Watch for it, as rivals tangle, how often they – in the midst of their writhing, wrap their thighs around the other’s body, and pull them close. Not in an attempt at some form of scissor or submission – not because it is part of a coming reversal or escape, but instead because between their curses and cries, each longs for the contact. Every brush of clit against clit, every press of stomach against stomach, and every feeling of breast smashing into breast, intoxicates them.
Not because they are lovers or friends – not because they are lesbians or even bi, but instead because every such contact means that they are each truly battling the other. That their bodies are at war, from head to toe, and that in the end, the victor can claim victory of the soul, the mind, and body, against the woman they loath most in the world.Recommend0 recommendationsPublished in