To appreciate this chat-log to the fullest, you should really understand what led up to it. That being almost a month of vicious trash talk and cruel insults between Laura and myself. Most of the time I am civil and calm when discussing possible engagements with other writers, but this girl messaged me cold and just set in on me. And though normally that might make me pull out of a dialogue, with her I just fired back.
So by the time she and I found the time to fight, we were both just starving for each other’s pain and subjugation. Our first attempt was a test of strength at the gym, but Laura’s own quirks about what she wanted in a cyber drove that story into the ground, and so though we never finished it, we just wrote it as a loss for me.
So with that fight scrapped, we didn’t really get to unleash our anger at each other until we made it a catfight. One that I will never forget.
We’ve had been texting each other for weeks, me and this fucking slut named Laura. And it took only about a minute for each of us to realize that we weren’t going to get along. Oh my, we were right. Bitch. Cunt. Slut. We called each other. Challenge, threats we each made. Until finally, we ran into each other at the gym.
Though it wasn’t the plan, it didn’t take long for us to wind up forehead to forehead, breast to breast, and locked together from head to toe. I was stupid enough to let her turn it into a test of strength, and before too long found myself bested.
Luckily, the dumb cunt agreed to a rematch. Not a test of strength, but an apartment wrestling/catfight match. And that’s why I’m here, pounding on her door, with only a long, black wool coat to cover my only red thong covered body. I want to get out of this hallway, yes, but really I just want to get my hands on her. Get my fingers in her hair. And to show her that of the two of us, I’m the top bitch. Something she’ll find out as soon as she opens this door.
I hear the pounding. God DAMN this ginger-haired cunt is such a fucking BITCH. I stalk to the door, I’ve been waiting for this for DAYS now, after breaking her in a strength test she wanted to go again and oh FUCK am I going to oblige the dumb skank.
I wrench the door open, heart spiking in the chest as I slash my eyes across yours, jaw clenching involuntarily and I step back, backing off into the clear space in the front room, already in my black thong…. tanned, muscled… better than this shorter bitch in every fucking way…
“COME ON THEN, CUNT” I shout heedless of anybody else in the hallway..
You open the door, and as soon as my eyes lock on yours, my heart almost explodes with excitement. I hate you. I want to hurt you so bad. To break you and make you my fucking bitch. To watch your will and resistance dissolve beneath me.
But so intense has our rivalry been so far, that there is also something else to it. Something I have not felt before. That something does little to stay my hands, as I step in inside, shut the door, and then with only a quick shrugging of shoulders, remove my coat. It is then and there, with both of us in thongs only, that I look you up and down, for the first time seeing your breasts and body exposed.
At the sight, I smirk, sneer, and then slap you hard across the face. “Bitch.”
You step up, eyes roving over my tanned and muscled body as I look up and down your pale freckled, smaller one, but as my lip peels back across my teeth in a sneer your palm lashes across my face, snapping my head to the side.
I stagger slightly, cheek burning, head ringing and I twist back to face you and with an incoherent yell I go for you hands grabbing two fistfuls of your skanky red hair, my body slamming into yours, tit to tit, abs grinding into each other, my legs pushing tangling with yours “fuck you, you fucking CUNT” I howl as I lock up with you in a trashing tangle of limbs and loathing.
“Slut! Bitch!” I curse quickly, almost spitting the words, as our bodies slam together and then shift and slide to get even closer. Somewhere in the tussle, as you curse at me with your sickeningly posh British accent, you grab your hair, and I grab yours.
Together, we become a whirlwind of hate, spinning and stumbling wildly, neither of us aware of anything else in the world besides our need to destroy each other. And destroy we do, as I can feel clumps of hair pull from my scalp, and the same begins to loosen from yours. But even as such locks begin to fall, we simply grab and pull again.
Without meaning, or wanting my nipples harden, and my lips slide close to your ear, betraying my excited breath and most intimate of whimpers.
I LOVE how I’m hurting you I can hear, almost feel your whimpering in my ear as I shred your skanky hair, our bodies pressed together, tits dueling, mushrooming each others, abs smacking into each other over and over, your fucking thighs clattering into mine…
I hook your left leg as we twist, and yank, hoping that we can fall to the ground, dragging you with me…”fucking piece of shit”.
