started pulling at her tank top like I was a hockey goon. Tearing at my sister’s shirt with one gloved mitt while slamming punches with the other one. I got Mary’s shirt half way up her back before she drove forward into me with a rugby tackle. She put me on my back, but I moved my striking hand to a front facelock and drove back up with a thrust of my hips, rolling us onto our sides and then back to our knees. While I tried to choke Mary she pounded me in my sides with her gloves. I came back at her with some choppy blows of my own and she shoved me back onto my ass and into the wall. Before Mary could get at me I kicked her away and she fell back three feet from me on her knees.
I took a couple deep breaths as I got to my feet, Mary did the same. We looked away from each other at almost the same moment to look at our father. Surely he was pulling for one of us over the other. He seemed to think we perhaps had gotten the fighting out of our system at this point. That we’d hug it out like sisters, but to his disappointment we preferred to slug it out. We were at perfect punching range and let the leather fly. My hooking punches shook my sister, but Mary’s fists were getting to me faster. She had bloodied my nose at this point, not that I knew. All I was sure of was I was losing the boxing match so I went to take my sister down with a classic double leg take down.
Mary snuck an under hook with her right arm on my own, and pushed me face first into the carpet. She trapped one on my arms between her calf and thigh as she kneeled down and began pounding into my side with her free arm. I screamed in pain with each punch I took to the side or tit, but kept fighting trapping her hand with my free hand so we were in a stalemate. Both of us were shaking with rage and exhaustion at this point, but we agreed to fight this out to a finish. There was no way we could stop this now with both of us having our honor intact. Mary made a push to set me on my back again and tried to mount me in a schoolgirl pin. I kept her at bay but barely with a body scissor from the bottom. Mary choked me with the knuckles of one black glove while punching my vulnerable face with the other one. She was trying to inch her way up me, but I stopped her dead in her tracks. I yanked on her braids as hard as I could and forced her to back off. I kicked her off and we got to our feet again.
“Molly, you’re bleeding, honey, let me get a look at your nose.” Daddy said.
I stomped my foot in protest as I glared at him with my hands on my hips. Sure I was bleeding, that was the point of this stupid fight. I was not about to concede to my sister for a little blood coming from my nose, not with her smirking like she was the cat who swallowed the canary. I was the better woman and was going to prove it right now. I struck hard and first while Mary still thought we were catching our breath. Hearing her moan when I clocked her in the face is still etched in my skull. While she stumbled around I caught her again and again to the face with underhand hooks. Now I saw blood coming from her face, finally we were even in this fight again.
I had finally found my jab, and it proved to be a valuable defensive tool. Mary had one hand up to protect herself and the right hand cocked ready to counter me. She didn’t get the chance. I kept slapping at her with my jab and following up with my right. My sister was determined to knock me out with a single punch, she kept her hand so far back I could land my cross before she could get hers off. The most effective thing she did was grab hold of my top, ripping it hard enough to expose my left breast. I didn’t have time to be modest, I was too busy hitting my sister. Mary tried throwing a jab of her own, just grabbed her hand and popped her in the mouth with right.
Tired of her little sister out boxing her, Mary tackled me again. We rolled around on the ground pulling at each other’s hair, kicking and screaming as we fought for top position. I got Mary on her back but she had me in a body scissor, while pounded her face she was hitting me on the top of my head and tugging at my hair. I grabbed at her pigtails and pulled her head up by them only to slam her down as hard as I could. I did it again and again hoping to break my sister’s hold of me. She just pulled harder and roared at me.
“Give up, bitch.”
“You give,” Mary roared as she yanked me to the side. We were now lying next to each other a tangled mass of legs and hair, but we managed to scramble to our knees. I couldn’t properly sit up, I was on all fours gasping for air, but still had the good sense to keep my eyes focused on my big sister should she look to start something. Mary was sitting back on her heels, content to catch her breath. I don’t think either one of us thought the fight would have lasted this long.
“Come on, girls, you’ve both had enough.” Dad suggested.
