[sinclairfan]

My name is Meaghan.  I'm 23 years old, and am 5'5", 118 pounds, and have long brown hair.  I lived my whole life in the United States, until a year ago, while I accepted a Rhodes scholarship to study in England.  I'm hoping to become a writer and went to Oxford to study British literature, specializing in the 19th century novel.

But that's not what I'm writing about today.  Rather, I'm here to tell you about a nasty, vicious encounter I somehow got involved in with a local English woman named Nina.  I don't regret anything that happened, and yet it wasn't the sort of thing I recommend anyone else trying.  Here's my story.

Where do I begin?  One secret about Rhodes Scholars:  we have a fair amount of free time on our hands.  So once I got settled in my British flat, I would explore the neighborhood:  the pubs, the cafe's, the dance clubs, and the art galleries.  Anywhere young people, or young at heart people, we're around.  Male or female.  I'm not normally highly sexual, but I was single and in a new place, and I was going to take advantage.  And my American accent gave me an "in" with the locals.

One night, I was in a dance club, and there was an entire rugby team at a table fresh from a game and there to blow off steam.  I was flirting at their table all night, the were buying me drinks--good clean fun, although it did get a little loud at times.  I thought nothing of it until the next afternoon, when I returned there for lunch and was confronted by a bitchy-looking brunette named Nina.  She sat next to me and wasted no time getting in my face.

"Meaghan, you may not have noticed, but I've seen you around this neighborhood for the last few weeks, and held my tongue till now.  But last night was the last straw.  Consider this your one and only warning.  This part of town is already taken.  If you don't believe me, ask any girl you see out and around.  You can hang out around here.  But if you're going to hog the spotlight like last night, you need to check in with me first.  Otherwise, you'd best find new hang-outs.  Do we understand?".

Now, needless to say, if this conversation had happened back in the States, Nina wouldn't have finished her second sentence before a good old-fashioned barfight was in progress--I immediately recognized the universal code of a village slut marking her territory.  But I was far from home, and was a little hesitant to cause trouble in public.  So I stared menacingly back at my adversary.

This only got her more riled up.

"Well?  Do you understand, Yankee girl?," Nina growled.

"Not quite, Nina," I found myself hissing back, "perhaps we can discuss this some where more private."  Something inside of me snapped, and I decided if I backed down now, my remaining months of study would be confined to books and term papers.  Fight-or-flight is real, and Nina hadn't left me much of an out.

But at the same time, I hadn't meant to imply an immediate challenge to Nina--I figured, I guess, we'd have a test of wills, posturing and bluffing at each other for weeks, then coming together in a Ladies' Room hairpull that got broken up in 10 seconds.  But I guess just as I felt cornered, she felt the same, and the day was quickly spinning out of control.  "My roomate is at work for the next 3 hours.  We settle this right now at my place, you American bitch."  Nina was right up in my face, her spit and her smell on my nose.  I recognized the girlfight pheromones instantly, and knew we were beyond the point of no return.  And with a 3 hour time limit ticking down on us, I hissed back, "No time like the present.  Lead the way."  I paid my bill and followed her out the door.

Now, although I had been in more than my fair share of girlfights, this was already something altogether new.  To accept a challenge to fight in private, where there was no one to break up the fight--sure, I had talked a big game and being willing to do it at times, but nothing had ever come of it.  Suddenly, it was happening, and it was happening now.  I knew I would need to bring my A-game, and that win or lose, I'd be feeling this one for the next 5 days.  At least.

But I wasn't scared either.  Although Nina was clearly a legit streetfighter, her brazen challenge stunk of fear.  She must have felt threatened to feel the need to physically defend her own home turf, and she had clearly done her homework on me.  I felt a sense of pride in being considered a threat.

Nina and I didn't talk as we entered her second floor flat.  It was a weekday and most everyone was at work or school, so we would be able to get pretty loud and not attract attention.  I knew how catfights get--all bravado at the start, all girly screaming by the end.

