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Author Topic: Trudy vs Vanessa: Christmas Party Disagreement  (Read 7086 times)
sinclairfan
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« Reply #15 on: December 21, 2016, 11:00:11 AM »

NEW GIRL AT WORK

Well, well.

What do we have here?

A new girl named Jennifer is starting at work.  10 years younger than me.  Married.  Returning to the workforce now that the kids are gone.  Attractive.  Same build as me.

Are you competition for me, Jennifer?  Gonna run me out of here before I'm at my target retirement savings goal?  Care to fight for the job?

Or even better, for your husband?  How'd he like a month or two of banging me?  You got what it takes to keep him from me?

Back to reality, Trudy.

Real life isn't like that.

Oh, sure, we can fight for the job.  But it's whoever performs better who's gonna keep it.

And your husband ain't leaving you for me, even if I do trick him into bed once.

It's not you, Jennifer, it's me.  It's April, and I've had zero luck tracking down Vanessa.  She's "off the grid".  Where could she be?

And it's starting to mess with my brain.

Because anytime I meet someone like you, Jennifer, all I can think about is fighting you.

We meet up somewhere in badass clothes, fully expecting them to be shredded.  We stare each other down, but not for super long.  We tear into each others hair.

We pull, yank, and twist, our scalps burning in pain.  We grunt and groan and screech uncontrollably.  Our bodies come together on the ground.

Our genitals line up, as we seek to impose even more pain on each other.  We want to quit, but know that won't stop the punishment--we've each gone too far in angering the other.

And there's stakes in the fight.  With you, Jennifer, it's you and me seeing who's the office alpha bitch.  When you decided to come back to work, you must have known there'd be someone like me in the office that you'd be in competition went.  When we met the first day and shook hands, did you get aroused, like I did, knowing it might come to this?

Does your husband like catfighting?  Do you do it for him?

I cum in my own hand, imaging myself fighting Jennifer.

This is crazy. 

I'm projecting my rivalry with Vanessa onto everyone in my life.  This is pure desperation.  I hate it.

I hate Vanessa for messing with my head like this.

I need to find her soon.

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Trudy
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« Reply #16 on: December 21, 2016, 05:33:14 PM »

I remember when I was the Jennifer when I was the new girl. I never had to fight for a job but I did fight for a whole lot of other reasons. And sometimes for no reason at all. Sometimes those are my favorite fights. Vanessa will show up again I just have to be patient. Or .....
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« Reply #17 on: December 22, 2016, 07:21:41 PM »

JENNIFER AND I ESTABLISH OUR "WORKING RELATIONSHIP"

Early June.  The search for Vanessa was making progress.  Achingly slow progress, but progress nevertheless.

I was chatting up the staff at LA Fitness.  Now, this was costing me a small fortune--membership fees, class fees, tips.  But I was getting a picture of Vanessa's itinerant lifestyle.  Vanessa was bilingual, and when she needed a change, short- or medium- term, she had a handful of "refuges" she would retreat to.  New Mexico was one.  I had remembered seeing on Fox Sports one night that Albuquerque and Santa Fe had women's MMA academies--is that where she had learned to fight?

But another Vanessa refuge was American expat communities in Central America--Costa Rica and Panama in particular.  I convinced one of the LA Fitness staff to pretend to have a check for Vanessa, and to reach out to her asking for a place to mail it.  Like the gold-digger she no doubt is, Vanessa responded in a day. 

She was hanging out in a ex-American military community near the Canal Zone.  The cost of living was dirt cheap, and there was housework available to get spare cash.  Vanessa's plan was to stay there for the rest of the year, and then into the next winter, before coming back home.  A solid 10 months.

I couldn't wait that long to fight her.  I made plans for a 2 week August vacation, and booked travel to Panama.

So I had my opponent.  Check.  I had a fight date.  Check.  I had a fight location.  Check.

Now, all I needed was a tune-up bout.

Which was falling into my lap as well.

As I closed in on solving the where-is-Vanessa mystery, I was spending a heck of a lot of time at LA Fitness.

Jennifer started noticing.

Then commenting.

