Let me tell you, droogies, telling your manager at work that you need four weeks of vacation, in order to turn your girlfriend into the most vicious catfighting bitch in the world, is not an acceptable request in most employee handbooks. Therefore, I had to lie, about a sick family member of Trang’s back in Asia. I was granted a grudging mixture of paid and unpaid leave.
We left on for the Philippines two weeks after the fight with Helen. It had taken that long just for Trang’s injuries to heal completely.
Even so, she was chomping at the bit for her transformation to begin.
I had learned more about the Catfighter’s Palace in Manila thanks to sources on the Internet. It was supposed to be a fabulous place that put on great women’s wrestling and fighting shows, mostly comprised of Filipinas, some Chinese, a few Japanese, and an occasional white or black woman. In addition to their shows, they had an academy, where they would train women in the arts of fighting.
For most poor Filipinas, they repaid this training to the academy by fighting in the Palace for a minimum of two years. For those who lived outside the country and possessed money, a $500 fee (a fortune in that region) paid for the training.
Still, I was going into debt over my obsession. The five grand I had paid Morgan drained most of my savings. I barely had enough cash for the fee and walking around money. The rest of the trip was on my credit card. It would take a few months of steady work to pay it all off.
The Fever can be very expensive, droogies. Beware of this sign.
We met the headmistress of the academy, Wichita, at the bar of the Palace. She appeared to be in her late 30s, with long black hair, somewhat yellowed teeth, and a face that had seen many fights. “You got the money?” she asked.
“Right here,” I replied, and handed it over to her.
“Good,” Wichita smiled. “Trang will come with me now. Three weeks, you come back, Trang is great catfighter. You no come in here until then. Say good-bye to him.” She said to Trang, who looked somewhat apprehensive.
“There’s no way I can see or talk to her until then?” I asked. I already knew the rules, but hoped it wasn’t enforced so rigidly.
“Is this for you or him?” Wichita looked at Trang.
“It’s for me! I’d do it myself, if I wasn’t with him.” Trang answered.
“Good. Because for next two weeks, you train. Train hard. Morning, lift weight and run. Afternoon, learn wrestling and boxing. Evening, fight other girls. No time for man. No time to think about man. Only time to think like a cat. If not, other girls eat you like…mouse.” Wichita laughed riotously then.
“OK, OK,” I said.
Trang kissed me on the mouth. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make it.” She rubbed my crotch. “And remember to use a condom if you get lonely.”
She knew me too well.
It was hard not to get lonely or aroused in Manila. I sat in bars, getting drunk and watching the beautiful Filipinas dance on stage. Sometimes I would pick the one I liked the best, with nice thick legs that reminded me of a wrestler, and would take her to bed for $10. But it seemed tame and boring after Trang and her fights.
One day, I did find a bar that was more interesting. As I watched the girls dance, there was one in particular that stood out for me. She was Filipina, 5’6″, same height as Trang, but very tall for most women of that country. Her body was much bigger than Trang’s: arms, thighs, and calves were bulging and thick. Although whether it was the result of working out or just her weight, I could not tell.
She looked like she could be a monster Filipina fighter. Her espression was stern. Definitely not as pretty as Trang was, and her curly dark hair feel down to her shoulders. The promise of pain and utter domination lay behind her sweet, savage face.
I found myself incredibly attracted to her.
Her name was Tara.
The dancing stopped, and all the girls cleared the stage, except for Tara and this other Filipina, who stood 5’4″. The women kicked off their high heels, squared off on each side of the room, and started to circle each other. As Tara circled around, I noticed a tattoo on her butt: the mark of the Tigress.
I had learned earlier that this was the “diploma” of the Catfighters Academy.
The smaller woman gave Tara enough of a fight to make it interesting, but it ended ten minutes later with Tara sitting on the woman’s chest and smashing her face to the floor just as she submitted.
I had been making eye contact with Tara all night. When the fight was over, she walked over to me in her bikini, and I bought her a drink. I couldn’t stop looking at her body, wondering what it would be like to have those thick legs around me in bed.
“You want to go upstairs?” Tara asked me. “Tara love you all night.” She rubbed my inner thigh with the palm of her hand.
I wound up taking her to the hotel and fucking the hell out of her. That night, the next night, the night after that. She would tell me stories of her battles, on the streets fighting other women for food, going to the Catfighter’s Palace and becoming one of their top fighters, and now having paid back her debt, earning top dollar at the club I found her at.
I was so aroused and turned on with her. She took my penis in her ass and loved it, too. I shuddered to think what she might be able to do to Trang in the ring, and this made my orgasms even better.
After our first five nights together, Tara brought me to her tiny house, in a section of Manila that was just a step up from a slum. It had three tiny and cramped rooms, and the backyard was a makeshift gym where she and her slaves could work out.
Yes, droogies, that’s right. Tara had her own little Catpack.