We found an open section of the living room, took off our jewelry and such, and kept on stripping until we were down to bra and panties.  I was sort of pleased at this arrangement--being far from home, I wad on a minimalist wardrobe, and couldn't afford a torn top or ripped jeans.  As soon as the clothing arrangements we're finalized, I felt feisty as hell, and wanted to have a catfight for the ages.

Nina must have felt the same, because our nails we're in each others hair in no time at all.  We were slapping and kicking and botching each other out, our hormones taking total possession of us, two hot bitches fighting for neighborhood mating rights.  And we ladies mate with our pussies.  And that's where our fight went next.

In it's excited state, even the slightest touch would have been sensitive to my cxnt.  But Nina was in with full claws.  She jabbed at my crotch, tearing my panties and getting ahold of whatever she could--hair, flesh, lips.  I felt a burning need to retaliate.  I got on my knees to attack from underneath, and sank my entire right hand into Nina's soaked pussy.  I knew one of us would be destroyed this afternoon, and wanted it to be her.  My enemy.  My rival.  The neighborhood's alpha bitch.

Nina and I were now writhing on the floor, and ended up in a side-by-side 69.  I didn't know 2 women would ever actually do this to each other, but we simultaneously sank our teeth into each others crotch.  You know how when you learn oral, you think "no teeth, no teeth."  We were trying the opposite--all teeth.  And I could taste Nina's pussy hair between my teeth.  And her cum.  And her blood, from the many cuts I was opening on her inner thighs.  And her sweat.  And it all sent me into a frenzy, as did mine to her.

We were now Fighting as if for our very lives, and it was physically impossible for this to last long.  I know you think I'm lying when I say our fight ended in a draw, but the only thing I remember is Nina's roomate home after work, finding 2 naked, beaten women on the floor, and reviving us and sending me on my way. 

Needless to say, I fell behind on my studies and lost my scholarship.  It was just as well--I never wanted to face Nina again.  Nor her, me, I'm sure.  It's best thete's an ocean between us.

[sinclairfan]

Part 2, two years later.

Hey, there.  Meaghan again.  In 2013, I had a vicious catfight in  London apartment against a local bitch named Nina.  The fight ended in a draw, caused me to lose my Rhodes scholarship, and put a serious dent in my ambitions to be a writer.  I ended up being presented with the opportunity to do something about it.  But, first, an update on the other changes the fight caused in my life.

When I came back to the States, I was a changed person.  By day, I was still a starving artist, writing short stories, trying to get published, etc.  But by night, to make ends meet, I was a cocktail waitress.  But not your typical cocktail waitress.  I mean, I served drinks and all.  But I had a double life.  Because I loved to fight other women, and I would instigate fights with the girlfriend's of customers, and/or get customers to pay to watch me fight other women.  Other cocktail waitresses.  Female bartenders.  Other customers.  It didn't matter--fighting for money was preferred, since I needed all I could to subsidize my failing writing career.  But even if there was no money involved, that wouldn't stop me.  I had a love of catfighting--the thrill, the high--that I told myself I was in control of, but really wasn't.  And although some of the fights had their moments, none could surpass the intensity of my fight with Nina, and the below-the-belt tactics that ended that fight.  I was intoxicated by the primal intensity of two rival women trying to eliminate the sexual competition from the other by "going straight to the source"--removing her very womanhood.  I thought back often to my fight with her. 

So, another secret about Rhodes scholars.  Even a failed Rhodes scholar, like me, is still "in the club", by virtue of having earned the scholarship.  Two years after I left Oxford, my classmates starting graduating, and I was invited to the ceremonies.  An invitation I gladly accepted.  To track down Nina, and see if she felt as I did.