"I better watch out, your muscles are getting so toned."

"Look at the strong woman."

"I sure hope we don't meet in a dark alley."

"I better increase my reps, to keep up with Trudy."

"Watch out, Wonder Woman."

"Don't hit HER with you best shot."

At first, Jennifer's comments were cute.  Then annoying.  When I would look at her after a comment, she would inevitably be looking away.  I couldn't read her.  She wasn't like other women I knew.  What was her point?

But, now that I was in need of a "sparring partner", why didn't I just find out?

I cornered Jennifer in the rest room one day.

Me:  What's your deal?  Are you trying to start shit with me?

Her:  What if I am?

<<<<<<Right answer.>>>>

Me:  If you're trying to start shit with me, you can just tell me.

Her:  I'm trying to start shit with you.  We both know there's only room for one of us in this office.  And I'm not leaving--I like it here.

<<<<I soak instantly.>>>>>

Me:  Well, I was here first.  I'm not staying forever, but I'm not ready to leave yet.  You have a suggestion, Jennifer?

<<<<We stare each other down, face to face.  I remember those bathroom fight from high school, where you'd get 2 minutes before the teachers interfered.>>>>>

Her:  I say we discuss this away from work.

Me:  Oh, I'd love to have a discussion with you, honey.

Her:  You asked for it.  My place or yours?

Me:  If we fight at your place, do I get to bang your husband?

Her:  Maybe.  What do I get if I win?

Me:  Forget it, I don't want your husband.  This is between you and me, for status in the office.  Let's fight at my place.

Her:  Fine.  When?

Me:  How's after work on Friday?

Her:  Fine.

Me:  Good.

Her:  Bitch.

<<<<We lean into our stare and make contact.  I walk out first, shaking.>>>>>

Friday night bitch fight.
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sinclairfan
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« Reply #18 on: December 26, 2016, 08:51:02 PM »

TRUDY VS JENNIFER

I normally don't subscribe to the one-office-one-alpha-woman theory of office politics.  But in the case of Jennifer and me, I have unfortunately concluded that it's true.  You see, neither Jen nor I have professional accounting credentials.  We're here on elbow grease, and feminine charm, alone.  And, while every office needs one babe like that, especially at our mature age, it doesn't need two.

Ever since Jen started here, my interactions with cute young interns and hunky contractors has been on the wane.  And I know exactly where that action has been going.  Because even though I've been admittedly distracted tracking my true enemy Vanessa down to the Southern Hemisphere, Jen has been getting increasingly bold about flaunting her growing stature and status.

And if she can beat me in a fight, she can have it.  After all, that's how I got here.

But can she beat me?

Physically, she has a 10-year edge on me.  But psychologically, I doubt she's run up against my kind.  So it'll be a classic battle of wills, the outcome of which won't be clear to either of us in the immediate aftermath of the fight.  Not until we work together the following week will we know who the alpha is.  In other words, what i call "fun".

During the summer, my enclosed backyard has a small lawn and patio.  With the summer heat wave in full force, I picture wrestling Jen back there, naked, sweating, in the Friday night twilight.  I'll light candles to keep the mosquitoes away.  I broach the setting with Jen in the office bathroom.  She agrees.

I picture our rolling around immortalized forever by an ill-timed Google Maps satellite photo.

Jen arrives at my place Friday night, clearly nervous.  I'm winning already.

Her:  So, this is the bitch pad, huh?

Me:  You don't worry about my place, k?

Her:  I can't help it, I hate you so much.

Me:  Prove it.

Her:  Love to.

We get naked in the living room, and walk out to the back yard.  It's a scorcher--I forget to get a bottled water.  Before we even get all the way off the patio and onto grass, our hands are in each others hair.  We throw each other onto the grass, and catball right away.

Shit, Jen's body is toned.  I go to scratch, but the sickness of her sweat makes my nails glide straight off.  Jen's hairpulling is more effective, and I'm underneath, getting a mouthful and nose full of grass and mud--the last time I've experienced this sensation is literally back on the schoolyard.

