Clawie vs. Little Miss Alpha – “The Consequence of Survival”

Clawie vs. Little Miss Alpha on FCF

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-1.png

Chloe – Clawie

War never changes . . .

I still remember the words, spoken by Ron Perlman’s voice, from when I was a kid, and played my first Fallout game. I geeked most of my middle school years in the Wasteland. Shooting mutants and unlocking everything there was to the stories. Be it Colorado, New Vegas, or the good old East Coast . . .

And then it happened.

No one exactly understands how. We new a mistake happened, that day in 2016, when an orange sphincter was elected president. When emotions rose, and nationalism blossomed. International tensions ran amok. And there was talk about peace with North Korea. People cheered, and the dumbass took credit. Then it all fell apart. And the first Nuke landed.

No one even knows if it was the Koreans, Russians, or Chinese. Some even say it was the Israeli, but who the fuck knows. The mushroom cloud peppered the skies. Dozens of them. Every major city and population center. Every naval and air base. Destruction and mayhem everywhere . . . And when the two year Nuclear Winter ended. Nothing was the same . . .

There were no zombie horde. No giant, car sized roaches. No safe havens nor handsome, broad chested Sheriffs. There was only survival. And I had my first taste of it, when I was scavenging through the rubble of a gas station in upstate New York, smashing through a tipped over vending machine, to get some expired Candy, and was ambushed by that blonde. She couldn’t have been older than me. It was hard to tell, she had paint all over her face, and was dressed in the craziest manner. She had a pipe with a blade attached to it in her hand and she tried to stick me with it. She managed to get few cuts in. But I was fighting for my life. And after I disarmed her, we tumbled and thrashed around the mart for nearly fifteen minutes.

All I wanted was the Candy. And to get away. But she wanted more. She wanted me. My life. And even though I got the upper hand twice, everytime I tried to make a run for it, she lunged and tackled me, she swept my legs and perched down clawing and biting. Swinging her fists and skull. And I had to do it. I finally got the upper hand a third time, despite the deep cuts and wounds. I grabbed her neck, squeezed, twisted, and with a SNAP it all ended.

I don’t remember much after, I was bleeding out, and I just collapsed. But when I woke up, I was in a cage of sorts. Little Miss Savage had friends. If you could call them that. They found us, and their leader, a Warlord called Odyn (Yes, with a Y, as he made sure it was spelled all over the walls of the fortress) took interest in me.

He said that I slew one of his Valkyrie. That’s what he called his Harem of savages. In his dystopian society, they were raiders. Warriors. Looters. His guard. He gave each one a dumb ass mystical name. The one I killed, he called Gunnr. And he kept nine of them. And he made it clear to me. I took one of them, so I owed him one.

And I did the math quick. Two days in the cage, getting spat on, poked by sticks, and after seeing enough cocks thrust through the gaps in the bars towards me. I either die, after being raped by every fuckhead in this nutjob town . . . Or I become one of them. And the choice was easy. Real easy. After two years of being alone. Of talking to myself so I don’t fucking forget language. Of hunting rats and snakes to survive. I have a chance to call a place home . . . And being one of the chosen nine, isn’t the worst gig.

So, in a ceremony of epic proportions. With torches flung in the air, intermingled with three random break out fights, I was anointed. By Odyn himself. He dragged his inked thumbs across my face, drawing some Celtic symbol on my cheek, then back. Turning me around. And while the entire place erupted into an orgy, he fucked me like a bitch . . . And I won’t lie, I kind of loved it. A lot. I felt so inebriated and free. So relaxed and relieved.

But it was in that moment, that my eyes saw her. Not just one of the nine. But the Queen of the Valkyries. The one he called Sigrun . . . Our eyes locked. Her hair green, just the same color of dye he picked for me. And I could tell that she did not take it too kindly. And I could tell why right away . . . We looked so much alike. So damn much. Our tattoos. Hair. Round faces. Curvy bodies. Short statuses. And now, it seemed that she wanted to flex her queenhood all over me . . .

But that wasn’t going to fly. No Ma’am . . . I’m no one’s bitch. And certainly not going to be anyone’s backup. At that moment, When he grunted and splashed inside of me, and her lips curled and sneered, before turning and walking back into the crowd . . . I knew that one of us, was going to go. And soon.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png

Amber – Little Miss Alpha

“Mommy, why do we have to go?” I asked in the sweetest of voices, not yet fully understanding the journey that laid before us, or the destination at its end.

“Because, honey, we just…….have to. You’ll just need to trust mommy and daddy, ok?” She replied, as she brought herself to a kneel, a smile on her face, one quivering with a barely restrained sobbing.

“But the kids at school say daddy is crazy?” Everyday I heard it, from the other kids. Despite not knowing what they meant, they would use words that they heard their parents say: rethug, bigot, racist, redneck”. And though like they I found myself confused by the terms, they hurt nonetheless, as I knew they were meant to.

My only glimmer of light, through all of the that darkness was my sister. She was so strong. So kind. So loving. So protective of me. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, and would always come for me, when the other children would bully. She wouldn’t fight them, as she didn’t have to. Everyone just knew, not to try and take her on.

It was that strength that led me to ask her what the other kids meant, and she would always just look at me and say: “Don’t worry. Daddy loves us.”

That phrase I heard again from behind me, as I felt her soft touch on my shoulder, as I stood before my mother, waiting for a reply that would never come. But even without it, we went down to the shelter father had made for our family. There we found him in tight jeans, cowboy boots, and a black t-shirt with the words ‘Obama Bin Lying.’ on the front, more politics that were lost on me at my young age. Behind him, was what was to be my future, my next near decade, something that didn’t dawn on me even as the door behind us closed and sealed with a sound of sucking air that I can remember even to this day.