There is so much happening it is hard to focus on one battle, or even two. For we yank and tug at each others hair. Our breasts press and slide together, each pressing the other flat and then giving way to the same. Our abdominal muscles flex as we try to overpower each other, biting and grabbing those of the other, clinging at moments and then releasing a second later. Our thighs, once again connect and squeeze, in shades of our previous battle.
But then you start another, trying to hook my left leg with yours, you hoping not just to send me down, but you two – it being clear you want to take this to the carpet. I would resist, or fight you, but I want no less, and so as you twist, I go with you and allow us together to fall, taking a chance that when we land, I will find a way to come out on top.
We go down, panting and grunting, landing in a thudding thump into the carpet, a writhing mass of limbs, arms legs, hair and torso, grunting and panting as we wrestle now on our hips I slam my body into you and I feel you o the same, grunting as, still locked in each others hair, we struggle to muscle and roll the other girl underneath us.
Finally, I can hear the stress of the battle from your lips, which have worked their way back to my own ear. It is a beautiful sound I only enjoy for a moment before together we slam down to the carpet.
There, on our sides, we struggle for control, fingers still buried deep in each others hair. Part of me wants to release that grasp, and attack you in some new way, but FUCK YOU, no! I want to rip every strand of hair from your head! In opposite directions, and opposite ends we push each other, trying to mount the woman we hate most.
But in that attempt, I find no success or victory. Frustrated, I slam my hips forward, hoping that the added impact will break our stalemate.
We struggle, grunting and gasping on the floor, locked together trying to take that dominant position on the other woman, panting and straining and you thrust forwards, pressing harder and I can’t handle the muscle shove, and I go over, your body rolling on top of mine, your hated form pressing down on me… my feet scrabble on the floor as I try plant soles to the carpet, holding you bent over by your hair “oh you CUNT”.
Somehow my hip thrust sends you over, and so tight is our grip on each other’s hair that I am pulled on top of you. There, I try to free my thigh from between yours so I can mount you fully, but try as I might, I can’t get it free.
As I continue my efforts, in frustration I scream at you as I pull our cheeks apart, and bring us for the first time face to face, a maneuver that pulls loose handfuls of my precious red hair: “FUCKING SLUT, THIS IS WHERE YOU BELONG!”
As my shrill words carry, I release a hand from your hair, wind up, and slap you as hard across the face as I can, beyond loathing at this point – our fight having moved past rivalry – past competition – and into all-out war.
I keep my thigh tightly wrapped on yours, not letting you mount me, and I lock my ankles and squeeze, the flashback to a previous lockup dancing in my vision briefly before you pull away, the visceral feeling of your hair tearing as you do, then your palm slashes across my cheek, sending spots dancing in my vision, my scissor loosening a little, as I release with my right hand from your hair and blindly slap at the blurry face, from watering eyes, above me.
“FUCK YOU CUNT GET OFF, BITCH” I scream back…
“NEVER BITCH!” I scream back at you, neither of caring about the volume of our voices.
And despite that lack of modesty, a rush of joy runs through my pained body as I feel your grasp on my thigh loosen, and see, somewhere in our maelstrom of hate, tears welling in your eyes. I love it! I hurt you! I celebrate for a moment, before a tear from my own falls on your cheek. One drawn from me like blood from a stone with the clumps of scarlet hair being taken from my scalp.
I’m trapped under you and my grip on your leg loosens enough that you draw it free to the knee making it hard to hurt and harder to keep trapped… Panting I blink away where my eyes are watering from the hair pulling and glaring at you eyes locked I slap up at you, awkwardly due to the angle, but I’m in an awkward position, my left hand still buried in your hair…”you fat CUNT get OFF me”.
It’s loose! Enough to pull it free! My leg is. And so in one fell swoop, I use my abs to pull my lower half up, and then places a bent leg on either side of your painfully toned stomach.
There, in that half-established mount, I try to complete it, by pulling my upper body up and away from yours, to take control of you. I know I can’t with my hands in your hair, or your hands in mine, and so I use my former slapping hand to grab at your still slapping wrist and then use my remaining free hand to begin a harsh and deep claw on your face.
