[sinclairfan]

ROUND 2, DIANE VS DARLENE

Darlene's tits are bigger and harder than I've ever seen them, aroused from the between-rounds kissing with Sierra.  I come to the center of the dining room with my fists cocked, jabbing at Darlene's breasts with precise, controlled swings.  The flesh-on-flesh "thwap" when I connect directly thrills my senses, as does the woman-to-woman violence of a standup fistfight.  At first my slight reach and height advantage gives me a 3-to-1 edge in landed punches, but after a couple of minutes, Darlene gets the measure of me and reverses the ratio to 3-to-1 in her favor.  I struggle to suppress painful groans, but Darlene's face shows satisfaction at her success at inflicting pain to my body.

I drop my fists to block or at least deflect Darlene's blows, but Darlene surprises me by uppercutting my jaw, causing me to bite my tongue and taste iron in my mouth.  Shit--that's why some bikerchick fistfighers wore mouthguards.   I jab at Darlene's face, wanting to rearrange it.  We stare hatred into each others' eye which speaks volumes.

We both miss with a pair of face punches snd come together in a clinch.  I notice how sweaty we each are, and how aroused my flesh is sexually.  Darlene and I pull each other together to maximize body contact.  I feel flattered that a bi woman is getting aroused at contact with my body.  The building sexual dimension of the confrontation between Diane and me is becoming ever more evident--the jealousy and rivalry in the 1983 version of ourselves has re-emerged, while the confidence and insecurities of our 2016 selves is stoked by the presence of Sierra.

Our clinch becomes a drunken, stumbling bearhug, as we wrap our arms ever tighter around one another.  We bang into the wall, trying to drive each others' shoulders or collarbones into the hard surface.  We sense each others' hands moving down our backs, grabbing each others' butt cheeks.  Darlene's ass is hard is rock--shit, is there a workout exercise that achieves that effect?

We begin pushing our crotches together, trading places against the wall to maintain our balance and footing.  Much of the motion is clumsy fumbling, but there are moments when our pussy lips lock together like   puzzle pieces.  Those moments are pure, transcendant, raw hatred.  We begin hissing into each others' faces.

Bitch.

cxnt.

I win all our fucking fights.

I'm winning this one.

Fuck you, how are you winning.

Your mouth is bleeding, slut.  Now you can't kiss Sierra.

Shit, Darlene is right.  I notice blood smeared on Darlene's cheek, which came from my mouth.  I pull my upper body away from her, but am reluctant to release our leg lock.  Darlene releases a moan, the type a woman only emits in a sexual context.  I'm flattered again--but is she moaning from our pussies rubbing, or because she drew blood from me--there's a big difference, and I have a sudden need to know the answer.  Without thinking, I thrust my hip into hers and demand,

"You like that, baby?"

I mean it as a factual question, as in, "Are you turned on by me, or by hurting me?"  But, in the heat of the moment, it sounds like an attempt at foreplay.  Which it wasn't.  Darlene seizes me by hair, my blood congealing on her cheek, and hisses at me, "I don't know what your game is, you sick fucking cxnt, if this is a fight, then fucking fight me."

She then pushes me away and yells to Sierra, "Can you come in here and make sure the bitch didn't lose a fucking tooth?", and retreats to her corner.

Sierra hustles into the room with towels, water, and a spit bucket, asking me to rinse my mouth do she can get a good view into it, purring something about, "This battle is so good, we want it to last as long as possible."  But my head is struggling to process the strange turn of events.  My lifelong sexual insecurities, or, actually, confusion, dominate my senses.  Were Darlene and I acting out sexually, mutually, when our crotches were rubbing?  Why did she let it go on so long if she didn't like it?  Why did she get angry so suddenly?  I want to ask Sierra--but, did she even notice?  Why isn't she saying anything now?  I want to talk, but Sierra is holding my mouth open and looking into it.  She tells me, "Those were some vicious punches--let me make sure no teeth came flying out?"  Wait--we were landing vicious punches on each other?  Or just Darlene's were vicious?  And why isn't Sierra saying who won that round--is it obvious I lost?

I feel out of sorts.  Should I?  Or is Darlene just playing with my head? 

Sierra kisses me, and everything feels better.  Will everything feel better with my life if I can have a girl like her, everyday?

Is that why I tracked down Darlene to fight her after all these years:  to feel better about my life?

I watch Darlene and Sierra kissing in the far corner.  Is Sierra hoping Darlene will win so she can fight a genuine bi woman instead of me? 