I knew that an socializing after any run-in with Nina was out of the question, since my appearance would be quite unacceptable.  So I made arrangements to stay on in England for 3 weeks after graduation, to give me time to find Nina and gauge her willingness to meet me.  As soon as the plane touched down in Heathrow, the entire body craved contact with Nina's.  I could remember everything about her from our first fight--the smell of her sweat and her cum, the feel of her hard body, the way she dug into my crotch with her fingers and teeth.  It took all of my self-control to not change plans and track her down right away.  But with the help of some nightly sex with both male and female classmates, I was able to make it safely to graduation day, wave goodbye to my classmates, and then take up residence in the neighborhood which two years earlier called Nina it's alpha bitch.  I prayed she was still there.

The first night I walked into one of Nina's old pubs, my body was crackling with electricity. Or estrogen, maybe.  I could barely see straight.  The possibilities seemed endless.  An immediate confrontation and catfight?  Exciting, but I wanted something more personal.  A challenge, but a refusal by a matured, mellowed Nina?  What a letdown that would be!  Maybe Nina was a mom!!  Uggh.  Or maybe she just plain didn't live here anymore.

When I didn't make visual contact with my enemy in the first hour, I began making inquiries of the locals.  Good news and bad news.  The bad news is, the responses were curt and brief.  The good news, therefore, wad that she was clearly still around, and clearly still the baddest bitch in the neighborhood.  So the fight I desired seemed in the offing.  This realization alone made me soak my barstool.  Although night 1 resulted in no meet up with Nina, the masturbation session back in my room was the longest and most intense of my life.  I pictured Nina and me in a ripping, clawing duel, no holds barred, with almost exclusive attention to destroying the other's crotch.  The masturbation was made even more pleasurable by the realization that it was likely my last for awhile.  If I did fight Nina, my pussy would be so damaged that it would take months to fully heal.  Or maybe it never would.  Sweet, sweet ecstasy.

Alpha bitches like Nina have quite the effective network.  In night 2 of my bar crawl, I was handed a note by a customer.
Dear Meaghan,
I know you are back in town.  And why you're in town. I've missed you, and am glad you're back.  I almost came to the States a couple times to find you, but it never worked out.  I'm glad it works out now.  I now live at 835 Newcastle.  If you come here tonight, we'll be alone till dawn.  That should be enough time to do what we need to do.  I'm already naked, so don't leave me hanging.
Kisses,
Nina.

With my hands shaking, I read the note back to myself at least 5 times, hoping it said what it said.  This was it.  It was going to happen.  I hopped out of my barstool and starting marching to Nina's place.  I pictured her naked body waiting for me.  To be attacked by me.  To attack me.  I wanted both.  It couldn't happen soon enough.

When I knocked on the door, Nina took a moment to arrive and open it.  She was a tad different than I remembered--two years older, but, then again, so was I.  As promised, she was already naked, and her living room was covered by 4-6 shhets, no doubt to minimize blood stains on the carpeting.  I immediately began stripping, sweat already covering my clothes.  I started to make small talk, but remembered how little I knew this woman.  Ours was a fight-only relationship, and it was how we communicated.  But that was all we needed.

As soon as my panties were off, Nina was on me.  She clawed me, as I expected, and was also punching my back, which seemed both uncalled for and against our unspoken rules.  I responded by clawing her with one hand, and face-slapping her with the other.  I understood now that the punches and slapping we're a good way to get the juices flowing.  Literally and figuratively.  Every time I connected with a slap, her pussy got wetter and hotter.  Everytime she hit me with a punch, mine got more and more aroused.  For 30 minutes, we clawed at increasingly aroused crotches, but didn't go in yet for the kill--the focus was on working each other up to a state of maximum arousal.

We told each other of our mutual hate.  We had ruined each others lives.  Nina had ended my writing career.  Turns out, I learned during our fight "foreplay", I had cost Nina a relationship with a long-time boyfriend.  I loved hearing this.  Ruining Nina sexually was my hot-button.  I had already had some success.  Maybe complete success would be mine tonight.