In desperation, I start kneeing Jen's pussy.  She scratches mine, relaxing my face from the suffocating position it was in.  We rise to our knees, our entire bodies covered in dirt and grass stains.

The disfiguration triggers a feeling of rage at Jennifer in my core, and I double-fisting Jen's breasts and squeeze.  She does the same to me, and we shriek and squeeze for as long and as hard as we can, release, repeat, release, and repeat.  I headlock Jen, and begin to tug hair from her head by handfulls, while her right hand gets in my pussy hair and reciprocated the tearing and tugging.

Although Jen and I are face-to-face and nose-to nose-to, our coatings of mud prevents us from being able to read each others faces.  We rely on the sounds, our screeching, to know when a hold is effective and should be intensified. 

We both want to stop for a water break, but neither wants to be seen covered in mud and grass, or, increasingly, just mud.  So we take short breaks while clinched together, but otherwise continue catfighting.

I can tell by the dimming light that time is passing.  But there's no way I'm letting up on this bitch while I can still move.

I can now tell that my modest lawn is as wrecked as our bodies.  It's a good thing her husband didn't come, he wouldn't want either of us if he could see us now.  I realize why it's gotten so dark--a small shower is rolling in.  I feel rain pelting my back--it feels good.  I grad ahold of Jen's hair, and her body becomes visible again as the rain washes her flesh.

We roll out of the mud, onto the patio, lay on our backs, and let the shower clean us.

The storm passes.

We stand and face each other, exhausted.

Jen says, "Bitch!", trips me and pushes me into the enormous mud puddle which earlier tonight was my back lawn, goes back into my living room, changes, and leaves.

Oh, yeah, I'm ready to fight Vanessa.

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Trudy
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« Reply #19 on: December 28, 2016, 03:38:40 PM »

Oh great, now I have yard work to do too !
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sinclairfan
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« Reply #20 on: January 02, 2017, 12:54:18 PM »

FINAL PREPARATIONS

Jennifer never did show back up at work after our fight.  I was a little disappointed.  I had become accustomed to our verbal confrontations in the ladies room to keep my juices flowing.

There was one side benefit to me, however, from Jennifer's withdrawal from the field of office battle.  I had free reign over that summer's intern class.  I ended up "doing it" with three males in the class and one of the females.  The female also gave me a crash course in conversational Central American Spanish, which would help me navigate Panama in my search for Vanessa.

Time would be of the essence in my arranging a summer vacation fight with the bitch.  I had 2 weeks, but time would pass quickly.  I needed to find where Vanessa was living, get her alone for a little "talk", and then make arrangements for a catfight (or, "una pelea", as my intern/translator taught me), all without giving her the opportunity to lay low until my return flight brought me back home--all while I was immersed in an unfamiliar sub-culture.  Vanessa had an annoying history of not putting down deep roots, so my biggest fear was that I would end up chasing a ghost.  And wasting round trip plane fare to Panama City.

I thought back to my December fight with Vanessa.  The chemistry between us was electric.  Something about her look, her attitude, her voice just made me want to fight her.  The way our bodies lined up, stimulating each other.  Even my summer sex romps with the summer interns wasn't quite the same--one or the other of us always seemed to be "into it" more, making me self-conscious.  With Vanessa, it had been a total mutual release.  I craved that feeling again.

Wouldn't be long now.
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sinclairfan
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« Reply #21 on: January 06, 2017, 05:33:41 PM »

I ARRIVE IN PANAMA

My August trip to Central America was like a whirlwind.  So much so that, looking back, I now realize that I was not controlling events, but that events were controlling me.

I arranged, thru airbnb, to stay at a home in the heart of the military expat region in the Canal Zone.  Just enough "danger" to feel I was in a foreign 3rd world country, but familiar enough that I wouldn't lose my bearings.

Shit, Central America is humid in August.  I start sweating the instant I step off the plane.  And mosquitoes everywhere, even if you wear bugspray.  On the cab ride to my rental, I fantasize about Vanessa and I catballing on the jungle floor, in a pool of sweat, mosquitoes swarming whichever girl gets on top, causing her to lose focus and getting her pin reversed.  Over and over, with neither woman getting permanent control.