The first one was a little Korean girl called Im. Apparently, Tara had won her in a fight in Thailand the previous year. She stood about 5’1″, and was described to me as being very talented in the kickboxing area. I chatted to her a bit, which was difficult, given her broken English, but she seemed like a sweet girl when she wasn’t fighting.
The second slave introduced herself by jumping on my back and nearly biting my ear off.
“Conchida, down!” Tara barked, slapping her slave’s butt.
Conchida Perez, a Cuban boxer, whose diminutive size, as 5’3″, made her a perfect competitor for the Asian scene. Her tits seemed big for her little frame, and her eyes sparked catfire when you caught a glimpse of them, through her curly dark afro haircut. Tara had won this little vicious cat in an annual competition that I had never heard of.
An annual competition of catfighters, which Tara had come close to winning the previous year. She had made it all the way to the championship match. Her opponent was a Thai bitch, that everyone called “SnapDragon.” She had been an inch shorter than Tara, but her devastating martial arts technique had taken down the great and terrible Tara.
The price of defeat had been a lifetime of slavery pledged to the SnapDragon, in return for sparing Tara’s life.
“How did you get away from her?” I asked Tara.
“Tara get away, because Filipina Cat is smarter than Thai,” Tara replied. She never lost that annoying habit of referring to herself in the third person. “She force me to be her maid. Tara cook, clean, have torture and awful love every night. But, Tara watch this SnapDragon. Tara watch her closely when she train.”
She held her head back and laughed. Conchida and Im echoed the laughter like hyenas.
“Tara watch SnapDragon practice punch. Powerful punch. The move she defeats Tara with. I see it again and again, then picture how to do it in my head. Then, when SnapDragon and her slaves sleep, Tara practice it by herself. Night after night, till Tara can do this.”
Im brought out a concrete block and set it upon a pedestal.
Tara stood a foot away from the pedestal. Her arm flashed back almost too quickly for me to follow, and the block was shattered into tiny bits and pieces.
“When Tara do that, she no longer slave.” the Filipina stated. “Tara challenge SnapDragon. Thai is so mad, so furious, she says, ‘I kill Tara!’ But I break her arm with her own punch. Almost kill her, but other slaves rush in to stop me. I grab Conchida, and run. Fight Im in Bangkok match, get money, come back home.”
I shuddered at the utter ruthlessness of this cat. She was even worse than Hellcat or Matadora. Tara’s life was so poor, so ugly, so desperate, that she would do anything to win and better her condition.
My penis got rigid. I knew I was going to set up a fight between her and Trang then.
The worst move of my life, droogies.
I had spent a total of two weeks with Tara the Terror. She had asked me lots of questions during that time, about what life was like back in the United States. I described to her my job, my car, my house, and my leisure, all of which seemed awesome to her. Tara dropped little hints here and there about much she would love to have such a life.
By the end of my stay, it was obvious how jealous she was of Trang, for having the life she wanted.
I used this bait to set up the fight. Of course, droogies, I had to lie through my teeth in order to make it happen.
“I’ll take you to the United States,” I told Tara, “If you fight Trang at the Catfighter’s Academy, and win.” I had no intention of doing so. I just had to see Trang fight and fuck this monster Filipina.
Tara smiled and jumped up and down. “Yes! Yes! Gil, you are lucky. Beat Trang, not enough. Too easy. Tara kill Trang for you!” Her fist snapped into the air.
“No. No Kill. Kill, and we can’t go to the U.S. Our government has laws about that.”
Tara looked disappointed.
“Look at it this way,” I said, quickly improvising. “You make Trang submit to you in the ring. Then she becomes the first member of your American Catpack. Your own maid, serving you in your own American style house. How nice would that be?”
“OK,” Tara laughed, rubbing her vagina against my cock. “I set up fight with Witchita tomorrow. No Kill. Just crush. Crush like mouse.”
“Crush!” Tara shouted, slamming into Trang’s body. The crowd of men went wild. Wichita sat at my table near the ring and laughed.
Trang was in the corner of the ring at the Catfighter’s Palace. Her nose was bloody, her tits had been punched, scratches reeked red scars over her legs. Her bikini-clad body quivered under the impact of Tara’s body.
I thought her submission to the Filipina was only moments away.
Tara cocked back her arm, ready for a lethal SnapDragon blow to Trang’s neck.
I panicked. “Tara!” I shouted angrily. “Don’t! Or the deal is off!”
Trang heard me. She must have put it all together then. This sudden challenge from a stranger.
Tara hesitated, and dropped her arm.
Trang suddenly came alive. She gripped Tara’s shoulders and gave her a head-butt. Tara’s head whipped backward, and suddenly Trang rammed her knee into Tara’s cunt a few times. She reached down to grab hold of Tara’s knees, and pulled upward, causing Tara to fall on her back, hard. Trang stabbed the cunt again with her foot, then twirled Tara over onto her stomach. Trang curled the lower feet back toward’s Tara’s butt and sat down hard on them. Grabbing hold of Tara’s curly jet black hair, she rammed Tara’s head into the mat repeatedly.