Although none of the punching and slapping was intended to land a KO, our sexual arousal caused them to be increasingly rough and off-target.  We had both landed direct blows to the face and nose, and were both bleeding from there.  I loved seeing Nina bleed, but wanted to see her bleed from below the belt, so I knew it was time to take the fight there.  "What are we waiting for, Nina," I asked, "let's fight dirty."

Having forewarned her, I know felt free to attack as I finally had 2 years ago, and had only been able to fantasize about since.  I wanted to attack my implacable enemy with my teeth.  And Nina did not hesitate to do the same to me.  I was immediately reminded why none of my arranged catfights ever went this far--the pain was beyond anything I can describe.  The only way to prevent screaming bloody nude was by biting down twice as hard on Nina, which is what I did.  But I was crying in pain.  And in pleasure.  And in pain.  I erupted in several orgasms even as I was struggling to remain conscious against the agony.  Nina and I were behaving as primal savages to each other, and I couldn't get enough, knowing that she was the only woman I would ever be able to this far with.  We were two pit Bulls who could not release what was locked in our jaws even if we wanted to.  And we didn't want to.  Or I didn't.  I was enjoying it too much.  I woke up the next morning in an English hospital bed, sedated so much I couldn't explain what had happened to me.  Nina's flatmate had called and ambulance for me, and had snuck Nina out of town so she didn't get into trouble.  So, by the time I was recovered, I never was able to talk to Nina.

But Nina and I will meet again.  Count on it.  We both need to.

[sinclairfan]

Part 3, 1 year later

Meaghan here, again.  The aftermath of second catfight with Nina required an extended rehab stint.  My lower body was horribly damaged by my enemy.  I made endless visits to many specialists, most of whom knew what human bite marks look like, so they knew what had happened to me.  One of the specialists was a wealthy surgeon who owned an underground wrestling ring, and sponsored prostyle fights.  Long story short, he asked me if I would be willing to get revenge on Nina by having a hardcore match with her for a small-but-high-paying audience, the winner getting the entire purse.  I agreed, and so did Nina.
After some doscussion, Nina and I agreed to wrestle in a ring covered with tacks and broken glass.  None of the debris would be damaging enough to cause an early knockout, but it would put a premium on being on top for as long as possible while we grappled.

In the days leading up to the bout, I had near-constant flashbacks to the sweet smell of Nina's sweat.  And the sounds she made when I was hurting her. 

As Nina and I entered the ring, we glared at each other eagerly.  We wondered if we would finally fight to the point there was a winner, or if we would have yet another inconclusive draw from mutual exhaustion.  At the same time, we knew the loser would start plotting a rematch right away, so the winner's victory would be short-lived and would need to be defended.

When the bell rang, Nina and I came together in a classic catfight hairpull immediately, and we were tossing each other into the ropes, our sexy booties offering only scant protection from the glass and tacks.  Out feet we're in agony, and we wanted to inflict that pain on each others upper and lower bodies.

As with any catfight, after about 10 minutes of standup wrestling, we inevitably crashed to the floor in a clump.  The glass and tacks ripped through our bodies in a hundred places, and the ring floor was smeared in blood as we rolled around.  Being on top was bad enough, but being on the bottom was unbearable.  It felt like rolling around in 50 bee hives and 70 hornets nests.  With rattlesnakes, scorpions, and cobras piling on.

Nina and I were both crying almost the entire fight.  We strategically learned how to force each others faces to the ground to inflict the maximum amount of pain and cuts.  Glass and tacks became embedded in our clothes, and I was more vicious the Nina in making sure it was ground into each others private parts.  After 2 hours of pure torture, Nina grew limper in my arms.  Although she still had fight left, the referee stopped the match out of concern for her safety.  I was bitter not to be able to take a long-deserved victory pose over my bitter enemy.  Nina begged the referee to let her continue, but we were both taken away in stretchers.  My victory over Nina was the sweetest feeling I ever felt, and stayed with me thru my 60 day hospital stay.

To be continued.