[sinclairfan]

".....LIKE RABID HYENAS"

My conversation with the interesting woman sitting next to me, and my dread of the prospect of catfighting with Joan, is interrupted by a wave of a renewal of screeching by women in the audience.  Kim has sprinted across the ring and made a beeline for Rebecca.  Rebecca braces, and the two blondes collide, their arms swinging in a wild helicopter motion, each aiming for the other's head, similar to the start of Round 1, except this time barefisted.  Kim appears to land a series of blows directly to Rebecca's face, who now realizes she is backed into her own corner of the ring when she is unable to retreat either to her left, right, or backwards.  Kim presses forward, continuing to swing wildly. 

My footwork lessons with Sam flash back to me, as I foresee, just before it happens, Kim flopping foward uncontrollably into Rebecca as her hands and feet are swinging out of sync.  Rebecca and Kim collide into dach others' arms, each closing their arms together in a mutual bear hug.  Locked together standing, they roll the length of the ropes of Rebecca's side of the ring, going all the way from one corner to the other. 

Their foreheads start the spinning, violent waltz leaning into each other.  But as the clinch comes to a stalemate in the opposite corner, Kim bends her head slightly to the right of Rebecca's, and sinks her teeth into her opponent's left shoilder.  After a visible facial expression of shock and hurt, Rebecca mirrors the head motion, and attacks Kim's shoulder with her teeth.

Kim and Rebecca strain into each other with their legs at sharp angles, pushing each other ever lower against the ropes, facing each other at an awkward angle due to being pressed into a deep corner of the ring.  A deep gash is visible on Rebecca's left shoulder, as Kim moves her face down the frontside of Rebecca's body.  Rebecca's facd is pointed towards me, and is a contorted blend of rage, pain, and vengeful determination.  The angle of the women's extended legs now causes them to fall face first to the ground, facing each other.  They grab double fistfulls of hair, and instinctively roll away from the corner which was so restrictive to their movement.

As they roll acrorss the ring, each adversary's body fully touches the white ring floor surface.  Correction, it was white.  It's now smeared with red streaks, as each woman is excreting blood from some area of her upperbody.  My eyes are drawn to an apparent deep gash on Rebecca's left shoulder and Kim's left deltoid. 

Free to move again, in the center of the ring, the two women lock into a double fisted catball, each sitting on her butt, facing forward to the other.  Each tries to bend their knees and kick the other with the ball of her foot.  Both women are petite and flexible, and are able to lanf glancing blows, but do not appear to be able to put any force into their awkward kicks.

They fall to their sides, still locked in a hairpulling catball, their faces nearing each others' necks again.  The action slows, but it becomes difficult to tell what is happening. 

Several women in the audience, including me, turn to their neighbor and ask what is happening.

The mystery woman next to me puts her mouth up to my ear and shouts, "They're fighting like rabid hyenas."

"What does that mean?", I awkwardly shout into her ear.  "How do hyenas fight?"

"They're going for each others' jugular.  Literally."

"They're biting each other in the neck??"

I turn my attention back to the ring, but my view is obstructed by the spectators in front of me, who seem every bit as rabid as the gladiators.

"Yes, don't you see?  Look at Rebecca's shorts.  There's a big puddle of blood on them."

I've been so drawn to the blonde hair and exposed flesh of the fighters' bodies that I've completely missed the white, skirtlike boxing trunks now parachuted on the floor in front of Rebecca's sitting body.  I see a pool of purple liquid, and follow the trickling stream up to her shoulder.  Reality dawns slowly on my reluctant consciousness, searching for some alternate explanation for what my eyes are witnessing.  In an instant, I get light headed.

I grab the shoulder of my neighbor to keep from swooning.  I feel sickeningly nausceous, and my flesh feels clammy.  I turn away, facing my neighbor.

"I....can't....watch.  Is...that....a fucking pint of blood on her shorts?"  I must be mumbling either too incoherently or quietly or both, because the mystery woman ignores my question and instead gives me a trucated blow by blow of the fight."

"Rebecca's getting desperate....she's pinching Kim's boobs.....now Kim is punching Rebecca in the tits......now she's squeezing them.....now she's punching Rebecca in the face....holy crap, look at that bite on Rebecca's neck.....Rebecca looks pale.....she's not evrn defending herself now.....she's so out of it she doesn't even know to get down....oh my, they're going to stop this soon.....Kim's punching Rebecca in the face and I don't think Rebecca even feels it....there she goes.....she's down.....Rebecca's down....the doctors are going in, it's over......they both have cuts on their necks....the doctors are rushing Rebecca to the locker room.....they're treating Kim in the ring, but they took Rebecca out......Lordy, Lordy, that was barbaric, but if they were alone fighting, one of them would have--well, been in serious trouble, ya know?......ya know what I mean, Barb?....Barb, why are your hands cold?.....Barb?  Barb?  why aren't you saying anything? Barb?  Barb?.....are you ok?  Are you going to be sick?....Are you going to puke?"

Right on cue, I bend over, quietly barfing into my boxing robe.  The crowd is distracted by the site of the wounded victor, Kim, being treated in the ring, and doesn't notice my embarrassing emission.

"Holy crap, Barb.  Do you get sick at the sight of blood?"

"I never used to....until....just now."

"You're about to have a hand to hand catfight.  What are you going to do?"

Good question.  Damn good question.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

"IS THERE GOING TO BE A PROBLEM?"

A pair of VIP women come to my seat in the stands and escort me to the lockerroom.  I assume they are part of the team who will be helping me prepare for my imminent bout with Joan.

