Big Tipper by Mr. Cage

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Elle, my trophy wife is turning thirty-something and beginning to feel the pressure of young, aggressive, bitches looking to push her aside. She rants daily about young women at work, employees and competitors. And just as she had three fights with my ex-wife, one before separation, one after separation and one after divorce, she has pulled hair, kicked shins and slapped the taste out of more than one bitch’s mouth. In fact she and three of her direct competitors have agreed to settle exclusives by agent cat fights of various types. I thrive on her surreptitious recordings of such events and she uses them to control me through my libido, perverted and jaded as it might be.

She doesn’t need to work, but she runs a real estate brokerage business for high-end clients. When I met her she was a twenty-four year-old “actress” trying to sell me a condo overlooking the sea. She was a good saleswoman, the best blow job ever followed by a bareback “all bases covered” fucking on the condo’s second floor landing. She was a hot full breasted blonde, aggressive and territorial. After the marriage I found that buying the boutique brokers she worked for made her moan with pleasure, perhaps even more than my cock. Now she is a local business leader, mother of two, recognized woman in the community and still hot as hell. She’s all but perfect in bed, but as Yoda once said, “No matter how pretty and hot a woman is, somewhere there is a guy who is tired of fucking her and putting up with all her bullshit.”

I foolishly fucked a waitress at my club bar two years ago. The waitress purposefully sabotaged our illicit relationship, probably hoping to do to Elle what Elle did to my ex-wife and estranged kids. Elle ambushed her in the bar’s isolated employee restroom and left her bleeding and crying, missing clumps of red hair and holding her big high heel stomped boobs. Luckily she has never run into a woman trained to fight so her furious cat fight bitch rush tends to work well. That fight cost me a few thousand, but luckily Elle’s private detective had some dirt on the girl and that threat kept the price low.

Which may be why Elle’s face colored immediately when the super attractive waitress at this new exclusive “Bombay Bistro” club. This flawlessly brown desi beauty had dark eyes and a full lipped brilliantly white toothed smile that caused my cock to wake up. She carefully bent from the waist, pushing out her round ass in a tight salmon colored skirt, and showed immense hanging free brown boobs harnessed in a light pink blouse, two sizes too small. I froze mid-sentence, mouth open, eyes frozen waiting to see if her round brown globes would just rip open the overworked button three holes down from the neck. Those tits earned a thirty percent tip before I ordered. “My name is Rana, I will be serving you tonight.”

Befuddled it took me three visits from Hot Rana to pick up that Elle was giving her the mean girl treatment. Both were speaking in that way women have when they would like to piss on each other’s shoes but instead seem to be very respectful. Elle was hot faced and Rana’s brown skin darkened when they talked. The tension between them was hotter than the food, which is saying something. I was enjoying it so I let Elle run free. Rana held her own and there was nothing either could point to that proved the other was out of line. But, damn they were pushing buttons.

Finally Elle leaned forward and whispered, “Finish your food, if we don’t get out of here I’m going to rip that Desi cunt’s tits off and jam them up her foul pussy. How can you eat? I can smell her cunt dripping pussy juice. She’s a whore.”

I smiled and replied, “You don’t want to mess with that one. I think she might be the one tearing off your tits and stuffing them. I certainly don’t want that. Just smile, we’ll finish eating. I’ll give her a big tip and any friction will be over. You don’t have to be scared of her.”

Her red face went white and she said, “Scared?”

I waited for a tirade, but she was silent. I checked her blue eyes and they were tiny lasers literally following the sway of Rana’s hips as she worked her customers, moving upward to the brown woman’s amazing boobs as she came toward us.

“Elle, don’t start something right now. I have an idea if you really want to see how tough her tits are.”

“You’re a bastard, but you’re my bastard. Do something or I’ll do something that closes this place down and lands us in jail.”

I convinced her to excuse herself before Rana got to the table. She purposefully walked tall by the waitress, using her 5’9’’, 140 pound, athletic, chesty body as a growl. Rana I guesses was about 5’6’ and probably 130 pounds, not skinny but very fit and her arms and legs showed impressive female muscles. With Elle gone she leaned over and shrugged her right shoulder exposing the dark brown of a flat aureole that was far wider than the raised bumpy pink aureole surrounding Elle’s fat pink nipples.

Looking for a way to start a conversation like this is always difficult but sometimes the object surprises you. “So that angry lady is your wife? You are so nice!” The aureole exposure grew and suddenly the bump of a fat pointed blackish nipple peaked at me. “I’m surprised someone hasn’t taught her manners. Or maybe she just picks on people who can’t respond.”

“She is kind of mean. In fact she said she would slap your tits off. I warned her that you might be the one to win that fight.”

“I would!” She breathed in deeply and leaned in closely so her fragrance filled my nose and that brown orb filled my eyesight.

“I’d pay money to see that!”

She licked her full dark lips and practically moaned a whisper, “How much money to see what?”

Wanting to keep it simple and focus on completing the deal I proposed that they exchange seated slaps to each other’s bare boobs in a secluded area until one fell out of her chair or begged for mercy. I waited for the huffy condemnation; what I got was quite different.

“Yes, the loser admits the winner is the better woman and kisses the winner’s feet in front of you. Oh, if I lose I get no money, but if I win I get the money and I get to make love to you in front of your wife in her bed. And if you want, we can see each other whenever we want and she has to ignore it.”

I blinked stupidly trying not to fall out of my chair.

“I have the perfect place, our old dressing room downstairs is empty. Talk to your bitch wife. We will see who has the toughest tits tonight, no waiting. Besides I want to ride your cock and then wipe my pussy with her hair!”

Well I was finished eating! And when Elle heard the arrangement she was ready to go at it, no recriminations for me promised as she wanted to get at Rana’s tits so much. The Bombay Bistro had cleared out and Rana made arrangements with other girls to cover her empty tables just in case. We paid and followed her through the kitchen which had already begun shutting down, down a cramped stairway to a basement, down a long corridor between storerooms and new employee rooms including a break area. At the end of the corridor was a cramped room with a single faux leather padded bench between two walls of old lockers. A water pipe hung from the ceiling along the length of the bench between the walls. The employees had tied cords to the pipe so they could hang clothes over the bench instead of stuffing them in closets or so I guessed. The cords made perfect hand holds.

