Their path here, to this club, this night, had been one of both chance and design. Their first clash had been in college, in the basement of a fraternity house, a beer-soaked, screaming, hair-pulling affair. There was no real resolution, no clear winner. It left a taste.
Their second was provoked. Serena really only cared that the man involved was Becca’s boyfriend. He was a useful tool, a pry bar of sorts. A well-timed whisper from an intermediate led Becca to their love nest. Serena smiled at her with cum on her lips, then launched a savage catfight. He grew hard again as she beat the redhead. Beat her badly. Serena took his cock again as her prize as she knelt across Becca’s face. The taste was deep, now. Into their core.
The third time was Becca’s revenge. A challenge, that Serena sneeringly accepted. A private affair. A brutal war, an escalation well beyond either previous clashes. This time, the Latina beauty lost. Becca was left with only two regrets: that there were no witnesses to admire her work, and that Serena spent only one night in the hospital.
Their taste was now a shared hunger. A compulsion. A need that both knew would burn out of control once unleashed. And so, they chose this club. Not for any control it offered; oh no, quite the contrary - for the freedom it provided. Its savage reputation lured them, a siren song of a lawless place where they could lose themselves in their hate. Its wealthy sponsors insured no police, nofor bloodshed. And in return, all it asked was that they stage their erotic showdown for the delight of the paying clientele. This only thrilled the young enemies more.
In their separate rooms, they undressed, their bodies coiled with heat. They emptied their minds, each keeping only dark images of her foe to nurture. Slowly, they paced their rooms on stiletto heels, mentally opening the cages that confined the cats in their souls, their violent impulses. For the waiting audience, the time passed quickly. For Serena and Becca, each minute was torment, slow-ticking seconds to be counted.
A knock on each door, at the end of eternity. Their handlers led them back to the main room. This second sight of each other, stripped and glowing already with perspiration, sent them to a trembling stage of adrenaline overload, a primitive biology of fight or flight but with flight not possible. The crowd had swelled, watchers lining every wall.
A final conceit of their sponsor - they were brought together, arms pinned back, for a long face-off. Brown eyes and green stared into their depths without flinching. Their taut bellies brushed, their breasts melded, solid weight compressed with the stones of their nipples buried alive together in embrace. The crowd fell silent, until only the two women’s breath was heard.
Becca made a small, involuntary sound of suppressed fury.
Serena spat in her face.
The handlers withdrew.