But I am instead hustled to a small office.  About 6 women are sitting on chairs and a desk.  I recognize two of the women immediately.  One is Fiona, one of the combatants in the third bout of the evening (if a third bout ends up happening).  Fiona chose not to sit in the stands to watch the Kim/Rebecca war, and does not appear to be aware of the debacle which resulted.  Ghd leader of the impromptu meeting is an glamorous 50-something blonde who I recognize as the reigning Alumni Association President, and thus the chief sponsor of the Feast of St John event.  I've also read about her as a big cheese pharmaceutical executive for a local company, and one of the Top 50 women executives in the country.

The women have apparently been waiting my appearance to begin this emergency meeting, as the door is shut behind me and the Alumni President begins speaking, a shake in her voice.

"Well, I've just been given the report on Rebecca by the doctors, and I'm a bit relieved, if still appalled.  Rebecca will be fine.  But,....Kim came within a sixteenth of an inch of Rebecca's carotid artery.  A sixteenth of an inch!!!!  Just imagine the scandal if Rebecca had needed to be taken to the hospital.  This school would have been closed.  Your children's educations....ruined.  I'm....just...so...angry."

Fiona looks at me, then at the glamorous executive lecturing us.  "That's heavy what happened to Rebecca,.....but....are who are you appalled at?  Us?"

The President stands up and approaches Fiona menacingly.  "You tell me.  There's a rumor making the rounds that, in direct violation of Feast of St John's rules, this year's elected fight opponents, were baiting each other via text and other forms of social media.  And that friends of the selected combatants were baiting each other as well.  And that this baiting contributed to Rebecca's and Kim's athletic exhibition degenerating into the gutter-wench battle we just witnessed.  Do either you have anything you want to share?  And before you answer--your opponents are being questioned in a room at this time as well.  So please don't insult me by lying to me."

My mind races.  I lose eye contact with the President.  Has someone reported the conversations and texts between Samantha, my son, and Joan's daughter?  Is the President trying to trap me in a lie?

Luckily, Fiona is more poised than I am under pressure.  Either she's just a natural bad ass, or avoiding witnessing the Rebecca/Kim bloodbath is helping her stay calm as  a cucumber.  "No disrespect, Madame President, but it's no secret that Rebecca and Kim had a feud in progress.  But that wasn't their fault.  It was the school administration's.  Their daughters have been involved in a cheating case that should have been adjudicated weeks ago.  Could have been....unless there are folks in the adminstration who are here tonight....and were hoping to stir the pot between Rebecca and Kim....who, by the way, are not gutter wenches, please watch your words.....you know, to make for a more entertaining fight....THERE'S what you should be appalled at, Madame President..."

"Enough!!! Enough about Rebecca and Kim.  This is about the next two fights of the night.  You're going to need to fight without gloves.   <<<<My body tingles at those words, my lightheadedness returns.>>>>  I'm asking you:  before I allow you in that ring--was there any pre-fight baiting between you and your opponent??  Lie to me, and I cancel the fight."

Fiona answers without hesitation.  "None.  I received the challenge by phone Thanksgiving evening.  Our tone was serious but professional.  We congratulated each other on drawing the most votes of any proposed matchup.  We wished each other well, and have not communicated since."

While neither refuting nor assenting with Fiona's polished reply (shit, how is she so poised 30 minutes before a hsnd to hand catfight?) the President turns her attention to me.  "And how about you, tall girl?  Is that barf on your robe?"  <<<<I'm actually happy the barf is on my clothes.  Perhaps it will distract her from my body language as I lie to her.>>>>

"Umm, yes, I'm sorry ma'am.  I'm fine now, but, ya know, pre-fight jitters.  I lost it in the stands.  Umm....to snswer your question...Joan and me....no, nothing personal between us.  Just 2 single mom's blowing off steam, ya know?  Trying to get out of service hours.  That's it.  Nothing personal.  No gutter wench tactics from us, I swear."

I'm starting to over explain.  Even Fiona is doubtful of my response (as I am of hers--but hers was more convincing).

"Start any biting with Joan, and I will end your bout with her so fast your head will spin.  No biting!!  Promise me!!"

"I promise, Madame President!  No biting."

Guess I'll be going after Joan's massive bush with my hands.

Whoops, I didn't say that out loud, did I?

Nope.  Phew.

To be continued.....

[RPBella]

you are a master at story telling with every story I'm shocked at how well you are at conveying emotions

[sinclairfan]

A CHAT WITH FIONA

Fiona accompanies me to the locker room for my final preparation for my fight with Joan.  I need to rehydrate from my vomiting episode at the end of the Kim/Rebecca brawl.  I suck down bottled water as quickly as I can without getting a bellyache.  Fiona and I check that we're not being eavesdropped on, and quietly speak to each other.

Me:  So....good fibbing back there.  You and...Theresa...have been <<<<air quotes>>>> baiting each other.  Haven't ya?

Fiona:  Hell ya, sister.  There's no way to have a fight with a bitch, whose text you have, and not.... <<<air quotes>>>>... test each other.  Amiright??  <<<<we fist bump>>>>  How about you and Joan.  Any <<<<air quotes>>> pleasantries exchanged??

M:  More than just pleasntries.  We almost got into it at freshman conferences.

F:  Just as well you didn't.  Woulda been interrupted.  Gawd, your nipples are hard.  Penny for your thoughts.

M:  Her bush.

F:  'Scuse me?

M:  When she called me, to let me know we got the second most votes, ya know?....it was by Skype.  She showed me her bush.

F:   Wow, was she making a pass at you?

