Lakeisha spat a mouthful of blood in the dirt and pushed to her feet. Tricia glided at her, fists up, grinning. Toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose, they stood and slugged each other in a brutal fist fight. Neither of them were trained but both were athletic and both had the two most important things for a fight like that: an absolute determination to hit the other girl hard and no fear of taking pain herself in the process.
Lakeisha went head-hunting. She wanted to fuck up the white girl’s arrogant, smirking face, ruin her looks. She smashed her mouth. Her knuckles cut Tricia around her eyes. She loved the blood on Tricia’s face, the way it sprayed, like the sweat that whipped from the bitch’s blonde hair when she hit her.
Tricia beat Lakeisha’s body, rifling fists into her, her mind racing in images that translated basically to: crack her ribs; rupture her fucking spleen; over and over, hit her tits, turn them into hamburger. Every sobbing gasp she drew from the black girl, every time she felt her body buckle under the punishment, was like a jolt of some kind of drug to her.
Knockdowns mounted, but every time the girl that went down pushed back up immediately. Their arms burned with exhaustion. Their fists ached. The frat boys were amazed at the spectacle, the amount of pain they absorbed. The sisters knew what women are capable of.
Then Tricia slumped to her knees, and didn’t pop up again. She tried - her brainstem screamed it - but her legs didn’t respond. Her head was swimming. Her left eye was swelling, badly, her vision already closed to a blood-streaked slit. Her head drooped, blood from her mouth streaming to her chest where the thin rivers joined in her cleavage.
Lakeisha stood, bent forward, trying to breathe, for a few seconds. She stepped back. She shot forward, and drove her knee into Tricia’s face. The white girl’s head snapped back, her hair curling in an arc, and she flew backwards, landing so hard on her back that she bounced, coming to rest on her side.
The AKA girls chanted “Kee-Sha! Kee-Sha!” Lakeisha hurt when she walked - her left side - but she had work to do. She ripped off Tricia’s bikini top and brandished it. Trophy taken, score evened. Tricia stirred, tried to push up. Lakeisha didn’t let her. She stomped her in the spine, in her small of her back. Tricia’s arms collapsed, her bloody face smacking into the dirt. Lakeisha bent and grabbed her wrist, dragging her over until she flopped onto her back. Her breasts bounced and rolled, her pink nipples stiff in their paler triangles.
Lakeisha stomped her, kicked her, dropped astride her and knelt on her arms and punched her, every single blow into her tits. Tricia sobbed helplessly, her fingers scrabbling in the dirt as she writhed in pain. Lakeisha finally stopped, out of exhaustion. She was bent forward, her long dark hair hanging down, a shield of sorts from the crowd. Blood from her mouth dripped onto Tricia’s chest. Tricia stared defiantly up at her. Lakeisha wondered if she should feel something, something other than hate? She didn’t. She gripped Tricia’s nipples and tried to tear them off her chest.
“Oh God you fucking BITCH!!” Tricia screamed. It hurt. It hurt more than anything she’d ever even imagined. She pitched and bridged. Lakeisha did not expect that kind of strength from the slender blonde; adrenaline is an amazing chemical. Tricia threw the black girl’s 125 pounds off of her like she was nothing.
Lakeisha landed on her stomach and a split-second later Tricia landed on her back, whooshing the air out of her lungs. Tricia was wild. She drove her forearm into the back of Lakeisha’s neck, smashing her face into the dirt. Screaming, she did it again, and again, and again. She knelt on the black girl’s back and dragged her head up, clawing at her eyes. Lakeisha got a hand up, grabbed Tricia’s wrist to save her vision but Tricia’s nails had already cut her just under her eyebrow. She twisted, pulling Tricia off of her. Belly to belly they rolled, clawing and punching.
Then Lakeisha screamed, and not like any scream before. Tricia’s hand had wormed into her open shorts, under the tiny thong she wore beneath. Even her inexperienced lovers found Lakeisha’s clit easily; it was thick and prominent and hypersensitive. Tricia was not inexperienced. She had it, between her thumbnail and finger, and she was trying to tear it off, just as Lakeisha had done to her nipples. Only a sudden gush of juice made it too slippery to hold. Undaunted, Tricia turned her hand and drove her fingers deep into her rival’s pussy, nails curved and working.
Lakeisha convulsed. Oh god it felt like her mind was unhinging. It hurt so bad. Tricia was trying to pull down her shorts, tear them open, anything to get an even better angle. Her fingers plunged deeper into Lakeisha. A fresh burst of agony choked Lakeisha’s feral scream off to a dying rattle in her throat. She saw Tricia’s face, mad light in her eyes.
“Maybe you won’t need bottles, either,” the blonde said. She jerked Lakeisha’s hips up off the ground and, teeth clenched, shoved as deep as she could. No rules; no limits.