Rana stepped over the bench, provocatively rolled her skirt up exposing her sheer nude panty hose, impressive yet trimmed black bush showing through the panty hose, no panty to hide her thick solid looking sex. Elle took the challenge and did the same, exposing her sheer black panty hose covered crotch. She had a waxed pussy and her sex lips were well padded but had no flesh. She swore she hadn’t had the porn pussy operation, but who knows. They stared at each other, breathing harder, noses flaring, eyes focused hard on each other blue versus brown. The already stuffy room temperature seemed to climb as they stood. Then Rana slowly unbuttoned her blouse while explaining.

“We sit on the bench. If you are taking a slap you have to lean forward and grab the cord so you can’t shield your tits or dodge. You take the shot, one from the left and one from the right, open handed. Then the other girl grabs the cords and does the same. We go until someone passes out, falls off the bench, drops the cords to protect herself or gives up. Loser has to lick the winner’s feet. If I win I get one thousand and get to sleep in your bed with your husband while you watch. And if we want we can see each other once a week and you have nothing to say about it. If you win I get nothing. Agreed?”

Elle snapped, “Licks feet, eats pussy and licks ass, bitch!”

Rana smiled, “If you want to make it hard for yourself that’s fine with me, or maybe you want to lick my ass, dyke cunt.”

“Fuck you, shit mud colored whore.”

The discussion devolved from there as they stripped to the waist entirely and rolled up skirts to free legs. They checked each other out thoroughly. I might as well been upstairs or waiting in the car. This shit was between them. Two competitive women had let their tits talk them into a punishing trial by combat. All I had to do is pony up some cash and a reason for them to meet. Being lucky is always better than being smart and both routinely outclass being humane and honorable.

Rana grabbed the cords offering her gorgeous hanging oval brown flesh globes up for slapping first. Seeing them hang out from her chest wall with the weight concentrated behind her large smooth black aureole and watched as her fat based nipple rose just a little forming a conical tip, perfect for a small mouth to suck. Her tits showed none of the rippling, cellulite bumps, or stretch marks you would expect on large fat tits that were currently being suckled by a 16 month old. The smooth brown skin was flawless and glistening with perspiration. Her beautiful tits were an insult and challenge to my jealous bitch wife.

My wife snarled, “Cunt!”

Her open right hand hooked around from behind her back and landed fingers spread palm flat on the outside of Rana’s perfect left orb. I can’t say which was louder, the thud, the slap, or Rana’s sharp intake of air. The fat tit looked like a water balloon hit with a hockey stick. It bent around the white hand then bounded off it as my wife’s hand continued through the formerly occupied space and glanced across the nipple of the right breast just before the left breast slammed into it and sent it jiggling as well. The look on Rana’s face was pure agony and that on my wife’s face was sadistic glee. As the tits flopped back under control of gravity Elle’s open left hand slammed into the side of the right globe repeating the deformation and propulsion. Rana sighed and let her tits hang for a moment as she steadied her breathing.

“Alright you rich white cunt, my turn!”

Elle’s evil grin disappeared and her full lips tightened. As Rana sat back and lowered her hands, Elle leaned forward and grabbed the hanging cords. Her heavy white tits were broader based and perhaps not a long, but very full and the hard pink nipple was the size of a thumb jutted out from a raised pink aureole. She had a one year old at home who chewed her nipples, but the hard rubbery projections didn’t show it. Although there was some wetness in one of the crevices in her bumpy aureole. I could not tell which set of tits looked better hanging, even though my wife did have some stretch marks on the fleshy undersides of both hanging globes.

Rana’s brown right hand snapped out like a snake. I barely saw it move when it impacted Elle’s pale white left breast. Elle cried out in shock. Her white tit flew away from the slap and smacked her right tit hard. My wife almost let go of the cord do to the sudden shock of the tit strike. Sweat suddenly popped out on her face and eyes closed. But before she could steady herself the left slap hit her right tit, this time down and to the Elle’s right. I swear Rana must have had glue on her hand because that right tit stretched along with her hand down across my wife’s heaving belly before snapping back like a stressed rubber band. Elle gasped again and rocked backwards still holding the cords. Rana smiled wickedly but then frowned when my wife did not immediately collapse. Both women took a break to hold their already darkening tits, my wife’s turning red and Rana’s turning darker brown. The first round was over and I had to give Rana an advantage.

And so it began: smack, moan and curse, flesh glowing darker, jiggling as it deformed around hard hands or flopped from impacts, smack again, switch attackers and repeat. In the fifth round Rana’s full left tit leaked and Elle celebrated by bringing her left hand down from above and smashing Rana’s right tit under her palm, more of a punch than a slap. Rana groaned and whimpered as a short stream of white squirted from the side of her now wet nipple. She almost let go of the cord to attack, but held on and just objected to the palm strike.

As a dispassionate judge I concluded that both could palm strike since it was impossible to un-ring the bell. Besides the quicker this was over the less likely permanent damage would be done.

Rana nodded as Elle grabbed the cord her fat redden and bruised tits hanging down, nipples glistening. Rana’s right came down and crushed my wife’s left tit like a hammer. Elle cried out as her bruised and swollen milk bag was crushed flat from the top pushing the flesh, tubules and sacks downward. She erupted a stream of white onto Rana’s exposed pantyhose covered crotch. She wobbled almost falling forward, but stabilized and moaned until the left palm strike crushed her right breast. She cried out and wet Rana again.

My wife hung forward holding the cords for support and proposed between whimpers that they not do that again. Her leaking tits dangled, swelling and getting redder. Her nipples were glistening and bright red. Rana’s tearstained face twisted into a merciless mask of triumph and promised two more tit crushers the next time. The fake leather bench was wet now and both women squirmed soaking their wet panty hose. I noted that both had wetted their crotches before the milk bath, but now their asses and back of their thighs were wet from milk, sweat, and whatever pussy juice had already leaked from their puffy lips.

My wife looked worried. She sucked in a deep breath and brought her right hand down for a palm strike. It hit with a thud more likely to come from a punch. Rana groaned deep and she squirted hard splattering my wife’s wadded up skirt then her exposed panty hose covered belly. She sagged, but held on. Then she yelled bloody murder.

“She clawed me, the bitch clawed me!”

I looked and the swollen brown orb had been marked. Four raised claw marks started at the connection to the breast and trailed down the tortured slope of the once unmarked orb. My dirty cunt of a wife, God she makes me proud, had hooked her fingers into a claw and raked Rana’s perfect tits rather than just settle for the already questionable palm strike.

Even a liberal judge could not ignore this violation. “Okay, Elle that’s too much. This whole thing is too much. Bets are off and you both have tougher tits than me and I don’t have anything there to hurt. Rana, I’ll give you the thousand. Both of you get dressed and forget about this.”