Despite literally never being allowed to leave, father only going up if he had to restock supplies, we were happy; mother, daddy sister, and I. It was she, my loving sister, who kept me sane. Who kept me smiling. Not a moment passed that she didn’t devote to me. Not a second went by that her first goal wasn’t to entertain me.

Until the day my father had feared came. The end, he called it, for everyone other than us. He figured it was a bomb from China, Russia, North Korea or somewhere equally as far away. But it didn’t really matter where it came from, only that it did come, and that we were safe. At least, that was the plan. One that lasted until father died, only a week after ‘the end’. Heartattack. His death hurt all of us so bad, but my mother worst of all. So bad, in fact, that a month after my father death, she killed herself. My sister and I finding her with slit wrists in the kitchen, which was really just a repurposed shipping container.That’s when my sister couldn’t worry about my smile anymore. That’s when she had to worry about everything else.

Food. Water. Air. Which we had for awhile, but when it ran out, we had to move. To leave, not only our shelter but everywhere we wound up. Until she met a boy her age named Jeff. Together they built us a home, and found us friends who like us, were just trying to survive. Before too long, Jeff became Odyn and my sister Gunnr. They called me chip, as in a chip off my sister’s block.

A name they continued to call me, until one day, the warband came back with my sister. My DEAD sister. Her body. One which had been robbed of its life by the girl they brought back as captive. A girl who to my dismay, looked more like me than any I had ever met, and in everyway that that word might mean.

From that day on I was renamed Sigrun. A title that went with my new role, my sister’s old role: leader of the Valkyrie. I was the highest ranking woman in the tribe. And though that came with responsibilities, tasks, and POWER. All I fucking wanted was my sister back.

But I wasn’t a witch. I couldn’t breathe the life back into her body, no matter how long I prayed in tears, the emerald-ended necklace I wore almost breaking I held it so hard.

And so I decided that if I couldn’t give life back, I would take it. From the one who killed my sister, the only person left in the world I truly cared for.

As a prisoner, I couldn’t touch her, and so I waited. Waited for her to be anointed and freed. Knowing that then I could challenge her. Fight her. And give every ounce of strength I had to take from her my vengeance. A moment I knew had come, as I looked at you in our matching face paint and hair. Giving you a look I knew would draw you to me, when the celebration of your ascendance had faded.


The celebration ended, for most, but not for me and Odyn. With his cum still dripping from my cunt, he turned to me, kneeling and wrapping his arms around my waist, he thrusted me up in the air, holding me high, and buried his face into my stomach, kissing my abs. I moaned. While he turned us around, making me feel like the Queen of the world. This is my world now. And I am going to rule it.

My head turns, trying to see her, the so called Queen, but she had vanished. The entire tribe around us, exploding into an orgy. All positions and ways. And I figured she is on her knees sucking dick somewhere . . .

But Odyn took me back to his house. The only well built structure in the entire encampment, and slammed the door shut. That night, I barely got any sleep. And comes the morning, I could barely get out of bed. But I smiled, watching him snore next to me. He too was spent. I guess I did a good job. My first duty as a Valkyrie.

I step out of the large king side bed, and walk around the cabin. Fascinated. It looks newly built. Post war for sure. A lot of love and care went into erecting it. And unlike the camp outside, it was neat and clean. Someone loved this place. I go to the shower, and I take my first proper shower in two years. I walk out and dry myself up. Staring at myself in a cracked mirror. I look calmer than I ever remember. I almost forgot what my face looks like.

I get out and Odyn is still snoring. I’m sure he will be knocked out till the afternoon. So, naked I walk around the house, exploring it. And I find a room. The only one with its door closed. My curiosity gets the better of me and I push the door open. It’s dark. So I take a moment for the light to adjust, then find the window and crack it. It’s full of boxes. Some hastily packed. I go for a half open one and reach, a framed photo. I see Odyn’s head, and I pull it up, smiling, and then freeze . . .

To his right, is the blonde. The same blonde I fought in the gas station. In the picture, she looks few years younger . . . Prettier. And far more innocent. I stare in shock, my heart skipping a beat. Staring at the other girl. The green haired teen posing on the other side of Odyn. The same girl who was glaring daggers at me. I gulp, and reach into the box. Another photo. Unframed. Of the two girls. Holding hands. Smiling and laughing next to the cabin. And another, months before, with the Cabin in construction still. And another and another. I flip through a dozen of pictures until I am holding one of a 12 year old green haired girl, with her blonde sister. Standing in front of their parents in what looks like one of those wacko bunkers.

My heart trembles. And I sniff, trying not to tear up.

I understand now. I get it. I toss the photos back inside. And I head back to the bedroom. I sit on the stool. And I grab my Valkyrie outfit . . . It’s not a uniform by any shape or form. But a general theme the Odyn dresses his women in.

The thigh high stockings. The leather boots. A black leather thong and a short skirt. I slip on the fishnet fingerless elbow glove on my right hand, and the sports bra. And finally put on the very small sleeveless spiked vest.

I push my thumbs into the black paint, and draw two thick black lines under my eyes. I’m ready.

Ready for war.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


So natural it seemed for her, my sister, to become……. What she became. What we ALL became, though for me it took the longest. Sometimes, it even made me scared of her. She was so brutal. So tough. So willing to do what was asked of her, as soon as it was asked. Killing. Maiming. Wounding. And for almost all of it, I was there watching. She made sure of that. It seemed cruel to me, that she would make me watch, until one night, I spoke of that belief, as we sat next to a fresh fire, with the meat of some unlabeled can cooking above it.