M:  I don't think so.....she has scratch scars there.....she told me the story behind them.....her husband had been sexting with a woman....they hadn't started snyyhing for real yet....but the stupid chick was in a hotel and left him a voice mail, which Joan, ummmm, intercepted.....and went to the hotel....

F:  Shit....and the two of them had themselves a scratch fight, huh?....

M:  Something like that.....

F:  Are you thinking of Joan's bush?.....or of how you and her are gonna scratch each other tonight?....

M:  I....dunno....what are you thinking of?

F:  You won't take it personally if I don't watch, right?  I hafta focus on Theresa.

M:  I know what you mean.  Watching Kim and Rebecca, or watching Rebecca bleed at least, I, ummm, got sick...is that bad?

F:  You'll be fine.....Are you gonna, ummm, keep your word?  You know, and,....not bite Joan?

M:  That's the thing...."no biting" just means that everything else is...allowed.

F: Allowed...and expected.

M:  What are you going to do to Theresa?

F:  Rip.  Her.  Tits.  Off.  <<<Motioning a my breast scars.>>>>  Make her feel 10 times the pain you felt when your.....friend....did that to you.

M:  You would do that for me??

F:  That...and....

M:  ....and?......<<<<Gawd, kiss me Fiona>>>

F....that....and.... annnd....

M: ....and.....<<<<Gawd, Fiona is hot>>>>>

F:....and.....let you see this....<<<<<Fions pulls down her boxing trunks, revealing a perfectly trimmed auburn bush>>>>>.....do you like it....touch it...

M:.....it's....it's.... <<<<I stroke Fiona's surprisingly silky smooth bush>>>>>.....

F: ......tell me, dammit......

M:  ....it's .....magnificant.......<<<<kiss me, dammit, Fiona>>>>

F: ......better than hers?.....<<<< Fiona's face and mine are inches apart....I hope my breath doesn't smell like barf>>>>.....

M:  ....I'll shred hers.....to eliminate the competition....

F:   .....Fucking shred her.....I can't stand that you saw her bush.....

M:......jealous?.....<<<<<dammit kiss me.....why are we kissing?>>>>>......

F: ......trying to make me jealous???.....

M:.....Will you hate-kiss me if I make you jealous?.....

F:.....like this?.....

Fiona and I cram our tongues down each others' throats.  We kiss hard and long and wet and deep and loudly.

Too loudly.

The PTO President interupts.

<<<<Ahem!!!!!!>>>>>

We awkwardly look at her, still embracing.

"Would you ladies like to fight?  Barb versus Joan, then Fiona versus Theresa?  Or shall I cancel so you two can....fuck?"

Fiona looks at me.

"Go on out there and kick some ass."

"And scratch some bush?"

"Yes.  For me."

"For both of us."

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

MY SCRATCHFIGHT WITH JOAN

My surprise makeout session with Fiona, or more like the circumstances of it, has put me in a state of elevated arousal.  Beyond elevated.  I'm hornier than I've been since the 1990s, when my ex-husband and I were freshly graduated from Nebraska and had time to do it three times a day.  Surely all the screeching women in the audience can see my erect nipples.  Surely they can see my bulging soaked crotch pushing against by boxing trunks. 

Surely Joan can.

She and I lock eyes the instant we're both in the ring.  Before the horrifying ending to the Kim/Rebecca bout, and the separate locker room debriefing we just received from the PTO leadership team, I had envisioned us bullrushing each other on sight, like some sort of Jerry Springer intro.  Instead, we both know we need to chat about the new circumstances of our contest.  We stand eye to eye in front of the rabid, catcalling, standing ground, somehow tuning them out and facing each other.  Joan speaks first.

So, they gave you the 'no biting' speech, right?  That they'll interfere and stop us if one of us bites?

I was never planning on biting you, anyways, bitch.  Just to tear that slut pussy of yours.

That's not my point, shithead.  What I mean is, if I get an advantage in our fight, you better not bite me to end it before I gdt to really hurt you.

No worries if that's your concern, hun.  I don't want anyone stopping me until every hair of that bush is plucked.

And you think you can do that, sweetie?  Let me make it easy for ya.  <<<<<Joan drops her boxing trunks and steps out of them, whipping them into the delighted crowd.  I drop mine as well.>>>>  Why so soaked, whore?  Been fantasizing about me?

Fantasizing about shredding you, Joan.  <<<<We wrap one hand around the back of each others' hair, our bodies now bumping together in coiled anger.  The bell rings.>>>>  Tell me, that night you confronted the woman who was sexting with your husband, in the hotel, you thought your bush would intimidate her, didn't ya?  But it didn't, did it?

<<<<<'Fight, bitches, fight!!!!' some frustrated audience members screech.  But wiser ones overrule them:  'They're having girltalk.  Let them finish.  The fight will be more vicious once it starts.'>>>>>

Pffft, she nearly crapped her pants that I showed.  And who are you to talk?  You thought you and your husband's mistress could have a straight-up fistfight, didn't you?  <<<<Joan places her nails on my breasts.>>>>  I bet you were surprised when she started doing this.<<<Using not even a quarter of her full strength, Joan begins digging her nails into the erect flesh of one of my breasts.  The lesser scarred one.  Our eyes remain locked.>>>>

<<<<In response, my free hand finds Joan's bush.  I hope she doesn't notice that I've been craving to touch it since the night I saw it on Skype.  The thickest, hairiest carpet I've ever seen.  I can't process how fascinated I am with it.  Joan's armpits are hairy, too.  With my peripheral vision, I observe that although she shaved shortly before arriving in the gym this evening, stubble is already groen back in.  Did her ex-husband like hairy women?  Or, is that why they got divorced?>>>>>   Hairy bitch.

