This is the latest chapter in the ongoing Society series. This one pits newcomer Penny_Purrrrs against long time Society veteran Tiffany_Fights. My thanks to both ladies for lending me their characters for the story. A few other members make cameo appearances in this one, and thanks also to them.
I’m going to post the story in sections, a day apart, so people will have a chance to make comments, catcalls, insert themselves as ‘audience members’ etc.
Enjoy!
Scrib
*****
Penny smiled as she strolled through the crowd of partygoers, a glass in her hand. To be sure, the glass contained only cranberry seltzer, but she was enjoying herself. The Boomtown Cat in New Orleans, her favorite club and the one where she’d made her career, was a fine place with a pretty exclusive clientele, but this gathering, not to mention the venue, was something else entirely.
The room was the size of a basketball court, maybe a little larger, and was on two levels. One end was composed entirely of glass and offered magnificent views out over New York’s inner harbor to the Statue of Liberty. About half of the lower floor, where Penny stood now, was dotted with black leather couches and low glass-and-chrome coffee tables. The couches were black, that is, except for the center seat of one, which faced an open circular area embraced by two sweeping curved staircases that led up to the mezzanine level above. That seat alone was a bright red leather. Penny wondered why.
The staircases themselves were broad enough, and each step large enough, for tables and couches of their own, and were bordered by railings and glass panels that gave anyone seated up there, an uninterrupted view of the circular space below.
At the top of the staircases, the mezzanine floor housed a long curved bar where a bevy of black-clad wait-staff were busy now, bustling back and forth with drinks and canapes for the throng of guests. There were perhaps fifty people in the room, of both genders and a variety of ages from perhaps early twenties to mid-sixties or even older.
Penny recognized some of the faces from TV and the Internet – New York’s glitterati. There were others she did not recognize, but she knew from the cut of their clothing and the gleam of their jewelry that they were no strangers to wealth and power. It was the younger women however, and even a few of the older ones, that made this no ordinary gathering of the social elite. The toned, tanned flesh revealed by high-slit skirts and sleeveless cocktail dresses was not just the product of idle narcissism. These women were some of the best catfighters in the country – perhaps even the world. This was the exclusive, secretive catfight club known as the Society, and the Society was the reason Penny was here tonight.
She was here for an exhibition match, representing her home club against the Society’s champion. Her lip curled reflexively at the thought. She had never laid eyes on her soon-to-be opponent, but already she despised the bitch. Tiffany. Who the fuck is named Tiffany? It sounded more like some rich guy’s pampered girlfriend than a fighter who had clawed her way to the top of the heap. Penny’s eyes narrowed. By the end of the night, she wouldn’t be top of the heap any longer.
Penny knew all about clawing her way up. She’d made a reputation for herself not only as a catfighter but also in the Boomtown Cat’s particular specialty – tit fighting. Her ample 38E’s had battered many a challenger into tearful submission in hands-off competition and when it came to hands-on – well, Penny knew how to torture breasts better than anyone. Tonight would be a catfight encounter, but she still planned to put those particular skills to use on the Society’s fighter.
Her eyes wandered back to the circular area between the two staircases. The rest of the room was carpeted in white but here the floor was covered with a thick black matting. This was the arena, where she and her opponent would face one another for the enjoyment of the crowd. The walls that encompassed perhaps three quarters of the circle and grew steadily higher as the stairs swept back to the rear of the room, were mirrored panels that would reflect the fighters’ images back at them.
Penny caught sight of her own reflection now, and her smile broadened slightly. At five feet six she was one of the taller women – though not the tallest by far – in the room, and her four-inch heels elevated her even further. She had weighed in at a hundred forty-five pounds this morning but as she often joked, twenty pounds of that was in her boobs. The low scooped neckline of her sleeveless black halter top showed them off splendidly tonight. Her long dark brown cascaded over her shoulders, gleaming in the room’s bright lights. She caught an admiring look from a nearby older gentleman – not the first she had gotten tonight.
The top ended just above her navel, baring a few inches of her hard abs, and the smooth, chiseled muscles of her arms and shoulders rippled beneath her velvet skin as she raised her glass to her lips. Below the top she wore a short black leather skirt – real leather, not some imitation garbage from the sale rack – that exposed almost the full length of her long, powerful but sensuous legs.