Rana snarled, “What? No fucking way. I want that dirty white cow to squirt blood!”

My wife snapped back, “Squeeze off bitch! Until one of us falls off the bench. The bets still on!”

“Or bleeds from both nipples!”

My wife nodded, “Or first blood, both nipples.”

Rana argued, “From the tit milking, not your dirty claws.”

My wife’s claws were a bit longer and her manicure included treatments to make her nails as tough as Logan’s extensions. Rana understood my wife would cheat to win.

“Whore!”

“Slut!”

And at that they abandoned the cords and leaned into each other four hands grabbing four breasts. Initially they groaned and grunted as they were wrestling using tits for hand holds. With the nipples blocked by palms and fingers digging into tit flesh all I could see was dripping around the contenting fingers and hands. Biceps and shoulder muscles flexed as they tried to push each other off the bench using the milk bags they were crushing within their grips.

Both cried out as something perhaps ruptured or twisted inside their abused balloons. “Oh God” and “Fucking Cunt” were used interchangeably as they pumped each other full of pain just as they pumped each other’s tits empty of milk. I really have no idea of how much milk a big tit can store, but it is enough to wet two bellies, two dresses, two sets of panty hose, a fake leather padded bench, and the floor beneath it.

Rana squealed and yelled, “That was a finger nail.”

Elle gasped, “Prove it.”

She pushed Rana back and shifted her hand so I could see bright red blood smeared from Rana’s left nipple on Elle’s hand and Rana’s tit. Elle tightened her grip digging a thumb under the nipple from the inside curve of the brown orb. Rana shivered in agony and whether the smeared blood was from a nick, the milky discharge forced from four or five ducts was red. I had to give Elle first blood on the left tit.

Rana growled and shifted her hands completely under Elle’s now bright red or darkening to blue tits. She shoved upward. Elle gasped as her mounds were pushed up her chest, flopping wetly over the offending brown hands. Elle cried out as her tits were stretched up toward her shoulders. Her hips slid forward until her knees and Rana’s knees touched and Elle rolled backwards on the bench keening in agony.

Rana pressed up on her stocking feet leaning forward over my wife’s stretched out body. I guess I could have argued that she was off the bench, but her position was so superior not even that judge I mentioned earlier could have ruled so prejudicially. Elle did not have the presence of mind to object as her tits were spraying her throat, hair and shoulders. For a few seconds her nipples looked like lawn sprinklers spraying for area coverage. Rana’s brutal smile and Elle’s agony said all any one needed to say about that milky spray.

Tit tortured to the edge of endurance, Elle howled and writhed on the bench. Her bent legs pushed off the floor and she twisted on the bench trying to escape. I saw why, both the tit sprays had reddened. She had been milked bloody by the brutal tit press. Rana smiled and worked even harder to rip my wife’s tits off her chest. Elle reached for Rana’s neck clawing.

At that point I pushed between them. Rana slid of the bench releasing Elle’s black and blue bags reflexively to break her fall to the concrete floor. Elle twisted into me like a wounded animal smearing her bloody tits on my shirt as she sobbed between cursing and screaming.

Rana had clearly and in spite of rule changes and poor tit mauling sportswomanship made it easy for me to call the fight against my wife. There was not an immediate celebration. Both women held their tits and mewled like hurt kittens. I gave Rana her thousand dollars and both women were happy to put off settling the bet until later.

I thought it might be over but exactly a week later I got a call and was told to, “Put your weak tit cow on the phone. It’s time to settle our arrangement.”

I did not need to hear both sides of the yelling cursing conversation that had might wife shaking in fury, crying, cursing, kicking the couch, storming back and forth on the carpet yelling into the phone. Finally she slammed my phone into the wall and fell down on the couch, physically exhausted. I swear she had suffered a fucking children’s temper tantrum. I let her rest, poured two drinks and waited.

Elle’s mind finally came back home and she explained the new state of the universe. We were to go to the restaurant the following Friday. During a meal, my wife was to join Rana in the employee’s women room. There she was to strip naked and stand for the women’s appreciation. Then in front of all the waitresses and female cooks she was to kneel on the bathroom floor naked, kiss Rana’s feet, eat Rana’s pussy as she stood and then as Rana spread her ass cheeks eat Rana’s asshole in front of the assembled crowd. Finally after Rana was satisfied Elle would dress and go back and finish dinner without a scene.

In return for this additional humiliation Rana agreed to forego her sexual conquest of me until one of them admitted the other was the better woman. This admission was going to be won by a sex fight to exhaustion or submission. If Elle won, Rana would disappear from our lives. If Rana won, she had full rights to an affair, including child support if she had a child of mind. They had planned out everything including what oils and stimulants were to be used (even a female orgasm drug to put them on edge), the positions to be used, the rules of behavior and even their fingernail length. I don’t think even the Versailles Treaty was any more detailed.

So that is how the three of us came to be in our master bedroom on a Friday night two weeks later. Elle had stripped our bed and covered the mattress with a plastic baggy, I guess it was for kids’ bed wetting or old folks with night time embarrassments. After that she put on new, cheap, fitted sheets. She lined up oils and drugs on silver platters on a vanity. An ice chest with water bottles and sodas reminded me of a picnic. A timer’s clock completed the night stand. My imagination ran wild as did the tent pole in my pants.

After making numerous arrangements for an empty house for the weekend and dealing with a thousand and one problems the three of us ended up in the bedroom on a Friday evening. I was trying to be very invisible. Some advice for all men happy enough to witness a women in physical conflict: don’t talk or shout and for gods’ sakes no instructions unless specifically requested. Next to breaking up women in a cat-ball for “round two” yelling don’t pull hair or grab her tits or kick her in the cunt is unwelcome in general and should be punished by horsewhipping unless that is your thing.

Rana and Elle stripped inches apart glaring at each other taking the exposure of the other’s skin as a personal insult. They hated each other beyond any reason as only women can. As my wife revealed her recently all over tanned tits you could still see some of the yellow bruises, but the pain was finally gone. Rana’s brown breasts had returned to their perfect shape with no evidence of the deep damage my wife had tried to do.