I feel you mount me, pinning me to the carpet, beating me, taking control of my body with yours and I loathe it. I’m physically sick at the thought…. You claw my face, eliciting scream as you leave bloody tracks down my cheek, my right free hand grabbing that wrist, but your right grabs my wrists where my left hand is buried in your hair, and I refuse to let go. Holding it tight keeping your half bent over, although the stress of your pulling is removed from you somewhat. But when I feel your thighs settle, bent, either side of my body, I plant my feet soles flat to the carpet and try lever up and twist us. Trying desperately to get us rolled over to the side…. Hoping I can shift you, not trash talking right now…
It all happens so fast. We went from locked together in a violent, hate-laced struggle of attrition, to me being atop you.
In all my efforts to free myself, I find that though your hold has loosened, you still cling desperately to my beautiful red hair. The fact frustrates and focuses me, leaving me silent like you, both of us too centered on this moment to curse at one another.
But like a bolt of lightning, my plan is changed, by you. For when you buck up, and twist, you send me sliding down your sweaty abs, my thighs only coming to a stop when I sit on your tits. The placement is awkward, as you still have hold of my hair, but I am close now. Close to facesitting a woman I hate more than anything or anyone into oblivion.
Your weight presses down on my chest, high on my body but I refuse to let go, refuse, and I soak all my effort into avoiding letting your head come up. This isn’t happening yet and I release my grip on your left wrist, BOTH hands in your hair and I pull to my right, HARD, yanking it as I thrust off with my left foot, lifting and turning my body and pulling your head down and sideways by your hair. Putting everything into dragging, destabilizing and yanking you off my body to my right, your left, screaming in effort as I do so, my muscles straining against the effort of shifting you, hoping you’re a little off balance…
“Fuck!” I shout as you turn a moment where I was going to seal your mouth and nose closed with my red thong covered pussy, into your own escape.
An escape you effectuate when you grab my hair, yank me to the side, and then with all your muscles, turn and thrust upward. Given my awkward bend, I cannot keep steady, centered, or even atop you, and so I fall.
And though I do, I scramble to recover. Not by standing, or diving back on you, but instead, certain that I do not want you atop me, as I was you, by firing my legs out, and around you, hoping to lock you in a tight leg scissor around your abdomen which was lifted off the carpet in your successful escape attempt.
I feel you move, and our bodies shift and turn… slowly, then like a tree falling once cut you go over, your head still trapped in my hair, bent forwards, and you fall, landing with a thud on your left shoulder, but your legs, half either side of me lock around my torso, mid-body, stopping my roll mid-flow, trapping me on my right hip facing you your crotch pressed into my breastbone, thighs wrapped around me, my arms above them stretched out with a grasp on your hair…”FUCK, BITCH”…
My legs like anacondas wrap, and then like the squeeze of a pair of pliers around your upper body, just below your breasts. And though you still have your hands deep in my hair, mine have fallen free. With that freedom, I reach down, and with a fiery cry, latch my grasping digits onto each of your nipples. With the grip, I then pinch and twist, screaming at you. “CRY FOR ME, CUNT!”
I feel your legs shift around me and tense then jerk as your ankles lock, then jerk again as you snap them straight, and I moan, unable to stop myself, as your thighs bulge and clamp down like a vice around my torso, crushing ribs and lats with the pressure.
My mouth opens like a fish out of water, only to yelp in agony as your hands grab my nipples, and I finally release your hair, grabbing your wrists instead and hauling them off my breasts, face puckered up under the pressure you’re exerting on my torso….feet kicking uselessly on the carpet, only managing to shift us around in a small circle…
For the first time, I have you. Not in a mutual hold. Not in a struggle of muscle against muscle. But instead at my mercy.
But you find none of that, as I only increase my twisting when you release my hair, and grab at my wrist. And as you do, I only tighten my leg scissor as you helplessly try to move us.
And as such pressures increase I look to you with a wicked smile, on the verge of ecstasy at having you under my control, and seeing your face etched in pain. “Oh god, this is so good!” I comment to myself — an inner monologue given birth to our intimate little world of hate.