“Why do you bring me on these hunts, Terra?” I asked, the very beginning of a glare in my normally soft eyes.

“Don’t call me that. My name is Gunnr, and your name is Chip. And this is what the world is now, sister. There is no other world for us to escape to. No more bunker to hide in. No more mother and father to protect us. This world is cruel. Malicious. Hungry and violent, and WE must be too. YOU must be too. I know it’s hard for you, but there is no other choice.” As she spoke, I felt no judgement, no anger, only desperation. Only a need to teach me, before it was too late. That coming out then it words as she continued. “I won’t always be here, sister. I won’t always be able to defend you and hunt for you….”

“What do you mean, of course you will be!” I shouted back, almost in tears at the mere suggestion.

“I want to be. I will try to be. But someday, you will be on your own. And when you are, I need you to know how to kill. How to hurt someone else. How to inflict pain, even if you don’t want to.” Before I even grasped what she was saying or why, two Valkyries brought out a young woman, one my age and size. She was bound and gagged, and yet still her eyes were filled with pride.

“Cut her bindings. Remove her gag.” My sister ordered as she stood, and with a soft pull, brought me with her. “You’re going to fight this woman. Do you understand….?”

Immediately, I looked at my sister confused and terrified, and yet before I could even finish my protest. “Sister, what? What do you mean?” She nodded, and only a second later I felt the black-haired captive tackle me. There in the dirt, in the center of our camp, we fought. Me trying to escape her, and she fighting me for a chance at being allowed to live.

That fight I lost. And the next one. And the one after that. In fact, I don’t even remember how many fights it was until I won. But eventually, I did. Finding a way to suppress my softness. Finding a way to move past my fear and softness, until I became what my sister wanted. What had to make me. Until it wasn’t slaves I fought but Valkyrie. Until the fights need not be arranged, as I would seek them out. Until I was not forced to fight, but to stop before killing my opponents; a venture that was not always successful.

It is with that fire, that strength, that battle-forged willingness to fight, that I pace in the unlit, area at the center of out compound. The stands empty and the moon and stars overhead. Waiting for you to come and find me. Waiting to punish you for killing my sister. Waiting for you to allow me to show her what I had truly become, even if she will only see it from the heavens.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


All dressed up. All geared up. I take one more glance at the sleeping Odyn. I wonder what his name is. And if I will ever climb in bed with him again. I turn back to the stand, and look at my jewelery that I didn’t bother putting back on. I reach and touch it all. The necklace, collar, rings, and I stop at a medium sized jade ring. And my heart throbs.

It didn’t always belong to me. In fact, the original owner wore it as a pinkie ring . . . I never knew her name, we didn’t get the chance. Which strikes me as a common occurrence in my life. Never knowing the many faces I meet.

I take in a deep breath, and recall that day in the sewers. I was dredging them, taking shelter, walking carefully, while it rained outside. It was soon after the war. And I was terrified of rain still. Wading slowly, careful that the water wouldn’t splash higher than my boots. And that’s when I spotted her. Huddled over a crate. With an open can, eating beans out of them.

I just froze and stared at her. I was starving. I smiled, and she just glared at me. I saw her hand move. And then I saw the barrel of the gun. And when you’re standing in a sewer passage, you’re essentially a fish in a barrel. If she misses once, she won’t miss the next. And the tube ran for a good 50 ft behind me. My only chance was to charge her, and I did.

We wrestled over the gun, and she unloaded three shots, that until today leave a certain whistle in my ears randomly, before I knocked it off her grip. We went at the other hard then. She was bigger than me. A good 4” taller, and maybe 30 lb on me. She slammed me against the wall, and wailed on my torso with her fists. I felt that ring, with the jade hammer my sides and I gasped, each shot leaving a tiny cut in my side. Then she held my hair and pulled it off the wall. Clearly with the intent of bashing it. And I went for her face. Claws out. I stood no chance in a slug match against her. Not in a small space like this. So I went for her face and she cried. I tackled her and went down. The water splashing around us. And my phobia triggered me into a frenzy. I was terrified of the water, and now we were wrestling around in it. Splashing, inhaling and drinking it.

We tussled for few seconds. And I was faring better on the ground than on my feet. But she got ontop of me, her fingers around my throat. Shoving my head down. Submerging it. Trying to drown me. She was killing me over a fucking can of beans, that I didn’t even ask for.

My life flashed before me. And I grabbed her wrists, but they were firm. So I went for one. Her right hand. And slowly I wrestled it out. And then I bit on her pinkie. I bit, so damn hard. That she let go of me. I sat up, gurgling water and biting still, while she punched me in the ribs and face with her other hand. But I didn’t stop. I didn’t stop until I chomped it clean off her hand, and spat it into her face.

She held her hand and screamed, and I lunged at her back. I pushed down with my weight, my left shin behind her neck, my hands pulling her arms back. She was face down in the water, and it wasn’t long until she stopped moving. I didn’t either, in shock for nearly five minutes. And when I collapsed next to the crate, I saw it. Her finger, stuck on my thigh, with the ring’s stone . . . I gulped, and took it off.

I stare at it one more time, and with a deep sigh, I whisper.

“You stay here, old friend.” And leaving my good luck charm in, I rise and walk towards he door. I open it. It’s still dark outside. But I know you will be there. I know it. I walk towards the center of the compound, now dead silent. Everyone sleeping, and I see you there. Our eyes meet, and I see the rage in yours. Mine, are dead. I did what I had to do. To survive. And I am not going to apologize for it.

I come closer, but not too close, standing on the edge of the clearing, I turn and begin to circle you, slowly strutting and glaring at you. I am a Valkyrie now. A huntress. A predator. A stalker . . .

