Lurching, almost embracing, on the carpet with the sweaty sow, I feel my dress yanked down, and your fingers starting to maul my pretty white titty, but am rewarded by your yells and the shout: LINDA GOT THAT TIT GOOD, informing me that my nails scored and scraped. Owwwwwww my hair tightens as we pirouette downward to the carpet, landing with a padded splat, your flesh on me.
Gasping from the impact, my legs come up and lock around your pudgy waist, your legs, that drove us down, stretched out, your dress high, thong almost hidden in your ass, which is waving to the crowd. The catty remarks about your dimpled butt would make anyone blush.
Abandoning my grip on your thong, which is buried in some crevice, I shove one hand up under your chin, prying it up hard and stopping a head butt, while boxing your ear and then grabbing to pull an earring, or just the bare flesh, with the other. I literally spit my hatred at you, spittle slicking your snarling face as I start to squeeze my legs and rock you over.
Galvanized by the shouts that “JOLENE IS ON HER”, and the pain in my breast, we start to twist, my white hip emerging as the roll begins. I hear “SQUEEZE HER LINDA, ROLL HER OVER!” as we shift. Our dresses knotting up around our middles, we are in full contact, me forcing myself tightly into your clammy, sweaty body.