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A Night in Manhattan by Rival’s Rapture

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Loudly, the door slammed open, not once or twice, but in what sounded like a cascade of impacts. A clatter brought about by the three newest guests to one of many between-building motels in the city that never sleeps, Hope, Hannah, and their mutual prey, Brandon.

There in the entrance to that temporary abode did the two cute blonde girls (each a newly turned 18 years of age) share his affection, though only in half, or more accurately, in part. For though at that moment they each worked to please him, to keep him, and to drive him wild with desire, doing so together was the absolute last thing they wanted to do.

In fact, throughout that night spent with Brandon, their young, validation-obsessed minds had been focused not only on earning his attention and affection, but increasingly, on driving each other away.

Yes, the two were classmates on occasion. And yes, they had arrived at one of Manhattan’s hottest clubs together and on Brandon’s respective arms. But apart from those two links, they were strangers.

Strangers who smiled sweetly at Brandon, after having been waived through by a friendly, bill-slipped doorman. Each letting their eyes look like those of a gentle doe whenever his gaze would move their way.

And though they put on such a show for the man they both sought, when he wasn’t looking, and they could do so without being caught, the two college girls would glare at one another. Mouthing demands for the other to leave — demands that came alongside inaudible curses and insults. But when you picture them doing as much, do not let such hostility and confrontation twist their image in your mind. For each of the two girls looked as innocent, sweet, and soft as they possibly could.

Instead and for clarity, imagine yourself standing on the raised platform of a church, looking out across the pews. Then let your eyes search those gathered for the two girls who you would bet, go to sleep holding their leather-bound bibles. The two who take not the lord’s name in vain, and instead chastise those who do. The two who smile sweetly back at you, not with intention or condescension, but joy at hearing your sermon.

When you have them secured well in your mind, know that whomever you conjured holds not a candle to the appearance of Hope and Hannah. For they looked like angels that night, not just in their relative beauty but in their expressions and features.

Their hair made up of golden strands, and their eyes of soft and glistening with excitement. Their soft, full lips, bent in the sweetest of smiles. Their skin without blemish or wrinkle, hued the exact same color of pale caucasian, at least were Hannah’s skin not broken by a bikini-line tan.

And though church they did attend now and again, neither found themselves bound or even affected by the words spoken there, nor by their likeness to those with halos and wings painted and etched on the walls and windows therein. Especially not that night. Especially not when they knew what and who was at stake. Brandon. THE Brandon. Quarterback of Manhattan U. The king of the school, as far as they and anyone that mattered was concerned.

It was he they sought to catch. Not only his eye, but thereafter his body, mind, and soul. A hunt that led Hope and Hannah to dress to impress. To enthrall. To entice and then ensnare.

Hope wearing bright red heels, wicked white thigh highs, with a matching garter that made her feel like twice the woman as they slid on and up. Over such glory rested a short, tight, black skirt that exposed all of the above. An outfit the beautiful young girl finished off with a simple, and yet body-hugging cherry red camisole. One so tight that her breasts, which in any garb looked large and incredible, seemed near overwhelming. Exactly what she wanted for her night spent on the town and in search of claiming he who could make her.

Hannah, by happenstance, wore an outfit which differed only in color. Black heels. A carnelian skirt. And a white halter top, the exposing breast-gap of which had been widened by pulling hands and prying fingers.

Such outfits made Hope and Hannah look like women with more experience and allure. The red hot seductresses they wished and that night needed to be. And yet to Brandon, despite their outfits, and the look of the two 18-year-olds in them, they were still good girls — two sweet little things for him to dirty and break.

That plan of usage and discarding was no secret, however, as far as Hope and Hannah were concerned. For they wanted the same thing. Each planning to catch his eye, to capture him, and then use his attention to validate themselves in the eyes of their friends, their classmates, and anyone else who saw him as the type of girls the hottest guy in school fucks. Then, with that clout, to move on to the next one. Their own social capital enhanced by the mere fact that once, he was theirs.

But even in that temporary role, both of our angels pictured themselves on Brandon’s arm alone, without rival or competition — they being the one queen atop the social throne of Manhattan College.

Belittle and snipe though they did, as they sat on either side of their prey in a red-leather lined booth, Brandon didn’t notice. He being far too dim to recognize their frustrations and desire to have him to themselves. An obliviousness that continued and worsened, as the night moved on, and Brandon became less and less clear-eyed and cogent.

A state brought about by shot after shot of whatever hard liquor sounded good to him at the moment. And as his already lacking wits began to abandon him, Hannah and Hope began to realize that their less overt efforts to discourage, dissuade, and dislodge the other, had done nothing but harden their rival’s resolve.

If they were older and more confident, not in their bodies but their self-worth, each of them would have told Brandon to go fuck himself, both literally and figuratively.

Scoffed as he wrapped his arms around each of them, and pulled them so close that they could literally taste the hot breath of the other with every inhale.

Gasped in outrage as he bent his neck to kiss one of them and then the other, smearing each of their lips with the other’s lipstick and their tongues with the other’s taste.

Recoiled at his comments that it would take both of them to satisfy his lusts, and that they together were a perfect pair to get him off.

But at their young age, he, this curly brown-haired jock was their ultimate chance at validation and social ascendance. And so they remained, girding themselves not only for the long haul, but the war they each felt they would be forced to wage against one another for his affection.

And who could blame them? As each truly believed, that Brandon’s eyes being upon them was a testament to their beauty. That his hands brushing and grabbing at their breasts crassly and even painfully was an endorsement of the value of their body. That his attention was worth more to either of them than anything else they could obtain that night, or had obtained in a year.

Yes, in reality, Brandon was a creton, a “bro”, and nothing more than a neanderthal with a good arm. But to them, he was a god. The king of their social universe.

Such an undeserved mantle on Brandon’s broad, A-shirt-exposed shoulders pushed both girls to continue and escalate their attempts to rid themselves of the other. Doing so, as the quarterback’s sobriety and focus on their actions waned, by extending their legs out past his under the table and then kicking at each other’s bare shins and heeled feet. Each trying to hurt the other and send her the message that she needed to leave, stopping just short of driving down heels and drawing blood.

But when that wasn’t enough, as they remained, each on one of his side’s, the two wrapped their arms around his back, and grabbed a single, tight, handful of the other’s golden locks. With such grips they tugged, whenever the other would speak or gain Brandon’s attention for too long. Such vindictive assaults continued, causing each girl to gasp in pain, and whimper into Brandon’s mouth, even as they took turns kissing his rum-stained lips.

As the hours passed, the two girls began to focus more and more on spiting one another, rather than entertaining Brandon. The two finding their own personal character flaw of being spoiled triggered with ferocity by the others refusal to leave and abandon their claim on Brandon. He was theirs, they each thought — they each KNEW.

Why?

How?

What gave them that certainty?

Not a word they could speak if asked. They just felt it. They just wanted him, and because of that DESERVED him. Neither familiar or accustomed to the feeling of being denied what they truly wanted, or anything for that matter.

And so, confronted with that ugly, painful feelings of jealousy and half-denied desire, as they were, they each acted out. Striking at each other like children, in any way they could, until their competition for him grew white hot — until it absolutely consumed each of them.

Until, as Brandon laid back against the booth back, the two seemingly sweet girls found their pulses racing and hearts pounding. In such a wild state, and without either speaking a word to Brandon or each other, the two new women communicated only through kicks and sharp tugs on the other’s hair.

Tugs through which they each fought to lean forward and look around their near-comatose quarry, just so they could lock eyes in a hateful glare. In the heat of such an intense connection, their once event-triggered tugs of the other’s locks became constant, excruciating pulls. Pulls that were so harsh, that tears began to form in their loathing-etched eyes. Each feeding on those silent tears, their smiles widening as they began to roll down the other’s cheek.

So painful was their war, that after what seemed like an eternity, the pair found themselves on the very edge of screaming out for the other’s mercy. That is until Brandon suddenly sat forward, and with his arms around each, lifted the two from their seats.

At that lifting, and as their coiled and straining legs pulled apart, they released each other’s hair.

Finally free of the pain, both Hope and Hannah tried to collect themselves, sniffling as they wiped away tears. But as they did, and oblivious to all and everything that had transpired between his two ladies, Brandon finally spoke:

“Leeet’s gooo, girlssssss; it’s time for youuuuuu b-both to fiiiind out why I’mmmm they call me the white stallion … hiccup” His words not only sounded of liquor, but reaked like them too. Despite that, neither Hope nor Hannah cared as they gazed up at him, for their god had spoken — their lord had called.

As difficult as it was for Brandon to maintain balance and consciousness, he eventually paid for his drinks, each of the two girls having drank only tea to avoid falling into mental, emotional, or physical disrepair.

During that overlong process, each of the two tried to stay on opposite sides of their quarterback, clinging to and guiding his person in such a way that they each could avoid catching a glimpse of each other. They, at that moment, both being scarred and even scared by not only their suddenly explosive conflict, but the pain they suffered in it.

Despite Hope and Hannah’s feelings and fears, and the use of misfiring and sloppy fingers, Brandon also found a way to call for an Uber driver. One that came far faster than any of the three expected. A surprise coupled with another, as the car which came was a Honda, a two-door, with a backseat only large enough for two children to fit comfortably. Such seating Brandon demanded Hope and Hannah take, as he, of course, wanted the front passenger seat to himself.