“She fought well.” I say abruptly. “I tried to leave her be, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She chased me down, and it was my life, or hers.” I add. “And I picked mine. Just like anyone would.” I watch your eyes, still fill with anger and hurt. “I know it doesn’t make you feel any better. And I’m not seeking your forgiveness. I just wanted you to know. That she went down a Valkyrie. And if you want to go down the same path. I’ll also pick my life.”

I say the last words, and stop circling you. I plant my feet firmly in the ground, turned to you. Eyes fixated.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


The same we are. Standing in the dark of the night in the same regalia of post-apocalyptic humanity. The same Valkyrie armor, if it could even be called that, the only difference being my shoulder pads, and half-tattered cape. Items worn by me alone in our tribe, they speaking to my rank above all of the Valkyrie. But that role, and those garments do little to ease my pain and anger as you approach, speaking to me so very boldly. Daring to tell me about my sister, and brazenly telling me that she fought with honor. Who are you to even speak to me, or even look at me. How dare you feel at ease enough to step foot into this small, dirt-floored arena under the stars without a sense of dread and terror.

And though all of those thoughts enter my mind, as my eyes begin to narrow, I know they do not fit you. For you are, my wishes be damned, a member of MY Valkyrie now. Which means you are mine, to guide, protect, and even teach. And though I would love to just attack you, ripping your green hair from your head, leaving me as the only emerald-haired woman in our tribe, I cannot. For the code my sister set as law still binds me. And so, in that moment between us two alone, I approach you. 

You ready to fight me on a moments notice. Your muscles and spine tense.  Your fists clenched and brow creased with tension. And yet still, despite that state of absolute preparedness, I approach you slowly. Cautiously. Not wanting to shout what I must say. Wanting it to be heard by only we two, and none others. Such an intimacy I create, as I move in, showing no signs of attack, only stopping when I am two feet away from you. There, I close my eyes, and take a deep breath before speaking. 

“You think I am a monster. That SHE was a monster. That we are mindless, beasts focused only on sex and death, but you are wrong. We may not be what we once were, but we have a society here. An order. And that order binds me, as it does you now. And if I……..if WE, were to fight here, and you were to best me, you would take my place as leader.” Despite the length of my speech, I pause, watching your beautiful dark eyes, wanting to see if you even hear me, let alone understand. 

“And so, Odyn’s chosen, I cannot merely inflict my vengeance upon you, or attack you here because I desire more than anything in the world to do so. No, instead you must agree to face me. You must want to challenge me. To be watched by our fellow Valkyrie, as we struggle to survive.” With every word I lean closer and closer to you, letting you see how sincere I am, in what I say. That any battle between us must be mutual, and that should you win, there would be more to it than survival — a duty, a code, a way by which you would be asked to live. 

“Do you wish to fight me, as I wish to fight you? Will you give me the chance to satiate my need for vengeance? Or shall we leave this place, sleep until the morning, and then begin our lives together anew.” 

Despite my calm, and devotion to my sister and our people’s ways, I want you to say yes. To fight me. To battle me. To agree on this, our first moment to be enemies, rather than sisters of the the clan.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


I am at peace, after speaking my words. But are you? I stare at you, and I only see a girl my age, suspiciously similar to me in so many ways. From our hair dye, skin color, fixation on inking our bodies, and even down to our curvy bodies. I don’t blink. I know if I do, I will miss your lunge. And that could be fatal. I don’t see you wearing any weapons. But your armor does look intimidating. The shoulder pads certainly are going to be a bitch to handle, but they will also slow you down. The cape, certainly a disadvantage. Other than that, our vests, black bras, stocking gloves, shorts, and thigh high latex socks and boots are quite similar in theme at least.

You then step towards me and I clench my fists, my teeth gritting. My heart pounds harder, and you can see my abs knotting through the open vest. You take another step, and another. And I . . . back off. I regret it immediately. Showing fear and intimidation. The soft bellied little girl in me bubbling to the surface and reminding me of a time where this could be considered insanity, a scene from a Sci Fi flick. But to us, it’s reality. It’s our reality.

You come closer, and stop, just a couple feet, and begin to talk. My eyes go wide. You speak with such intensity, despite the sparse wording. Your voice young, yet stiff. Matured beyond your age by duty, responsibility and grief. And in a way I do feel a bit heartbroken for you. But you seem more fixated on preserving order, than exacting revenge for your loss right now.

I gulp, and glare at you. My fingers relax. You won’t jump me, that much I know. There won’t be any dirty shots here. I let you come closer, until our bosoms are practically touching, our breathing deep and blasting against the other’s lips.

I just gaze into your eyes. And my lips part. Then shut. I know the gravity of the situation. And what hangs on the balance. I should just say no. I should just opt for survival, and a chance to live here until you die in a raid, and I get a chance to enjoy my life.

“I’m done . . .” I say slowly. And I see your eyes going wide in confusion . . .

“I’m done living like a rat. Hiding in the sewers. Scavenging for scraps. And cowering from the shadows.”

I step into you, and our breasts swell together, our noses almost touching, my eyes going wide, I whisper “. . . The shadows are everywhere . . . There is no escaping them.”

I then pause, and weighing my words, enjoying this last moment of safety, before uttering the word.

“I’m done being a coward. I won’t live here, bearing the guilt of a crime I did not commit . . . Or facing your judging eyes. I will give you what you want . . . A chance for vengeance . . . But don’t mistake me for a victim, and don’t expect any mercy. I’ll challenge you for your title. For the right of being Sigrun . . . Lay that name aside, and face me, Chloe . . . And we’ll see who scrambles to claim it when the screams stop.”

