Part 2
I’m a married woman, 31 years old, mother of two boys aged 7 and 5. My husband is a successful lawyer, and is five years older than I am. I have an MBA from Penn State but I don’t have to work because of my husband’s income. I pride myself on my appearance, as does he, and spend a lot of time in the gym. I’m thin and blond, wearing my hair long and straight. I have great legs that I display as much as I can without crossing over the “slut” line, but my breasts are quite small and I have always wished they were bigger. In our neighborhood, we’re considered a model couple and have a very wide circle of friends, but I’ve always been very competitive with other girls and women, especially busty ones, and actually fought physically three times as a schoolgirl and twice in college. I loved dropping all inhibitions and letting out my anger at and hatred for another female. I also loved being the center of attention, and fights between girls always attract a lot of attention. I never felt so alive as when I was rolling on the ground with my fists in some bitch’s hair, with a hundred spectators cheering us on. None of these fights went to completion, but I was even or winning all of them when they were broken up. As an adult, I had not gotten in any fights since college, but always wondered how I’d do in a fight with a woman my size if we were not stopped. When I told my husband about my fights, I realized that he found catfights very arousing. I in turn found his response to catfights arousing, and our sex life started to include fantasies of me fighting and beating up other women.
After a few years of this sort of fantasizing, I became more and more fixated on fighting for real. I found that there were several companies that filmed and distributed videos of real fights between women. I watched these videos obsessively, studying the tactics the women used and imagining myself fighting. I fantasized daily about beating and stripping another woman, leaving her sobbing or unconscious at my feet in front of our men. After overcoming the objections of my husband, who worried that I’d get hurt but who was also wildly turned on by the idea, about two months ago I participated in a videotaped, no-holds-barred topless fight with another woman about my age and size, filmed in a private home for a company that produced videos of vicious catfights between ordinary women wearing little or nothing. The fight was an absolutely brutal, back-and-forth affair that lasted for about 45 minutes, and I had several chances to win, but lost in the end. In the process, we punched, kicked, scratched, and bit each other mercilessly. I admit to having bitten her inner thigh first, in desperation while she had me in a headscissors. Then she retaliated by biting my breast while I had her in a headlock. It went crazy from there, and we both wound up naked, crying, and torn up. She won by kneeing me in the face and breaking my nose. Then, although I screamed that I quit, she continued to kick me until the men pulled her off and held her. It took me a full month to recover to the point where I could leave the house. Even after my nose basically healed, I had to wear sunglasses and lots of make-up to cover my black eyes, and a scarf to cover my patches of missing hair. We had to concoct a story about me having fallen down the stairs to avoid having people assume that Norm had beaten me up. My husband had clearly found the fight very arousing, but was extremely frustrated that my face, breasts, and pussy were so sore that sex was impossible for several days after the fight. My opponent was much the worse for wear too, but the animalistic whore made her husband service her in the bedroom she used to change in, her moans, grunts, and shouts of pleasure heard by me and everyone else, right after the fight. My two children were frightened by my appearance. Overall, it felt like my fighting days were over. But I found I could not get over the horrible feeling of being humiliated by another woman in front of my husband, and found myself dreaming of payback. The fight had been much harder than I had expected. The bitch who beat me, Roberta, was a stay-at-home mom and wife of a professional, like me. She was a big-titted slut of the type I had always hated, a woman who flaunted her looks and especially her breasts to get the attention of men. The simple creatures, my husband included, seem to check their brains when they are presented with a big pair of boobs underneath a passable face. I at least had the satisfaction of knowing that her stomach, boobs, face, and vagina were just about as sore as mine after the fight, because I dished out almost as much punishment to her as I received, except in the last few moments when she had me down, kicking my face and breasts even after I gave up, until she was pulled off me. I’ll never forgive or forget that beating after I submitted, and began dreaming of my revenge on her even as he was cleaning me up and half-carrying me to the car.