“Sorry about the cramp, ladies! My real ride is in the shop, and I couldn’t go without working; hope you don’t mind.” The heavy-bearded hipster driver commented, as he held his seat forward so that the two girls could cram themselves in.

“Nah, man…. It’s coooool. We’re just trying to get to … uh shit…. Where are … weeee goin’?” Brandon asked, though mostly of himself. “GOoOo t’the … Excelsior Motel. It’s close, right…?”

“Got it.” Replied the driver, who quickly strapped his seatbelt over wide-spread V-neck t-shirt, and over-pouring chest hair.

“Yo, man, you got annnyyy Lil Tay Tay playlistsssSSsSs.” The sentence was the last either Hannah or Hope heard before they tuned out everything being said in the front seat, each instead looking out the corner of the window reserved for their side of the miniscule backseat. In such a gaze they hoped to make the journey without having to deal with the other, even if the left side of one was almost literally glued to the right side of the other in the cramped nature of the back.

At first, their visual diversions worked, as each just focused on breathing and zoning out, trying to forget their tearful and wordless encounter at the club.

But as busy Manhattan traffic slowed their journey to a crawl, their closeness began to wear on them. Not just the closeness, but the rubbing. Their skirts, Hope’s red and Hannah’s black, caught and hiked up as they entered the back seat, and with the friction of their settling, pulled almost all the way back and behind them.

Despite their efforts to pull them back down and forward, the tightness of the backseat kept them from doing so. And as a result, the two girls’ bare thighs, each with just the perfect amount of thickness to them, rubbed together in the dark — back and forth, up and down as the car maneuvered lanes and hit potholes.

In truth, however, it was not their pressing thighs that each of the two girls began to focus on, as they could do little to control them in the cramped confines of the backseat.

No, instead it was their forearms, Hope’s right and Hannah’s left, to which their attention became affixed. They could be both moved, adjusted. Pulled apart and away from one another.

And yet, before too long, each found themselves, despite their momentary desire to avoid conflict, pressing them together. To be clear, it was not the sensation of touch they wanted, but the removal of the other’s arm from their space. The two using the silent battle as a release for the frustrations each still had with the other.

Neither looking to the other or speaking, as they pushed their forearms into each other. A lack of contact and communication at odds with the fact that each of the two were fully aware of what was happening.

An awareness that did little to break the stalemate they found themselves in. Neither able to do more than to keep their rival’s pushing arm at bay.

Rather than suffer in the squalor of such parity, Hope decided to shift her arm forward quickly, intending to give Hannah something akin to an indian burn.

And though the effect was far less than Hope expected, it earned a slight yelp from the tanned blonde, who immediately fired back by mimicking the same shift.

A reprisal which led the two backseat rivals to move their forarms back and forth, and back and forth, until the invisible peach-hued fuzz on their arms began to catch, tangle, and tie together in small knots. Such knots caused each such contrary shift to hurt and yank, causing them both to slow, and then to stop entirely, neither wanting to continue to endure such pain.

It was then, with forearms and thighs locked together, each dared to look away from their window corner, and finally into one another’s eyes. One might assume the look they shared look was as hate-filled and as clear in purpose as before, but instead it was confused. Questioning. And almost guidance seeking, as the two young women began to experience such a strange mix of emotions that they could not decipher them alone.

Anger, jealousy, and frustration, yes … but desire, excitement, and something far deeper, as well. In that shared gaze they began to lean away from the window and towards each other, at least as much as they could in the space left for them to do so. But just as each of them closed in on a possible explanation for what they were feeling, a revelation of what it was that made their hearts pound, and pulses race in their conflict, they found themselves interrupted.

“Why don’t you two get each other ready, huh?” Brandon asked in a voice less broken by inebriation than before. “We’ll be there soon, and I want my bitches lubed up.”

Despite the rudeness of everything said, both Hannah and Hope looked to Brandon with their same soft, adorning eyes, trying to decide exactly what he meant.

“I think he means he wants you two to kiss….” The driver said with an unseen smirk, one hidden by his intentionally mis-aimed mirror.

“See, Uber-bro gets it.” Brandon added as he turned left in his seat so that he could look back at his two girls. There he found them looking back at him, blinking, each of them unsure how to handle his request.

At the returned look, the curl-heavy brunette stud gave back a look of disappointment, one Hannah capitalized on immediately. Doing so by using her one free arm and hand to grab Hope’s face, and then, before she could react or resist, turning her head to the side, and without a hint of their ongoing battle or uncertainty, kissing her.

Not softly or timidly, but in exactly the way any warm-blooded heterosexual man would want. Deep, passionately, and with roaming hands, after a sudden, painful rip of her forearm from Hope’s, a pulling loose that caused both young women to whimper into each other’s mouth.

For a moment, Hope had begun to spiral, allowing herself to feel emotions other than those of anger and jealousy for Hannah. Foolishly letting herself believe that their quarrel was becoming something else. Something lustful, unexpected, and shared. That perhaps, despite her previous intentions and insistence, the two could share Brandon and the social lift his association would bring them.

And yet, in a quirk of fate, it was that kiss between the two rivals that broke that notion. As Hannah wasted not a second before she tried to impress upon Brandon that it was she who he should desire. She who was willing to obey him and press her lips to Hope’s. She pouncing on her rival’s moment of indecision without hesitation. The qualmless blonde lifting her legs and sliding them, one between and one over, Hope’s.

In reaction, and still struggling to process how quickly her rival had taken control, and in the process betrayed the moment she thought they were about to share, Hope’s eyes widened. A widening that increased as Hannah pulled Hope over and almost on top of her.

Then, with her rival so placed, and with Brandon watching eagerly, Hannah’s tongue invaded, finding itself met with no resistance until it was so deep in Hope’s mouth she almost choked on it. It was then that Hope tried desperately to catch up in Brandon’s eyes, by returning her rival’s kiss and passion, moving her hands to Hannah’s curvy body and exploring.

Finally engaged with each other in something other than the sharing of pain, the two young women’s manicured and painted fingers slid over each others supple contours. Each wanting to drive Brandon wild, as they began to pull at each others skirts and tops, as if they could wait not another moment to tear them off of each other.

At first, as their tongues met, they did not slide against one another and dance as partners, but instead clashed, and pushed — each of the two rivals seeking to assert control over their kiss. The two, once again, sharing the same purpose. That being to evict the other’s tongue from their mouth and instead fight their battle in that of the other’s. But with every passing minute, and as their soft bodies pressed together, their D-cup breasts met and settled, and their hands continued to explore and grab, their false excitement grew to be real.

Not just real but intoxicating — overwhelming! The hearts of the two girls’ syncing as they beat hard in unison. Each clinging desperately to their reason for kissing, that being to COMPETE for Brandon’s desire. But with every passing second, their tongues which had once pushed and stabbed, softened. Their kiss metling into one of desire and need, rather than feigned lesbian tendencies for their quarterback’s pleasure.

The adverse paid finding themselves buried deep in a moment of fire and flare. Their breathing ragged and hitched. Their hands, as they searched, bending at the knuckles and gripping, as if each was afraid the other might pull away.

At the sight, Brandon wanted to speak, to cheer, to say something, but with the display before him, one made magic by Hope and Hannah’s intensity, even he could come up with nothing. And in that blissful silence, Hannah pulled back from her rival’s kiss, and moaned out into the car as her head dropped back, and her hair spread out across the seat.

In an instant Hope gave chase, leaning into and against her fellow backseat freshman. Her head dipping, diving, and then burying between the shoulder and neck of the girl beneath her.

Then, as Hannah almost seemed to melt beneath her, Hope began to deliver a series of passionate, sucking kisses to her rival’s neck. Lost in the moment, she who felt those kisses squirmed, simultaneously trying to not only hike up her skirt, but also to align her own quickly wetting panties with Hope’s. She being desperate beyond reason to fuck the rival she once fought so intensly.

At that moment, Hannah had fallen so deep in her own desires that she could not even remember what her relation to the girl atop her was. That is until Hope, brought her lips to Hannah’s ears, and as she pretended to nibble at it, whispered in a soft and yet truly cruel tease. “You don’t deserve, Brandon, slut….”

At the hearing of such intentionally lust-shattering words, Hannah gasped with outrage, feeling as if a dagger had been driven through her chest. Immediately and in reaction, she sought to push, to shove, to get Hope off of her. She realizing far too late that while she had given into temptation, Hope had done nothing but feed it. The latter clearly seeking to take back the control she lost when she found herself hesitant to share a kiss with her rival.

But before any of those counters could be enacted, insufficient and desperate as they may have been, the sound of a horn tore through their intimacy, failing as it was. Such a blaring sound came as the Uber driver, mesmerized by the sight of two lustful college freshmen girls, putting on the show of a lifetime, failed to watch where he was going. And where he was going was into the opposing lane of traffic, until at the last second he swerved back onto his own side of the road.

Then, as if that sudden honk and wild adjustment wasn’t enough, in another quick move, he turned the car sharply. A maneuver which led the car, after a long and painful series of asphalt-caused bumps, to careen into the parking lot and thereafter the unloading zone of the Excelsior motel.