They had worn muscle shirts with exposed bras and shedding them had been quite easy. Then still standing nipple to nipple, almost touching, save my wife’s height and differently shaped breast, they stepped out of their high heels. On bare feet still glaring, they slowly slid down the crotch outlining leggings, kneeling rather than bending over, keeping eyes locked. Both women had been to salons because they had porn pussies, entirely nude with no hint of maturity. Elle’s had virtually no hanging folds, but thick lips that spread out at the top showing her rather roughened clit hood and well masturbated clitoral worm. Rana had almost black edged thick lips with maybe a quarter-inch flower pedal at the top. She had a budded clit rather than a worm and the dark pink framed by brown flesh glistened.

They snarled and threatened each other promising to do terrible things to each other’s pussy and ass as they lubricated themselves plunging oily fingers deep in their holes, along their slits and in their vaginal lips. It was the kind of conversation that makes you look over your shoulder to make sure the police aren’t sneaking up behind. Oh my god, women can be casually brutal. I guess being sexualized and even brutalized by males focuses you on the topic. No wonder the cavalry troopers used to say, “Don’t let them give you to the women.”

Elle set the fifteen minute timer and I was told to start it when they signaled and then pull them apart if they didn’t break when it went off. They women climbed on the bed and faced each other on their knees. Slowly they came together, fat breasts pushing into each other and head resting on the other’s left shoulder. Their right hands reached down between the others legs and the manicured nails felt along the slick lips and poised to penetrate. They both said ready. I hit the start and the timer dinged.

Both women gasped loudly and then cursed as they penetrated each other brutally. From behind Elle I could see four fingers flicking about deep inside my wife’s cunt. The pink was exposed and glistening as were the long brown fingers fucking her with a frenzy. Her ass trembled and she kept gasping and moaning from both pain and apparently pleasure. I noticed her back was sweaty already and her right shoulder was rippling. I switched to the rear view of Rana. Her dark brown framed pink cunt flesh stood out even more than Elle’s. Elle’s white fingers were so deep and I could tell from the angle she was just penetrating, she was jabbing at the front wall of Rana’s cunt going for the g-spot if such a thing could be located.

Rana cried out and her head twisted on my wife’s shoulder sending her black hair, some had come loose, shimmering. Damn she was beautiful. Elle grunted out, “I felt that you slut. You fucking whore you came already. What a whore.” Rana snapped back, “I’ll fuck you bloody.” And my wife gasped. I switch views again to the raised white ass. Rana had cranked all four fingers into my wife and by bending over I could see her thumb rubbing and crushing my wife’s swollen clit worm. I knew from experience that Elle was close. If Rana got to the g-spot just right or had managed to have a cock in my wife’s ass, she would squirt like a geyser. Elle’s most powerful orgasms always came after painful, rough sex. Elle’s ass clenched and she squealed. A rush of fluid would have shot out of her pussy, but with Rana’s brown hand inside blocking escape the fluid flowed dripped off Rana’s twisted wrist staining not for the last time the bed sheet. I mentally thanked Elle for the plastic mattress covering.

Normally Elle just stops after squirting, but not this time her fingers kept working and she started pulsing her squashed tits into the Rana’s brown bags. I couldn’t see it but nipples had to be tracing each other’s flesh. I bent over and saw Elle’s thumb pressing up on Rana’s clit bud, crushing it and pushing it upward from its normal spot. My wife’s long fingers were still working inside that brown wet hole. And soon she was rewarded as Rana screamed, “NO!” Now fluids dripped off my wife’s wrists and the Indian girl leaned against my wife gasping. Her brown fingers rested inside my wife’s swelling cunt.

I had no idea what the sound of the buzzer was. Then as the two women fell backwards onto their heels I realized the buzzer had sounded. They had finger-fucked like banshees for fifteen minutes. Wet with sweat their tits and bellies heaved as they leaned backwards at forty-five degree slope. Their round asses rested on their heels. Their swollen cunts dripped and neither woman immediately touched herself. The smell of female sex filled their air. They continued to glare at each other as they breathed in oxygen like prize fighters at a round break. They took a break and I thought it might be over.

The second fifteen minute round took careful preparation to prevent them coming to blows. Cursing about each other’s sex and smell they lay down in opposite directions positioned for side to side sixty-nine, but they had added two wrinkles. They laid their heads on the enemy’s downside inner thigh. That leg was stretched out to the edge of the bed where an elastic loop was placed on the ankle and secured to the bed frame. Their upper legs raised up from their hips where I helped them lock legs back of the knee to back of the knee. They tested each other’s leg strength automatically until I reminded them why they were positioned that way. Each other’s crotch was totally open, exposed, with legs forcibly open. Further the knee lock and head position placed the opened crotches right in the opponent’s angry face.

I hit the fifteen minute timer. Both women promised to savage the other’s cunt and ass and then speaking became impossible. Wet sounds, groans, grunts, maybe curses muted by wet swollen flesh continued as they literally buried their faces in each other’s wet cunts. My wife seemed to use her nose on the bottom of Rana’s brown slit while she tongue fucked the slit and chin masturbated the clitoral mound. Rana’s toes curled and her legs struggled against the binding and my wife’s own trembling leg. My wife added her right fingers to Rana’s puckered dark asshole and the Indian girl squealed as she was finger ass raped.

Rana had taken another approach. She deep four fingered Elle’s wet slit filling up the lower slit while sucking Elle’s swollen clit worm into her mouth for tongue and suck work. She tried to keep her nose out of Elle’s ass and breathed deeply of the hot sexual perfume rising out of Elle’s pulsing cunt. When Elle penetrated her ass so forcibly Rana broke contract and squealed cumming almost immediately. She wasn’t ready to squirt again but she came hard head rolling away from Elle’s pussy and resting on Elle’s wet thigh. My wife had scored definite first blood.

Detecting a weakness in Rana, Elle went for the kill. My wife shifted positions, her chin at the bottom of Rana’s draining slit and her tongue in Rana’s oil glistening ass. Rana whimpered and bucked in the restraints. Then finally she went back to Elle’s clit, peeling the sleeve with finger and thumb then attacking the nerve bundle with hot tongue. They raced toward orgasm, tits slapping against bodies as they writhed in their restraints. Elle’s ass attack again won a second orgasm from the Indian woman who sprayed them both with a single jet. Elle succumbed finally to the clit abuse as Rana’s spray doused her.

The buzzer sounded just as Elle shoved three fingers into Rana’s asshole and four fingers of the other hand into the gasping brown woman’s cunt. I think it saved Rana from passing out. So far by my in expert count I had Elle winning the sex fight wringing out four orgasms to two.