Her escort was an older man, balding a little, with wire-framed glasses perched on his nose. He was dressed in blue jeans – though to be fair, they were designer label – and a dark sports jacket over an open-necked blue shirt. Penny had met him several days ago when she had first arrived in New York. His name was Andrew Scribbs and he was the Society’s business manager. For the past hour, he had been shepherding Penny around the room and introducing her to various people.
She followed him now toward another knot of people conversing at the foot of the left-hand staircase. A dark-haired and quite handsome man, European judging by his clothing, and a blonde-haired woman who appeared to be his wife or girlfriend were chatting with two other women. One was blonde, well-built and about Penny’s own height, in a white min-dress that showed off a lot of tanned skin and sculpted muscle. The other was a brunette, her hair pulled back into a tight bun low on the back of her head. She was again roughly as tall as Penny or perhaps an inch shorter, though it was hard to tell in heels. She was quite buxom, though not as well-endowed as Penny herself, and wore a red cocktail dress that bared her midriff, where a tiny gold charm glittered.
Scribbs stepped into their circle and, as their conversation halted, said, “I’d like to introduce you to Penny.” He nodded to the European couple. “This is Freddy and Marlies, visiting us from Europe once again.” The two smiled, shook hands and exchanged pleasant greetings. “This is Misty…a southerner like yourself.” He indicated the blonde. “And last but certainly not least…this is Tiffany.”
Penny locked eyes with the brunette and instantly both women’s smiles turned chilly. “So…you’re the one whose ass I’m gonna kick tonight.”
“You really think so?” Tiffany’s voice also had a hint of a southern accent – not Deep South though. Florida, maybe. “Aren’t you adorable?”
They stared silently at one another for a long moment. Penny mentally sized her opponent up. She was more slightly built than Penny, but not much, and they were within an inch of one another in height. Tiffany’s bare midriff showed hard muscle, as did her arms and legs. The glint in her eyes, as she gazed back at Penny – no doubt making her own assessment – was no less steely.
“Hope you can put your money where your mouth is,” said Tiffany evenly.
“I know where your is gonna be, hon, when I’m done with you,” retorted Penny silkily. “I’ve heard all about your Society’s traditions, and I’m looking forward to humiliating their champion in front of her home crowd.” She let her smile broaden just a little and added in a low voice, “I plan to show you up and shame you good, hon.”
Tiffany’s eyes flashed. “Do your best,” she snarled. “I can tell you now, it won’t be good enough.” She took a step forward, squaring off, facing Penny. Her nipples were erect, pressing like accusing fingers at the thin fabric of her dress.
“Don’t be so sure.” Penny too stepped forward until their chests were almost touching. “I’ve fought better women than you with my hands behind my back.” Her smile widened further. “Literally.”
“You’ll beg me for mercy, bitch.”
Penny gave a short laugh. “Oh I hear you know all about begging. There are a lotta rumors going around about you, hon.”
From the sudden tension in Tiffany’s shoulders, Penny thought the Society champion was about to hit her, right there in the middle of the party. Tiffany took a took breath. “I’m sure there are,” she said icily. “Doesn’t mean they’re true.”
“I guess we’ll find out, huh.” Penny held the other woman’s gaze – her enemy’s gaze now, that much was clear.
“You’ll find out all right,” snapped Tiffany, “the hard way.” She turned abruptly to the others. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have an ass-kicking to prepare for.” With a final baleful glance at Penny she turned on her heel and stalked away.
Penny smiled after her. “An ass-kicking…that be your ass!” She enjoyed the fleeting break in Tiffany’s step, the sudden tension again in her enemy’s shoulders as the barb hit home. She turned back to the other four and resumed a much more amiable conversation, feeling good about this initial confrontation. Things had gone just as she planned. She’d gotten under the bitch’s skin, made her angry. That was good. An angry fighter was a careless fighter, and Penny would play that to her advantage. Make one mistake, hon, and I’ll make you pay dearly for it.
The thought of Tiffany, the Society champion – not to mention the arrogant bitch – laying battered at her feet, sobbing and begging for mercy, brought a new smile to her face. She didn’t do this for the prize money – not any longer. She had enough money to keep her in a very comfortable lifestyle. Most of it had come from her divorce settlement. She had been married to one of the top criminal lawyers in the country and she had done well from their break-up. She had invested wisely, and she didn’t need to work or to fight for a living.