“BRO! What the fuck, man?!” Brandon exclaimed, angry, terrified, and not at all understanding of the difficulty he put his driver in by calling for such pre-arrival festivities.

“I am so, sorry. I just….” The driver replied, only to have Brandon do the same, the two commenting back and forth until all of it just sounded like noise. Noise that neither Hope nor Hannah even registered, as they just laid in the backseat, glaring at each other. Hope looking down, and Hannah staring up, each having taken their turn during the ride shattering the other’s trust.

Almost at the same moment, did the two girls open their mouths to speak to each other — to curse and threaten. But as their lips hung open, neither girl was sure how to even put their feelings into words. Not without admitting to the other that they had fallen. That they had given in to each other’s charms. Thankfully, and as they suffered in that mutual and hateful glare, they again found themselves interrupted.

“Come on! Let’s go!” Brandon demanded as he and the driver bent their seats forward on either side of the car. In an instant, Hope moved to peel her body from Hannah, but as she did, she suddenly found herself held in place by a hand seizing her hair. The sensation brought Hope back to her mutual glare with Hannah, whose eyes flared in warning — making it clear what happened would not be forgiven or go without reprisal. But not satisfied by the look alone, Hannah leaned up, brought her lips to Hope’s ear and whispered: “I’ll make you regret that, bitch….”

Hope wanted to stay — to reply — to give Hannah the same whispered threat, but before she could, she felt Brandon reach in and grab her by the arms. It was only then, as he pulled, that Hannah released her grip on Hope’s hair, and began to adjust herself, knowing that the way too old hipster driver was admiring the view of her hiked up dress and wet-centered panties.

From there, it took only a handful of minutes for both of the girls to exit the car, obtain the key to their room, and hit the elevator. It was there, within that nicely-carpeted metal box, that they each set in, latching onto Brandon and beginning their seduction. The pair of barely-out-off-high-school rivals working together to unbutton his shirt, wanting to have as little between them and Brandon’s body as possible when they made their room.

A room they, in a stumble, careened towards as the door to the elevator they occupied opened and then behind them shut. The trio, not a moment later, crashing into it, as they did when our story began. The heels of each girl flying off, as in wild steps they moved.

Neither girl letting their quarry have even a moment’s peace between kisses, instead forcing him to bounce back and forth between them. Such a ping pong game of pressing lips and swirling tongues continued, until Brandon, with his arms around each, pulled both girls into one contiguous embrace.

In such a tight hold, their lips, tongues, and mouths all met in one intense and unending center of salacious struggle. Hope and Hannah both trying to out-do, out-angle, and out-entice one another — fighting as they had before for their liquored-up prey.

A prey they worked, in a half-carry, half-guiding, from door to beige-made bed.

A bed they meant to throw him down on.

A bed on which each expected to devour him together, and in his distraction, battle each other for control and then ownership.

And yet, at the first possible moment that they could have done so safely, Brandon collapsed onto the comforter. He landing in a sit, with eyes barely open.

Despite that state, he of an unbuttoned shirt and half-held consciousness still lifted a hand and pointed between his two quickly advancing devotees. Giving them instruction, as he tried to regain ahold of his bubbling and eviction-threatening stomach.

“KissSssS…. Kiss each oOOOother.” He spoke and then nearly spewed, as his pointing finger waved and bounced in the air, aiming at once in many directions and yet to one particular space. The space between Hope and Hannah.

A space that in an instant evaporated as each of the two contrary club-girls lunged at each other. Wrapping and binding themselves together in a braid of youthful body and contrary wills. Wills they inflicted upon each other in a fiery, half-vicious kiss. One they struggled in, as they together pulled and yanked at each other’s clothes.

Hating.

Challenging.

And lessening the other, in any way they could. Even if that lessening came only in pulled at fabric and quickly removed clothes.

“Yeeaaahhh, get into it, bitches….” Brandon cheered as he swayed from left to right in his seated position on the edge off the hotel room’s bed. He, in all his suspect mascueline-might not only seeing through glazed over eyes, but hearing the sounds of Hannah and Hope made as they kissed.

The pulling of both top and bottom. The snorts and nasal-gasps that the half-spinning pair released as they struggled to find air in their passionate, jealousy-infused kiss.

A kiss, that like the roiling sea moved and shifted from one moment to the next. Movements born not only by lust and desire but also covetousness and cattiness. Each of the two would-be women looking to reach further and pull harder to remove the other’s clothing by force.

As such pulling continued and worsened, their every shred of clothing pulling down, over, and off. The two found themselves at an angle where Brandon could not see their mouths. Their backs and sides to him, as they froze at the far end of a semi-turn. The panties, bras, skirts, and tops all laying beneath them in an unkempt pile.

There, they pulled back from the confines of their wild and hateful kiss, and with pressing foreheads whispered to each other.

“Fucking bitch….” Hope muttered breathlessly as the lips of she and her rival hovered so very close.

“Stupid slut….” Hannah returned in kind, as lingering lines of saliva hung in a dipped string between their lips.

“He’s mine….” Laid claim as their now nude and nubile bodies pressed together.

“Mine….” Replied the other, as the two gripped at each other so tight they each felt as if they might faint.

Share those words of ownership though they did. As soon as they had passed from one’s lips to the other’s ear, the two dove back into their kiss. For though they did want and did despise, their struggle over Brandon intoxicated them.

Bound them. Not only to each other, but to an intensity they had not known. An excitement so tangible they could taste it. A challenge so intimate and personal that even the thought of it made their butters churn. And so having it — feeling it, they found themselves stolen away.

Their sanity lost.

Their inhibitions torn asunder.

They would do it, whatever it was.

Battle each other till they had him. Writhe with and against one another until Brandon could not only be claimed in voice but taken by them alone.

Such wild dreams of singular possession swelled in them, even as their lips kissed and fingers gripped. But that’s when it came: Brandon’s next spoken words.

“Whoa…. You two rea….” Mid-comment, Brandon’s mouth was sealed by the pressing lips and invading tongues of Hannah and Hope. The two blondes diving upon and then kissing him with a distracting passion. Their nearest hands fighting to pull his face towards them and away from the other.

But that was not the only battle that was at that moment occuring. For as they kissed, Hannah and Hope wrestled. Not with each other, but with Brandon’s belt and bottoms. They working together for that moment alone, so that once it was free they could claim his cock as theirs and no other’s.

And though it was awkward, the tugging and prying — angling and adjusting to best remove Brandon’s most steadfast impediment to sexual fulfillment, it passed quickly. Both belt from loop and hook, and pants and briefs over the body-buried young man’s hips and football-hardened ass.

Then, when they were finally free to do so, Hannah and Hope both reached for it. Both grabbed at it. And in a meeting of hands and unintentional lacing of fingers, took it.

The key to their social success.

The magic wand each could use to turn themselves from also-rans into Cinderella.

An also-ran to she on the top of their college’s wish-I-could-be list.

But just as they felt it. The girth of it. The softness of its flesh wrapped tightly around its vein-throbbing rigidity. The small, already-dribbled liquids that coated in an instant their palms and fingers. From their threeway kiss, Brandon sprang.

The gain-sporting collegian rolling, as with an arm he grabbed Hope and lifted her up off of the bed. Not knowing where the brunette boy she coveted so wanted her to be, Hannah rolled onto her back to give him room to move.

But when that turning came to an end, and as her soft hazel eyes looked upward, she found her rival Hope coming down atop her. Not by her own accord, but by Brandon’s. The suddenly ascendant quarterback, with a single arm, lifting, carrying, and then placing one blonde atop the other. All as he pulled himself from beneath them both and to a stand.

“You two are about to….” He began as his first step took him into a knee-deep stumble. “…get the fuckin’ youooouu’vvvveee always wanted.”

At any other moment — in any other situation, the words would have made them both swoon. But as the body of Hope dropped and then pressed into the Body of Hannah.

As their eyes met in a blistering, white-hot glare.

As their dagger-tipped nipples stabbed hard into each other’s areolas.

And as each felt the moment of first-insertion approach, they could barely hear them. Those words of gloating by the boy they fought for.

Words quickly followed by those that next escaped Brandon’s lipstick-smeared lips. “Tops first. Then bottom.”

Ooooh, how Hope’s lips curled into a smirk as she heard their mutual prey’s plan. Ooooh, how her eyes spoke for her, they taunting Hannah, as the quarterback pulled his hips back and then began to drive them forward — aiming his ever-hard cock in whatever alcohol-affected way he could.

But as he, the man over which our rivals fought thrusted, Hannah rebelled. She reaching up and grabbing two handfuls of Hope’s hair, just before thrusting her own hips upward.

Not to find contact.

Not to add to Hope’s pleasure.

But to instead displace and replace her. The girl below hoping that though the ends of she and her rival’s legs hung off the bed, she could get high enough to dislodge Hope’s waiting sex, so that Brandon in his confusion might enter her own jealous and river-wet pussy.

Hope could see it coming. The reaction. The grabbing of hair and tensing of body. But she did not expect or understand what Hannah was doing as she fired her lower-half upward. And so, unaware and unprepared, the blonde on top found herself bounced upward when one bare, baby fat-padded pubic mound met another.

