Sexfights can indeed spring from the ether, born of a happenstance encounters that lead to immediate sexually combative satisfaction. An accidental bump on a subway car, an eye roll in a dressing room, a set of seats made too small in a dimly lit theater, can each lead to women becoming rivals, and their womanhoods becoming fused until one explodes against its owner’s will.
Others, however, come of feuds which are nurtured and protected – cherished and chosen. Not because the rivals care for one another, or because they are only feigning their hatred. No, it is instead because of the excitement, and the anticipation each has in seeing the culmination of their war. Days can be spent texting threats and insults – sending pictures as points of comparison and competition. Nights may pass by without sleep, as women whisper heated promises of beating the other into their phones, each making sure their husbands do not hear.
Days, weeks, months, or even years may be used to cultivate such relationships of rivalry – each passing without a single finger having been laid on the other’s body – without any release which isn’t brought about by a competitor’s own hand.
Sexfights built in such a slow and simmering way may seem like madness to some, risking lost concentration at work, and lost moments at home, but their outcome – their climactic, orgasmic conclusions are often life-changing, paradigm-shifting releases which may simultaneously scar and inspire a woman for a lifetime.
But when the end comes, and one woman has bested another, after being so long bound to each other in loathing, do they just forget?
Do they simply move on, seeking new prey and new pussies to conquer?
Or do they begin again, planning with precision and patience their eventual rematch….
The loser again whispering, though words she never thought she would utter.: “I’ll get you next time, you slutty little bitch.”Recommend0 recommendationsPublished in