“To the finish.” Mary reminded him
“To the finish.” I echoed
“So get over here and let’s finish it? No running,” Mary said raising a fist to her guard for emphases, “No hiding,” she said raising the other first to a fighting guard. “We just slug it out till one of us is down for the count.”
Daddy waited to see what I would do but like I said earlier too much Irish in our blood. I had been challenged. I wasn’t about to back down from this fight. I got up onto my knees and got so I was about two feet away from my sister.
“Tell me where you want it, bitch?” I demanded.
Mary pointed to her left eye with her glove, and so it started. I hit her with everything that I had and she didn’t even try to block it. Now it was my turn. Whamp! Right in my eye. Now it was my turn to dish out the pain. For ten shots we traded blows, first I’d hit her, then she’d hit me. After about the eighth hit I felt myself going woozy, but my big sister was on dream street too. Neither one of us could take many more head shots, that was clear.
After ten punches my sister asked me, “Where do you want it?”
My mind was fuzzy, I knew that Mary couldn’t take many more head shots, but neither could I. But I also knew there was somewhere I could hit her that would cause a lot more pain than just knocking her out. I pointed to my chest with my glove.
“Ok, bitch, if that’s how you want to play it.” Mary hissed as she slammed her glove into my chest.
I pretended not to notice the pain as I slammed my fist into her soft breast with a hook, ramming one boob into the other. I was sore, and losing some steam in my punches, but Mary was fighting back tears by the seventh shot. I felt my pussy get wet as she gasped with pain after the ninth shot. Mary was barely holding on and cupped her breast with one glove on my tenth shot.
“Nice try,” Mary whimpered as she hit my breasts for the last time. “But now I choose the target… And I choose- HERE!”
Mary tapped the front of her blue panties. No rules other than to the finish I thought. Still I got first hit. I twisted my fist into her panties and my sister let out a moan.
“My turn.” Mary gritted through her teeth before upper cutting me right into my pussy. The pain was crazy, the gloves did almost nothing to protect me. Mary lifted her arms into the air and shouted “Tha winna’!”
I was doubled over in pain but managed to gasp, “Not yet” I willed myself to an upright position and busted her in the twat once more. She gasped again but stayed upright, with out much hesitation she drilled me in the twat. This time I crumpled into a little ball and just cried out in pain. I could hear Mary shout “Say it, say you give up.”
I couldn’t give her the satisfaction I held myself up with one arm and drilled my sister in the crotch with the other. Mary bent over in pain so that her forehead touched my mine. I could see her one pretty face was brutalized. One eye was swollen shut, her nose was bleeding, but despite getting hit in the pussy my sister managed a taunting grimace
“Not good enough.” Whamp! My sister split my peaches and fell over in pain. I let out a whimper, I had enough. I could hear my father start to approach.
“No!” Mary yelled. “She’s got to say it.”
“Say what?” Daddy asked.
Mary crawled over to me, “She’s got to say she’s had enough.” Mary gave me a rabbit punch to punctuate her point. “She’s got to say I’m the best, and she’s trash.” Again she hit me in the side.
“Now, say it, whore, say I beat you.”
Mary flipped me on my back, and I was too hurt to do anything more than quiver. My sister crawled on top of me and pinned my arms behind my head, not because she need too, but because she could. Now came the slaps, stern corrective slaps from her gloves to keep me in the moment.
“Say that I beat you, whore, unless you want me to hit you some more.”
“You beat me.” I sobbed.
Whack came another reminder of who was in charge. “Who beat you, slut?”
“Mary beat me.”
Whack! “No, slut, the queen beat you. Now say it.”
“The queen beat me, I had enough, please, please stop.”
Whack! “And what are you, slut?”
“I’m a slut, and a whore, and I was dumb to ever challenge Queen Mary.”
“Damn right you were.”
And with that Mary got off me, pulled the tape off her gloves with her teeth and headed for the showers. The pecking order had finally been established in our house hold. Mary was in charge. She and Daddy shared the big bed while I spend the vacation licking my wounds. I’d been beaten and humiliated in front of our father, and even though it hurt to breath I swore I’d make my bitch sister pay for that. She’d know the pain she caused me when we had our rematch.