Not just bounced, however, but pushed out of position to take her would-be lover’s forthcoming spear. And though Hannah had assumed the removal of her rival’s waiting canal, meant the proper placement of her own, she was wrong.

Not because she had made a mistake. Not because Hope had found some counter. But instead because Brandon stumbled, just as the moment for entrance was upon them all. He half-collapsing forward and on top of the stacked pair of blondes. His cock still driving in, but between. It, with it’s pre-cum aided slickness, gliding between the pair of rivals suddenly weight-compressed mounds.

“Oooh YEAH!!!” Brandon celebrated in a loud shout as he reached down and wrapped his hairy-knuckled fingers around Hope’s hips.

“FUCK YEAH! UGH! UGH!” The brown-haired beast of fields and sheets added before firing off a series of apish grunts. Grunts which came as he held Hope down roughly atop Hannah. His rod of masuline might forging its way in and between their waiting and hungry sexs again and again. The shouting college boy oblivious to the fact that his stabbing sword was not sheathed in either of their pussies but instead between their warring mounds.

“Stop it….” Hope muttered in demand with hanging head and earlobe-pressing lips.

“Fuck you…. I … get him … first….” Hannah replied in a series of effort-broken words.

“No way….” As they spoke, back and forth, their legs wrapped and angled — bent and battled for leverage. Each trying to find a way to shift their lower bodies, and in that way their womanhoods. So that on Brandon’s next coming they could catch his steel-forged dick in their own metal-molding furnace.

“Bitch…. Just….” In words, though not connected ones, Hannah groused at every second she spent beneath her rival. She being unable to free herself or fend off the dick-seeking designs and dives of the fellow blonde atop her.

“Give…. Me….” Though in a semi-semblance of a stuttering sentence, Hope replied in a narration of effort and desire to claim.

But as they struggled and strained, both against their chosen suitor’s blind thrusting and each other’s crashing cunt, they felt it. Not alone in gleeful success but together in a devastating squirt of lost hopes. As Brandon, their stallion — their greatest chance at social and sexual satisfaction came.

Not in them, but between them. Their battling, pillow-soft mounds forming just enough of a cocoon to work Brandon to a humiliatingly premature and gushing orgasm.

An orgasm which caused the quaking collegian to grunt and then groan out in a half-deafening roar. Just before, in an alcohol-induced stumble, he withdrew his softening, cum-stained mace from their meshings of delicate flesh and contrary intentions. The bested braggart crashing down into a dirty, orange corduroy armchair in a nearby crevice of the room.

He leaving his two fiending and fighting huntresses to close their tear-brimmed eyes and curse as they buried their faces in each other’s necks. They two cursing, not only each other but their opportunity lost.

Their muttered words of anger and frustration leaping from lip to the stale, moist air of the room as Brandon’s seamen and seed began to dry between their still flesh-to-flesh mounds.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Hannah raged in a half-hysterical pout, before demanding. “Get off me!”

She had not put herself there, atop her rival, and yet when the blonde asked for it. For her freedom. Hope reached, found, and then with a sudden force, pressed Hannah’s wrists down to the crusty-comforter atop the bed.

“No.” The answer came calmly, thought after both decision and action, and yet without context.

Hope simply refusing as her head continued to hang and as her lips moved from neck to ear. She making it clear in a single word delivered as a dare that she would not move. And would not allow her enraged competition to escape from her place below. Despite the fact that their mutually sought stair to more was no longer in play.

“What!? GET THE HELL OFF ME!” Hannah in a burst of anger, resentment, and force threw herself into a simultaneous push and squirm. She trying to accomplish alone what Hope had refused to give her .

Try though Hannah did, the blonde above her held firm as she reared her head up and pressed down as her rival pressed up. Each shifting their bodies from side to side. One to ride and endure, and the other to escape.

“BITCH! LET GO!” Again Hannah demanded, just as Hope again denied. The two nude and soft-bodied 18-year-olds pushing into and against one another, there in the center of the hotel room bed. Their normally gentle eyes shifting from competing glares to intensity-born breaks from the same. Neither sure what was happening, or why.

Not Hannah as she struggled to free herself, or Hope as she fought to keep such an escape from occurring. The pair instead knowing only that as they struggled, breast-to-breast and eye-to-eye, they could feel it. Brandon’s wet, warm, and syrupy cum spreading between their smooth and keenly shaven mounds as they slid. Back and forth. Back and forth. Not at random or in effort, but in rhythm and repetition.

Side-to-side at first, but then with intention forward-to-back. The two tumult-tethered freshman acting on unrecognized instinct and the pull of unmet sexual desires.

They, only at that moment realizing….

Understanding….

What they were doing….

What they had been doing, since Brandon left them unfulfilled….

A revelation that amongst their pinning and pushing — squirming and straining, they had kept themselves moored and anchored. Center-to-center. Mound-to-mound. And though not clit-to-clit, close enough to feed it. Their hunger. Their thirst. Both the other’s and their own.

Neither slamming or thrusting — humping or heaving. Their efforts more like an undulating and dual-sided slide. A gentle and subconscious grind.

An effort fueled not from their conscious minds, but their passion-filled hearts and jealousy-doused souls. Their, until that moment, unseen and unnoticed dance starting and persisting as Hope found a way to keep them in place.

The blonde on top, knowing somewhere in her primal spirit, that despite Brandon’s withdrawal, she wanted Hannah below her and their semen-stained centers pressed together.

Surely, at the cognizance they would stop. They would cease. Now that it was clear why Hannah was pinned and why Hope had been pinning.

And for a moment, they did. Each freezing, as their eyes met and Hope’s wrist-bound hands released — moving from flesh to fabric.

Free though she was, to move her hands and push, or reach them and attack, Hannah stayed. Hannah remained. She moving her newly freed hands to a gentle and delicate rest on her rival’s shoulders.

A softness matched by their eyes, which searched and studied — begged and bared the depths of their welling and mirrored uncertainty.

An uncertainty that seemed to build and sizzle with every second that passed.

It was unbearable.

It was terrifying.

That moment of tension and futures unseen.

But then it came with the weight of a feather and the force of a displaced air from a blink. A sudden and yet delicate shift of Hannah’s body — both down and then back up. One that Hope could barely feel, and yet she understood it.

The question being asked by her bed-pressed rival. Not only from her single, tender descent and gentle ascension but by her eyes. Eyes, fear-wet and desperate, that asked.

Can we…? It was unspoken. Unheard. And yet Hope knew and without a doubt understood. And so she leaned in and closed her eyes as she sought Hannah’s lips with her own.

A kiss. An acceptance. That’s how she would answer. That’s how she would agree. She deciding to give into the same desires she had in the backseat of the car.

But as she on top lowered slowly and softly, she on bottom grabbed for hair, yanked at locks, and with all the force she could muster, rolled. Hannah, in a flash and before her rival could even open her eyes, turning the two over on the bed.

“Fucking SLUT! You think I don’t remember how you tricked me!” Suddenly, and in a shattering of the silence that had held sway, Hannah screamed. Screamed and then slapped, her right hand releasing hair and in a splash crashing against the cheek of she below.

“How you….” In only the shadow of a sentence and glimmer of a thought, Hannah spoke and then abandoned. She, even though the betrayal was foremost and fire-etched in her mind, not knowing how to describe what it was Hope had done. How she made her want. How she made her desire. Not only the body of her rival but peace so she could have it.

Unsure and upset though Hannah was about what had happened in their Uber, at that moment — as she laid atop her still shock-paused enemy, she was sure of what she wanted.

Sure of what she needed as she raised her right hand again and then in a vicious plummet let it drop into another hard slap.

Frozen though Hope was for a moment and then two, as a second slap came down in a cruel splatter, she thawed, “YOU STUPID BITCH!”

Before they had struggled. Before they had strained. But in that moment, they were wild and without restraint. Each slapping at each other again and again. Even without space. Even without angle. They only knowing that they wanted to hurt each other.

Punish and humiliate each other.

Until the other began to apologize with tears running down her mascara-streaked face.

Until the other begged them in a quivering voice to stop and to have mercy.

In that identical and matched need, they churned and clashed in a tumult of re-woken jealousy and suddenly resurgent rage.

“Cunt! Cunt! Cunt!” Hannah shouted again and again, as together the two bodylocked blondes slapped and grabbed at each other. Pinching and twisting any soft flesh they could find, even as they rolled. Not one way and then another, but left and then left again. All until, in a sudden fall and even quicker landing, they tumbled from the bed and crashed with a thud onto the filthy flat-carpeted carnelian-colored floor of the hotel room.

Their cum-glued hills of womanly strength tearing apart in a sudden and painful tearing of flesh from flesh.

But even there, with each laying on their sides, they did not stop, relent, or slow in the slightest. The coupled freshmen continuing to hit and harm each other in whatever way they could with their hands. But as hit after hit landed, each earning little more than a yelp or a hiss and then without exception a counter, Hope suddenly leaned in and bit.

The heavy-browed freshman sinking her teeth into Hannah’s bare left breast. An attack which made she who suffered it cry out in pain, though at the very moment her lips opened, her attacker sealed a palm over her mouth — muting her shrieking lament.