Over about two months after the fight, I watched the video that was made of it obsessively, noting at least three moments when I could have finished her but wasn’t fast or aggressive enough. And despite losing, there turned out to be a very satisfying side to the experience. My husband couldn’t keep his hands off me and when we started having sex about a week after the fight, I found the bruises on my breasts intensified the pleasure I got from him fondling and sucking them, and the feeling of his cock penetrating my scratched and sore pussy was indescribable- an excruciating pleasure. So when Ellen Tate, one half of the husband-and wife production team called me about a rematch, I jumped at the chance. She said that our fight was a huge seller for them, and she was getting a lot of requests for another fight between me and Roberta. She told me that she and Todd, her husband, had moved the operation out of their basement. They had started up a female fight club where spectators paid to watch no-holds-barred fights between women, which were also filmed. She was charging $300 per ticket, and was able to pay fighters very well, because she was getting audiences of about 200 people. The presence of an audience cheering the women on greatly added to the excitement level and the intensity of the fights. The women fought in skirts and blouses or dresses, as if they were working in an office or going to a club, and were encouraged to strip each other through cash incentives- you were given $500 extra for exposing her breasts or bush. You were also awarded $1000 for making her cry. The fight continued until one woman was unable to continue or gave up- their husbands or friends couldn’t throw in the towel, although they were allowed to pull the winner off a woman who had submitted or was knocked out. They’d had two fight nights already at the club, which were held after hours in a suburban strip club. She offered me $5000 to fight, and another $5000 if I won. The money was attractive, but I didn’t tell her that I would have fought the bitch for nothing to get a chance at avenging my loss. She asked me if I was willing to fight in two weeks and told me that the slut Roberta, my opponent, had already agreed. I agreed immediately, although I knew my husband would object, thinking I’d get beaten again. But after the call, I told him that I just couldn’t rest until I fought her again, and told him all the things I wanted to do to her. His eyes glazed over and we continued the discussion while he did me bent over the kitchen counter, pulling my hair and humping me as I cursed her and told him how I planned to strip her, knock her out, and leave her spread-eagled on the ground while I kicked and stomped her until someone pulled me off. I was planning to do worse to her than she had done to me- but my husband did me beautifully. Luckily the kids were both on play dates!
The two weeks until the fight passed quickly. I worked on my strength and wind at the fitness center and took four private MMA lessons from a female instructor at a local martial arts club- the practice was good, but there wasn’t time to learn much. One night, we met Todd and Ellen at a bar and signed release forms absolving them of liability, and a contract for the fight specifying the prize money and the type of clothing we were to wear, which was to be dressy and light (ie easily torn off), with lace strapless bra and panties. On the night of the fight, we packed our bags for a week, planning to go to a beach house we rented where I could rest and recover, and left the kids with my in-laws. We then rented a hotel room, had hot sex, and prepared for the fight. Since we were to fight in more or less normal clothes, I got ready in the hotel room. I wore a black cocktail dress with spaghetti straps and a low back, with the skirt about 3 inches about my knees. The fight was scheduled for 1 am, so we left for the club late, arriving around 11:30. The venue was a non-descript night-club in an industrial part of town, a place where business travelers could watch lap-dancers after work. The parking lot was full, and many of the cars in it were quite up-scale- Ellen had told me that she was raising the tone of the show by requiring men to wear jackets and ties, and women to wear evening wear. She said having the well-dressed spectators screaming encouragement at the half-nude fighters made for great video.
Mine was the second fight of the night- the main event. The first, scheduled for midnight, was between two 19-year-olds, college freshmen, who were settling a grudge from high school. I wanted to watch the sweet young things go at it, but Ellen wanted us to stay out of sight of the crowd, so my husband and I waited in the well-appointed dressing room. Shouts from the crowd and young female voices crying and swearing told us that the fight was on. While it carried on, one of the waitresses (topless, to my husband’s delight), stopped in and asked if I wanted a drink. I ordered a double scotch. She brought it in, saying, “Here’s your liquid courage, hun.” I smiled at her and knocked it back, feeling its warmth spread through my body and my fear drain away. “Seriously, “ she said, “do you really want to go through with this? The girls out there are really hurting each other. But they’re just young girls fighting over a guy-happens all the time until they figure out no guy is worth it. You just don’t look the type for this sort of thing, and neither does the other one. “ She pointed at the other bedroom. “You both look like PTA presidents in a good neighborhood.”
I laughed. “I think we both are. But that doesn’t mean we don’t like a good scrap. And I cannot stand that woman. It will be one of the great pleasures of my life to fuck her up and leave her naked on the floor of that cage.”