I arrive in my room, strip, and masturbates to that fantasy for an hour.

Just arrived, and the trip has already been worth it.

I step outside, my masturbatory pheromones still at work, as military men come up to me to chat me up.

I tell I'm looking for Vanessa.

Their eyes light up.

To be continued....
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Trudy
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« Reply #22 on: January 07, 2017, 07:57:24 AM »

 Vanessa seems to be just as elusive online and she is in this story
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« Reply #23 on: January 07, 2017, 09:47:13 AM »

As I bask in the sun letting the warmth soak into me I think back to the last real challenge I had. It was with the sexual beast Trudy. As i relive our fight in my mind, as I can feel the emotions build, I wonder where the hussy is and how much I will enjoy our next meeting. Rousing myself from my relaxed position I go and dress in preparation for the fight that will happen later with my next victim, the Central American slut Maria. 
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sinclairfan
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« Reply #24 on: January 09, 2017, 06:31:04 AM »

A MID-DAY CHAT

The masculine-as-hell military men surround me in a somewhat intimidating circle.  Two of them, one ex-Army the other an ex-Marine, with distinct Georgia/Florida Panhandle accents, take the lead in the ensuing conversation, while the eight others check me out, flaterringly, from head to toe.  Or, from tit to hip, in the case of half of them.  They're undressing me in their mind.  As I am them.  I love military men--been awhile since I've been around them.  I get jealous as Vanessa for being around them these past eight months.

Army:  Well, well. You know about Vanessa?

Marine:  You ain't no cop, is ya?

Me:  I, no no, uh,...

A:  He's just shittin' ya, relax there missie.  Altho, what did you say your name was?

Me:  <<<blushing>> Trudy.  Pleased to make your acquaintance, sirs.

M:  The pleasure is all ours, pretty lady.  Now, does you come for Vanessa as friend or foe?

Me:  <<<hesitation>>>>

A:  C'mon now, Trudy, we'll be straight up with ya, but ya gotta reciprocate.

Me:  Foe, sirs.  Vanessa and I met and tangled in the States, right before she came down here.  Well, we more than tangled.  We had it out, claws and fists, naked, the whole nine yards.  I didn't like how it went down, and I'm here to tell her so.  And to do sumethin' about it.

<<<<<<whistling>>>  <<<chatter>>>>

M:  Well, yuz sure cum to the right place, but I don't as ya got the best timing.

Me:  Sir?

A:  So, Trudy, the thing is this.  Vanessa, when she comes down here, well she interacts with us, or our wives, pretty much how she does with you, and with the same hurt feelin's.

M: She used to come down here and fight the military wives for money.  Seemed like a good idea at the time, win-win for everyone.  We get some entertainment, our wives let off some steam, Vanessa gets some cash.

A:  Except the bitch, that bein' Vanessa, takes things too far, like she obviously did with you.

M:  Makes herself not so welcome down here with the ladies.

A:  So, this past January, she comes down again, we tell she ain't welcome no more.

M:  So she says, how 'bout insteada fightin' our women, she fights Colombian women.

A:  That's why we joshed ya about the cop thing.

M:  <<<air quotes>>> "Colombian women" can be Colombian, Guatemalan, Salvadoran, Venezuelan.  It's code for pretty girls who were drug mules, ya know, couriers, when they was minors and couldn't be jailed.  But now they're turning 21, and that won't work as a livelihood anymore.

A:  So they pay placement agencies, usually in cash but sometimes with their bodies too, apologies for the graphic language, ma'am, to get jobs in the Canal Zone.

M:  They's lookin' to rub shoulders with divorced military men.

A:  To score themselves a U.S. guv'mint lifetime pension, or half a share in one. 

M:  Lifetime benefits add up when ya start collectin' at age 22.

Me:  Ya, I can do the math, sir.

<<<<<whistling>>>>>

M:  No disrespect intended, ma'am.

Me:  None taken, but what does this have to do with Vanessa.

A:  Ya see, things is pretty bad in the drug game in these parts right now.

M:  There's way more "Colombian women" aspirin' to be brides than there is lonely ex-soldiers.