Hope knowing that she didn’t want to wake the slumbering, slobber-mouthed sloth snoring in the far corner of the room. She, just like Hannah, still intending to claim what was left of him for her own, once they had rid themselves of the other.

Wounded and tortured the other so harshly that in defeat she would flee, sobbing from their shared hotel room.

A goal that led Hope’s teeth to dig deep and tear hard at the center of Hannah’s poor tit. She who suffered the attack reaching out with her hands in terror and desperation and driving her nails into Hope cheeks.

Nails that then drug — hard and without mercy. Neither of the two college girls having the maturity or reasoning left within them to lessen their attacks to avoid having true viciousness inflicted upon them in return.

Their unrepentant and unrestrained rage set ablaze and loose, even as together they began to cry. At the feeling of the pain they felt. At the fear of how terrible the pain their rival no doubt still planned to inflict.

They wanted it. To fight. To war. To wound. And yet, the knowledge that they had found themselves trapped within such a cage of craven enmity made them weep.

Along with dragging nails and sinking teeth.

Along with kicking legs and withheld and muted screams.

That is until suddenly, in the depths of their near hysterical battle, that Hannah found herself grabbed up and off of the carpet. She being pulled away from Hope against her will by a force yet unknown.

The retracted blonde’s nipple coming free from her rival’s reaction-opening mouth with an audible pop, just as her own stabbing and flesh-slicing nails came loose.

“Come here, you sexy little….” Brandon mumbled with alcohol-scented breath as he tossed the college girl he held down atop the end of the bed face-first and on her tummy. Her legs left hanging off, leaving her in a bent-at -the-waist L-shape. A position she remained in as she tried to process what was happening.

A confusion cleared by the unexpectedly conscious quarterback when he stepped forward and drove his re-risen cock into Hannah’s already wet sex with a loud, echoing grunt.

A sound that Hope heard and hated, her once nipple-savaging mouth agape as she watched her rival take the dick she felt was exclusively meant for her.

But at that moment what could she do? Push Brandon away from Hannah? How would the entirely tanked boy of her dreams react? What consequences might there be from him, not to mention those that might come from Hannah, who had already buried her face in the comforter as she began to moan.

Uncertain though Hope was, she had to do something. Had to try to stop Hannah from taking and enjoying what was rightfully her’s. And so she stood and sauntered. Moving behind Brandon, only to press her naked body against his back and then whisper into his ear.

“Mmmmm, let me have this end. Have her suck your dick….” Hope voice was coy and sexy — dripping with sensuality, though behind it lied hate and jealousy.

Masked though her intentions were, Brandon, after delivering a series of hard, grunt-accompanied thrusts, nodded. Stumbled. And then climbed onto the bed. He presenting his rock-hard chalice to Hannah who whimpered in disappointment.

A disappointment she fought through, as to not disappoint her prey. A prey who grabbed Hannah by the hair, and drug her mouth to his manhood. One she took into her mouth and began to lavish with attention. Just as Hope slid down to a seated position between her rival’s still spread thighs, and then after a spin to face out from the bed, bent her neck up.

The Brandon-less blonde looking as if she might actually apply tongue to sex and please the girl who had left deep red ravines in her cheeks not moments before. But Hope had no such intention.

She, instead, just as she was sure Hannah had their mutually sought social ladder of a man’s member in her mouth, lifted her own pair of soft, pink lips and clasped them around those above her. Only to then, a moment later, snap her teeth down and upon clit. Not hard enough to wound or ravage, but enough to make her dick-sucking and bed-bound rival bite too.

The latter’s teeth closing around and clamping down onto the cock of the man she wanted so badly. A man who then cursed and shouted in complaint and pain.

“Owe! Fuck! What the hell, bitch?” Brandon exclaimed, a pain-brought sobriety robbing his speech of slurring.

“I am sooo sorry!” Hannah apologized, as her dick-bit lover pulled back and away.

“Just…. Be careful. I need this thing. Ok? Fuck….” The college hunk instructed as before Hannah could explain what had happened or adjust herself, her mouth was once again pulled over and onto a thrusting and saliva-wet monolith of masquiline might.

One Hannah again took in willingly. Licked wantonly. And sucked at hungrilly, as if she had one final chance to make Brandon her’s.

Yes, the bed-bound blonde worried that Hope would bite her again. Or do something that would make her jaw clench once more. But when one moment passed and then another. Without bite or pinch — scratch or claw, she thought perhaps Hope had given up. Given in. And maybe even left Brandon to her.

It was a foolish thought, dreamt up by a silly girl. And yet she began to believe it more and more with each passing second. Until it happened.

Again.

Hope hands sliding up Hannah’s thighs slowly, teasingly, until finally they grabbed ahold of the ass-cheeks above them hard. Such a grip being taken just before the still sitting…. Still wanting blonde on the carpeted floor bit down on her rival’s sex.

Harder. Longer. Making Hannah once again bite down on Brandon’s cock.

“FUCK! WHA-! STUPID BITCH!” Brandon shouted enraged, as he stumbled over words and comforter. He tripping and falling off of the bed, as he tried to get away from the girl who had bit his rod not once, but twice.

“Brandon, I didn’t….” Hannah tried to explain regretfully, even as the man she spoke to fought his way back to his feet.

“Fuck her! Let me show you how a real woman does it, Brandon.” Hope insulted and requested, as she moved to take control.

“No, no. You two, just stay away from me!” Scared, still-drunk, and entirely uncomfortable, Brandon collected his scattered clothes as he moved towards the door.

“Baby, baby wait!” Hope pleaded as she rushed to the man she had calculated was her’s for the taking.

“No! I don’t…. I’m out!” The young man shouted as he ripped the door to their room open, his clothes pressed tightly to his twice-bitten dick.

“I swear, I won’t do what she did to you!” Hope yelled, panicked and desperate. Her words and a softly placed hand upon Brandon’s shoulder making him stop before leaving, unsure if he should stay or go.

“Fuck you, Hope! You made me bite him!” Hesitate though he did, at the hearing that Hope had played some role in the the bites upon his manhood, Brandon shook his head before growling. “Fuck both of you sluts.”

A harshness he shared before pulling away from Hope, rushing out into the hall, and then slamming the door closed behind him.

His exit, as sudden and unexpected as it was, left Hope to turn her back to the closed door and then lean back against it. Her eyes closing as she let loose a loud, disappointed sigh.

Her lustful desires of a life-changing night with Brandon dashed by her competition with Hannah. A rival whose memory had faded from the rejected and disenfranchised door-leaning blonde.

Forgotten though Hannah was, soon came a reminder. She, in a fit of frustration, unquenched desire, and purpose-shifted rage slamming body-to-body and breast-to-breast with Hope. An audible collision of soft flesh that left the latter pinned against the door and the former doing the pinning.

“Great job, bitch. You cost us both, Brandon.” Hannah accused rightfully, her tone surprisingly soft and calm — despite the words used.

A restraint Hope mirrored as she responded, her body shifting against and beneath her rival’s. Their still-hard nipples glancing as their natural breasts pressed, fighting for space. “You’re the one who can’t give a blowjob….”

The comment was cruel and untrue, and yet still it made Hannah smile. Her anger at hope having shifted and changed in pitch with Brandon’s sudden departure. It leaving Hope as the only person with whom the young, pinning blonde could quench her still desperate thirst.

“At least he wanted one from me. And to fuck my pussy….” Hannah leaned in deep and whispered, knowing the words she shared would sting the heart of the woman she kept flattened against the motel room’s door. “He didn’t want anything from you…..” Hannah then added, before pulling back to see her rival’s expression.

A look of anger and frustration and yet something else. Something primal. Something lustful. Feelings Hannah shared, despite how clearly Hope had played the role of thorn in her side.

“Shut up, Hannah….” Hope growled, as closer and closer she and her enemy’s face came. The eyes of each moving up and down, left and right, studying. Coveting. Begging for the other to squelch the carnal fires left burning within them.

“Make me….” Hannah whispered, her lips lingering so close to Hope’s they brushed upon the speaking. A softness of touch at odds with the electricity that seemed to leap in air-singing sparks from their glaring pairs of eyes.

Both angry. Both still weighed down by their hate. But even in that state, they knew what they wanted from the other. Regardless of what role each had to play to earn in.

“I will make you….” Came a soft, nearly inaudible threat from Hope. One that each of the glaring, body-to-body pair knew to mean something other than a forcing of silence.

“Not before I make you….” Hannah responded with no more volume, but just as much certainty. The speaking of the retort causing shivers to run up the pressed pair’s spines. Tiny shakes that shot through them as their hovering lips seemed destined to meet — to press.

And to begin a new game.

A new competition.

Not for Brandon, but to prove their words true. Who would make the other…. The forced factual they sought unspoken. Unsaid. And yet to them, their meaning was as clear as if it were seen through the finest of crystals.

Expectant though Hope was, that within a moment she would be locked deep within a kiss with Hannah. Suddenly she felt a rough tug at her hair. One that came just as her rival stepped back, and thereafter pulled Hope’s mouth down to her still aching, previously bitten breast.

“But first you kiss it, bitch.” It was violence. A dramatic play for control from Hannah. She making her enemy play soft with the breast she previously wounded.

