Amber vs. Sarah – While Hidden Away

Sarah:

Bitch. I see you.

Amber:

Good, I want you to see me and my perfect tits.

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Sarah:

Pulls you in, forcing our half naked tits together as we glare at each other God, I hate you, Amber

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Amber:

There is a moment as our perfectly matched tits compress that you can read something other than hate on our faces. A weakness. A satisfaction. A desire. And yet it quickly fades, as forehead to forehead we press. Glaring at one another as we settle in. I hate you more, Sarah. So. Much. More.

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Sarah:

Just for a second, as our tits press together and arms snake around waists, we both lock eyes and silently acknowledge. That this. This is where we belong. Crushed together, in never ending war, no matter the pretext. And then it fades, and we aim hateful glares at each other as my hands close over your ass and squeeze, fingers slipping under your short skirt to dig nails into the bare cheeks “I hate you more than anyone, Amber. More. Than. Anyone.”

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Amber:

As you speak, I want to bite you. Your pretty lips. Your hissing tongue. Your rosy cheeks. You intoxicate me with your every sound. With every inch of your body. You were made to drive me wild with jealousy and I am powerless to resist the divine frustration I feel when we put ourselves at odds. But that jealousy does not stop at our comparisons. Nor do my desires end at testing you or us. And so when you say you hate me more than anyone, I feel a hot spark run up my spine. A shock that pushes me to reply.

“Promise me, bitch….” I demand in a voice so drenched with hate and desire you can barely carry its weight. A burden you shoulder, just as I reach to our dies, and yank down our tops so that our soft, supple tits can meet fully.

“That I’m the one you hate most.” As my words leave the tip of my tongue and into the fireplace-warmed air between us, my hands come down on your ass cheeks, to pull us closer.

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Sarah:

When you speak, your voice is so full of hate and lust combined it makes me shudder against you, the motion evident to both of us as our now bare tits compress and our hands take up matching positions on each others ass cheeks, our mutual yank pulling our hips together, our stomachs, our tits, foreheads. Our skin starting to gleam with a light sweat from the proximity of both the fire and each other

We both know this can’t keep going for long, briefly meeting as we are in the study at the house we share with Remi in the middle of a christmas party, but at this second, neither of us care. My tongue flicks out to moisten my lips as we glare at each other, my shoulders shifting from side to side to grind my firm tits into yours, both sets of nipples already diamond hard as they scrape over each other and dig into titflesh, fingers digging into cheeks and nails raking over smooth skin as we pull each other closer and closer, heedless of the pressure or the noise of the party through the study door

My lips brush yours as I hiss back, “I HATE you Amber. More than anyone. More than anything. You’re anathema to me.
You.
Fucking.
Whore.”

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Amber:

In the heat of the moment. The intensity of it. As our excitement-hardened nipples scrape against each other. Neither of us fully willing to put them tip to tip, to see which pair gives in, we tease and test. Taste and offer the other to do the same. There are so many of our friends just behind the doorframe we have ducked behind. They and Remi will be looking for us. Calling to us.

And though they will. And though I love them, all I want to do right now, is to be here with you. To compete with you. To fight with you. To put every inch of my flesh up against yours, and see which of us comes out on top.

As we both battle each other and that shared desire, we do everything we can to entice the other. To make this moment unbearable. To make each other feel so hot and jealous — turned on and challenged, that for a moment my eyes close and breath stops. I want it. I want you. I want to risk everything I have, just to stay in this moment. Then your lips brush mine, and your words touch my very soul.

“Bitch….” I mutter before, pausing as I try to catch my breath. “I want to spend the rest of my life fighting you. Every bit of me vs. every bit of you. Forever, you fucking cunt. I want to be the only rival on your mind. I hate you sooo mu–OOOhhh fuuuuck….” As I speak, telling you of my feelings, I suddenly feel you shift, the tips of our nipples meeting, and the battle we shied away from due to our lack of time suddenly engulf us.

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Sarah:

“Unnghhh, fuck you, Amber!”

I gasp hotly into your face as our nipples meet and press together, and in that instant, everything else flies out of my mind. Remi, the party, the fact we’re DEFINITELY not hidden away here – anyone walking past the study could turn their head and see us – everything except that constant burning need to prove I’m the better woman. That my tits are better. My nipples. My mouth and tongue. My pussy and clit. Every bit of my body I can compare to yours

And with that, I tighten my grip and jam my body forwards into yours, our nipples still crushed together inside our now viciously compressed tits, raking wildly at each others ass as our tits fight fast and hard.

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Amber:

I can’t. You can’t. We can’t. We tried to resist it. To fight it. To not give in, and just have a taste. Something to get us through this party and home with Remi. Playing the role of arm Candy to our mutual girlfriend always makes us want it — THIS. But tonight it’s worse than ever.

So many comments. So many comparisons. Riding in the backseat together, as Remi’s bestie called dibs on shotgun. And now we’re here. Now we’re doing this. Pressed together at our breasts, in this barely there cover. Free to be found by anyone walking around the party with even a hint of curiosity.

With that fear in your mind, and also a desire to see who’s nipples will give in first you press into me, and I stumble at the pressure. My back hitting the wall in a sudden thud, causing me to stop, for the pressure on our nipples to triple, and without intention or warning our lips to meet.

