[bcw8]

        Ivy                                                                                                              Brooke

First denial, then anger.

Brooke couldn’t believe Will was cheating on her.  She ignored the signs, until she couldn’t.  He had started bringing the whore to her house - to their bed - and she was taunting Brooke.  The hair left under her pillow.  The scent left on her towel.  The panties left in the drawer, mixed in with hers.

Oh, the anger.  White hot.  But Brooke said nothing.  Not yet.  She pushed back in other ways.  Maybe they had cooled, after five years of marriage.  She turned the burner on high.  She started sleeping in the nude again, and awoke him every morning by spooning against him, moaning softly when he slid into her from behind.  If she was home before him, she met him at the door and sucked him in the foyer.  It worked, for a while.  Then when he came home one night, Brooke tasted her on his cock.

After anger is cold fury, and revenge.

She found a place.  One thing about living in Las Vegas - Sin City had a venue for almost anything, if you looked beyond the slot machines.  The luxury apartment at the top of the Cactus Flower Resort.  She went in person, and met with the owner.  He couldn’t believe the luck, what this beauty was bringing him.  He gave her the tour.  Two bedrooms.  A large living room with an outside terrace.  Full kitchen, a small office, all beautifully furnished.  Cameras in every room. 

She found the other woman.  Her name was Ivy.  She worked in the same business as Will, knew him from local industry meetings.  “We got together for lunch - like this,” she said to Brooke, with an arch smile, at the cafe where they’d agreed to meet.  “Do you want me to say it was innocent at first?  It wasn’t.”  She tilted her head toward the motel across the parking lot.  “The room door barely closed before we fucked up against the wall.”  She sipped her ice water and smiled.  “It was so hot - but I like fucking him in your bed better.”

Brooke controlled her face.  That alone needled the bitch.  “Ivy,” she said.  “I have a . . . proposition for you.”  Under the table, she jabbed her heel into the cxnt’s instep.  “Maybe challenge is a better word for it,” Brooke said.

She made sure Will would be there.  His friend Kyle was the tool for that.  She had to let him in on it.  He’d always wanted to fuck her.

The advertising was on the internet, but not visible to search engines.  The Cactus Flower gave the url out to the concierges who knew what certain out-of-town whales liked.

The usual website promised Apartment Wrestling, and that was the usual fare, typically two strippers making extra money.  But now, in two weeks, it promised a special grudge match. They billed it as Negligee Night:  Wife vs Mistress.  No rules.  No limits.  Only fifty spectators allowed in.  Their photos were there, no faces.

In one of the bedrooms, Brooke looked one final time at the website, on her phone.  The voices of the men were loud, laughing, and talking excitedly.  She imagined she heard Will; she pictured once again his face.  There was a knock on her door and, she knew, on Ivy’s simultaneously.

She opened the door, the rush of adrenaline making her a little light-headed.  The owner was there, between them, as Ivy emerged from the other bedroom.  The hallway was short.

“Gentleman!” the owner called.  “I give you the Wife and the Mistress - Brooke and Ivy!”  He held each of them lightly by the wrist, one on either side, their hands raised shoulder high.  There were fifty men, all looking at them.

Will’s face was even more than she’d imagined.

The owner dropped their wrists, and stepped back. 

[catftluver]

Oh my, the master of brutal catfights at work....Please sir may I have more?

[JT Edson]

This opening alone is incredibly hot. The fight will be amazing!

[bcw8]

In that cafe a few weeks before, Ivy had laughed at Brooke.  “I’d love to fight you, bitch,” she’d said.  “In front of Will?  In front of fifty men?”  She’d sat back in her chair, and smiled. “Negligee Night!   I’ll wear Will’s favorite for you.  And, little wifey, I want you to wear what you wore on your wedding night.  I’ll strip it off your beaten body and take it from you, just like I’ve taken his cock.”  She’d reached across and gripped Brooke’s left hand, squeezing it hard.  “I’ll destroy you while he watches, and I’ll take your ring.” 