A:  So if one passes thru and ain't gonna make the cut as a bride, she has to find an alternate career pdq.

M:  Or move on.

A:  Some of 'em make a career as fight club, umm, "performers".  <<<<more air quotes>>>>

M:  Great career choice if you're pretty and good at it.

A:  So Vanessa realizes this place is all about guys who want a caviar lifestyle on a Ramen noodle budget.  So they move here, but get homesick for the States.

M:  And they'll "pay up" if a white girl is fightin' 'steada 2 Latinas.

A:  So she gets paid premium purses.

Me:  I understand, sir.  But a few minutes ago, you said my timing for wanting to confront Vanessa was bad.  How so?

M:  The premium-est purse is coming up in 4 days.  This Friday.

A:  Vanessa is fighting the reigning Colombian girl fight Club champ.  A crazy number named Maria.

M:  So she's not gonna be doin' and tangling on the side.

A:  And if she does, she and the other woman are gonna have three thousand angry soldiers angry at being deprived of a fight they've pre-paid for.

Me:  Vanessa fights in front of three thousand people?!?!?

M:  Forty or so live.  We pass around the video on closed-circuit TV.

A:  Hafta pay to see it tho.

Guess I know what I'm watching Friday.

To be continued.....

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Snakee
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« Reply #25 on: January 10, 2017, 07:06:25 AM »

nice story !
« Last Edit: January 10, 2017, 07:07:33 AM by Snakee » Logged

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sinclairfan
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« Reply #26 on: January 12, 2017, 06:25:05 AM »

FRIDAY NIGHT FIGHTS, PANAMA STYLE

Now, don't get me wrong.  There weren't 6,000 Canal Zone expats tuned in to Vanessa vs Maria on closed circuit TV.  Catfight Fandom was confined to, oh, maybe 100 or so hardcore guys and ladies.  But everyone in the zone was paying indirectly via their subscription fee, and Vanessa was getting 40% of that purse (Maria was getting 40% as well, and the house was getting the other 20%).

So Vanessa was raking in 24 grand for a 30-minute fight.  And 24k, US dollars, goes a long way in Central America, let me tell you that.  And she was fighting about once a month or so.  Quite a gig.

Now, two downsides I could think of.  First, the girls Vanessa was fighting were economically desperate, so they were putting up quite a fight.  And they were in their early 20s.  I had fought Jen, a 40-something bitch, and her 10 year age advantage had nearly broken me.  I couldn't imagine fighting an opponent half my age.  But Vanessa was doing it monthly.  This would be something I had to see with my own two eyes.

"Captain Rob" was a hardcore girlfight fan, and my host, and guide, for the evening.  He was one of the kindly Floridians (Pensacola, I later learned) who had welcomed me upon my arrival.  We spent the afternoon and evening before Vanessa's fight screwing each others' brains out, so I was quite ready when it was time for the big show.

Vanessa and Maria were dropped into a shallow 10 foot-by-10 foot clay-like pit in a room with about 25 shouting fans.  Rob told me that the fight would go until one girl either submitted or was clearly helpless.  He said submissions were rare. 

Outstanding.

The 2 fighters were topless, with just a miniskirt bottom.  Vanessa was exactly as I remembered her from our December fight--straight, thick, brown hair past her shoulders, impossibly proportioned tits, hard-bodied belly and thighs, a clearly intimidating grappler.  Maria was a gorgeous Latina, jet black thick hair, flawless body, a tad smaller than Vanessa.

The 2 girls circled each other warily, occasionally slapping and jabbing each other in the face.  I was jealous of Maria for her opportunity to tear into Vanessa, which I wanted to do more than anything.  After each landing over 4 hard slaps, Maria and Vanessa's hand were in each others thick hair, and the catfight was on.  Each was attempting to pin the other into the clay walls of the pit and knee each other in the groin. 

Maria's lower center of gravity was tentatively working to her advantage, and she was connecting with more direct knee strikes.  I heard Vanessa's distinctive grunts, which were getting me even more turned on than the afternoon's sex marathon.  Bloodlust consumed me, and I wanted Maria to maim Vanessa.