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


Electricity seems to snap and crackle around us, as we stare deep into each others eyes and soul. You could call it a glare, but it is more a studying. Each of us trying to put together the puzzle that stands in front of us, to put the last piece in place before what seems like our inevitable battle begins. But as we strive to understand each other, the woman who is to be possibly our last opponent, I wait for your answer.

I can see you thinking as we stand, pressing chest to chest. Our breasts swelling with every inhale, and pushing the other back, though only slightly. Such a close stance is already a struggle between us. As is are our locked gazes. For it would seem, no matter what our lives may have been had ‘The End’ not occured, it having happened, forged this as our fate. For you to kill my sister, for me to seek revenge, and for you to ascend to the very top of the tribe’s social structure, and meet here before the stars.

And as those same stars reflect of your beautiful amber eyes, I see you in you the same strength that my sister had. The same strength that allowed her to pull me from our family’s underground bunker, and live in this cruel, harsh world of post-apocalyptic Earth. And though seeing that within you almost brings a curve to my expression lips, and a smile to my wind-bit face, when you answer me, all of such passes. 

“I’m done being a coward…” You say with almost a resigned sigh, before continuing on and telling me of your refusal to live with an unearned guilt. And then, that you would take my place, were you to win. A comment that makes me smirk, as I pull away from our chest to chest engagement, amused at how little you know about the customs of the Valkyrie.

But even with that small moment of amusement, I know it is time, and after having taken a few, steps away from you, I let loose a loud, echoing chirp sound. One that is answered from seemingly all directions. You look to find where the responses came from, and at every angle you turn, you see them come. The Valkyrie, each of whom hidden and waiting, behind wall and building, rooftop and seat, all of them heading to us with expressionless faces. As the so move, I raise my arms to the side, tilt my head back, and wait.

Wait for them to do as our customs dictate, to strip me of my……OUR armor. Them ripping, not gently, but harshly my shoulder pads, sports bra and sleeveless spiked vest, and then, even my black leather thong and short skirt. Leaving me in only my thigh high stockings, leather boots, and fishnet fingerless elbow glove on my right hand. Then, free of such garments, my face painted like yours with red streaks beneath my eyes, I watch as they try and do the same to you.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


I can feel it. The tension. So thick it can be cut by a dull butter knife. The fury in your gorgeous blue eyes. The swelling of your breasts. God. Your breasts. So large and firm. And half exposed in these tiny garments. Each deep breath causing them to swell, their skin spreading against mine. Each tinting the other with soft perspiration in this damp Summer night.

My response makes you stir. And I tense up. My teeth clench. And I bend my arms. Ready to deflect a blow and swing at you. I know damn well what to expect. At least I think I do. I remember how it was, how it felt battling your sister in that gas station. A battle that I was trying to escape. And if I am to be honest, won with nothing but sheer luck. With our bodies smashing into that vending machine, and the glass shattering. With her atop of me, myback getting slowly sliced by the glass. She was having the better of me. Jamming a forearm into my throat, choking me, the other pulling me by the hair into it. She had my right arm pinned under her knee. And was almost foaming at the mouth.

I knew I was done for. But with my free left I grabbed that jagged glass shard, and slashed it across her face. I cut her cheek deep. And she glared at me. But she didn’t stop. She called me a coward. She called me a pussy who did not deserve to live. And I swung again, this tie jamming it into her side, between her ribs. She groans in pain and I rolled her off me. Gasping for air. Desperate for life. I drove it in deeper, my palm cut and bleeding. I still have that scar fresh. We bled together, and I wept while she gasped.

And if you were her replacement. I know what it means about what you are capable of. You’re my age. And yet, you were picked for your fortitude and skill. And that is terrifying.

But you don’t attack me. You just signal out, and I see the 7 Valkyrie. Our sisters. They walk down and I turn around, scared. But they walk up to you. And I watch them. Ripping and stripping your armor and clothing. Leaving you naked. And I hold myself from gasping and groaning staring at your body, when I feel a boot to my ass, and a yank on my vest ripping it down my arms and pushing me forwards into a Valkyrie who chest bumps me, and grabs my top and yanks it up over my chest. I gasp, my bare 32DDs bouncing out freely.

I don’t bother covering up. Instead, I just glare at you defiantly, while two walk to my sides, each weaving her fingers inside my skirt, latching to mmy thong two, they pull away, in opposite directions, stretching it, and both garments tear at once. In my left fishnet glove, stockings and knee high boots only now.

My vision tunneled on you. Your eyes. That wicked bitter grin on your face. Making me feel like the outsider fool. That knows nothing. I then notice them. Men. Women. All creeping up around the clearing. The sounds and noises waking them up. It’s still dark, most holding torches and flashlights. The murmurs rising. I even spot Odyn walking lazily up to his risen stone throne. Barechested, and with a calm look on his face. No one’s surprised. Everyone expected it. But perhaps not so soon.

My eyes return to you, and your smug, predatory look. The Valkyrie slowly walking out of the clearing, standing in a large wide circle around us. An invisible circle, that no one would dare step inside.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


All of the seven present Valkyrie must have seemed indistinguishable to you, each young and fit like we. Each whose breasts were a match for our near identical pairs, fitting the requirement that Valkyrie be pleasing to Odyn, but in prospect and when he would call upon them at night. A benefit and a curse shared by all of our sisterhood, likely something you have yet to discover. And though they each do their work, stripping us, and preparing us for our battle, when they have finished, each of them step back, save for one. A dark-skinned woman, with a short, frizzy afro, who steps between and to the side of us. 