Your legs are like bars of steel locked around me and I know now just why you’re so fucking arrogant about them. As I feel them pressing into me, a watcher could look down and see them visibly sunken into my torso. Your muscly quads flexed hard around me as I struggle like fuck to breathe and focus past the pain it’s causing…
I have your wrists, my tits free but I can’t release for fear you’ll grab my nipples again, and so I glare through my pain-etched face, helplessly loathing you but unable to talk past that punishing crushing squeeze…
I don’t let up for a second, continuing to try and seize your nipples, forcing you to focus your energies not only on breathing, but keeping my hands away.
“Where’s your fucking trash talk now, British slut!” I scream at you and begin a series of violent pulses, causing you to take in air, and then quickly take it from you in painful forced exhales.
“Come on!” I demand, wanting your submission or tears. A tap on my leg, or any sign that you are nearing your breaking point. Until you give it, however, I maintain my torture.
The hold isn’t fucking weakening and I feel your legs sink ever deep er into my torso, literally scissoring, pulling my body in half and I moan loudly from pain. Black spots dancing in my vision as you punish me in this fucking hold, my hands getting weak and barely holding yours now.
I’m struggling to breathe, and to think…, and yet it comes. “Stop….please….” I manage to gasp “you’ll snap me.’ I cough, weakly… feet barely moving now…
“DO YOU GIVE, BITCH!” I demand you say it, even as your body goes limp between my thighs.
“SAY IT!” I scream, as my hands finally, make it back to your nipples, and again begin to twist and torment.
“SAAAAYYY IIIIT!!” Every muscle in my body constricts, wanting your submission so fucking bad. Wanting to break not only your body but your spirit.
Your vice grip doesn’t slacken and I’m aware my ribs feel like they’re about to start cracking, and with my feet drumming on the floor slowly, shifting, the relentless squeeze mashing me I cough eye unfocused now.
“I…give” I pant, arms weakly registering your nipple torture…
OH MY GOD! Just hearing you submit to me, a woman you have insulted and challenged with almost every waking breath since our meeting, makes every fiber of my being tingle and radiate with joy. It is at that moment of victory, perceived or real, that I must decide: what next?
I told you I would not let you go when you gave up. I promised you no mercy. Had you forced me to submit, am I really daft enough to think she would release me in a blink? But then I look at you. Broken. Motionless. Only barely able to mutter out a strengthless submission. My torturous twisting of your nipples eliciting nothing, despite its violence. All such sights lead me to my decision.
A decision that lands hard on your face, not seconds after a twisting hand withdraws from one of your nipples. SLAP SLAP SLAP. Each blow hard. Each meant to rouse you – to test you. Are you really weak? Or is this a trap. SLAP! Again the hand comes, and as it does, I watch you, my thighs still locked around your ribs.
Your thighs don’t relent and you’re absolutely wrecking my torso, black sports now prominent and swimming in my vision, in pain, unable really to focus on much you start to slap me and I rouse enough to try to protect my head, hands coming up as my head rings and stings and burns from the slaps, your smacking the start if what I assume to be a road that leads to torture…. feet kicking the floor…
Satisfied, in that you are helpless, at least, I finally stop my serial slapping, unlock my ankles, and unflex my thighs, letting you breathe, finally.
It must be so nice, that my scissor has ended. Such a beautiful moment to have been released from the move that led to your defeat at a most hated rival. But I do not let you linger or luxuriate in the blessing long. As I keep my thighs around you, with arms push off the carpet, and mount your stomach as I did before.
This time, however, I grasp your hands, lace our fingers together, and then pin your arms to the carpet. From such a vantage point, and with you so beneath me, I lean over, further and further, until our abs once again meet, breasts press together once again, and foreheads seal together as before. From such closeness, I look deep into your eyes, and whisper: “This is who you are cunt: Scarlet’s bitch.”
My torso is reddening in two bands around it where your thighs were, and my breathing is coming in the short, hitching, gasping coughs of someone badly hurting in the ribs and lungs…. Your body, smaller, but not battered like mine, stretches out on me, your larger breasts pressing down, mushrooming once more against mine.