And though Hope chaffed at the attempt, exclaiming “What the fuck?!” As her rival tried to pull her down, still did she do as told when Hannah’s nipple was presented.

Hope taking it into her mouth and sucking, just as she who felt the pleasure from as much commented. “Mmm, that’s right. Say your sorry, you worthless cunt….”

In half, the bent over blonde wanted to strike. To reengage her enemy in combat, if only to rip the smirk she no doubt wore off her face.

But that will. That need to resist, overcome, and defeat, Hope churned into a passion to out-do, out-fuck, and then to humiliate. She starting her trip to that promised land, by moving left hand in and then down in a soft clap over over Hannah’s mound.

Then, as Hope digits began to slide in between her enemy’s legs, that the same spoke and pushed. “You need to say your sorry to that too, bitch. Get down there.” Hannah demanded, as her hands moved to Hope’s shoulders and shoved down.

An unexpected shift in desire that drove Hope to her knees on the carpeted floor just in front of the door of the room.

“Go ahead….” Hannah purred, her eyes closed and palms still pressed to her fellow freshman’s shoulders.

Hope’s plan had been to use her fingers to slowly, and without drawing her rival’s attention, to walk her to orgasm. While she stood distracted. The worshiping of her injured tit taking every sensuality-drenched ounce of her focus.

But instead Hannah offered it. Freely and perhaps foolishly. Her already wet and seeping kitten. And to it, Hope took like a woman in the desert dying of thirst offered a cold, perspiring glass of water.

Hannah even spreading her legs, as Hope leaned in and began to feast. “I would’ve let you clean his cum out of my pussy, Hope. Just like this — if you hadn’t of been such a dumb cunt.”

The words goaded. They needled. And yet the blonde on her knees continued. Making not a comment or even an expression as she lapped with her tongue. Pushing in and dragging it through her enemy’s most sacred of valleys. Its every coming and going making Hannah’s sweet, tight, little pussy wetter and her clit more and more sensitive.

To Hope it was madness. Hannah knew, after all. What she meant when she said “make you.” It was a challenge. A promise. That she would make Hannah cum before Hannah could do the same to her.

Such thoughts of her rival’s questionable tactics came and then faded. As Hope realized she didn’t have to care what Hannah knew or intended. All she had to do was break the pleasure-demanding bitch’s body. Her will. And then when she was weak, Hope would please herself in whatever way she pleased.

“Unnnnggghhhhh….” Hannah moaned softly. Bracing herself on Hope’s shoulders, as she fought not to collapse.

“Ok….” The moaning blonde began before finding her mind stricken of the words that were to come thereafter.

“Ok, stop….” After a few moments came the next word. A request for Hope to retract her tongue and cease her efforts, though without the detail or determination.

“It’s my tur-OH GOD!!” Ten seconds of pleasure and passion passed before another request came. The mistake she had made becoming clearer to Hannah with every passing second and stroking movement of tongue.

“Hope, sto-uuunnnnnggGgHhhhh” With the interrupted plea came a squeeze at Hope’s shoulders. One begging for mercy. For relenting. But instead of either, came the kneeling blonde’s hands. Sliding up Hannah’s thick, un-muscled legs and to her healthy white-girl ass.

A grip Hope used to guide Hannah down and to her back on the floor as a wriggle became a wobble and then a wobble a slow, lust-weakened collapse.

Move though the pair had, Hannah from a stand to a lay and Hope from a kneel to her stomach, never did the latter’s tongue release the former’s clit. It cupping and then vibrating. Sliding across it in forceful dashes and circling around it in gentle pirouettes.

Cessation though her lips had begged for, and retraction though her words had requested. As on her back Hannah laid, her deliciously soft legs lifted up to Hope shoulders, only to thereafter cross at the ankles behind her upper back.

“Biiiiitchh….” Hannah cursed in a strengthless whisper, all as her hips began to thrust themselves up and at Hope’s still working mouth. Her body betraying her. Her will shattering more and more by the second.

And though an orgasm was building within her. Growing and leaping barriers of resistance and refusal inside her darkest of places, still did Hannah cling to it.

Her hate.

Her anger.

Emotions Hannah used to make her body move when it wanted not to. Her hands rushing to Hope’s hair just as her legs began to spread. An act of taking the laying blonde on the verge of orgasm used to yank her rival up and out from between her legs. Just before the same legs that had a moment before unhooked and spread began to kick. Each such forceful striking out of foot and calf meant to drive Hope away.

“You bitch!” Hope growled as she wiped a mixture of saliva and Hannah’s sacred essence from her lips.

To the curse, Hannah did not respond. She being far too busy turning over and crawling away from her nearly victorious enemy.

An enemy who gave chase and then dove atop Hannah. Knowing that she had only seconds to follow-up on the sexual progress she had made before it faded.

But at the very moment she was in range to grab, Hannah turned back and caught her. The two nubile blondes thereafter grabbing for each other and wrestling for control. One to secure and finish off and the other to fight off and defend against the same.

Try though Hope did, to get a hand between Hannah’s legs as they struggled, the latter used the same to out-angle, out-struggle, and then pin the former to the floor by her wrists.

It was then, with Hope trapped on her back, that Hannah on all-fours moved her right knee between her rival’s spread thighs.

“Ugh! I had you!” Complained Hope, as the thigh she felt pressed against her sex began to drag up and then slide down.

Once and then again.

Even as Hope writhed and squirmed. Fighting to get free.

“Shut up….” Hannah responded, knowing what her enemy said was true.

True though it was, it was her turn. To inflict. To pleasure. And to try desperately to drive the woman beneath her to orgasm.

“I dare you, bitch. Let’s scissor. Right now.” Hope knew as she demanded, that even with all the time that had passed, she would still have a giant lead on her opponent if her challenge was accepted.

“We’ll scissor, as soon as I have you moaning, slut.” Hannah knew the advantage Hope had and hoped to capitalize on. It was the same one in her mind, as she continued to drive the lower part of her upper thigh into and against her enemy’s sopping wet cunt.

And though she had wanted to trib — to fuck only a moment before, upon hearing Hannah would only begin as much when she had the headstart, Hope fought. Wrapping her own thighs around Hannah’s right, trying to trap it and stop it from moving forward. All as her fingers stretched and wriggled in air, trying desperately to scratch or claw at her keeper’s arm.

“Unnngghh! FUuuuUUck!” Tighten though her legs did, hooking at the calves behind Hannah’s own. Still did that thigh have the room to shift forward and drive against. Not as far. Not as fast. But enough to continue pushing Hope into a pleasure she was loath to accept.

“CuUuuUunnttt….” Hope groaned out and then continued. “I hate yoOOooouuuUUUu….”

“Same, bitch…. Now moan for me!” At the very instant Hope heard the words, she swore never. Setting her will against it. Her heart against it. Moaning for the bitch above her.

And though she did, within the 2 seconds it took her to take that unspoken oath, her tightly sealed lips ripped open, from them springing an animalistic howl of pleasure. One so deep and guttural Hannah could feel its sexual reverberations in her own clit. The thought of it and the pleasure Hope had to feel to give it making even she who caused it shiver in excitement.

“Now we scissor….” It came like a proclamation from Hannah, one she set forth as her hands released Hope’s wrists and moved to pry the sealed-tight thighs of the same open. She who sought to rip wide those cinched legs feeling the same confidence her rival had only minutes prior.

It would be disaster, if the tribbing Hope had asked for came then. When she was already close to orgasm and when her rival was anything but.

And so the blonde on her back kept her legs closed tight. All while her hands moved up to Hannah’s hair and pulled. The force of the sudden tug yanking she who endured it down, face-first between Hope’s beautiful young breasts.

Breasts cupped by squeezed-in biceps that their owner used to suffocate Hannah. Arms wrapping around her neck, even as she continued to focus on pulling Hope’s thighs from around her own. And then, if she could manage it, to press clit to clit with her near-orgasm enemy.

But as one of the two warring Manhattan girls focused on earning victory by one release and then another, Hope settled in. To the smother she inflicted upon her rival. To the plan she had concocted — desperate though it may be.

One that involved stealing her enemy’s every. Last. Breath. Not quickly, but in a gripping, straining, struggle of attrition. Or at least a struggle it would have been, if Hannah had fought it.

But she didn’t.

Being instead committed to her own strategy, her every effort spent pulling and prying at Hope’s legs. Certain that if she could gain entry, she could fuck her rival into weakness. Before a smother could rob her of her of more than a breath or two.

A hope Hope fed and nurtured by letting her own legs pull open just enough to make Hannah believe she was close to achieving her goal. And in truth she was. For with every second that passed, the blonde on bottom — the one with her enemy’s face between her sealed-tight breasts, focused on nothing else than holding. Nothing other than keeping Hannah in place and from the oxygen she needed to continue.

Even as that same Hannah’s trapped leg finally slid deeper. Hope’s thighs finally unclenching and spreading wide. The pair of battling college girls’ finally sliding and locking together in a scissor.

A collision of centers and womanhoods that made each of the two shudder and shiver, even as the true toll of Hope’s smother began to take hold.

Hannah, having already brought her hands up from the legs she once tugged at to Hope’s arms to do the same. But as that desperate struggle began, the breathless blonde’s fire began to die out.