The third round would be very close to combat. They were to grind pussies until someone submitted the match or passed out. They were to start on their knees pussy to pussy, tits to tits, and forehead to forehead. They cinched a tight cloth belt around their waists and an elastic band connected them at the belts, giving them maybe about a foot of freedom. No hitting or slapping was allowed, but wrestling, including hair pulling was permitted for the purpose of cunt on cunt tribbing. At this point both women were exhausted. My wife’s normally bouncing blonde hair was plastered to her head and shoulders. Rana’s long lustrous black hair was tangled and matted to her flesh. Their eyes were puffy. Their pussies were swollen and sticky. The cursing did not occur, they were just all fucked out.

I gave them the start signal and immediately hands went to hair and they pressed against each other trying to throw the other on her back. This process took five minutes at least. Both started cursing about their hair as matted knots of black and blonde started accumulating on forearms and asses. Rana’s gasps seemed deeper and she moaned desperately as she fell backwards and to the side under Elle’s weight.

As the hit the mattress my wife immediately got between Rana’s kicking legs. Scissor holds were not permitted. If Elle had had a cock she could not have looked more natural between those brown thighs white ass clenching as she thrust against the sex of her enemy. The thud of mound on mound, tits on tits and my wife’s hips on Rana’s dark thighs was rhythmic. Both women’s breathing synchronized with Elle’s thrusts. Rana’s brown feet kicked in the air above both sides of my wife’s big white ass. Rana stopped hair pulling and just dug her fingers into Elle’s ass cheeks. Rana came again, trib-raped by my relentless bitch.

The brown beauty was helpless on her back. Elle shifted and took a mounted scissor position, the cord stretching tight. Rana pushed up weakly on the bottom of Elle’s tits pleading for a break. Elle could have asked for submission I think, but she wanted to sexually crush her opponent. She started her hips rocking, grinding her fat swollen pussy lips and mound back and forth across Rana’s. The flesh sucked and pulled as the sticky remains of the earlier combat tried to glue their parts together. I don’t know where Elle drew her energy from but she slide back and forth across Rana’s sore cunt until the Indian woman’s head was rolling back and forth on the wet mattress while she mumbled, “no more” again and again.

I started to call the match, but Elle shifted again, turning around on Rana’s wet belly, pushing her white cunt down on Rana’s swollen clit bud. With her hands on Rana’s knees my wife started humping Rana’s mound like she was riding a cock in reverse, something she does quite well I can testify. Rana cried out that she quit. Elle just kept going. I finally grabbed her and unattached the band holding them together. I pulled my growling wife off. She pushed me away. Climbed on top of Rana, a knee on either side of her tearful face, began furiously masturbating until she sprayed Rana’s face, showing she could come and squirt even after that match. It was devastating to the Indian female, total sexual domination. Age over youth, and perhaps my wife’s sexual experience was greater, not surprising at all to me because she is up for anything any time.

I thought it was over, but Elle was not willing to let things go. She called Rana two weeks later and offered her a chance to win back her pride and a moneyed position in my life. Elle offered her an iron woman ruled catfight, sixty minutes of fighting with the superior number of submissions determining victory and consequence. In return, Elle visited the restaurant to put Rana through the same paces she had performed in front of the female staff. Having Rana serve us after her humiliation was Elle’s wicked delight. The look in Rana’s eyes told me that Elle might be celebrating way too fucking early.

My wife’s real estate business had developed a two or three sets of rules for cat fights between agents of different companies to result rights without mutilating agents. She chose the second most severe to present to her enemy. This allowed for fists and feet to the body, but only slaps to the face. No face clawing, eye gouging or blows to the throat allowed. No arms, fingers, legs or toe breaking allowed, a purposeful violation was a forfeit and an accident was a no result. No biting allowed at all. Torture, choking, soft tissue abuse was allowed. It would be a nasty affair. Nails were to be of similar length. Each submission would be followed by an unattended five minute break where only water could be used. I was the referee.

As for consequences, the differential in submissions would equal the number of months that Rana ruled in our bedroom, me and or my wife, or the number of months that Elle ruled Rana’s sexuality. My wife intended to have her service her female real estate agents in the office or as a deal sweetener in the field. And as the real estate fights always started in bra, panties and stockings that would be the state of dress in their fight. Elle had made use of a number of young women in this fashion, but so far none had gone to the police and some still worked for her.

So we met in a room cleared of objects. I put down blue mats and hug mats from the walls, to protect the women and the walls. Even a woman’s shoulder can dent the boards they use to form walls these days in McMansions. Rana had chosen a dark green bra and panty with matching stockings that clung like spray on paint to her hard thighs. She looked even stronger than the first time I had seen her lovely body. Elle had been working out as well and chosen black bra, panties and stockings. My wife looked great, but truthfully, what man doesn’t notice the other woman more than the well-traveled territory of his own backyard.

I checked the dual timers, one for sixty minutes the other for the five minute timer. The white board had two columns one labeled Elle and the other Rana with no entries. Both women drank one last time from their water bottles which they put in opposite corners with towels pushed under the hanging pads. They padded forward like cheetahs, lean and beautiful, to face each other in the center of the room. Both glistened from a fine sheen of sweat. Nostrils flared. Eyes glared. Hands tightened and untightened. They check nails. Then they nodded to me and stepped two arm lengths back and nodded.

I said start. Rana flew forward and executed a perfect snap kick, her stocking covered right foot headed for the v of my wife’s panty covered sex. The speed stunned me, but Elle twisted to the left and the foot strike bounced off her hip and through Rana into a collision with Elle’s right fist to the ribs. Then a left to the center of Rana’s belly. The belly shot hurt the brown beauty and almost felled her, but Rana had already recovered her balance by seizing a handful of blonde hair.

Most people claim hair pulling is useless against a trained opponent, but in truth it is not useless. That is why they outlaw it in MMA matches. It is so effective that it can turn a strictly ruled sporting contest into a cat ball in seconds. So all those martial arts myths about controlling the hand that’s “trapped” in the hair are bullshit. It’s less effective in a trained battle, but it is very effective in most fights. Hence the tradition from Roman times of military haircuts for hygiene and battle.

Elle’s head was jerked down, but she was close enough to rest her head on Rana’s ample bosom. Elle’s hands pinched Rana’s waist and my wife drove forward using her lower center of gravity and ten pounds to push Rana backwards hard into the wall. Rana hit hard jarring her. She held onto the hair with her left hand and hooked right fists into Elle’s ribs and the side of her tits under the arm. Elle fought back with jackhammer punches from both hands into Rana’s lower belly, hitting brown flesh and green panty with equal frequency. Both women grunted hard with punching and impacts. Propped against the wall, Rana used her knees first, missing Elle’s mound but banging her thighs and hips.