But your forehead, your lips, the very sound of your breath and whispered words causes shame, and rage, and humiliation to race through me top to bottom but it’s not a doubt, you are dominant over me, from muscling me onto my back earlier to cracking ribs in pursuit of your victory…. hands trapped, body trapped… spirit raging but beaten.
Before you would have cursed at me, bit at me, maybe even spit at me. But now…? I can see it in your eyes. Yes: anger. Yes. Hatred. But acceptance.
In a way, it kills me. Seeing my fiery rival’s fierceness dim. But in such dimming comes my chance to shine. And shine I shall. Shine I do, as I use our laced fingers, and abdominal muscles to pull my lower body forward, just as before, my thighs and ass sliding up your stomach.
But there they do not stop, not at your breasts, as I rise. No, they continue forward, until I have pushed myself upright, and my thong-covered pussy meets the edge of your chin, waiting – threatening to move forward and smother.
From such a place of power, I say quickly, “such a fucking slag”, before I reach down, move my thong to the side, and then pull myself the last mile, thereafter planting my pussy over your mouth, and taking the tip of your nose against that of my clit.
Your body shifts, slowly, viciously cruelly slow, and your crotch slides over my breasts making me moan in pain as your weight pushes onto my cracked ribs. And then your pussy is there, bare, smooth, the lips sliding over my mouth and face, your clit hard against the tip of my nose.
My arms pinned by your knees… My feet drum on the floor as I begin to smother, panicking, hating this, your wet crotch already soaking my face, my eyes shut…. My mind running in circles, howling in despair…
Just the feeling of it sends electric shocks through my body. Your pretty little nose at my disposal to use as a toy. Your mouth which spoke such vulgarities, not sealed deep within my pussy.
And just the look on your face, telling me how much you hate every second of it. All of it distracts and causes me to pause, but then … when I see your anguish reach a plateau, I begin to push back and then drag forward with my hips.
At just the first such maneuver, I can’t help but cry out in pleasure – the mix of my domination, your hateful submission, and then this, intoxicating beyond measure, and pleasurable beyond description.
You slide that first, long grinding stroke and your pussy smears itself across my face. Your clit rubbing then flicking off my nose, your body weight heavy uncomfortable by itself on my face and I let a muffled scream which you probably feel as vibrations as you begin to grind down on my face. Beating me. Humiliating me. Taking the victory that we both ached for, knowing you’re the better woman, the Alpha female in the relationship, knowing I won’t be coming back at you anytime soon….my body twitches and writhes beneath you…
Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a metronome of pleasure, I ride your pretty face. All of it is wonderful. A blitzkrieg of satisfied desires and lustful hatreds, but then you scream into me, and it is like a supernova of glory, causing me to not only scream back in ecstasy but to close my eyes and lean forward, no longer able to keep myself straight.
Despite that keeling, my hands and facesit remain strong. And despite even a slight moment of distraction, you remain beneath me, a good girl – taking your well-earned punishment. And though fucking your face is everything I wanted it to be, your tongue’s stationary place in your mouth begins to gnaw at me.
Such a frustration causes me to release one of your unmoving hands, and then reach for a large handful of hair. On it I tug, before ordering you, my deep, grinding and rocking not stopping for an instant. “Lick me slut!”
Your hips rock and grind and slide and dig into and onto and over my face, sliding back and forth in long sweeping motions… You leave me coughing and dazed beneath you as you get wetter and wetter, smearing long heavy dampness all over my face. My lungs already burning with lack of air. My feet are still, right leg just twitching on the floor, even as you instruct me.
But I am too broken. Too wrecked to do anything, even serve you as my better. Your words coming through only as a mumble, as my entire world is your pussy. And the warm, hateful cage that is your pressing thighs, and sitting womanhood.
My demand is let loose from lips, and echoes against the walls of your house until it fades into a distant corner. And though I tug at your hair, I see it — it is too late. You’re too far gone.
Having expended so much energy in our wild engagement, and giving everything you had to fight off a submission. And so though I continue to hold my grasp on your blonde hair, I close my eyes and simply enjoy.