Soft wimp.

How am I soft?

You've never fought woman to woman.  Your divorce fight, it was how men fight.

My tit scars say you're wrong.

That was her doing, not yours.  You fought her like a man.

<<<<I continue caress her bush, astounded by its thickness,  but Joan is pissing me off now.  My female rage estrogen hormones are flowing.>>>>  Fine.  You want me to come after you like a woman?  After I finish with you tonight, now that I have the text of your tough talking big mouth princess daughter, maybe I ask her if she'd like a piece of me. 

<<<The stare Joan and I are giving each other takes on a new feel.  Did I just threaten her daughter?  Was I just baiting Joan, or would I really do that?  Would I really go there?  We're both contemplating the dangerous territory our 'girtalk' is traversing.>>>>  You have some nerve, Barb, sleeping with the sick fuck slut girl who took your son's virginity.  <<<<Damn, how does she know about Samantha?>>>>>>

<<<<Joan's clutch on my tit tightens.  My fingers penetrate her carpet and find the flesh of her pussy.>>>>  Your daughter has a filthy, gossipy mouth on her.  Someone needs to punch it shut.

Who?  You?  She can fight.

That's what you teach her?  How to catfight??  Great mom you are, Joan.  No wonder she's a bitch.

No wonder your son can't have her.

He doesn't want her, dumbass.

He wants his mom's leftovers??  Sick fuck.

<<<<We go to the ground on our knees, one hand still pulling hair, the other mauling our enemy's genitals, no longer holding back.>>>>  We need to fight.

Then fight me.  Bitch.

<<<<<Joan and I are now rolling in the ring, locked in a catball.  Our long legs snake around each other, and our hips gyrate in a humping motion.  The front of our bodies are locked so tight that I lose my grip on Joan's bush, and she loses hers on my breast.  To compensate, we dig our nails into each others' backs, scratching aggressively.  The humping motion accelerates, in perfect rhythm.  I sense I'm going to cum, and stop fighting the sensation.>>>>>

<<<<<I have an epiphany.  I now realize why Joan's daughter starting sending spiteful texts.  Gawd, I want to rub Joan's face in this.  With her and I gyrating at the hips, I hiss at her....>>>>  Know what I think, Joan?.... <<<<my breathing becomes heavier, making it hard go speak>>>> ....I think your daughter wanted my son....was flirting with him.....building up to something.....but she waited too long.....once he had Samantha, he lost interest in your daughter.....

Imagine.....<<<<Joan is near climax, clutching me hard>>>>....the fight Samantha and my daughter would have over him??........

Gawd, that would be epic.......

Joan.....<<<<<I feel Joan and I exchanging pre-cum, our hips soaked in it>>>>  let's bait.....the two of them.....Samantha and your daughter.....into a catfight.....

Yes....yes.....yes.....no rules.....like Kim and Rebecca.....oh gawd, Barb.....

oh gawd, Joan......what a fight that would be....

Oh gawd........<<<<We both scream and cum>>>>>>......

<<<The bell ending round 1 rings....>>>>>

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

ROUND 2

Joan and I come together at the center of the ring, my hand immediately reimmersing itself into her thick bush, hers locking onto my scarred breast, as well as my unscarred one.  Our mouths move close to each others' ears so that we can converse over the screeches of the agitated crowd.

"Your daughter must have felt so....helpless...thinking she was an older girl with a younger boy....thinking she was in control....and then....an even older girl swoops in....and makes the boy lose all interest in her.....a rival older than her....with a job....prettier...."

<<<<I feel a sharp pain as Joan's nails dig deeper into my chest>>>>....."Samantha is....NOT....prettier than my daughter....."

"......Maybe just slightly less pretty....but, so, so much sexier, Joan....with that porn star mouth of hers....those wanton eyes......"

"...my daughter isn't the only one comparing herself....and coming up short....my daughter is educated....with a future....can carry on a conversation...can defend herself...."

"I'd love to see her defend herself against Samantha...."

"I can't even imagine....how vicious that would be....."

"Let's not imagine it Joan....let's watch it....bring your daughter to my place on New Years Eve...."

Joan and have have been swaying in the center of the ring for the entire second round.  They can sense genuine tension between us, do they agree to just "go with it".  But they are beginning to lose patience, wanting some sort of resolution to the bout.  A chant starts crescendoing its way thru the crowd"

"sex..fight!!....sex...fight!!.......sex...fight!!.....sex...FIGHT!!!!....sex...FIGHT!!!!.....SEX...FIGHT!!!!"

Under normal circumstances, I doubt a sexfight is this crowd's cup of tea, and it's almost certainly not what they voted for when they decided to force Joan and I to battle tonight.  When you see a pair of 6-foot plus women matched up, you're expecting a battle of two Amazons.  But the hyperviolent outcome of the Rebecca/Kim bloodbath has reminded the crowd of the dangers of pairing off two single moms who have real-life tension between them.  The body language of Joan and me betray the existence of some sort of genuine soap opera, and they're content for a more feminine resolution.  They also sense the nightcap of the evening, Fiona and Theresa, has all the makings of an epic donnybrook.

The time for talk between Joan and I has ended, if for no other reason than that the chanting crowd is drowning out our ability to hear each other, even at point blank range.  We give in to the demands of the paying patrons, go to our knees, and begin violently tongue kissing each other.