She is my friend, and ally, but to you, she is just a stranger. Just another woman in this mad world you have found as home. But my closeness to her, and your distance, mean nothing as she summons us to step forward, and closer to each other. To that summons, we respond, stepping forward, only stopping where our breasts gently meet hers, my right with her left, and your left with her right, as she stands perpendicular to us.

It is then that she reaches up and takes a single hand full of our emerald green hair, and with that grip bends our necks back cruelly. But it is not cruelty she aims for, instead wanting our attention, as the arena seats above fill with the sleepy-eyed tribe. 

“IT HAS BEEN AGREED TO THAT THESE TWO WOMEN SHALL FIGHT!” She shouts to the heavens and the assembled crowd, as we each try to bare her unrelenting tug at our hair. 

“THEY HAVE EACH CAST ASIDE THEIR PLACE IN THE SISTERHOOD OF VALKYRIE AND IN THE TRIBE FOR THIS CHANCE TO BATTLE!” Despite my angle, I look to your face, to see your reaction to the pronouncement, knowing you had not fully understood what you had agreed to in this battle. 

“ONLY BY THE OTHERS DEATH MAY THEY BE RECLAIMED BY WE, THE PEOPLE OF ODYN!” I have no doubt that you assumed this battle would be our end, but to have it made rule, and necessary for your survival, is another matter altogether. 

“SHOULD THEY GIVE IN TO MERCY AND RELENT! OR SUCCUMB TO THE NEAR IRRESISTIBLE PASSION OF BATTLE, THEY WILL BOTH BECOME SLAVES, AND I, NUBIA WILL TAKE THE ROLE OF SIGRUN!” As she continues, I close my eyes, and breathe, readying myself for the quickly approaching moment of release.

“IS IT ACCEPTED BY WE?” Nubia shouts once more in question to the gathered tribe. 

“YES! YES! YES!” They chant back, as loud as they can muster, given their only recent waking. 

“THEN LET THESE TWO WOMEN, CHLOE AND SIG…….” Mid-sentence, and brazenly, I speak, correcting her. “Chip. Call me Chip……”

“…… AND CHIP, FIGHT UNTIL THEIR LAST BREATH! OR LIVE AS OUR PLAYTHINGS! FIIIIGGGHHHTTTTTTTTTT!!!” Without warning or count, she releases us, and when she does, I charge, lowering my shoulder wanting to tackle you to the arena floor. I having already decided that my title, my role, the tribe, mean nothing to me after this moment. All there is now for me is revenge. A revenge which I accept may come in the form of your agony, even if it leads not to my victory. But even as I forsake them and all else but you, the crowd cheers, almost drooling at seeing two women, so alike, battle to the death.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


I’m still enthralled by the sudden emergence of everyone. My heart trembles in my chest. Once again, I’m thrust back to that fucking cage. The one where I perched there bleeding and licking my wounds after my horrendous battle. When I was certain that I will end up tortured, slaughtered, and probably fed to those savages.

But no torment, no slaughter, and no cannibalism ensued. Just mystery, lust, and insatiable desire and sex. But now. Now the air doesn’t only smell of ash, mud, and our womanhoods. It smells of something else. Blood.

I fix my eyes on yours. Starting at that smug smirk. Wondering what do you have up your sleeve. But soon I find out. With the gesture to come closer, and I watch you bump your breast into hers, sending a ripple that travels across both her breasts and back into my own, prompting me to answer immediately in kind, jamming my hard breast into her firm ebony side breast, compressing hers and driving it back into yours.

We glare while she speaks, almost like a blood priestess then the tug on my hair sends me in a yelp!

“Ow!” I squeal but I see you suffering the same. She rough handles us, and I can feel some roots popping, then she pulls our heads together. I can feel your forehead rub against mine. Your breath vented and hissing at me while she ties our heads together.

“Cunt . . .” I hear you hissing. I can see your hands opening and closing. I stare into you immense, deep pale cleavage, and knowing that you are glaring at my own, I hiss back “Slut . . . “

My mind still in shock about the stipulations. A fight to the death. No way out. Slavery the reward for mercy. She steps back releasing us. And I try to step back by instinct. But our linked hairs tugs on my hair and my neck tenses. 

“Ow!” I groan in pain. But you are not phased. You expected this, and probably, have done it before. You charge into me, head lowered, and your skull smashes into my left cheek hard. A vicious headbutt that sends me stumbling but there is no room for that. Your breasts crashing into mine, thighs smashing and knees colliding. Trampling me to crash down in a heap to the ground.

I see stars. And feel a gash opening on my left cheek immediately. I feel your warm pussy pressing against mine. Your legs kicking and spreading to straddle me. And you succeed. I feel your breasts grinding on mine. And yet, you could just sit up to ground and pound me. But you don’t. You keep your bosom on mine, and quickly I wonder if it’s because of our tied hair, or because you want to be close to me.

I grimace. My legs curling. Thighs pushing into your buttocks. I resist the urge to grab your locks. And instead, I jam my claws into your sides. Grabbing your ribs. My nails driving into them. Pushing up. Like one would do in the gym on chest day. My hip thrusting, drilling my cunt into your yours thrown your spread legs, trying to toss you off me.

And all around us, I can hear the stomping of spears on the ground. The cheers and chants.

And all of them go with one name . . . 

“Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip!”

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


I had been laser-focused on Nubia’s words, on trying to read your expression as she spoke them, and staring at your infuriatingly similar breasts. And in the heat of all those examinations and the thoughts there derived, I had forgotten. Forgotten that in a battle such as this, our hair must be tied together to start the battle, even missing the feeling and sight of Nubia using her grasps on our hair to make such a knot.