Maria and Vanessa fell the the ground of the pit, their chests, backs, and legs caked in clay.  Chunks of hair were visible on the floor of the pit.  Vanessa grappled herself on top of Maria, kneaded Maria's breasts viciously, and Maria shrieked in agony.

Maria desperately tried to buck and kick Vanessa off of her, but Vanessa's pin was clearly unbreakable, as her legs got control of Maria's arms.  Vanessa now freed her fists and began punching Maria repeatedly in the face.  She alternated between tearing hair, kneading tits, and punching the face of her increasingly defeated opponent.  Maria refused to give, and the punishment continued.  I got on all fours, and begged Captain Rob to mount me before the fight ended.  He did so, and we did it to the sight of Vanessa finishing off Maria.  I came explosively to the sight of clay-caked Vanessa knocking out Maria with her fists. 

Rapture.

The closed circuit TV telecast replayed the fight.  Captain Rob and I watched, caressing each other.  I told him I needed to fight Vanessa in that pit before I returned to the States.

He said he'd see what he could do.

To be continued...

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FyreCracka
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« Reply #27 on: January 12, 2017, 02:58:14 PM »

This story is getting better and better.
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« Reply #28 on: January 16, 2017, 11:43:22 AM »

A FIGHT AT CAPTAIN ROB'S

Three days go by after Vanessa's televised fight.  My flight back to the States is in 6 days.  I start to get antsy if I'll be meeting Vanessa in time.  Plus, I'm bored as hell.

Which, lately at least, means I'm horny as hell.

And, by that I mean, masturbating-isn't-gonna-cut it horny.

I crave another roll in the hay with Captain Rob.  I put on my tightest jean cutoffs and my sluttiest tank top.  My tits are practically bursting out of it.  I tease up my hair, almost 80s style.  I cake on the makeup and perfume.

Full hooker mode.

And I walk over to Captain ROB'S.  I barely make it--the men, and a couple of the women, are whistling at me as I strut.

Still got it.

I get to ROB'S front door.  Hopefully we'll be doing it in 30 seconds.  I can't fuckin wait.

I knock.

I wait.

A blonde answers.  Mid-30s.  Long hair.  Dressed for action, like me.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Let's me in."

"Who the fuck are you?"

"ROB'S friend, Trudy."

"I don't know you."

"Well he knows me."

"He's not home."

"I don't believe you.  Let me in."

"Make me."

"Oh, honey, there's is nothing I would like me right now."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really."

The blonde bimbo let's me in.  I inspect ROB'S place.  Apparently not home  I'm alone with the blonde.  This will be interesting.

"Believe me now?"

"When's he back."

"In an hour.  You won't be, tho."

"Oh, really?  You're making me leave?"

"Or you'll get wise and leave first.  Don't make me do this, Trudy."

"I ain't leaving till he's back."

"You're leaving now."

"Start something, blondie."

We stare each other down, inches apart.  This an an expat military retiree community.  I might be in the process of provoking an ex Navy SEAL, a blonde groupie or anything in between.  Pretty dumb of me.

But I'm hot for some action.

Here goes nothing.

I slap her in the face.

She pauses.  Smiles.  And goes for my hair.

Phew.  I'm still breathing, so she's not a SEAL, or special forces, or even enlisted.

Just some slutty bitch.

The catfight is on.  I grab clothes instead of hair, seeing blonde's tits are vulnerable.  The pain in my hair is excruciating, but in no time I'm on her firm tits, clawing and pinching.  Blondie is screeching in my ears, letting me know that I've chosen an effective strategy.  She's strong as hell, slamming me into the foyer wall by the hair.

Blondie is definitely a lover of Captain ROB'S, as she is trying desperately to win this fight. 

The fight almost goes to the floor several times, but we're in tight quarters.  We're each stubborn, wanting the other to believe we've chosen the better tactic.  I squeeze blondie's tits even tighter, she yanks my hair even harder.  Shit, I'm pissed at her--my hair was so nice, I wanted Captain Rob to see it how it was.

I must have ESP.