As our tongues invade each others' mouth in the most unwelcome way possible, we pull each others' shoulders forward, grinding our breasts and inflicting great discomfort.  The rhythmic mashing becomes primal, and I'm reminded of beached elephant seals battling fof territory and mating rights.  I assert my rights to be the school alpha mom against Joan, and my son's right to choose his first serious girlfriend.

Joan must be feeling the same.  As if reading my mind, she hisses threats at me:

"Tell Samantha....my daughter is going go fuck her up so bad....your son will never want to look at her again...."

"Tell your daughter....my son wants a woman....not a girl...."

"Show Samantha....that being a woman...is more than being a slut around boys....it's doing this...<<<<Joan mauls both of my breasts>>>>....to women who get in your way....."

"Show your daughter.....<<<I grab Joan's bush, and prepare to yank>>>>.....what happens....when two women....want the same thing.....<<<<<I tear out a handful of Joan's bush hair, and display it to the crowd>>>>....."

Joan winces in pain from the move her ex's sexting mistress must have never tried the night of their showdown.  I've found Joan's Kryptonite--not a surprising one for a woman as hairy as her.  If I was so inclined, I could have now inflicted a vicious beating on my wounded opponent.  But, if there's one thing I've learned this evening, it's that it's much more fun to watch a catfight than to be in one.

And, if I play my cards right,  I've got a doozy of a one to watch in 4 days:  Samantha vs Joan's daughter.

I mount Joan, and slap and punch her face.  I ask her to give, and she complies.  I claim my victory, and rejoice in my release from service hours.

I go to the locker room and shower.  Fiona greets, congratulates, kisses, and fingers me.  I wish her luck in her fight with Theresa.

I text Samatha.

>It's over.  I won.  2nd round TKO.

>Woo-hoo!! I knew you would!!

>I got you a fight in 4 days.

>Against who?

>Joan's bitch daughter.  Don't text her, tho.  I wanna watch.

>You better take my cellphone then.

>Yes, shut it off.  I'll be right home.

>Hurry.

>Hurrry so we can fuck?  Or hurry so you don't get in your car and go to her?

>Both.

to be continued.....

[mydaughtersmom]

OMG!!!  What a great story!

Too bad the two younger girls didn't get to see the moms fight!

[nob9111]

great story! Hope you give us the third mom fight.  There should be some PTA  event with the winners and losers.  PTA president should be in a fight, but that may be a different untold story.  Your writing is better than the catfight stories that Amazon is selling

[sinclairfan]

PILLOW TALK

Samantha and I spend Dec 28, 29, and 30 in bed, almost nonstop.  My body is exhausted from both watching and being in a catfight on the 27th.  While Samantha.....well, she just wants to be where I am.

S:  Tell me why Joan's daughter hates me do much.

Me:  Again??

S:  Again.

M:  <<<<Sigh>>>> 

S:  And don't play coy with me.  I know you love telling it.

M:  I can't deny it.<<<<tongue kiss>>>> I do.  <<<<wet tongue kiss>>>>  She hates you because, she wanted to fuck my son.  Not just fuck him, but to be the girl he lost his virginity to.  And her plan was working....She would be the girl he remembered for the rest of his life.....they were flirting with each other. 

S:  But??.....Then???...

M:  But, then, along comes a sexy stripper with a wanton mouth.....

S:  ...I actually Googled the word 'wanton' because of you....

M:. ..My son actually Googled 'Foxy Boxing Images' because of you....

S:  He told you that???

M:  I saw it on his browser history.

S:  Sure that wasn't your entry?

M:  Ha ha.  I don't get on on images.

S:  What DO you get off on?

M:  Kissing you.

S:  And??.......

M:  You and Joan's daughter catfigting....over a cock....

S:  What do you like about it? 

M:....I keep thinking of how....Rebecca and Kim tried to actually kill each other....it was....surreal.....

S:  I want her to....just....try....and....hurt me.

M: .....You'll put her in her place.

S:  Something like that.

To be continued.....

[dstrike2]

Please continue. I love thw way this story is going.

[sinclairfan]

SAMANTHA VS ANDREA

Samantha and I spend all day on New Year's Eve, December 31, clearing out the small weight room in my basement for Samantha to fight Joan's 18-year old daughter, Andrea.  Joan and I have been covertly baiting Samantha and Andrea for the past 4 days to maximize the, ummm, fighters' enthusiasm.  I promise Samantha she can stay at my place, rent-free, for the next year if she wins the fight, and for the next three years if Andrea needs to be carried out of my house after the fight.  I've also told Joan to inform Andrea that I will contribute $10,000 to Andrea's college fund if she wins, and $25,000 if Samantha needs assistance out of the matted weight room aftrr the fight.

The weight room has an observation window for Joan and I to view the fight.  I'm looking forward to the opportunity to be a spectator.  Four days ago, I was a participant in one St John's catfight (not fun, even in victory), missed another (Fiona outlasted Theresa in four brutal rounds between 2 experienced streetfighters), and embarrassingly vomited as the Kim/Rebecca brawl descended from boxing to a bloody donnybrook.

Tonight's event will serve as eye candy as Joan and I engage in, I hope, some wild make-up sex.  Although I had Joan at my mercy at our St John's fight, I went "easy" on her at the end.  I wanted her cooperation in baiting her daughter Andrea into a fight.  And, unlike Kim and Rebecca, there was no pre-existing grudge between Joan and me.  We fought, raised some money for our school, I won, ..... now it's over.  No need for us to be lifetime enemies.  Let the healing between us begin tonight, with some deep tongue kissing to a chickfight.  A chickfight involving the woman we must like to watch--for me, my new lover Samantha; for Joan, her own daughter--a tad out there, I admit, but who am I to judge?  Not my problem.