Her thrusts of hip coming slowly and weakly — misaimed and misaligned. Her lungs burning even without her speaking, but felt as if they would explode when in anger and hatred she began to scream. Her every word muffled and muted between Hope still applied and trapping of tits.

Hope keeping her grip tight, smother heavy, and focus intense. Going so far as to wrap her legs up and round Hannah’s hips and ass. Keeping her from trying to pull back or away, if somewhere in the haze of her asphyxiation she came up with a plan to do so.

“That’s right, slut. Go to sleep…..” Hope suddenly demanded in a voice loud enough to fill the quiet hotel room. The smothering beauty shifting her upper body left and then right to make her rival’s suffering worse.

Worse, though Hannah’s every movement had already become slow and lethargic — weak and pathetic. Her efforts to scissor and fuck having ended. Her attempts at pulling and scratching having turned into the throwing of forceless slaps and half-clenched punches at Hope side’s.

Until even those stopped — along with Hannah’s barely audible whimpers. Sounds, along with tears, which had before poured into Hope’s large, natural breasts.

And though those were signs that her enemy was broken. That her enemy was ruined and suffocated. Still did the still energy-rich blonde on her back hold. She wanting there to be no more fighting. No more daring. No more struggling from Hannah when she released.

Only punishment.

Only humiliation.

Only she, the defeated bitch between her tits, taking the role of victim.

Unquestioning and weak beyond reason.

A weakness Hope found when suddenly Hannah went limp. Not in half but fully. Her hands dropping to the carpet, half-curled.
A happening both telling and defininite that finally convinced Hope to let her smother lessen. Lessen and then release. All as she shoved Hannah off of her and into a motionless heap on the floor.

“Don’t fucking move, bitch.” Hope ordered as she pushed herself to her feet. The wetness between her thighs coming down in slow, running streaks as Hannah remained.

Unmoving, but still breathing.

Barely there, but still conscious, if only barely.

Barely, but just enough to whimper and writhe on the carpet as Hope walked to the room’s bathroom and turned on the bathtub’s faucet.

“You…. Che…. Cheat….” Hannah muttered hoarsely, failing to even get out her second of two words. Broken protests aimed at the girl who with long, confident strides, reentered the room.

“And you’re too weak to do anything about it.” Replied Hope, as she leaned down and grabbed the wheezing and strengthless blonde at her feet.

To the words. The announcement of her obvious state of defenselessness Hannah wanted to reply. To rebut and refute. But instead she only groaned, as suddenly she found herself drug up by her hair to her feet and against her enemy’s body in a lean.

She only able to stand — only able to walk with her enemy’s help. A help that led her not to the bed for rest, or the chair the man they fought over had sat in. But instead to the bathroom.

A room in which Hannah found herself, after a merciless push from her rival, crashing back and into the quickly filling bathtub. Not in a sit, but onto her back. Her legs bent and hung over the far side of the tub as she laid there, too weak to move or resist, in a pool of rising water.

“Now, you fucking cunt….”Hope began, though it was painfully clear she had more to say. “You’re going to lick my pussy. And if you don’t get me off — I’m not getting up.” As the still standing blonde spoke, she stepped into the bathtub and then without an ounce of hesitation, over Hannah’s face. Her legs spread and feet planted, so that her rival had no other option but to look up at her beautifully breast and body framed face.

“Which, sucks for you because…. Well…. This water is filling up pretty fast.” The danger of her threat — of her words were clear, and yet still. Before the blonde laying in the tub could fully process the ultimatum she faced, Hope lowered herself into a low kneel. Placing her still-moist pussy over Hannah’s curse-mouthing lips and sniffling nose. The back-laid blonde beginning to cry as the true weight of Hope’s successful smother crashed down upon her. Not figuratively, but literally.

Hope, at the first sight of a tear rolling down the cheek of her fellow freshman, dropping her sexy lower half down and over Hannah’s face. She, in so doing, injected the collegian beneath her with poison and then at the same time offering her its cure.

An offer made as Hope glared down between her own thighs and into Hannah’s eyes. Eyes the kneeling dominant made sure were still visible, so she could see it.

The horror.

The anger.

The regret.

And the despair. Of losing Brandon. Of failing in their battle. And at that moment, of having no other choice but licking the clit and pussy of the girl she once sought to overcome and ouster.

“I’d hurry if I were you….” Hope teased as the water below her continued to rise. It reaching the middle of Hannah’s cheeks, just as the same began to comply.

Not reluctantly, or in slow, resentful laps. But quickly and desperately, with every ounce of energy she had left within her tit-smothered and broken body.

The application of it. Her rival’s tongue to her still hungry cunt. Not at such a moment where she would need to resist or stop it, but instead one in which she could enjoy it. Both the feeling itself and the accoutrement of achievement it came with. Made Hope shiver with excitement, and smile wildly with joy.

Yes, Brandon had left them both. Yes, the reason their spontaneous combustion from strangers to enemies had disappeared. But she had control — complete and unquestioned.

After all that had occurred, the night in Manhattan was her’s. Her’s and her’s alone. Not as a dick-seeking slut, though whens he was done, she’s try again to be just that. But instead as a woman.

The better woman, at least of they two.

A ranking that Hope focused on as she bit at her upper lip and began to fuck. Not the man she had chased alongside her sobbing rival, but the face of the same.

She letting herself drift into the pleasure Hannah was giving her. Lick-by-lick. Nibble-by-nibble. And stroke-by-stroke.

Everything about it intoxicating the kneeling and reveling blonde. The idea of battling another woman. Of besting another woman. And then of forcing her to not only do as told, but to lavish her clit with attention.

An attention which quickened and intensified as higher and higher the water in the tub rose. And though by those efforts and Hope’s own mental self-stimulation, an orgasm was close at hand, suddenly did she who would shiver in its wake lift herself.

Not up and off, but up and then back. She, the kneeling ruler of the tub, shifting herself into a seat atop Hannah’s breasts. In doing so keeping the blonde beneath and trapped. Under her ass, but also under the warm water that surrounded them — it finally reaching the point of inflection. The event horizon that the defeated club-goer had feared and fought to avoid.

A meeting of liquid and languish that caused Hannah to strike and kick — shout and scream, the former weakly and the latter with a slow, escaping of bubbles from her submerged lips.

“I-I changed my … my mind, bitch…..” Hope announced, as the orgasm that had been so close to crashing down upon her began to fade. She recalling at almost the last second the terms they had agreed to.

That between the two of them, it would be she who made Hannah cum first.

And so she would. Cruelly and against the suffering freshman’s will.

But first Hope would wait. Not for Hannah to comply in some new way, but to weaken even further. To drowned there between her thighs and beneath her heavy ass.

All as Hope continued to look down at her enemy as she struggled and squirmed. Crying and hating her beneath the waterline. Until again, such railing softened and slowed. Until it seemed that with only a few more seconds beneath the water she might expire — for good and forever.

It being only then that Hope lifted herself up, stood, and stepped out of the bathtub. She thereafter reaching back down, in, and after grabbing at Hannah’s hair, dragging her up and above the water she no longer had the strength to escape to her own.

A mercy, if it can be called that, which saw Hannah once more hack and cough. Water spitting and spraying out of her mouth and nose, as her body slumped, fighting in its strengthless state to collapse back into the water.

But even that unintentional act did Hope refuse to allow. As instead she yanked hard and cruelly at her shattered rival’s hair. Dragging her once more, not up, but out of the bathtub and onto the bathroom floor in a loud, wet, THWAP of flesh hitting tile.

“Now we scissor.” Hope declared loudly, as she reached down, grabbed Hannah’s ankle, and with it turned her over on her back.

“Pussy-to-pussy. And clit-to-clit. Until you cum for me.” Continued the confident and brutal blonde in explanation. Her hands keeping hold of Hannah’s leg and lifting it straight into the air before she lowered herself down to her knees.

The wet thighs of the two students crossing and locking together, though one was barely aware enough to feel it.

“Ready, bitch?” Hope asked, though she knew her broken enemy could provide no answer.

Silent though Hannah remained, still did Hope thrust herself forward. She, in one fell stroke, dragging her hairless kitten up, into, and against the same of her rival.

A rival who still sputtered and gasped — coughed and spasmed. Though even amongst all of those sounds and shakes, Hannah still moaned. Not only on Hope’s first incursion between her thighs, but her second and then third.

Moans that Hope too felt welling within her, though she fought them. Keeping them inside as she glared hatefully at the wounded and witless collegian she fucked.

“You never deserved Brandon.” Came in a hiss from the gloating and upright blonde.

“You don’t even deserve to have me scissoring you, slut.” She continued, even as she ran her hands up and down Hannah’s still upturned and straightened leg.

“But I have to make you cum — have to beat you. So I can go back to Brandon and tell him what I did to you. The revenge I got for him.” With every word she spoke, Hope began to give into the passions building within her.

“How I smothered you with my tits….” The imagery those words recalled and the truth they told making her efforts to remain strong and unaffected by their one-sided tribbing failing.

“How I gave you the bath you needed, you dirty little bitch….” Her eyes closing and lips letting loose soft, delicate whimpers between her hateful coos.