A knot that tugged and restricted as I charged, keeping me from lowering my shoulders as far as I wanted, and stopped me from burying one in your stomach. Instead I found myself only able to run forward, and at the smallest of angles, and almost like a falling wall, flattened you to the ground with me atop you. Quickly I tried to test our limitations, trying to pull up, and to the side, but found that I could do neither, more than an inch or two. But as I struggled to find our boundaries, with you beneath me, and our identical bodies aligned. With our breasts pressed together and bulging out to our sides. With our womanhoods sealed, and legs wrestling for control. In that state, I feel you thrust up into me, not once but then again, and once more.

It is your only choice, with such little space to work with and with my body pressing your to the dirt. You want to escape, to toss me from you, and yet as you endeavor, our most sensitive of places meet, again and again. And with each such contact, I gasp, and then return fire, trying to neutralize your thrusts upward with my own down. I would love to say that I did not like the sensation, that at that moment we were not sharing pleasure with one another, but in these moments that might be my last, I cannot lie. But just as I my mind began to focus on that pleasure and not our battle, and I edged closer to giving into the passion, Nubia spoke about, I felt it. Your claws, digging into my sides, as your thighs wrapped around my hips. 

Claws that stabbed deep between my ribs, causing me to let out a small whimper of pain, before you began to thrust your chest up into mine. And though at that moment I was so very close to giving into you, and finding myself rolled onto my back, with you following in short order and by necessity, I instead reached up, and dug my claws into your cheeks, making sure the nails on my left hand found your open cut. Then and there they began to drag downward, each of us trying to hurt each other with our claws, even as our we continued to thrust our pelvises into each other, and spar with our massive chests. 

And though the crowd chanted my former name, from a former life, and I had resisted being turned, I was more focused on hurting you than remaining on top. 

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


On the ground, I begin to flail and thrash. The discomfort of feeling your body atop of me is suffocating. It’s not that you are any heavier than me. Odyn weights twice as much as we do, and he was bearing on my chest and back fucking me all night and I didn’t feel a thing. But with you, it’s different. With you I know your intentions, and it terrifies me into a claustrophobic effect.

I thrash hard, and you squirm. Your thighs spread out, and I buck up. But you don’t shift. You lift your hip and slam down on mine hard.

“Ow! Ow! Ah!” I cry out in pain, your hips slamming down on mine. In a vicious, brutal, punishing onslaught. One that makes Odyn himself lean forwards, a grin on his face, his sleepy eyes wakening, watching you slam into me, like a hammer trying to drive a nail into the ground. A show of pure feminine rage and aggression.

I grimace as you drill me down, my ass buried into the dirt. Then I claw your side. Hard and roughly, putting a pause to your assault and I fling us over. We roll in the dirt. And I try once again to pull my head back by instinct. But our linked hair limits me and I cringe in pain. But I clench my teeth and with me ontop, your legs spread wide, I proceed to roll my hips back and slam hard into your open, spread cunt. Repaying you with each and every hard thrust you gave me. Or almost so.

Because your left claw shoots up and digs into the wound on my cheek, dragging down. It feels like you’re grabbing the cut skin and pulling it down. Trying to widen the cut. I cry out in agony and lean back, but your head pulls with me, and your nails streak down my face. I cry in pain and you thrust into me sending us to our sides and on my back again.

My left cheek bloodied. I grimace and bring my nails up to your face. Pushing my claws into your cheeks, thumbs shifting inwards. I jam them into your nostrils and push up. Bending your nose up, my talons streaking down your cheeks in a vicious motion. Trying to peel your skin. My arms stretch upwards, pushing your head backwards until my own is pulled up from the hair knot. And in doing so, I snap my teeth, biting your fucking chin.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


Together on the ground, atop rocks and dried blood, we roll. Your fingers and claws moving from my ribs to my face, and in a way I welcome it. Welcome us matching each others attack, as we begin to peel skin from each others face. But as much as there is a poetry to it, a beautiful, terrifying symmetry, you break it, by using your thumbs to jab your nails into my nose. I do not yelp, or whimper, but instead scream, as they drive in and slice cartilage.

But even as all of that transpires, and even as we roll back and forth, fighting for the top position, our hips continue to drive forward, slamming our at times spread and at others closed lips together. That battle for feminine domination almost seeming to exist beyond us, outside of our focus, our bodies taking their tax for our decision to foolishly engage in such a horrific battle.

Eventually, our rolling stops, and we end up on our sides, each of us dragging our nails down each others cheeks, only to lift them, raise them, and then dig them in again and start all over. The sight of your face contorting and your eyes filling with tears. The sound of us screaming, and letting out every variation of sound born of pain. The feeling of our bodies literally shaking from not only the pain we share, but the intensity of the moment is at once glorious and satisfying, but scary and horrible.

But that dichotomy of emotion does little but drive us deeper into combat. Something I discover as you open your jaws and bite my chin. I yelp, and then, knowing not what else to do, unwilling to stop my clawing at your cheek, I open my own jaw, and bite your nose. Matching the severity of my bite with yours, clamping down harder as you do, and letting it go lax when you do the same. The two of us almost communicating through that partially mirrored attack.

That moment could not be more intense for us. More intimate. More personal, in our tale of hatred and war. But the lack of movement and action actually causes the crowd to begin to boo. They wanting us to stand and throw. Kick, and punch. Find weapons to use, and blades with which to stab. In fact, out of all gathered, it is only Odyn and the Valkyrie who understand what is happening at that moment, that we at that moment are quenching our thirst for the other. That we are expelling the poison in our blood through slow, methodical pain, so that we can then fight. Without being blinded by the our ravenous, wild, blind need to torture. otu


For long agonizing minutes we just do what we’re doing. Matching wits and strategies. You want it. And in part, I understand it. And no matter what, I feel for your reasoning, your grief and your need for this, so I refrain from clawing your ribs. I stop myself from punching or headbutting you. I just go for it. A vicious, face clawing war. The blood running down my left cheek, ruining the war paint. My right not faring much better. But I am slowly making sure yours isn’t much ahead.