She still fought, but she did it now just for the thrill and on her own terms. She fought when she felt like it, and when she discovered a suitably challenging opponent. She didn’t always win – some of those opponents had been even more challenging than she’d bargained for – but she won far more often than she lost. She liked winning. She liked seeing the look of defeat in her opponent’s eyes. She was particularly looking forward to seeing that look on Tiffany’s face tonight. You’ll be begging all right, hon.
*****
Tiffany strode across the room, fuming. That cocky cxnt was going down – hard. Who the fuck did she think she was, coming here and getting in Tiffany’s face like that? Rumors. She felt her face redden. She knew what those rumors were about. Penny wasn’t the first to goad her about them, about that awful night – New Year’s Eve – at the mansion in Newport, Rhode Island. That had been another exhibition match, against that evil bitch Tara, and where Tiffany had suffered a most devastating defeat.
Since then she hadn’t fought here in the Society. At first she had dreaded the thought that someone, knowing of her humiliation, would step up to challenge her for her title while her confidence was still at a low ebb – and it had ever been lower. That challenged did not materialize however, and gradually the horror of that fight, and what had transpired afterward, had faded from her mind. Even now though, the memory made her shudder and she tried hard not to think about it. A win tonight would put an end to the rumors. She needed that win.
She found her path blocked by a tall auburn-haired woman, about her own age, in a shimmering green dress that clung tightly to her svelte but busty figure. She wore a scornful sneer as she regarded Tiffany. “What’s up, Tiffany? Afraid of her?” She tossed her head in the general direction from which Tiffany had just come – in the general direction of that skank Penny. “You shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like your title’s at stake.” Her lip curled. “She’ll kick your ass, for sure, but it’s not like you’ll lose anything important…just your dignity.”
Tiffany gave her a venomous glare. “Shut your face, Lyanna.”
“Why? Are you going to make me?” The redhead tilted her head back and looked down her nose at Tiffany. She had an inch or two advantage in height. “We both know you’re too scared to fight me. You’ve been running from me for years and we both know why.”
Tiffany regarded her with narrowed eyes. Lyanna was long-time member of the Society, and had newly taken up a job running the Society’s private gym in Midtown. Her most fervent desire was to take Tiffany’s title and become the Society champion. Until now, she’d never gotten a chance at a title shot. She’d challenged Tiffany several times, but always when Tiffany was otherwise committed. She rolled her eyes. “Same old story, Lyanna? You know as well as I do, that you only ever call me out when you know I won’t be able to fight you.”
“You mean you always find an excuse not to,” Lyanna shot back. “You can’t run forever, bitch. I’m going to get my shot, and I’m going to ruin you.”
“Sure you are.” Tiffany pushed her way past Lyanna, but stopped again almost immediately as one of the event staff approached her. “It’s time?” The woman nodded and Tiffany turned to follow her. It was time to show that bitch from down south, along with Lyanna and everyone else, just what it meant – what it cost – to face the Society champion. Show time.
She followed the attendant down a narrow passageway between the outside of the right-hand staircase and the wall of the room. At the end, almost beneath the bar, was a plain white door which they passed through, into a tight maze of corridors beyond. Tiffany knew the way however, and soon stepped into a compact but nonetheless well-appointed dressing room.
The room was furnished with a long black leather couch identical to those outside, along with a dressing table and mirror, bordered by lights. A closet stood in the opposite corner and there was another mirror, full-length, on the wall beside it. Through a half-open doorway, Tiffany could see into the bathroom beyond, which was fully as big as the dressing room itself. “You know the drill,” said the black-clad woman before she closed the door, leaving Tiffany alone.
Tiffany knew the drill. She had fifteen minutes to change and warm up, before she stepped through the door at the far side of the room, into a tiny vestibule that, moments later, would open on the other side and admit her to the arena.
She made the most of that time. She immediately slipped out of her dress and crossed the room to hang it in the closet with her shoes placed neatly beneath it. Dressed only her tiny red thong with the gold circular sigil of the Society emblazoned on the crotch, she stepped back to the dresser and picked up a small stoppered bottle of body oil. She poured a generous amount into her cupped hand and, standing before the full-length mirror, began rubbing it over her bare flesh from her chin to the tops of her feet.