I can't wait for Round 3 to start.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

ROUND 3

Darlene has me confused as hell.  When I bit her earlier in the fight, she didn't even comment.  But when I rubbed up against her a certain way, she got all offended; pissed off, even.  I don't get it.  I don't get her.  I think back to 1983, when Darlene and I were seniors in high school.  There was always something "off" between us.  We couldn't even say hello to each other like normal people.  Maybe a fight back then would have cleared the air--maybe we would actually have been friends, or at least normal neighbors, after that.

There's no chance of that now.  There's someone witnessing our fight.  Is that why Lisa and Sandy wanted witnesses for their fight in 1983?  How humiliating for Sandy to lose a fight in front of 30 girls from her high school class.  I'm sure Lisa and Sandy were never friends again after that fight--never sgain double-dated and swapped with, or got swapped by, the older men they dated. 

Darlene says she wants to "really fight".  Lisa vs Sandy--that was a real girlfight.  It was streetfight/catfight style--both girls trying to control the other by the hair, then landing a rapid succession of punches and uppercuts to the face.  I've never been a fan of that fighting style--too many thrown punches end up being useless punches to the top or side of the head.  Maybe I should get Darlene into a hairpull, curl up like a hedgehog, and let her wear herself out punching me.

"Round three, bitches.  Ding, ding," says a gleeful Sierra, closing the door behind her.  Shit, her body, her smile are distracting.  The thought of 20 years of sex with her--dayum.

Darlene and I approach each other warily.  We enter into a hairpull.  I begin to sonder if this is a mistake--Darlene's hair is thicker, but mine is longer.  I remember this being a source of jealousy between us in the 1980s.  I was jealous of the thickness and color of her black hair.  She never grew it past her shoulders, though; I assume because it started to curl up and frizz out after that.  Which is why my long, feathered, straight hair must have driven her crazy, even though it was a nondescript light brown color.  I didn't enhance its color any--18 year old girls didn't really do that in 1983--we allocated our haircare budget to feathering and sculpting.  Girls who had a distinct natural color, like Darlene, had an advantage in dating.

I know each others' hair are on our minds now, as we waltz around the room, tugging and twisting mercilessly.  I'm at maximum horniness, between Sierra's mischievous smile, and pulling at the part of Darlene's body I've obsessed at most over the years.

Girls who are enemies usually obsess over each others' breasts.  Maybe if I had been more obsessed with Darlene's breasts, or she with mine, that 1983 fight would have happened.  Maybe I would have knocked on her door, or she on mine, one day after school, before our parents got home.  Bring alone in a house, we could have done a "I'll show you yours if you show me mine", like I did with the quiet boy in the adjacent cul de sac, when he wanted to see real breasts and I wanted to see a real penis.  Our sex with each other was so innocent, wd were mostly with each other to see each others' bodies.

If Darlene and I were obsessed with bressts instead of hair, we would have started arguing about whose was nicer.  Is that why Lisa's and Sandy's swapping arrangement fell apart?  Did their boyfriends compare each others' breasts after they had each seen and felt both of them? 

With Darlene and I bending each other over by the hair, I swing an uppercut at her left breast.  She crumples tl her knees on the floor, pulling me down.  We are in a fully tangled catball on the floor, desperately trying to stay on top. 

This is what most of Lisa and Sandy's catfight was--a tangled, grabbing, rolling cstball on the ground.  I feel a desperation, a creeping fear, not to let Darlene get on top of me.  I long to release my horniness into a long climactic orgasm, but fear Darlene will take advantage and beat me to a pulp.  As I would do to her right now, if presented the opportunity.

The contrasting temptations, between accepting pleasure and inflicting pain, are surreal.

At long last, Darlene are having an 18 year old girl girlfight.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

MOUNTING DARLENE

Ok, so let me tell you something I learned that night about fighting a girl on the ground.  Maybe some of you who have watched or even been in lots of chickfights already know this, but I difn't realize it until Round Three of my second fight with Darlene.  Here it is, my pearl of girlfight wisdom:

As undignified as it is to be under a girl in a catfight that's gone to the ground, it's even more difficult, bordering impossible, to be ladylike when you're mounting a girl who you've got an advantage on but who still has fight in her.  What I mean is, the posture you inevitably assume is one you only assume in two other circumstances in life--when you've dropped something very small and get on all fours to look for it, or when you're about to receive a cock for doggie-style sex.  And unless the dropped object is damned valuable, or the guy owning the cock is damned desirable, no self-respecting woman ever "assumes the position" more times than she needs to in life.