Elle chose to go dirty. Her right fist sank into Rana’s belly but did not pull back. Her hand opened and she thrust it down under the green pantie, turning at the wrist to bring fingers and nails into Rana’s cover cunt. Rana screamed her head banging back against the wall, probably more from shock and outrage than pain at first. But by bending over I could see Elle’s white knuckles flexing as she drove fingers into the inner walls of Rana’s sex. Rana gasped, cursed and using her strong upper body and Elle’s hair and bra strap pulled Elle to the side and rammed her into the wall. Rana dipped away pulling Elle’s head down. Elle’s hand came out of the panties and Rana planted her left foot on the mat. Her knee came up headed for Elle’s face and a penalty submission, but at the last moment it Elle pushed forward against Rana. She groaned as her tit was crushed in its bra cup, but she broke Rana’s stance. Rana hopped on one foot backwards then, Elle literally threw her in a half circle by the knee she had clutched to her breast.

Rana gave up the hair hold, a tuft of blonde hair stuck in her fingers, and fell hard on her side, trying to roll. Elle kicked her hard in the back. Rana cried out but continued to move getting to her hands and knees facing away from the blonde. Elle grabbed her by the long black hair and jerked her up straight, brutally kneeing her between the shoulder blades. Rana clawed at Elle’s wrists. The blonde dragged the brown woman by her hair backwards off her knees. Elle would turn right or left and kick at Rana’s boobs, then jerk the hair and pull again. She had both brown orbs out of the bra cups before she had Rana halfway across the floor.

Dragging a woman can be exhausting, Elle struggled and stopped. Giving Rana a change to grab backwards for her ankles. She snagged on and threated to trip Elle. Elle bent over grabbing Rana’s empty bra cups and pulled upward while sitting down behind the Indian. There was a scramble of brown elbows and blindly seeking hands. She hurt Elle, but at the end of the scramble my wife’s long strong legs were locked around Rana’s waist from behind. Worse still, Rana’s green bra was twisted around her neck and pulled tight by my wife as she stretched out backwards almost lying flat on the mat.

Rana’s eyes bulged with fear as she dug at her own neck getting fingers between the bra and her neck. Elle grunted and groaned, the muscles in her arms and shoulders revealing themselves under her sweaty skin. She gasped and groan holding the writhing prisoner in a rib crushing scissors and bra choke. Rana struggled on and on, but there came a moment when the muscles in Elle’s thighs and arms trembled in unison. Suddenly Rana was waving her hand and slapping the mattress.

I clicked the sixty minute timer, noticing ten minutes forty-six seconds had elapsed and yelled. “Submission, release the hold.” It took Elle ten seconds to respond so I started to walk toward them. She released the holds. “Get off me you cunt!” she snarled kicking Rana’s sweat soaked back to roll her away on the mat. Rana gasped and groaned. She held her ribs for a second then stripped off her soaked bra feeling her neck. It was marked. So was her belly and on breast from the kicks. Elle was marked as well, but not so deeply and she had clearly dominated the first round of the fight.

Both women were sweating heavily, hair matting, my wife’s face very flushed. They drank water sparingly, stretched some muscles, and ran hands over areas that had been hit or crushed in a hold. Neither looked fresh, but both were determined as they stood for the next round. I wondered how Rana would last. My wife had fought this style of fight several times. Rana was younger, but sixty minutes of ruled cat fighting or wrestling will wring the spirit out of anyone, no matter how many breaks.

They circled slowly this time. My wife’s fists were ready to go to Rana’s body or block a kick to her belly and crotch. Rana bounced on her feet and made a move that looked like preparation for a hard kick to the crotch. Elle bent forward just a bit and dropped her left hand. Instead, Rana’s right hand snapped out in a vicious small circle and delivered a whip cracking open hand slap to my wife’s sweaty face. Elle’s head snapped around and she staggered forward in shock. She cursed and reached for her rapidly reddening face, the blow had left a hand print from jaw to eye brow.

Rana was already twisting at the waist and her left hand smacked Elle’s right cheek sending my wife into a cursing stumble. Rana grabbed the exposed back of her tangled blonde hair with the extended left hand and jerked backwards. Her right fist circled around and hammered Elle’s belly. Elle turned into her tormenter and grabbed hold of anything handy. Her right hand crushed Rana’s left breast and her left hand hooded under Rana’s right armpit and up to a shoulder, hugging her close for a knee to the crotch, which hit. Rana moaned. She held her left hand twisted in my wife’s hair and hammered her side and back with the right fist while pushing into her. Elle had not been braced so her ten pound advantage didn’t help as she was pushed back to a padded wall. However, her mauling hand was milking her opponent and hurting the brown beauty in a way they both knew could not be ignored. Against the wall both tried to knee, but they merely hit thighs and knees, getting nowhere. Rana resorted to a foot stomp on Elle’s left foot. Then slid my wife into the corner.

Once in the corner, Rana leaned into my wife and started pounding her with fists to the sides and belly. Elle had to let go of Rana’s hair and cover herself. They struggled in a tangle of arms, grabbed wrists and eventual mutual tit mauling. Elle whimpered as her right nipple sprayed like a fountain. Rana had a thumb up under the nipple buried in the tit flesh from below while her fingers crushed the globe into twisted flesh cylinder with a bulbous bright red head tipped by a milk geyser. Elle’s bra rode just up over both her breasts and I wondered if she should have removed it, since its value as a protector was less than its danger as a garrote.

As Rana tried to squeeze my wife’s right tit flesh out of her nipple like some snack meat tube, Elle cried out and cursed. The blonde’s right hand was twisting the fat brown breast by the nipple and Rana’s milk was spraying from multiple ducts. In mutual agony that pressed against each other in a standing tangle each trying to hurt the other so severely she would give up or at least expose herself to a submission hold. Rana’s fist continue to pound my wife’s body, but Elle’s left hand opened and snagged the back of Rana’s green thong. She twisted the green elastic tight and then curled her arm upward doing a non-standard bicep curl with Rana’s thong as the bar and her split cunt lips as the weight. Rana cursed then howled.

Rana twisted and slid with the pull until they were back against opposite sides of the corner. My wife took advantage of Rana’s crotch pain and drove a knee up into the puffy lips exposed by the constricting thong. Rana moaned and suddenly gave up her holds, going for a desperation leap into Elle. The bodies thudded and clashed. Elle held onto the tortured tit and the tearing green thong.