It had been a long time – too long – since she had fought here. The debacle against Tara had indeed shaken her confidence and she’d needed some time to recover both physically and emotionally. That absence had only set tongues wagging however, insidious whispers that she was afraid to fight, that the incident in Rhode Island had broken her. Jealous bitches like Lyanna were only too eager to give heed and even to embellish those rumors. Tonight was Tiffany’s chance to show them all that she was back with a vengeance. She’d make an example of this southern skank and teach them all a lesson.
She flexed her muscles as she studied herself in the mirror. Her arms were honed to perfection, her shoulders broad and powerful yet still feminine. She drew a deep breath and her full, rounded breasts rose expansively, jutting at the mirror, their peaks hard, dark and puckered in anticipation of the conflict to come. She lifted her hands to cup them and lift them, feeling their weight for a moment before she trailed her oil-slick fingertips downward over her ribs, over the firm hard lines of her abs, over the smooth sensuous swell of her hips to her lissome yet muscular thighs.
While she hadn’t fought in months, that didn’t mean she hadn’t taken care of herself. Her daily workout regimen was long and grueling, from weight training to intense cardio, from sparring to bag-work. She was in just as good shape as she had ever been – maybe better. Penny was about to find that out – to her cost.
Taking her neatly folded bikini top, red to match the thong, out of her purse, she slipped it over her head and, seating the diminutive triangles of flimsy fabric over her breasts, knotted the lower spaghetti strap behind her back. Snugging it firmly – or at least as firmly as she could – over her bosom, she turned again to give herself one more check in the mirror.
The bikini top was thin enough to begin with, but the film of oil on Tiffany’s skin had now rendered it semi-sheer and the dark circles of her aureolas were faintly visible through the material. They would only become more evident, she knew, as her sweat mingled with the oil after the fight commenced. She didn’t care. It was unlikely the top would last more than a few minutes into the fight anyway. She was used to being topless and even naked in front of the crowd. It wasn’t something any fighter, least of all at this level of competition, could afford to be concerned about.
The slender straps of the thong sat snugly on her hips. The tiny triangle in front barely covered her mound, and pulled up tight between her nether lips. She smiled to herself. The camel toe was her signature. There were even some in the Society who referred to her as ‘camel toe Tiffany’ to distinguish her from the tall blonde from Georgia who was also named Tiffany. She regarded the nickname as a badge of honor, though she doubted it had been intended that way. There was another trademark too – a dark, inch-wide strip of neatly trimmed pubic hair peeped above the top edge of the thong. Tiffany ran a finger gently along her landing strip, as she liked to call it, assuring herself that not a hair was out of place.
With that thought she checked her hair too, smoothing one or two stray strands back into her bun. That was her preferred hairstyle for a fight. She absolutely hated having her hair pulled, and while the bun might not stop an opponent from trying, it certainly made it more difficult. Some adversaries would even focus on the bun, trying to work it loose, and that distraction left them open to Tiffany’s own attacks.
Finally satisfied with her appearance, she stepped into the middle of the room and began her warm-up routine, preparing herself physically and centering herself mentally for the fight to come.
When a chime began to ring in the room some minutes later, she was ready and waiting, her bikini covered by a short silk robe. It was red, a perfect match for her bikini, and the back was adorned with the same gold sigil – the Society logo – as that on her thong. Red was the color for the champion. All the others wore black. This was what made her different. This was made her special.
A red light showed above the door in the corner near the closet. She slid it back, stepped into the small square space beyond and closed it behind her. Standing there with only a matching light in front of her for illumination, she took deep breaths and listened to the beating of her own heart. Her arms tingled, her fingers clenching and relaxing as her body prepared itself for battle.
The panel in front of her slid aside, and she squinted as the bright light from the arena poured in. Her eyes took only a few moments to acclimate however as she stepped out onto the thick black rug, feeling its padding between her toes. She smiled at the onlookers who now lined the edges of the staircases and the balcony above for the best vantage points, and who crowded the edge of the circle down on the main floor. She felt their expectant eyes upon her. It felt good to be back in the saddle.