We could pull those lips apart, but instead we kiss. Hotly. Passionately. Our tongues fighting for space in each others mouths as we claw at each others asses. Our nipples bending between us, as sweat drips down and about them. Will yours give or mine? Will mine give or yours. We can barely think as we wait for the answer. Barely breathe as we put everything into proving ours will stand strong. But as we push harder and harder, and the heat of the moment makes every surface on our bodies more slippery, our nipples slip, and then side by side drive into the bases of each.

In our kiss we gasp, and curse, before diving back in as we start to shift our tits back and forth. Back and forth.

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Sarah:

Your back hits the wall with a low thump, and for a brief second, I have the thought to check the doorway to make sure we’ve not been noticed… and then a second later, our lips lock together, more or less by accident, and that pressure of soft lips on soft lips shatters every thought in mind except the same one that consumes me every day. Who. Is. Better.

We kiss fiercely and hatefully, gasps and curses muffled as our nipples slip apart and drive into the base of each, that impact enough to make us both squirm cattily against each other. I have you pinned to the wall, and the better move here would be to pull back, and then drive my chest into yours full force… but the idea of separating our tits is currently inconceivable to me, and so I keep grinding hard against yours, trying desperately to force groans and moans out of you with my nipples, and trying to avoid moaning into your own mouth as the pressure of yours, all the while our tongues are battling and tangling together, hands still clawing at asses and hips as we try and keep our struggle private.

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Amber:

Any sound of pleasure we offer is an admission. Any moan or whimper is proof that we want. Something that each of us know. Something that neither of us could truly deny. But in our game, we hide it.

For as long as we can. Never admitting. Never acknowledging the pleasure we find in our struggle. Until we are forced to. Until it is dragged from us.

And that is exactly what happens, as in a moment of weakness, I moan. Deeply. Weakly. For only a second, unable to maintain my defenses. And yet as soon as you hear it, you break our kiss and pull back. Rushing what otherwise been a long battle of attrition.

At the separation and knowledge of what just happened, I feel shame. Rage. And try to drive into you. To turn us. My hands going for your shoulders to push you away, but before I can make that happen, you reach and grab my wrists. Slamming them against the wall, at the same time you find just enough separation to pull back and then slam into me. Our perfectly mirrored tits meeting in a muted clap of flesh, causing my lips to part again in a small, delicate yelp.

“Bitch….” I mutter, as you take the advantage you earned by pinning me.

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Sarah:

We’ve had quick nasty fights like this before, and the one thing they have in common is that they tend to turn on single moments. The intensity of the feelings means quick moments become insurmountable advantages. So as you moan and try and push forwards, I respond and pin you to the wall…and then start doing what second before felt impossible, as I drive my tits into yours.

Once
“Bitch….”
Twice
“Who’s are better, Amber?…”
Three times
“Who’s, slut?”

Hips still forced together, foreheads pressed together, our panting breaths mixing with the soft but unmistakable sound (to those who know it) of one set of tits crashing into another.

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Amber:

We know we have to hurry. That we can’t linger in moments like we could if we were alone at home. And so we hurry past moments of pleasure, and leap past opportunities to sink deeper into our rivalry. Instead going for the kill shot. First to see who’s nipples would invert, and now to see if you can crush my tits with me pinned.

I try to fight you. To free myself from the wall. To roll us. To escape you. But as every effort fails, you continue to batter my breasts with your own. Pulling back just far enough to slam forward and into me.

Once and then again. Once and then again. My poor tits aching more and more with every blow. You demand I tell you. That I admit to you your tits are better. But I hold out. Hold on. Until you stop your slamming, and instead lean in — lean against me, and start to grind your tits against mine. Hard and slow. Letting my tits slowly weaken as I lean against you weakly. My arms lifting and wrapping around your lower back, as my chin comes down to a rest on your left shoulder. My face turned in, and lips letting go of one soft, helpless whimper after another.

You have me. You’ve beaten me. You know it, but you want me to say it. Want me to admit it, just like I would want from you. And so you continue, even as we hear Remi calling out our names, and asking others if they’ve seen us. Until finally, I lift my head, turn my face, and rest my forehead against yours. My eyes wet with unshed tears. Tears I hold onto as with my lips brushing against yours, I whisper. “You win… Your tits are better today, Sarah….” With the words offered — words of submission I never would have spoken moments ago, I peck your lips with my own before returning my chin to your shoulder to wait for you to stop.

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Sarah:

I hear the words… and that rush fills me. There’s nothing like the excitement I feel when my perfect, most hated rival… my equal in every way, my bitchy mirror…. admits that I’m the better woman, even if only temporarily

I grind for a few more seconds, then pause and slowly pull back, our eyes lock. We can both hear Remi calling and asking about us, but these things need to be concluded in the proper way. My eyes filled with victory, yours with loss… but also hatred and defiance, and the knowledge that this rivalry will never, ever, stop

“When we get home, Amber… you’re kissing the better pair of tits. But for now, we need to get back out there”

Hissing quietly as we quickly pull our outfits back into some semblance of shape – the stiff nipples would still be noticed, but we can probably sell that as excitement or the chill outside the fireplace and the study. We turn to leave the room, one arm around each others waist in a facsimile of friendship, our nails biting that little too tightly on each others skin as we walk out, besites in public once more… until next time.

The End.

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