Rana twisted in agony, I thought at first trying to get away, but instead she had stepped into Elle, throwing a hip into her despite the green material disappearing into her swollen slit, or the pressure on her pulled and twisted breast. Rana’s arm hooked around Elle’s head. In a classic pro-wrestling or school yard match, she cranked on the head lock, threw her hip up into Elle’s belly and bent forward. Elle didn’t go over immediately, but she her toes left the mat. She released the thong and slapped at the wall for balance. Rana staggered forward throwing herself off her feet to her knees. Now, Elle went up and over in the classic hip throw crashing to the mat top of the head first then falling hard stretched out on her back with Rana still on her head lying across her chest.

Rana didn’t make the mistake of cranking on the head lock. Elle’s hands were already reaching for the tortured brown breast leaking on the mat. The Indian rolled and twisted climbing on top of my wife. Elle kneed and twisted. There was a clash of legs, but Rana’s speed and momentum carried her through and she landed tortured crotch first on Elle’s heaving white belly, brown knees tight on either side of Elle’s twisting hips. Elle’s hands went for the long matted black hair. Rana’s hands found the loose bra and jerked it upward tight across my wife’s white neck. It wasn’t a perfect strangle, but it did pin my wife down long enough for Rana to slid up her wet belly. Now with brown ass and the remnants of the twisted green thong and sodden green stockings controlled Elle’s belly and hips.

Rana pressed down on Elle’s bra choking her. Elle naturally reached up and grabbed Rana’s hanging boobs. The choke was not good enough to do anything but mark Elle’s neck. Elle’s pinching and twisting fingers had both Rana’s swollen black nipple squirting. The pain in her nipples forced her to give up the choke. She switched to a left hand on Elle’s neck, fingers digging into the white flesh or black bra strap. Her right hand slapped Elle’s face again and again, from the side and the front. Elle took a dozen brutal slaps unto her nose started to dribble. Yes, a face slap can bloody a nose!

Elle bucked at the hips and pushed Rana’s tits up against her own chest lifting the brown weight on her belly. To escape the slapping she made the classic instinctual mistake of rolling to her side and trying to push up. Rana slid off her letting Elle get to her belly and start to press up. Then the Indian sprang her trap. She landed across Elle’s shoulders ramming my wife tits first into the map, squashing the orbs out under her armpits. Rana rotated on my wife’s slick back jamming a brown knee down between her shoulder blades. She reached down and recaptured the ends of the black bra. In seconds my wife’s feet were kicking helplessly toe first into the mat while she tried to get her hands out from under her own body and somehow pull the twisted bra from the crease in her neck. Rana arched her back and leaned back on her knee, arching my wife’s body in what would be a killing choke before it was a back breaker. Elle made desperate noises and got a hand free to slap the mat.

I immediately clicked the timers and rushed to Rana. It took my fingers prying on hers to bring her back to reality. She let go and rolled off my wife crawling away still leaking milk and a bit of blood from my wife’s expert tit torture. She fell into the corner and just gasped. Elle flopped like a fish out of water on the boat floor. I got the bra off her neck and she just lay there gasping. I went back to the clocks, resisting the urge to help my wife. Second and equalizing submission to Rana with 25:55 gone.

Rana sucked down some water and then coughed it up. Then she gingerly pulled out her thong. I had no idea how brutal the wedge had been until the deepest part came out stained red. Elle saw cut her rival’s sex! Elle got to her corner and drank slowly between breathes massaging her red, bruised throat. The look on her face told me she had seen her death and been scared. Now she looked furious. She had a reputation for surprising opponents by fighting on and on despite being whipped until she got the upper hand. I did not know Rana as well, but the girl had obviously been determined to equalize the bra strangles and been successful despite the damage she had taken to her nipples.

As they gasped they stripped, neither wanted a bra or a thong to be used against them. I noticed both took off their stockings but experimented twisting and pulling on them to see if they could be used as a weapon. When I called them out for the third round they both had a wadded up stocking in their left hands. I thought about making the stocking illegal, but if it was still on their leg I would not even have noticed so I kept quiet.

This time Rana went for the fake kick and surprise slap again. But as soon as the brown foot planted, my wife snapped forward with the hardest right hand open slap I’ve ever seen delivered in controlled fight. The rifle shot connection with Rana’s pretty sweaty face caused me to gasp. Rana squealed and staggered to Elle’s right, bending over and twisting at the waist her hand going instinctively to her left cheek, to the vivid outline of my wife’s hand already rising as if branded into the young flesh. Already the stockings were on the ground.

I blinked and noted my wife had twisted on her right foot to the side and her left leg was rising as she twisted around. The left toes dug into the underside of Rana’s hanging right tit while my wife’s hard shin crashed up into Rana’s bent over body. The thud was audible. Rana gasped and fell backwards like she had been poleaxed. She hit the mat hard and shell shocked. Elle scrambled forward after recovering her balance and stomped down on the brown belly heaving beneath her right foot. Rana twisted and took some of it on a hip, but my wife’s right foot sank deep into the warm, unprepared brown belly. Rana gagged and spit air and drool upward as her knees rose and she rolled into fetal position facing Elle’s feet.

Elle tried to kick but her foot bounced off Rana’s tucked in knees and folded arms. If head blows had been allowed Rana would have already been in her dream world. Elle raised her right foot over Rana’s writhing body to go for a rib stomp. Rana unlimbered her curl and rolled into Elle as her heel impacted the brown woman’s side and then bounced off to the floor. Rana’s roll took out Elle’s left foot and my wife’s arms waved uselessly as she flailed falling not backwards but down onto her enemy.

Elle ended up straddling Rana’s hip facing away from Rana’s black hair. Elle might have had an advantage but Rana snagged her tangled blonde hair from behind and jerked her backwards. Elle screeched as she fell more from surprise than pain. Rana scrambled trying to choke Elle with her arm, but a white elbow to the tits and a twist put Elle on her back beside Rana. Rana threw her right leg over my wife’s heaving belly and tried to climb on, but Elle twisted to face her. Her hands found Rana’s already sore boobs. Elle grinned through exhaustion and pain as she sank her talons so deep in the brown tit flesh that all you could see is her moving knuckles and the twisted agony on Rana’s face as she screamed anew.