Samantha and Andrea, on the other hand, do have an underlying grudge.  A boy.  My son.  They were competing for him.  Samantha won.  Andrea has a problem with that.  Fine, let's settle it.  Like women.

Joan and Andrea arrive early.  Rude, normally, but actually Samantha and I are ready--more than ready.  We go immediately to the basement.  I motion Joan to the viewing chair next to me.  She takes her place without hesitation.  I tease her about the marks and bruises on her face.  "Shut up and kiss me," she says, with her words and her body.  Our fingers are inserted into each others' pants in under 30 seconds.  Heaven--Joan's thick, carpet bush gets me going everytime.  Now, where's my catfight?

While Joan and I were, ummm, making up.....Samantha and I were wasting no time in tearing into each other.  Their young adult screams reverberate through the basement, tangled bodies slamming into the weight room mats.  Joan's pussy squeezes around my fingers, as she is apparently as aroused as me (meaning, an 11 on a scale of 1 thru 10) by the brawl unfolding 15 feet away from us. 

Samantha and Andrea pull each others' tops over their heads, revealing engorged, aroused breasts.  Although they were not witnesses to the Kim/Rebecca bloodbath, they waste no time resorting to the same weapons those hellcats did once the gloves were off (figuratively and literally)--teeth.  To the shoulders, the chest, the arms, anywhere within striking distance.  Joan and I neglected to arrange for rounds, so this will go on until there's a loser, which seems like will be soon.

Very soon.

Joan and I cum onto each others' hands.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

DEPRAVED

With Samantha and Andrea's fight raging in the background, Joan and I, between tongue kisses, begin whispering, then hissing, to each other.

> Your girlfriend and Andrea have over 20 bites each on them....

> I think your daughter has more, but your point being?....

>.....My point being--won't they get infections?.....

> ....I prepared.....I brought.....what's that stuff called??.....Bacitracin?.....you know--we can rub it on them.....after the fight.....

>....That's pretty depraved.....bringing Bacitracin to a fight.....

> .....You're one to talk, sweetie.....

> ....'Scuse me?.....<<<<tightening our grip on each other>>>>>.....

>....getting off watching your own daughter fight.....seems a little.....

>....a little ....WHAT?!?.....honey?!?....

>....Don't 'honey' me.....

>.....Seems a little....WHAT.....bitch??.....

>....Perverted.....Who gets off watching her daughter fight??.......

>  <<<<tightening our 'embrace' further>>>>.....who sleeps with the slut who takes her son's virginity?!?....

> .....Don't call her a slut......

>.....That's the part of that sentence you have a problem with, whack job??......

>......What part SHOULD I have a problem eith, sweetheart?!?.....

>......<<<<our hissing becomes hateful>>>>.....oh, I don't know.....maybe the part where you're partner-swapping with your own son....where does that stop, Barb??.....

>......It stops before you stop bear-baiting your own daughter,....JOAN.....

>.....She wants to be kicking Samantha's ass......asshole.....

>......I don't see any ass kicking happening.....

>......What....do you wish....<<<<a subtlely less spiteful tone>>>>>.......you were seeing?.....

>.....mmmmmm......more.....kneading......of each others'....tits.....more....pulling.....and grabbing.....

>.....yes...yes.....but that would be so.....painful.....<<<<we both turn our heads yo take in the Samantha/Andrea brawl>>>>>

>....but......think of how much....they hate each other.....

>....do much jealousy......

>.....Andrea jealous of Ssmsntha's looks....

>.....Samantha jealous of Andrea being 2 years younger....

>....Andrea jeslous of Samantha being so....experienced....

>..... Samantha jealous of Andrea going to college next year....of being so smart....

>.....No wonder they're.....biting!.....each other.....

>....Look at them....just totally....bitchfighing....

>....I can't hold it...in.....

>.....oohhhhhh......ohhhhhhh......

>....cum on me......cummmmmm.......

>.....oooooooouuuuuuhggghhhh....

>....ffffuuuuucckkkk......ffffffuck.....

>.....shit.....so hot......

>.....how...are....they.....still fighting??

>......I hope......Andrea.....kicks her ass....

>.....I hope.....Samantha......does.....

>....sssoooo....hhhhottt.......

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

HOW LONG?

The Samantha-Andrea brawl continues, but with Samantha sfarting to get the upper hand.  She's been on top of her younger adversary for more the three minutes now.  I get turned on at Joan's willingness to watch the fight tide turn against her daughter and not interfere.

I tongue kiss her, and ask her a question.

>  How long <<<<kiss>>> have you known you get turned on by your daughter fighting?

>  One day a couple months ago....I was going thru her cellphone.....I was in her texts.....I saw a text fight she was having with another girl....

> ....A girl from our school?.....

> No, a girl from our town.....but who goes to the public high school......

>......<<<<<carressing Joan's thick bush>>>>....why were they text fighting?...

>.....The fight was completely online....and accidental....the other girl posted Instagram pictures of herself in a bathing suit, and called herself "Thunder Thighs"....so Andrea tried to compliment her for her "bravery" posting the pics.....and then the other girl went onto Andrea's Instagram, and commented on one of Andrea's pics, "Now THAT'S whai I call courage"....

> As a compliment?..... or to start shit?.....

>.....Thats the thing....you could take it both ways....

>....so how did Andrea take it?.....

>....she came to me.....and asked me how I should take it....

>.....and??....<<<<my bush carressing becomes faster>>>......you stirred the pot?.....