The barmaid’s eyes widened. “Well then, you go girl. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for out there. I’ll be rooting for you, by the way. The other one seems too confident.” We hugged and she left us alone. As she went, it was clear from the sustained cheering that the first fight had ended. Ellen announced the winner, and then a few moments later we saw a naked, dazed girl on a stretcher being carried down the hall, with two worried young women walking on either side of her, talking softly to her, holding a cloth to her nose, and stroking her sweaty forehead. Both her eyes were black, her lower lip was swollen, her nose was bleeding, and her breasts were scratched and bruised. She was cupping her pussy with both hands and crying softly . A few minutes later the winner hobbled by, supported by two girlfriends. She was wearing nothing but a thong and clutching both a bouquet of flowers and what appeared to be the panties of her opponent. Her face was tearstreaked and nearly as badly beaten up as the girl on the stretcher, but she was smiling from ear to ear. Victory is the best painkiller!
A few minutes later, the waitress who had brought me the drink came to the door of the dressing room, smiled, and said “Show-time! I’ll help your husband in your corner”. This was it! In a few minutes, I’d be fighting another woman to a clear conclusion in front of hundreds of paying spectators, baying for blood! What kind of pastime was this for a community-minded, married mother of two? Somewhat dizzied by the weirdness of it all, but in a high state of excitement, I and Rick followed her out and into the main room, which consisted of about 60 tables each seating 5 people surrounding a raised octagonal cage. Ellen was standing in the center of the cage, a spotlight on her and microphone in hand. “Ladies, and gentlemen, for our main event tonight, let me introduce to you Mary, a 32-year-old blonde housewife standing 5’5” and weighing in tonight at 122 lbs. Her measurements are 34B-24-35. Although you would not guess it from her cool demeanor and flawless dress sense (she fights tonight in a simple and elegant “little black dress”), she is an experienced catfighter, and lost a very close match to our other fighter, the lovely Roberta! Many of you have seen this match on video- it has been one of our best sellers. Mary is here tonight to avenge this loss. And now, Roberta, please enter the cage!”
Roberta, followed by her husband, strode in from the wings and entered the cage door opposite me. We glared at each other while Ellen said “Roberta stands 5’4” and weighs 126 lbs. She measures 36D-25-35, so you can see where her weight advantage lies! She will be fighting tonight in a strapless light blue cocktail dress.”
She motioned us to the center of the cage, where we stood on either side of her. We were both flushed with excitement “These two elegant ladies will soon look much less put-together, as they fight each other for their personal reasons and your pleasure. Ladies, please face each other.” We stood face to face, breast to breast, staring daggers at each other.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a no-holds-barred fight. Nothing is forbidden except eye-gouging and biting, but we will not intervene unless one of the fighters complains. The fighter may punch, kick, knee, elbow, choke, or scratch her opponent, and judging by past experience I’m sure both of these hell-cats will. “
She addressed us directly, continuing “ You may attack any part of her body except her eyes, and including her breasts and vagina, and you may remove her clothing in the process. In addition to the $5000 prize the winner will receive and your $5000 appearance fee, we will pay you $500 if you expose your opponent’s breasts or vagina, and give you an additional $1000 if you manage to make her cry. The fight will end only when one woman is knocked out or submits to the other unequivocally. Our referees for tonight will be Amy and Jane (she motioned to two of the topless waitresses who had entered the cage, slightly bigger girls than the rest), whose main job is to ensure that the winner is pulled off the loser after a submission or knockout. Ladies, do you understand the rules? Then go to your corners, remove your shoes, and on my command, come out fighting.”
With that, she left us in the cage with the two “referees”. We each went to opposite sides and removed our shoes, handing them over to our husbands. We both kissed our husbands through the mesh, then turned to face each other. My world shrank down to that bitch, barefoot in her blue dress, on the the other side of the cage. “Fight!” cried Ellen, and we moved to the center, fists raised.
The audience cheered wildly as we started circling each other warily the way men often do when they start to fight, and in contrast to our previous fight, when we launched at each other without any thought. We spent several minutes darting punches at each other, tentatively at first, then with increasing force. I danced out of the way of two roundhouse swings, then took my own wild swing at her head. I connected with her temple so hard my knuckles hurt, and she staggered back stunned and clutching her head. It felt wonderful, and raised a huge cheer from the crowd. Unexpectedly, she started to cry, earning me $1000, but I knew the fight wasn’t over, and that fighting while crying was standard practice for both of us.