Rana tried to pry off the white claws, then she open handed my wife’s face from the top four or five times. The tit maul continued and my wife rolled her face to the mat leaving the back of her head to be slapped. Rana grunted and somehow continued her move crawling on top rolling my wife to her back. The Indian girl’s mound was riding my wife’s lower belly and her long strong brown legs twisted around my wife’s white legs and slowly grapevine her spreading her legs under stress in a classic grapevine pin down. Elle’s feet twisted, but she could not get Rana’s foot hooks out of position. The hold was locked in. Rana’s tits were still taking a brutal mauling between their bodies. As both women grunted and cursed, Rana whimpered more than once indicating that my wife’s fingers had found some new pain center to abuse.

Rana’s left hand found my wife’s forehead and she forced Elle’s head down on the mat twisting my wife’s head to the left exposing the right side of her face. It wasn’t easy to get too so Rana actually pressed upward. She moaned as her tits hung down still in my wife’s grip. Now I saw the evidence. Rana had been milked savagely, pools had formed on my wife’s heaving belly and dripped to the mat. But now both nipples were bleeding and bleeding pretty badly. These were not internal leaks but cuts and maybe cracks. My wife’s hands were now red and the red drops spread on her milky body.

Rana brought her right fist down hard on my wife’s rolling tits again and again. Elle grunted under each impact, but kept mauling, now the blood colored her hands and wrists as well as her body and the barely seen tips of Rana’s tits looked like they had been sanded raw and then diced. Rana pressed down on my wife’s left tit and hammer her pelvis down on my wife’s belly. My wife grunted, so Rana did it again and again and again. Elle again took the pounding and suddenly twisted her hands. I saw Rana’s badly bleeding nipples, engorged to an unnatural state, leaking from ducts and cuts. Then my wife’s thumbs crushed both nipples deep into the swollen abused tit flesh.

Rana’s mouth opened and a long wail came out. She looked finished, but then both hands moved in a flash. She was double handed choking my wife, pressing down with her upper body. Elle’s already red flesh flowered ruby red then blue. Her eyes got big and suddenly her determination to wring Rana’s soul out from her tits wavered. She suddenly released Rana’s misshaped, once perfect orbs. She knew how to break a front hand choke. Her hands slapped the inside of Rana’s wrists and she pulled outward with all her strength. Rana’s arms flew outward and she fell hard down on my wife. Her tits landing on Elle’s shoulders.

There was a moment of gasping and trembling against each other. Rana’s arms were still in the iron cross position. My wife’s lower body was still locked in the grapevine. Rana moaned as Elle used leverage to push her arms down to her sides. They were trapped by each other. Elle held the arms and Rana held the legs and they both gasped and moaned in what could have been sex with the way they were moving, but was decidedly not. Then Elle started to twist Rana’s arms behind her sweaty back, not going for a chicken wing, illegal, but simply holding them helpless against her back.

I thought about breaking them up, but decided it might be better to let the clock tick down to avoid worse damage. I had no idea if a tie would end this feud, but in their condition it might at least stop the fight for now. Elle didn’t let the stalemate continue. After struggling to get Rana’s hands crossed and crimped in the middle of her glistening back, Elle’s right hand grabbed for both wrists. Her left hand freed from its task slide down Rana’s backbone and along the trembling right buttock. It was so smooth and quick that again I thought of a porn tape, but pleasure was not the object.

Elle’s index finger disappeared between Rana’s suddenly clenching ass cheeks and in it went. Rana’s anus was slightly puckered and darken than the ass cheek. Elle’s white finger disappeared into the brownness penetrating Rana crudely and viciously. Rana twisted wildly yelling, “NO!” Elle lost her double wrist hold. Rana’s legs unwound and with her flailing arms she slide upward on Elle’s body. Elle’s thrusting white finger slid free. As soon as it was out Rana rolled to the side frantic to escape further anal torture. As she rolled her tortured tits flopped like water balloons and she had to hold them to stop the pain as she came to her knees across the wet floor, gasping and sobbing.

Elle set up and rubbed the kinks out of her legs. That grapevine must have really hurt her. She pressed up to her feet and propped a hand on the wall for balance. She wobbled on her shaky legs and then sighted on Rana across the floor, just getting her knees down and her swinging distorted tits under control. Elle stumbled forward, bending over to snag Rana’s dark green stocking. Rana looked up just in time to take my wife’s right foot to her cunt.

It wasn’t a rifle shot like the slap had been long ago, but it was a wet thud. Rana cried out and grabbed herself bending over. Her hot swelling orbs flopped free hanging down, dripping lymph and blood on the mat. She whimpered but had to let them swing free as the pain in her cunt had all her attention. Elle stepped over Rana’s back, leaned forward and wrapped the stocking around Rana’s long brown neck just getting it under the chin before Rana clamped her chin down against her chest. Elle snarled, twisted the stretching stocking behind Rana’s neck capturing a wet mop of black hair. Elle’s biceps jumped out of her flesh and she drew up and back on the stocking with both hands while sitting down on Rana’s curled middle back.

The choke locked in quickly. Rana’s spasms ended with Elle on her ass, her long legs digging into Rana’s sides from behind and the green stocking biting into Rana’s neck like a garrote. Rana’s eyes went wide and she waved her hands madly. Elle leaned backwards like she was trying to decapitate her victim. I leapt forward forgetting to stop the clock and wrestled my wife’s hands until she came to her senses and let go.

As I pulled Elle backwards by her wrists Rana fell forward face first into the mat. I went to her and rolled her onto her side checking for her pulse. It was there and she was breathing roughly, a deep brown bruise already forming on her neck. I kept my hand on her back to feel her breathing for more than a few minutes before I got some water to wake her up with a splash. By the time had expired. Elle was pissed but I declared her the winner by one fall and attended to Rana.

When she woke up and felt the pain in her body she began to weep and shake. I didn’t let Elle taunt her. Instead we both cared for her, giving her a warm bath, fluid and later food. Both women were badly hurt, but Rana’s perfect tits looked ruined. I should have learned though from Elle’s previous experience. Soft flesh heals if it hasn’t been ripped apart internally. I did have her go to a “fight” doctor, a corrupt plastic surgeon who often took care of some of the girls hurt in Elle’s strange underground trail by combat real estate agency.

I think he came in his pants examining the swelling but pronounced after some scans that she would heal completely. Rather than use Rana as a slit slave for her real estate agents, Elle took her on as an agent, hoping to use her skills after she was fully healed. They actually got along famously, which is to say they fucked and we fucked and they fucked some more. And Rana did well in the real estate business, but that is another story for another time.

The End.

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