There's a knock at the door.

And keys going into a luck.

The front door opens.

We stop fighting.

It's Captain Rob.

To be continued.....

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« Reply #29 on: January 16, 2017, 05:11:09 PM »

MEET THE FAMILY

At this point, my aggravation level is at a 125 out of 100.  I was thinking I was minutes away from screwing, and instead I'm sweaty, my hair is destroyed, my scalp is burning, and a blonde bimbo just fought me to a draw.  And now she and I and her man are about to have a stereotypical who's-she domestic argument.  I'm half-hearted to walk out and avoid the whole thing, but I'm kinda into Captain Rob, and I don't want him to think his bitch can drive me away.  I'll leave if he asks me to, but that's going to have to come from him, not her.  I don't roll that way, bitches.

How wrong I was.  Captain Rob speaks first.

Rob:  What the fuck??  Trudy?  Stef?

Stef:  Who is this, Dad?

<<<<<Stef scrambles to repair her top.>>>>>

Me:  Dad???  Excuse me?

Stef:  Excuse me what, bitch?  What don't you understand?  Dad, who is this?

Rob:  This is Trudy.  I met her the other day.  She's staying 4 houses down.  She's on vacation.

Stef:  And why is she trying to rip my fucking tits off?  What's the big idea, bitch?

Rob:  Trudy?

Me:  <<<<sheepishly>>>>  Oh, Lord, Stef, Rob.  I'm sssoooo sorry.  Stef, I totally misread who you were.  Please, I'm sorry.

Rob:  Stef, what happened.

Stef:  Hooker lady comes over here all bad-ass an invites herself in.

Rob:  Trudy, is that true?

Me:  <<<<not quite so sheepishly>>>> Ok, now, not exactly.  First of all, I don't know where Princess Stephanie is one to call anyone else hooker lady.  But second, I wasn't looking for a fight--I just asked when you'd be back.

Stef:  You were totally looking for a fight, slut.  You don't barge in on a woman home alone and not think there's not going to be trouble.  What the fuck?

Me:  That part I'm sorry for Stef.  But I didn't know it was your place, too.  Rob, I thought Stef was some bimbo you were doing.  Bad assumption on me.  I thought I had as much right to be here as her.  Stef, I did ask you who you were.

Stef:  Trudy, that coulda ended really ugly, you know.

Me:  Stef, I know, I know.  But, please, next time just say who you are.

Rob:  She has a point, Stef.  Or did you think you could take her.

Stef:  <<<<now her turn to talk sheepishly>>>>> Well, that was part of it, too.  Trudy, you go straight for my tits??  Shit, I've done the whole get-cheated-on-confront-the-girl thing, but never had someone start with pinching my tits.  Damn.

Rob:  Damn is right.  Stef, Trudy came here to fight Vanessa.

Stef:  Vanessa?!?!?

Trudy:  You two know where I can find her?

<<<<Stef and Rob communicate to each other with their eyes.>>>>>

Stef:  Dad, Trudy's the real deal as a fighter.  I'm gonna feel this tommorrow, and we had just started.

<<<<<Rob thinks.>>>>>

Me:  Rob, don't hold out on me.  I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't think straight.  <<<<Motioning at Stef's wrinkled top.>>>>  Look at what's happening to me.

Rob:  Ok, ok.  Enough.  Come here at 8 tomorrow night.  Vanessa will be here.

My heart races.  I need to get home and prepare.  I apologize to Stef, and we gingerly hug.  I kiss Rob.  How does he know Vanessa?  At this point, I don't care.

I race back home.  I strip and get in the tub.

I masturbate, my hand moving like a hummingbird's wings.  Images race thru my mind.  My catfight with Stef.  My December fight with Vanessa.  My fight tomorrow night with Vanessa.  Will Stef be watching.  Will Rob be watching?  Will he and I fuck before?  After?  Has he fucked Vanessa?  Who does he like better, her or me.  I explode in orgasm to each of these thoughts, then start over.

I continue until my legs are shaking and my hand is sore, then keep doing it.

What's happening to me?

What will happen tomorrow at 8?



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