I think back to the 1983 Lisa-Sandy high school catfight.  All of us girls looked up to how "glamorous" and "mature" Lisa and Sandy were for dating older men with trucks and jobs, then for swapping boyfriends.  We were also mesmerized by the site of them rolling on the ground, mounting each other and landing punches.  I now realize why.  It wasn't the punching--it was the mounting.  Mounting a girl in the on-all-fours posture, with 20-30 girls watching.  It was--sexy.  Sexy as fuck.  That's why I went straight home and masturbated after that fight.

I'm now fighting Darlene like that.  She mounts me, and I buck her off.  I mount her, and attempt to stay on top, all while landing punches to her face.  I alternate between the doggie style position and the upright riding position.  Sierra is watching us.  Is she getting as turned on as I did watching the Lisa-Sandy fight?  Is that why she likes watching girlfights?

Darlene is getting angry at spending more time under me than on top.  Shit, I love being on top of Darlene.  I feel better than her, sexier than her, more of a woman than her.  We dig our nails into each others' flesh and twist.  Hard.  We punch at faces, breasts, and bellies.  I grind into Darlene with my hips.  We screech in pain at the clawing and scratching.

Dsrlene mounts me and retaliates.  She grabs my hair and attempts to slam my head into the floor.  She attempts to mount my face.  Her pussy is soaked.  I grab it and twist, sending her to her feet.  I motion for her to catfight me on the ground.  She retreats to her corner.

Sierra comes into the room.  "Round three to Diane.  2 to 1 Diane.  Can Darlene respond?"

Shit, that was fun.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

ROUND FOUR

The only round of our catfight--both of our catfights, now that I think about it--that Darlene was able to hold her own with me was when we were having a standup bare-knuckle boxing match.  A cheezy cardio-kickboxing workout course wouldn't have given her, I don't think, the striking and footwork skills thst nearly cost me a molar a few minutes ago.  As we face off in the middle of the room exchsnging jabs, I decide to probe her for the source of her pugilistic expertise.

>  Where'd you learn to punch like that, Rocky?

>  Where'd you learn to bite like that, bitch?

>  Ha ha, loser.  I'm doing a lot more than biting you.

>  Not really.  When you called me on the phone, did you say, 'Wanna fight?', or 'Wanna bite?'.  I think maybe the line was a little static-y.

>  I'm flattered that call meant so much that remember it so clearly.

>  I'm flattered you spent weeks on the internet searching for me.

>  <<<<<Darlene has landed three times the breast-jabs I have, turning both of my boobs bright pink.  Shit, she's a good boxer.  I try and maintain my composure.>>>>  Darlene, fuck you.  At least I'm woman enough to start a fight with you.  You fucking freeze me out and bully me in Massachusetts for seven years but don't have the guts to let me fight you.  That's fucking bullshit.

> <<<<Our punches move up to our faces now.>>>>>  You knew where I loved, pussy.  You never knocked.

>  <<<<<Darlene and I are punching more, and talking less.  But not because we don't have anything to say.  Just the opposite--we're finally getting to the core of our relationship....how it went so wrong.>>>>>   Sure.  Make me the bad girl.  I bet you would have loved that.  Mommy mommy, the bad girl next door came over and punched me.

>  Fuck you, Diane.  You knew we needed to fight.  You knew that was my turf, and you needed to earn your place.  Admit it.  You were afraid to try me.

> <<<<<As Darlene and I trade jabs, I begin to wonder if Darlene is right.  She was daring me to come at her--but did I know it at the time?  Did I know it in 1983?  Was our miscommunication because we were incompatible--or were we totally understanding each other perfectly clearly?  Was she baiting me the whole time, and I just didn't take the bait?>>>>> Convenient rationalization, slut. 

> <<<<Darlene and I clinch, digging our nails into each others' shoulder blades, twisting and clawing flesh from bone.>>>>  I would have fucking destroyed you, Diane.

>  Bull-fucking-shit, Darlene.  I fucking hated you.

> I hated you worse.

> <<<<<We drive knees into each others' crotches from point-blank ranges, our bodies knotted together like ivy.>>>>

> I've tought about kicking your ass everday since 1983 Diane.

> Now's your chance bitch.

We struggle desperately, alternately clawing at fleshy, then taut, flesh, probing at which causes more pain.  Without warning, Darlene sinks her teeth into my left breast.  I swoon, and Darlene shoves me, the back of my head striking the chair rail.  I sense a warm stream down my back.

Sierra dashes into the room.

"Shit, head contusion.  Darlene, neutral corner!"

..........

I wake up 60 seconds later.  Sierra is cupping my cheeks.

"Whattaya say, sport?  Had enough?.....Diane?.....Diane?"

"Let me at her."

To be continued......

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