Those words had not left Brooke’s mind since.  Her fury had built, and built, and built.  The negligee she wore now was the one from their wedding night, the one Will loved.  She remembered how his hands had felt on her.  Then she thought of his hands on Ivy.  Across the man standing between them, the bitch was waiting for her, her big tits barely contained in her slutty red costume.  Brook’s brain was empty of everything but hate.

The second the man stepped back, Brooke  flung herself into Ivy with a scream of sheer rage.  She slammed her against the wall with all her strength.  It drove the air out of Ivy’s lungs, her fat fucking tits flopping out of the neckline of her negligee.  Brooke threw her stumbling into the middle of the men, and landed on her back a second later like a panther.  Ivy screamed as Brooke reached around her and clawed her breasts even as her weight drove Ivy into the carpet.

The men scattered to the walls.  The apartment was fully furnished.  A couch, chairs, end tables, a coffee table.  Bookshelves and a floor lamp.  A catfight playground.  Brooke dragged back Ivy’s head and smashed her face into an end table, then into the coffee table.  Drinks that the mingling men had left there swept to the floor.  Brooke ground the other woman’s face into the edge of the table top, then drove her elbow into Ivy’s neck.  She was snarling, a savage, feral sound.  She held Ivy’s head against the table leg, and hammered her knee into it. 

“His wife,” Kyle said loudly to the room, pointing to Will.  “His mistress.”  Will was too lost in disbelief to speak.  Some of the men looked at him, but the sharp crunch of Brooke’s fist in Ivy’s face pulled all attention back to the two women.  She held her by the hair and hit her, driving her knuckles into her cheekbone, or her mouth.  “Take it, bitch,” Brooke shouted.  Blood poured out of Ivy’s lip, split deep against her teeth.  Brooke dragged her to her feet, and whipped her head to the side with a vicious punch.  Ivy staggered into the wall.

Brooke’s challenge had excited Ivy.  An arranged fight, in front of Will, and strangers - she hadn’t thought the wife had that much imagination!  She also hadn’t thought she’d be a real fighter.  An early bill for that arrogance was coming due.  Brooke’s fist ripped into her stomach.  “Watch me, Will,” Brooke said through clenched teeth.  She sank her claws into the bottom halves of Ivy’s breasts and shoved in and up with all her might.  Ivy went as high up on her toes as she could, her palms slapping the wall. 

“Ohhh fuck it hurts!” Ivy shrieked.  Brooke rammed her knee into her pussy and then flung her across the coffee table.

“Damn,” one of the watching men said softly.  Brooke looked at him as she came around the table.  “I’m just getting started,” she said.  She turned back to Ivy just as the mistress smashed the base of the floor lamp into her face.  Brooke catapulted back across the table.  Ivy jerked the lamp’s plug from its socket and came after her.  She drove the lamp base into Brooke’s chest, then her head again.

Jesus Christ, this can’t be real, Will thought.  He looked at the man who had brought them out.  “You have to stop this!” he shouted.  “No fucking way,” he answered.  His cock was hard as stone.  All the men were, including Will.  “They want this.”

Ivy lifted Brooke’s upper body from the floor by the slender shoulder straps of her negligee.  Her head and arms lolled back, blood streaming from a cut over her eye.  The cups of her top pulled between her breasts, the filmy skirt already damp with sweat on her belly.  “You’re not good enough, Brooke,” Ivy said.  “That’s why he wants me.”  She slung her face first against the wall and rifled her fist into her spine.

Brooke sobbed in pain.  No.  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  Ivy hit her again, a savage kidney punch, then jabbed her claws into Brooke’s ass through her gauzy see-through skirt, digging deep into the muscle.  Brooke braced her hands on the wall and tried to push off, but Ivy had her pinned.  She spread Brooke’s legs with her knee, then raked her nails across her ass cheek down between her thighs.  “He wants my pussy,” Ivy purred in her ear.  Brooke screamed and twisted as Ivy’s fingers stabbed into her.  “He wants a lover who will do anything.”

[bcw8]

Oh god, it felt good to hurt her, the bitch wife, the I’m-better-than-you cxnt.  Every man in the room wanted her, as she ripped Brooke’s pussy.  Ivy felt their eyes on her.  She was more powerful, more erotic, than she’d ever been.  She’d already humbled the wife.  Time to break her.  She pulled her claw out of the bitch and flipped her around.