>...<<<<<Samantha has Andrea pinned in a clinch on the floor, in control of the fight, but too tired for the moment to ground and pound her rival>>>>....I told her about what it was like being a high school senior before Instagram....how senior year meant one thing:  Yearbook.....how your bio was your 4-sentence shot to say anything you wanted to say, knowing everyone in the class would read it....and that it was forever....some people would put things with 8/16/89, and you'd look to find the other person who had put that, and it was obvious the two of them had had sex with each other for the first time that day.....well, anyways, I told Andrea how girls would put coded bitchy comments to other girls in there.....oh, I don't know, like....Like:  Warm weather, Dislikes: Gossip, Blondes.....the secret was to put just enough information for only the girl the comment was intended for to figure it out....so my point was, the Yearbook was our Instagram....except Yearbook was once a year.....and Instragram is--constant....

>....so....then Andrea started looking for hidden bitchy comments by this girl....

>....and found them....and posted her own to the other girl....

>......mmmmm.....and you were loving every minute, weren't you 'Mom'?.....

>.... ohhhh, Barb, admit it--aren't you jealous of these girls--they have so many ways to contact each other directly....and indirectly, obtusely.....

>.....I know....if I had a daughter, instead of a son.....

>.....should we....break up Samantha and Andrea?....the fight seems to be out of gas.....

>.....I haven't heard Andrea give.....have you?....

>....We should have thought to have rounds.....like the St John's fights.....

>....No, this is better....<<<<tongue kiss>>>>

> ....How so?.....<<<<tongue kiss>>>>>>

>....Samantha's a better fighter....if she can rest, she'll finish Andrea....the fight will last longer this way....<<<<tongue kiss>>>>....

> .....I'm getting turned on again....

>....Me too........

>.....Finger me. Joan......

>....Yes, Barb.....yes....yes.....yyyesssssss......yeeeessss....

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

SEX VS CATFIGHTING

As Samantha and Andrea continue their angry catball on the floor, Andrea too exhausted to have any hope of mounting a comeback, but Samantha too exhausted and weakened to, at least so far, secure either a knockout or submission from her rival, Joan and I remain locked in our own embrace, caressing and kissing each others' breasts and faces, talking about fighting and fucking, all while taking in the thrilling sites and sounds of the Samantha/Andrea bitchfight.

In other words......Heaven.

Joan and I continue to cum   ......   unpredictably   ....  langorously  .....I'm delighted with myself that she and I never allowed our St John's fight to get out of control.....that we never became bitter, implacable enemies, like Kim and Rebecca.  This is better.  Just two single moms, exploring their love of fighting.  Watching catfights.  Talking about them.  Instigating them--one tonight, maybe more later.  A world of possibilities before us.

> Joan, honey, I have a theory.

> What's that, Barb?

> You know how both of our marriages ended after a showdown catfight?  Mine versus the bitch Ron went to high school with in Nebraska?  And yours versus the work colleague in the hotel?

> Yeah, babe, what about it?

> Well, I've been thinking about those fights.

> Hhhmmmm, sexy.

> I know, that's sorta my point.  My theory is that.....those fights were so sexy.....so exciting to us....the way we each rose to the challenge....like, there wasn't even any question about it, we just told the other bitch, straight out:  You, me, right now, we're settling this thing.....woman to woman....well, after the fight happened, even though we both won......and even though we both still loved our husbands.....well, there was no.point.....no sex with them would ever match the catfight we had with the other girl....

> So......if you think about it......those two other bitches DID gdt something out of it....they DID split us from our husbands....

> Joan, Joan....the glass is always half empty with you, isn't it?.....

> Maybe.....or maybe we should be doing less thinking   ....  and more....oh, I don't know, what can we do instead of thinking.....

>Mmmm, babe......I could.....caress your bush all night.....mmmmm....

> Mmmm.. Not that I'm complaining....but why do you like my bush so much, Barb?

> Mmm...  it's so.....sssooo.   ....fucking..naughty.  Just, llike, dirty.  When you show it, it's just such a naughty thing to do.

<<<<Joan and I lock eyes and cup each others' faces.  We exchange deep, passionate kisses.  We finger each other to orgasm.  We kiss more.>>>>>

>Barb, I'm glad you said that....that way.

> Mmm, why's that, Joan?

> Because, when I see my daughter in a text fight.....I get this feeling.....it's like you said, it's a naughty feeling.....and I just wanna.....fuel the flames....like, to make the fight even worse....

> I think we all like to see 2 other women bickering, right?

> But, Barb, this is totally different....i can't....help myself....Barb, this is my only daughter and I.....I could do this everyday--watch her catfight another woman.....

> There's nothing....wrong....with that....that's not what you're thinking, is it?.....

> Thank you for saying that.....but.....but you don't understand...it's that....the feeling is so strong.....I feel like sometimes I would do anything.....and Barb, I mean it....ANYTHING....to get her into a catfight....

> Meaning?....help me out here....<<<this confession is getting interesting>>>>

> Like, I mean....taking her cellphone and pretending to be Andrea and sending bitchy texts about another girl ...or to another girl.....

> Holy shit, Joan.  Have you done that??

> Not yet.  But,....Barb....  I want to.  And I'm going to, soon.  I just know it.

>  Joan, no offense....but if you want to send bitchy texts....why not just find someone you don't like,....and send them?  As yourself.