“How I fucked you on the floor of the bathroom…..” With every syllable, Hope began to thrust herself forward faster and harder. Drawing more and more sound from her nearly drowned rival. One who couldn’t speak. Couldn’t resist. But still, even in her state of utter devastation, began to shift backward and into Hope with her hips. Instincts controlling her body, though her mind could not do the same.

“How I made you whimper for me like a wounded do–oh fuck….” It was a speech. A lecture. But with every second that passed, giving it became harder for Hope.

Her mind fogging. Lips busy. And voice overlapped by Hannah’s growing announcements of pleasure.

“How I…. Made you…. FUCK!” Hope suddenly cried out, as once more amongst so many her clit and her enemy’s met. Hard and centered — pressure-rich and by essence clinging.

More Hope had to say! And yet still, she found herself unable. Unable and focused. On driving Hannah, and in truth, herself to an orgasm neither would ever forget.

“….cum for me, bitch….” It was the ending of her last sentence and yet the beginning of a new one. It being both the tale Hope would tell and an instruction for Hannah to follow.

Then without warning or expectation it came. Not an orgasm but words from Hannah’s lips — quivering and weak though it was. “…nooo….”

“Yes, bitch!” Suddenly rejuvenated and resurgent, Hope bore down and leaned in. Her hips firing faster and faster, harder and harder, each such application of force and ferocity rewarded by the sound of Hannah sobbing. Her hands moving, with what little energy and strength she had regained, not to strike or push Hope away, but to cover her face as she wept.

“St-st-o-o-pppp….” Hannah begged, until a second later it took her. “UUUUnnnnnggghhHHhhH!!!! FFUUU-mmmnnnnppphhh” Hannah began as she erupted, though mid-exaltation Hope leaned deeper and placed a palm over her cuming enemy’s mouth. In so doing, the victorious blonde kept the girl beneath her from speaking or playing any part, other than shattered and erupting victim.

But do not mistake the cupping for a squelching of sound only. For as her rival spasmed and shook in orgasm, Hope kept her hand pressed. Not just to lips but to nose, each pinching in and cutting off any chance at air the already oxygen-deprived Hannah might have.

Then, with that smother applied tight, Hope slid forward and down. She laying her youthful body atop her enemy’s so that once more they found themselves mound-to-mound, just as they had been on the bed when Brandon first abandoned them — not in anger but in ejaculation.

A placement the top-side torturer used to take her own pleasure. She, just as she had wanted to when last they found themselves so pressed, shifting forward. Not in hard drags, or repeated thrusts and resets, but instead in small, baby fat-aided and liftless slides forward and then back.

The loose skin and extra padding of their nubile mounds, allowing their hoods, with every rock, to meet and catch. And then between those soft folds, their clits to lock onto each other, only to then peel away slowly a fraction of a second later.

A series of fleshy caresses, sticky sealings, and grasping cores that caused Hope’s eyes to close, even as she continued to smother Hannah with her palm. She keeping her rival weak and pathetic as on top of her she rocked.

Again and again.

Back and forth.

Moaning as her golden hair hung in sweat-wet strands that shrouded their faces. Hope’s written in pleasure and Hannah’s bent in a rictus of oxygen-deprived desperation. The hands of the latter moving to the former’s hips and pushing at them with only the most anemic of effort. That being the only force the poor, breathless blonde bould muster in resistance.

Withered. Wrecked. And enfeebled though Hannah was, she was perfect. At least for Hope, who found every bit of her rival’s half-comatose state an aphrodisiac.

Once they had fought. Once they had growled. Snarling at each other at odds and in loathing. But now Hope had her. Bested, broken, and beneath her.

The girl who had pulled her hair not only in the club, but when they were on the very verge of kissing. Not as a show or as enemies, but as more.

A kiss that never came. A kiss that could have changed everything. It setting Hope and Hannah on the path of becoming lovers and sharing Brandon. Not just on that night but on every night thereafter, if in their tandem of ambition and sensuality combined they were able to ensnare him — and overcome his vagabond ways.

But that kiss never happened. Hannah having refused it. Just as she had stabbed Hope in the back, when in the back seat of their Uber the two shared a moment that was more than jealousy — more than hate.

Now, as Hope saw it, there was nothing else to do but for the winner amongst them to claim her prize.

Her reward.

One that came in the form of an orgasm.

An orgasm that grabbed Hope, and in a hurricane of lust-made-fire, robbed her of focus and logic — reason and restraint. Her senses shutting down and then off, as she rode her rival deeper and deeper into a release unlike any other she had ever experienced.

One sharpened by competition and anger and heightened by the thrill of victory and bliss of overcome defeat.

A glory that came at Hannah’s expense. She having not only been drowned and then defeated, but now smothered and fucked.

And though the fucking had finally, come to an end with Hope’s unforgettable release. The smothering lingered. Past the point of forced weakness. Past the point of blurring vision and spinning stars. But into the void — into darkness.

The lesser of the two who chased Brandon passing out beneath her better. A palm still pressed and pinching her lips and nostrils closed as she drifted off into unconsciousness.

A state she remained in long after Hope peeled their skin-attached bodies apart, stood up, and walked into the other room.

There, she rifled through her strewn clothes and found her cell phone. One she brought back to the bathroom and unlocked. The camera on the device opening, and the shudder thereafter sounding as Hope began to pose with her defeated and disheveled rival.

One image, taken from above, being of a smirking Hope with her foot on Hannah visibly-bitten breast.

The next of the former sitting atop the face of the latter. Their eyes closed, though Hope’s in passion alone, as she feigned a wide-lipped scream. The deep scratches on her cheeks being visible, not on accident but on purpose.

Then a picture of her lifting Hannah up by the hair, and placing her face deep between the pair of breasts that played such an important role in their now-decided conflict.

Each picture Hope waited not a second to send to Brandon, followed by a simple question.

“Want to hear what happened?”

To which Brandon replied in seconds. “Oh, fuck, yes! Come down to my room. I just got another one, just down the hall. It’s #456.”

The reply brought a smile to Hope’s lips as she dressed herself in the clothes Hannah had torn off her body.

Then, though she had no need for them, Hope gathered up not only Hannah’s clothing, but the cheap robes that hung in the closet in the entrance hall of the room.

All of which Hope brought with her as she began her short journey down the hall to Brandon.

Such a taking, leaving the still slumbering and soaked blonde upon the bathroom floor nothing to wear when eventually she woke and tried to make her way home.

A final cruelty that helped Hope find the strength and passion to fuck her newly re-earned quarterback from the moment she re-entered his room, until finally the two had to leave their room the next day.

Hope, as she and Brandon pulled away in another Uber, seeing Hannah stumble out of the front door of the motel wrapped in nothing but an overly small white towel. Tears pouring down her cheeks as she waited for someone to come get her. To take her away from a night in Manhattan she would never forget.

The End

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10 thoughts on “A Night in Manhattan by Rival’s Rapture

  1. goliadmike says:

    Fuck that was great. The story hit a lot of kinks for me. I just knew Hope was going to drown the bitch…glad you pulled it back.

    Reply
    1. rivalsrapture says:

      I’m so glad you liked it! It was a story I began more than a year ago, so it’s certainly taken the long path to being written. What kinks in particular did it nail? If you don’t mind sharing.

      Also, I would absolutely write a fatal fight, but I’d need the emotions to be a little heavier than in this one. Yes, they were competing, jealous, and angry. But, not to the point I’d need them.

      That being said, I have been trying to let the punishment and humiliation aspects of some of my stories go further. It’s been something people have mentioned they want for a long while.

      Reply
  2. hankmccoy02 says:

    Excellent story. I really enjoyed this one. The perfect balance between sexy and competitive. Not to mention inventive and humorous – the failed attempt at fellatio was very well written and stood out for me personally. I chuckled as I read it! It was the perfect way to eject Brandon from the scene, once he had outlived his usefulness to the plot.

    Having to maintain the pretence of indulging the drunken jock with “girl-on-girl” action, while actively seeking to sabotage their ill-fated threesome was a unique dynamic in this genre (or at least it was in my humble experience).

    My tastes trend towards the more erotic end of the spectrum in this fetish, and this story really hit the bullseye for me.

    Great work. Already looking forward to reading the next one!

    Reply
    1. rivalsrapture says:

      Thank you so much, Hank! The story had been such a long time coming, and had been so many different things/styles in my head, at different stages, that I was terrified it would come out a garbled mess.

      And though even I feel that I avoided that, somehow…. I did want to mention to you, that more than a few people who read the story before its release told me it was very HankMcCoy’ish — which(!) I take as a compliment.

      Reply
    2. drewpowell says:

      Hank, it’s wonderful you call Rivals’ work humorous, these stories have that advantage 😉 I can’t be funny if my life depended on it.

      Reply
  3. apenman says:

    It would appear that the ultimate college coeds fighting for the hunky school jock tale has been written. Each story of yours is like reading a long, free verse poem. Great work, as always!

    A.P.

    Reply
    1. rivalsrapture says:

      Thank you so much, A.Penman! I wrestled with this story for so long, it was almost entirely impossible for me to know if I was creating utter garbage or something worth the time it took for someone to read it, but hearing you enjoyed it gives me some solace. <3

      Reply
  4. melissa says:

    Omg this story is so incredibly hot. It took me a while to recover after reading this

    Reply

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