Blood and tears streaked Brooke’s face.  Her puny tits were out of her top.  Ivy spit a wad of blood from her battered mouth on one and then drove her fist into it.  Brooke jerked, her body thudding against the wall.  Ivy stripped off her own negligee, to give all the boys a good look.  Her breasts were outstanding, big and hard, tipped with pink nipples right now as stiff as any cock in the room.  She pushed them hard into Brooke.  “Will loves to fuck my tits,” she whispered.  “He says yours are too small.”

Forty-nine men spread across the enormous room watched with breathless excitement as Ivy beat Brooke’s body with her fists. It was a savage display of dominance.  She lashed punch after punch into Brooke’s breasts.  She gutted her.  She beat her ribs into a mass of bruises under her negligee.  Every chance she could, she knocked Brooke’s arms aside and hit her just to the side of her sternum, next to the inner curve of her left breast.  Heart punches.  Ivy cruelly battered Brooke until her arms were exhausted, her knuckles screaming in pain themselves.  Will watched too, paralyzed with both horror and lust, as she stepped back at last and let Brooke fall.

The kind of men who pay money to watch women fight are the kind of men who root for the mistress.  Ivy soaked in their cheers.  It was heroin coursing in her veins.  She stepped on the discarded floor lamp, and jerked on its electrical cord until she tore it free, the bare wires on its end like a raw nerve exposed, the plug in her hand with prongs like a snake’s fangs.  She tied a slip knot in the end away from the plug, and looped it over Brooke’s head.  By the time Ivy dragged her to Will, it was pulled deep into her neck.

“Hello, lover,” Ivy said, and kissed him hard, her bloody lip smearing his, her breasts marking his shirt with her sweat.  Brooke made a choked sound at her feet.  Ivy pulled her up to her knees and then dropped to hers, behind her.  She ran her hands over Brooke’s breasts, caressing her.  They were hot, and swelling.  She fondled her nipples.  “Every man in the room, Brooke.  Every man in the room would choose me over you,” she said.  She gripped Brooke’s negligee, her wedding night best, and ripped it between her breasts, tearing it top to bottom down her body.  Brooke’s chest heaved with strangled sobs as her husband’s mistress stripped her to her thin panties.

“She’s had enough, Ivy,” Will said, his voice strained.  It hurt Brooke as much as a fist, to hear him say her name like that.

“No,” Ivy shook her head emphatically.  “No, she hasn’t.  She set all this up, Will.  She wanted it.  She thought she was going to teach me my place.”  Her grip on Brooke’s crude leash tightened.  “If our places were switched, what would you say?  Would you tell her to let me go?”

He only hesitated a split-second, but that was enough.  Ivy’s eyes went cold.  She didn’t love Will; far from it.  But she’d be damned if she’d come second to Brooke, in any way.  She reached for Will’s belt, pulled it loose with one hand.  She freed his cock from his slacks.  It throbbed only inches from Brooke’s upturned, tortured face.  Ivy gripped it, running her thumb up its underside, and rubbed its head across Brooke’s parted lips.  Then she took him in her mouth, and moving alongside her rival, she sank her lips to its root.

The blood pounded in Brooke’s brain.  She could hardly breathe through the choking cord.  Her lips were numb.  The pain in her body - oh christ it hurt so much.  Even the shallow breaths she could draw sent stabs through her chest and ribs.  And now . . . . now the whore was sucking Will’s cock, while she strangled her.   She closed her eyes, and thought of giving up.  She heard Will groan.  She knew the sound.  He made it before he came.  She thought she

She opened her eyes and jerked Ivy’s head back by her hair.  She didn’t care if Will’s cock was bitten off, but it wasn’t.  He spurted on the whore’s throat, and tits.  Brooke could smell his scent.  She tasted him, when she bit Ivy’s neck; even more, when she dove down and sank her teeth into her fat fucking tit.  She bore her down to the floor, screaming.  The taste of Ivy’s blood washed away the taste of her husband’s cum on another woman’s skin.  The last bit of civilization in Brooke’s mind winked out.