> Oh, Barb, I might do that.  But it's not the same....it's just not.  Maybe it's because Andrea is 18....or maybd it's too late for me--you and me, we grew up with landlines and rotary phones and passing paper notes around the classroom--it's not the same....all Andrea and her friends and your son KNOW is Instagram and Twitter and Snspchat....they're so much better at...fighting...on those than we are....

> Joan, you weren't shitting me....You actually get off on that, don't you?

> I do, Barb.  Is that bad?  Does that....repulse...you?

> It turns me on that you can verbalize it to me.

> Show me.  And not by fingering my bush. 

>  Mmmmm....you tease, you.

> What should we do?

> Tell me about a girl from school, one who I know, who Andrea is text fighting with.

> Hmmm...there's one in your son's class....a blonde named Kelsey.

<<<<Joan and I rub our hard breasts together, locking eyes, then tongue kissing until we cum.  The whole time, I'm picturing the eventual catfight Joan will no doubt bait Andrea and Kelsey into.>>>>

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

ST LOUIS 1996

Joan's story about the internet fights her daughter gets into, and will be getting into, remind me of the first internet fight I almost got into, in the internet Stone Age, in December 1996.

I was a junior at the University of Nebraska.  Out football team was playing against the University of Texas in the Big 12 Championship in St Louis.  A group of 16 of us from my dorm piled into 4 cars and made the drive from Lincoln to St Louis. 

The night before the game, a group of us Cornhusker girls, rowdy and wearing dressed in red, were out drinking in one of the few non-dive bars in downtown St Louis.  We ran into a group of obnoxious Longhorn girls, dressed in burnt Orange and jeans.  We naturally started pairing off by size and trash talking to each other about who would win tomorrow night's football game. 

I remember the Texas girl in the group who was the tallest was a blonde named Traci Br____ks.  I don't know why we immediately told each other our full name--maybe it was because we were travelling and out-of-town--we each hsd a sense of freedom.  We were jawing at each other about whether Nebraska or Texas was better at football, which girls were prettier, which were tougher, which could kick the others' ass.  It was standard juvenile bravado, but at the same time quite exhilarating. There was a 5% chance things might spin out of control and fists start flying, and Traci and I knew we would be facing off against each other if the time came to defend our schools' honor.

The bouncers in the bar eventually noticed our mini-confrontation, and our opposing colors, and separated us.  But not before I had picked up 3 interesting nuggets about Texas Traci:  one, her full name; two, her major (Finance), and three, that she was an athlete at Texas, a varsity Track and Field team member in the javelin and shot put.

The next night, at the game in the TWA Dome, I desperately stared into the Longhorn student section looking for Traci.  There were 70,000 people at the game, but Traci was tall and blonde, surely I could find her, right?  Well, no such luck--half the Longhorn bitches in their section were blonde, so Traci, if she was at the game, blended into the crowd.  My search was futile.  Oh, plus, we lost the game.  What a letdown.

When I got back to Lincoln, I booted up my (dial-up) AOL (that's America Online, for you younger folks), and went to my Webcrawler (Netscape, the first web browser, didn't come out until 1997), and (very slowly) found the University of Texas athletic site.  They had a full roster, with head shots, of every member of every athletic team.  I found Traci, along with a profile of her--her career highlights, her hometown, including parents and siblings, her major and her career plans.  I was hoping there would be an email address.  Dammit-no such luck.

Now, by 2017, this is pretty unimpressive stuff--the next step would be to Google her.  But Google didn't even start until 1998.  This was 1996--stalking a stranger on the internet was....well, it was creepy.  I logged off of AOL, and lay down on my bed.  I fantasized about what I would say to Traci if I had found her email, or a phone number, or a home address.  "Hey, remember me from St Louis?  I'm the Nebraska girl who was trash talking with you.  Wanna find out if Texas girls or Nebraska girls are more bad ass?  Wanna fight?"

I remember the fall 1996 semester winding down in the dark December days, classes ending, and finals week approaching.  I remember having full days completely available for studying, my friends asking if I wanted to go to the library.  And me saying, "No thanks, I'm gonna study in my room."  And then pulling up Traci's profile picture on AOL.  And masturbating to the thought of us finding each other on the internet, arranging to meet each other halfway in Wichita, Kansas over Christmas Break, and having a vicious catfight with each other.  Both of us wearing the school colors like we were that night in St Louis, fighting for school and state pride.  And just because we hated each other.

I remember as December 1996 became January 1997, and not being able to let go of the idea of fighting Traci from Texas.  I remember spending hours of time on AOL, getting into the Texas Finance Department web administrator's site, asking if there was a student named Traci, and asking for her email address.  I remember being asked if I was a faculty member or administrator at University of Nebraska (since @unl.edu was in my email address), then being asked why I was accessing their site thru AOL.  Shit, I remember saying to myself one day and slamming my phone down, wondering if I was "busted", if the FBI was going to knock on my door.  Then masturbating to offset my fear.  Then, one day, January 18, getting Traci's student email address.  Agonizing for hours about what to say to her by email.  Typing it up, my fingers shaking.  Hitting send.  Waiting for a reply.  Masturbating.  Waiting.  Logging back in.  No reply yet.  Masturbating.  Waiting.

Then, on January 21.  "Your email to Traci could not be delivered because this address has been deleted."

Shit.  Did she dis-enroll?  I go back to the Athletics website.  No Traci on the Track team.  Fuck.  Where is she?

That, you see, was the internet in 1997.  No Facebook.  No Snapchat.  No Google.  I never did find Traci, and we never did fight.

So, Joan, if you want to bait your daughter Andrea into catfights, and watch them, like you and I are doing tonight, you go right ahead.

As long as I can watch, too.

To be continued.....