I saw Tara’s nose go all bloody.
The crowd roared even harder. The rookie had just upset the champ!
Tara stopped the head blows by steadying her upper body with her arms. Trang told hold of those arms by the wrists, and bent them both backward behind Tara’s back. A tug of war ensued, as Trang’s lean arms fought against Tara’s bulky muscles. Trang had then almost bent backward, when Tara wrenched them forward. Trang’s face fell on the back of Tara’s head, biting the Filipina’s ear.
Tara moaned and wailed, losing concentration enough for Trang to immobilize her arms.
“Give up!” Trang shouted. Her face was dark and angry. She had learned a lot in the past two weeks, but had also learned from Helen, using her maneuver from the fuck-fight room to turn the tables on Tara.
“No!” Tara screamed, blood dripping into her teeth.
Trang reached her head around Tara’s body and bit down on Tara’s right breast. Tara screamed even louder, and buckled her body violently, trying to shake off Trang. But Trang rode her like a bronco rider.
Newly defined muscles in my lover’s legs and back kept the Filipina pinned down. This was despite the fact that Tara still outweighed her by twenty pounds!
My megababe was indeed awesome!
Trang kept riding and biting the Filipina.
“Agghhhh…I give…give, give, give, give up!” Tara shouted.
“And you submit to me tonight?” Trang asked.
Trang released her grip and slowly stood up as her opponent crumpled on the mat.
I couldn’t believe what had happened. And I was so excited about what was to come next.
Trang emerged from the shower, examining the newly acquired Tigress tattoo on her butt briefly. Then she came over to us on the bed, also newly showered and ready for her. She flipped Tara over to her stomach and was about to play with her butt, when I could wait no longer. I kissed Trang passionately on the lips.
“It’s been too long…I’ve missed you.” I said, panting.
“Not too much, I think,” Trang replied, gripping my jaw. “You’ve been fucking around with this third-world cunt all over Manila, haven’t you?”
“I was just trying to…” I petered off.
“Forget it. It gave me the fire I needed to burn this bitch good. Now get me the strap-on dildo. I’ve got to teach this bitch a lesson.”
There begin the night of lovemaking that I still have dreams about. Trang’s buns pumping her dildo into Tara’s ass, holding the Filipina’s head in the air and alternatively kissing and biting her. The two sets of beautiful buns with the Tigress tattoos. Exploding inside of each of their anus’, falling asleep only to be awakened by the two of them kissing and making love in a missionary position. Regaining my energy after an early breakfast and fucking them again in their vaginas. The cries of their orgasms sounding like a symphony in my ears.
Although Tara submitted dutifully in the lovemaking, when the sex was over, she was resentful and bitter.
Trang stepped out of the shower again around noon. We had packed and were ready to go to the airport. Tara confronted Trang while her back was turned.
“Fight me now, Trang. Fight naked. Tara lose, she stay here. Tara win, she go back to US and be your maid.”
“Are you crazy? We can’t take you back,” Trang replied.
“You afraid of me, Trang?” Tara grabbed hold of Trang’s hair and stuck a finger up her butt. “Maybe you afraid Gil loves me more than you. He told me this week…Tara so much better than you in bed.”
Trang’s elbow smashed into Tara’s face, reopening her nose bleed. Trang turned to face Tara, and the two women started to grapple with each other.
“We don’t have time for this!” I shouted, and grabbed my arms around Tara’s waist, pulling her back over to the bed. “Let go!”
I pushed Tara onto the bed with a thud. She started to get up immediately, and I jumped onto her back to keep her down.
“Let me go! I kill Trang! You hold back Tara!” The Filipina buckled, but luckily, I weighed much more than she did and kept her down.
“Honey,” Trang said, taking out a set of handcuffs. “I know how to handle her.”
When we left the room, Tara’s hands and legs were cuffed to the bedpost. She had given up trying to struggle against them. We left her naked, face down on the bed, her tigress tattoo flashing at whoever would discover her.
“Sorry, Tara,” I said. “It’s been lots of fun. I will miss you, but…”
“The better woman won,” Trang finished. She picked up Tara’s head by the hair and bit her on the lips.
The Filpinas dark lips pulled back in a sneer of total hatred. “Trang, Tara will see you again. Maybe US. Maybe in CatSport. But I will find you. Fight you. Fuck you. Take your money. Take your man. Then Tara kill you!”
“Maybe, baby,” Trang laughed, and whacked Tara hard on the buns.
Neither of us gave any thought to Tara’s threats once we had taken off on the airplane. At that point, it looked like Trang’s deadliest rival was Helen, who she hoped to fight again very soon. We thought we had seen the last of Tara.
That assumption was fatally incorrect.