This moment of dominance. This moment of silence. No more insults. No more challenges, No more promises of what you will beat me — hurt me — make me beg for you to stop. And as I think of all that doesn’t happen, I focus on what does. My clit sliding up and down your nose. Your screams and whimpers of regret sounding into my soaking wet pussy as it drips on your face. And an orgasm that builds within me, faster than I want, but slower than you would hope.
Lungs aching, burning, ribs aching, throbbing with pain, right leg twitching I’m almost totally still beneath you now, face soaked, barely corpus mentis, your panting filling the space, not that I really focus on it, the whole sensation of your grinding pussy is overwhelming right now and I am exactly where you put me…
“AAaaaahh” It begins. “Fuck!!” Harder. Deeper, I drive your face. “UUUHHHH” I can feel it, the sum of all this.
All the hate.
All the texts.
All the confrontations.
Building. Welling within me.
Part of me wants to slow — to drag out this moment and your punishment, but such desire is nothing in comparison to my excitement over dominating you — over solving the mystery of which amongst us was better.
In my mind I see you gloating, smirking, and laughing at me. Those images drive me to scream louder and louder as my rhythm increases. “FFUUUCCCCKKK!” They cycle and turn — until finally, with my closed eyelids as screens, I see you looking down on me as I break in our only test of strength. The hatred I felt in my heart at that moment. And how I swore to myself revenge. Such a memory and the conclusion of the oath therein sends me over the edge.
“EEENNNJJJOOOOYYY IIIITTT, CCCUUUNNNTTT!” I let loose in one last statement of defiance before my juices explode out and coat your already soaked face. My body shakes, muscles quiver, and as they do, I fall forward off of you, to the carpet face first. No longer worried about you. No longer believing you to have even the slightest ounce of energy or resistance left in you. “Mmmmm.” I mouth as I lay there. “Taste it … Laura. My-my dominance….”
Your cum washes my face soaking into my hair, choking, gagging me as it runs into my nose and mouth and eyes. I can’t manage more than a choking gagging coughing hacking sucking breath as you fall off me and lie there twitching….
My mind whirls though thinking back to that first moment after meeting where your eyes had locked on mine and we realized both of us felt superior, the dominant….
The escalation of verbals.
The feeling of rage as you tried to stand up to me, smaller and less defined, the feeling of panic as your legs had begun to beat mine but elation as you broke, although that should have been a warning…
But I was so sure I was stronger, despite your bitchy words, so sure I was better…. the moment when it went wrong when the truth we’d fought over verbally became crystal was when two bodies, only in thongs, locked together by the hair slammed together on the carpet and you muscled me onto my back.
Functional vs visible muscle, my mom had always told me of it ad it had been proved, you beat me, forcing me onto my back and under you, and that dealt the blow…. the rib breaking, vicious, cruel scissors was something you’d already proved you had but came from that muscle win….
A few moments pass as I lie there, gathering myself as you cough and gag. But when my earth-shattering orgasm passes, and my body’s quaking stops, I roll onto a hip and into a seated position not feet away from you.
You do not look at me or speak. In me still rages a tempest, but one that slows. One that finds itself ebbed by feelings that were not there before.
Respect. Regret. Empathy.
And though those feelings threaten my harshness, and dare to bring warmth to my white-hot hate, I fight them off — at least for now.
“Anytime you want a rematch, slut…,” I say in offering, as I stand and look down at you. I could leave. Walk out of your apartment and your life. But for some reason — because of some need, I want eye contact. A word. Something from you, though I have already taken everything.
I hear your challenge, the words of the dominant to the loser, ones you know I won’t dare take you up on for a long time, I slowly roll onto my side retching and coughing holding my bust ribs and unable even to wipe the cum from my face and hair, ignoring you.
Unable to even think of you, hating that you are the better woman in basically every way… I feel your presence, a heavy stance behind my head, animal instinct warning me and I slowly look up and my eyes, gummed and barely opening look at you briefly, my breathing ragged and catching short, like before.
It is enough. What I’ve done. What I’ve taken. What you offer in submission. And so without another word. Without a strike. Without anything else, I turn and confidently walk past you, picking up my coat as I go, leaving you there soaked in my cum. More than confident that you won’t take me up on my offer of a rematch. The surety both a cause to smile and regret.