Her face contorted with rage and pain, Roberta launched herself at me, bowling me over and landing on top of me. She clawed at my face with her left hand, grabbing my hair with her right. We yanked hair and clawed at each other as we rolled on the ground, two upper-middle class wives of professionals fighting like cheap street whores in front of a baying crowd. Neither of us could stay on top, and our dresses rode up around our waists as we wrestled for advantage. I scrambled to my feet but she wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me back down to my hands and knees. I tried to crawl away from her but she grabbed the waistband of my panties and yanked them around my knees. The crowd roared to see my pussy exposed, and roared even louder when she raked my bare labia with her nails. I screamed and scrambled away from her, leaving my panties in her hand. She grabbed my ankles but I rolled on my back, kicking her as hard as I could in the face. She fell back, clutching her mouth, and I leaped on her, straddling her chest as my husband shouted encouragement, telling me to punch her in the face. I got two good punches in but she was able to grab my hair and pull me off to her left side.
We both scrambled to our feet. I grabbed the collar of her dress and her bra strap, and yanked them up over her head, blinding her and tangling her arms. I yanked her forward and off balance, swinging uppercuts into her covered face and breasts. I connected hard with her mouth and right eye. She pulled back and away from me, leaving her dress and bra in my hands. It was thrilling to have her nearly naked and sobbing, and I charged at her, slamming her up against the cage. We clawed and kneed each other as I held her against the chain link, and she managed to tear the front of my dress open and yanked my bra up over my breasts. She scratched my nipples viciously, but I was able to stun her with a punch to the jaw, and then pulled her panties down around her thighs, hobbling her. She stumbled against me, clutched her arms around my waist, and bit hard into the top of my right breast. I screamed and wrapped my hands around her throat in a frantic effort to detach her from my tit. She sputtered and gagged, letting go, and pushed me away with both arms. My dress was now hanging around my waist. She stepped out of her panties, and I pulled off my bra and dress, not wanting to trip on or be choked by my own clothes. We faced each other, two naked, sobbing women, as the crowd egged us on. The women were especially vociferous, yelling “Rip her tits off” and “Kick her in the cxnt!”
We closed in on each other again, grabbing each other by the hair. We circled, bent at the waist, our breasts dangling, yanking hair with one hand and swinging uppercuts at the other’s face and boobs with the other in what my husband calls a “bitch clinch”. This continued inconclusively for about three minutes, and we were both nearing exhaustion. Somehow she managed to pull me into a choking headlock, and began punching my right tit and side. I was on the verge of passing out, but saw that her legs were slightly spread to brace herself, and managed to get my right hand between them, clawing her clitoris as hard as I could. She broke away from me, shrieking and clutching herself and hobbling to the other side of the cage, her back to me.
I knew this was my chance! I chased her, grabbed her by the hair, straightened her up, and punched her in the stomach, winding her. I shoved her against the fence and held her there, kneeing her between the legs five or six times as hard as I could. She sank to the floor of the cage, eyes glassy, spread-eagled. She was finished, but I wasn’t finished with her! I kicked her in the stomach and she fell on her back. Then I quickly straddled her, pinning her arms under my knees. “Finish the bitch” my husband yelled. I punched her in the face, breaking her nose as she had mine, then pounded her tits. I reached behind me and got my nails into her pussy again, even getting two fingers into her this time and scratching her internally. She screamed and went limp. In a few moments, it became clear that she had passed out, but I kept punching and clawing her until the waitresses, and then a bouncer, pulled me off her. She lay unconscious, bleeding from the nose, covered in scratches and bruises and glistening with sweat, as her husband and Ellen the MC tried to revive her and my husband rushed into the cage and took me in his arms. I sobbed and laughed while he held me and the crowd cheered and applauded. After about five minutes the beaten bitch came around and was able to watch while Ellen raised my arms in victory and presented me with a bouquet and a check for $12,000: $5000 for fighting, $1000 for making her cry, $1000 for exposing her tits and cxnt, and $5000 for beating the bitch.
My husband helped me back to the dressing room. Despite my scratches and bruises, I wanted him desperately. He gently sucked and kissed my black-and-blue breasts. I then undid his belt, pulled down his pants, and fondled his engorged, dripping cock. I lay back on the leather couch and spread my legs for him. He braced himself above me, careful not to put any weight on my bruised body, and entered me gently. The feeling of his cock slowly penetrating my scratched and bruised pussy was exquisite torture, and I moaned and wept with pain and pleasure! As he fucked me, he told me how proud he was of me, and how beautiful I looked as I beat the big-boobed slut, and I told him what I wanted to do to Roberta if she asked for a rematch! I couldn’t leave the house for two weeks, but he took vacation and spent most of that time on top of me. The sex we’ve had since I left her beaten on the floor of the cage has been by far the best sex I’ve ever had!