Another mirrored panel on the far side of the arena had also opened, and Penny stepped out into the light. She was dressed similarly to Tiffany, though her robe was black. She was barefoot like Tiffany, her hair tied back in a ponytail high at the back of her head. As she turned a slow circle, eyeing the crowd, Tiffany noticed that there was no Society logo on the back of the robe. That was fitting. Only Society members – those who had fought and won here – wore robes with the logo. Challengers – wannabes, thought, Tiffany – had to earn the right.
Tiffany took two steps forward, into the arena, her eyes fixed on Penny. Her hands moved up slowly to the belt that secured her robe, and slipped the knot loose. With a single smooth motion she peeled the robe off her shoulders, let it slide down her arms, and tossed it away behind her.
Stepping forward again, barely dressed now in only her brief bikini, she heard a murmur of appreciation ripple through the crowd. She raised her arms, feeling her breasts lift as she did so, and inhaled deeply making them swell against the straining straps of her bikini top. The murmurs grew louder. She turned a circle, letting them see her – letting Penny see her. Here’s what you’re up against, bitch. She flexed, tensing her muscles, showing off her powerful legs, the tight firm orbs of her butt, the smooth plane of her belly, her chiseled arms and broad shoulders. Be afraid.
Completing the circle, she rested her eyes back on Penny again. Her opponent returned her gaze with a fixed smile. Poker face. Then Penny’s hands rose from her sides to unfasten her own robe. She whipped it backwards with a flourish, letting it slide down her body to pool on the floor at her feet, kicking it backwards into the vestibule behind her.
The party guests gasped as one.
Penny stood revealed in a fluorescent yellow bikini. Her breasts were the first thing that drew Tiffany’s attention – as, no doubt, they did everyone else’s. Much larger than Tiffany’s own, they swelled around the edges of her struggling bikini top, which was cut more generously than Tiffany’s but was still far from adequate. Her nipples, big and hard, pressed insistently at the tight-stretched material.
Tiffany’s eyes moved on, with an effort. Below the bulging bikini top, Penny’s torso slimmed down to a narrow waist, before swelling to firm though curvaceous hips. Her abs were sculpted superbly, twin carved lines surrounding the dimple of her navel, descending into her crotch and disappearing beneath the miniscule front of her thong.
Penny too turned a slow circle for the crowd, arms outstretched, and Tiffany watched as her opponent’s hard muscles undulated beneath her smooth skin, bunched calves and rippling thighs, well-defined biceps and powerful shoulders. She rose onto her toes and her buttocks tensed tight, bisected by the narrow band of her thong. Tiffany felt her fingers clench tight into fists. She’s going to be a handful.
Their eyes locked once more as Penny finished her turn. They gazed at each other for what seemed like an eternity before Penny broke the stare. Her eyes wandered down Tiffany’s body, all the way to her toes, then back up to her face. The hint of a real smile flickered across Penny’s lips. A real handful. She pushed the thought from her mind. She was the Society champion. She would beat this interloper – beat her, humble her and send her crawling back to where she came from.
There was movement at the edge of the arena. Andrew Scribbs stepped forward. “Behold, the evening’s entertainment,” he announced in a loud voice. “An exhibition match, but no less serious because of that.” He smiled. “The honor of the Society is at stake.” Those words made Tiffany’s heart skip a beat.
“At five feet five and one hundred twenty-five pounds, please welcome our own Society champion, Tiffany.” He extended a hand amid applause from the onlookers, though Tiffany saw mixed emotions on the faces of many of the younger women – the fighters in the room. She might be the Society’s champion but they bore no love for her. She had fought and beaten many of them, humiliated them in front of the crowd, and they would love to see the same happen to her. But here, as Scribbs said, honor was at stake. They were bound to support her – but it didn’t mean they liked it.
“At five feet six and one hundred forty-five pounds,” Scribbs continued. Tiffany struggled not to raise her eyebrows. The bitch has twenty pounds on me! She cast her eyes over Penny’s body yet again. She seemed no more sturdily built than Tiffany herself. Must be those huge tits. Nevertheless, butterflies roiled in her stomach. “Please welcome our visitor from New Orleans…Penny.”
There was another ripple of applause. Are they clapping louder for her? Again she pushed the thought from her mind and forced herself to focus on the fight ahead. She matched Penny’s smile with her own.
Scribbs held up his hand. “And now, let’s begin. Ladies…” He looked from Tiffany to Penny and back again. “…Fight!”
TO BE CONTINUED...