[bcw8]

No idea what happened to the pictures - reposting them.

Brooke


Ivy

[deity17313]

The more savage the better. Wish some of your fights ended with fatalities like your original posts. Cheers on your visual details. Wish youd write a story from a genre like sci fi bladerunner or dark fantasy ie GOT or the dark tower to spice things up. Feel like you can only wrote so much catfights in the 21st century before they start to feel too similar and overlap.

[bcw8]

The mistress had beaten the wife.  Ivy had been absolutely sure of that.  She’d hit her with everything and watched her fighting spirit die.  The only thing left was to humiliate her sexually.  She’d stripped her, tearing her precious wedding night negligee from her inferior body.  She’d made her watch while she openly sucked her husband’s cock. 

Except she hadn’t beaten her; she’d awakened her. 

Ivy screamed as Brooke swarmed her.  She couldn’t throw her off, couldn’t get out from under her.  Brooke bit her, over and over, her dark hair draped over her face.  Brooke’s nails tore at her, her face and pussy.  She was a wild, savage storm, with one mindless goal, and that was to dash Ivy on the rocks again and again until she shattered.

Brooke slammed Ivy to the wall with such force that the pictures hung at intervals all crashed to the floor.  She hammered her face on the windowsill and then smeared its blood on the glass.  All the rage and pain she felt about Will she channeled into hurting this slut who’d seduced him.  She lifted Ivy, straining with her weight, and drove her spine down over the arm of a chair.  She kicked and stomped her as she tried to crawl.

Most of all, Brooke attacked Ivy’s tits, the boobs she had flaunted and taunted her with, describing Will’s cock between them.   She punched and ripped and bit them in a frenzy, soaking in the mistress’ frantic screams, listening for any change in volume or pitch that might tell her what caused the worst pain, so that she could do that more.  Like the corner of the raised brick hearth at the front of the fireplace.  Oh, the sound Ivy made when Brooke pinned her there and forced one of her tits into that rough pointed edge.  Better than any orgasm.  She did Ivy’s other tit too.

Ivy begged.  She begged desperately, sobbing submissive pleas.  Brooke listened only to her screams. 

She dragged Ivy to the wall, at last, and held her there.  Ivy’s face was streaked with blood and tears, her beauty turned to pulp, her hair, wet with sweat plastered over it.  Brooke held her wedding ring to Ivy’s eye, the ring Ivy had said she’d take.  She twisted it into Ivy’s cheekbone until the diamond was red with mistress blood.  She ran her hand down Ivy’s body, her fingers tracing bite marks and bruises on the bitch’s now grotesquely swollen tits, lingering on where the brick had done its worst.  Her palm slid down Ivy’s belly, hitching in and out as she sobbed, to its softest part, right above her red panties.

“Come here, Will,” Brooke said.  He obeyed.  He had to.

“How many times did you fuck her?”  Brooke asked.  “Don’t lie to me.  How many times did you cum in her filthy pussy or her fucking mouth or on her fat cow tits?”

“I don’t kn-”

“How many?!”  Brooke screamed at him.  The room was completely silent except for the harsh sobbing breathing of the two women.  Will closed his eyes.

“If you don’t give me a number,” Brooke said, “I will not stop until she’s dead.”

The affair had been going for three months.  They’d met once a week, twice sometimes.  The sex had been incredible.  Ivy was insatiable.  She always milked at least two orgasms from him.  Their first time in his bed, Brooke’s bed, while Brooke was gone, had been all night and Ivy had drained him six times, she had been so aroused by being there.  Will didn’t know it, but that was when she had left her panties for Brooke to find.

“Fifty,” Will guessed, his voice barely there.  Now Brooke closed her eyes.

She hit Ivy fifty times, all in the same spot, low in her belly.  The last twenty or so were after the mistress had collapsed, unconscious, to the floor. 

*****************************************************************
She didn’t leave him.  If you could look into the future, you’d see that Will and Brooke would celebrate a fiftieth anniversary one day, with their children and grandchildren.  She never trusted him again, but she knew he didn’t stray.  He didn’t dare. 

[Lizzie]

Perfect.
A superb ending to the fight, and as always great pacing throughout.