Our bodies thrashing. Trading top positions in a slow grind. Your thick thighs coiled around my own. Your ankles between my knees pulling them outwards. I feel the tugs and I oblige, spreading my legs, my femurs pressing into the underside of your thighs. Our cunts open and bared. Exchanging powerful thrusts and grunts. Soft rubs and harsh pressure when we are not slamming them together. The sensation shifting rapidly from deeply erotic to outright painful, the longer our labia grind and rub, and our clits smash into the other.

I feel my thick brown bush tangled with your blonde one. Despite our jade hair, we both have our unkept hairs locked together. And much like the fur on our forearms, they lock and slide. Adding a whole new dimension to the battling. Getting stickier with sweat and other juices, tugging at one another each time our hips separate.

We settle on our sides and you snatch my nose. You bite it viciously, and I let go of your chin with a horrid loud scream.


You push into me and roll me to my back. Your large breasts grinding on mine. The crowd booing, Odyn and the Valkyrie staring. It seems you are getting the upper hand. The rolling halting, and you just lay ontop. Your face buried in flurry of green hair. They can hear the growling, gnawing sounds. Teeth gnashing and biting cheeks, noses, lips.

Then they see us buck and flop over again. The hair subsiding, and they see our heads tilted perpendicular to each other. Our jaws locked in a vicious mutual bite. Teeth grinding together. Jaws wide. We snarl and bite hard. Teeth gritting. Saliva drooling from my throat to yours. But you slowly roll us over.

The crowd starting to throw things at us. Hitting your back with empty cans. Someone throws an axe that digs into the ground inches from my head, Gunnr, one of the Valks turning to the culprit and driving the butt of her spear into his gut.

I grimace and struggle with you. My eyes fluttering. The pressure on my jaw ramping up. I grab your hair with my left hand. And I tug hard. Yanking. Hard sharp pulls. Trying to uproot some of the strands that are locked with my own. I viciously yank and feel one of your hands doing the same. I send another. And soon we are tugging, ripping strands out. Before breaking in a fast, rapid roll. Barreling on the dirt. I manage to wedge a foot into your hip and I thrust you away.

Separated, after nearly 10 minutes of vicious rolling, grinding, hip smacking and face clawing and biting. We both rise. Faces bloodied, and dripping down on our pale breasts. Our hair in disarray, half the stands on our heads that were tied to the other now extended with the other’s ripped hairs.

The crowd cheers, seeing us rising. Bringing our hands up. Circling the other.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


On and on we go, settling into what almost begins to feel like our new reality. A reality that is both hell and heaven, giving to me your pain, and my own pleasure, while at the same time giving exactly those same gifts back to you. But finally, motivated by the quickly escalating actions and sound of the booing crowd, and my own need to earn at least a moment’s break from the pain, we relent. And together, begin tugging at our bound hair. Not just with our hands, but with sharp, vicious head movements, that begin to yank one follicle after another from not only each others scalp but our own. Focusing entirely on that, pausing all of our other attacks, even our half-gratifying, half-painful thrusting of our hips. And for our efforts, we eventually break our link, each of us holding what seems like a jade horse’s tail of the others hair in our hands.

With those as accessory and trophy, we separate and move to our feet, raising each others remnant locks high, earning a loud cheer from the finally satisfied crowd. And though they were our motivation at least in part, within only a moment, we refocus on each other. Raising our hands and spreading our fingers in challenge, as we begin to circle one another. Glares fused. Hearts pounding in our chests. Sexs wet from our shameful war of clits. And blood, trickling down our cheeks, to our large breasts, and then either down to the dirt below or our bodies. And though we look a mess, and feel just the same, we have only just begun.

“Tell me how she died, cunt……” I demand, before charging it at you, stopping just short, as you react to my false engagement. “Tell me of my sisters last moments on this earth.” The context is unneeded, but I have to say it. Have to make you hear the words. Wanting your tale to play backdrop to our battle. To hear how you killed her as we struggle. And though I want that, I give you not time, instead charging in at you again, and throwing a hard side kick at your stomach just as I get into range, trying to dig the soles of my boot into you, even if it means exposing myself to a counter attack.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


The separation was needed. I know it in my bones. From every aching cell in my lungs. Panting, sweat rolling down every inch of my body in tiny rivers. My pale complexion glowing in the mood. The scene ot violence and sex strong in the air, courtesy of last night’s tribe wide orgy.

Our claws go up, and they begin to cheer. Some even rising up with my name. Although they pronounce it in a weird, twisted fashion. Not Chloe . . . But in a way it sounds more like Clawie . . .

And I dig it.

I circle you. Our boots pushing into the dirt. Stirring it. I blink hard. Trying to clear my eyes. Then you begin off with your question. Snarling and rushing at me. You swipe and I dodge to the side. Grinning and staring at you.

“Who?” I retort with a vicious, sadistic grin. A needless form of torment. An insult to her and her memory. As if she is already forgotten.

You roar back your second question charging and hammering your boot into my gut. I grunt and double over. The kick so strong my own boots drag into the dirt and I crash to my knees. Lucky that the thigh highs shield my knees from scabbing over.

But before you retract your leg I grab it with my left. Or try to. You pull it fast though before I can capture it. And you stagger, crashing down to your ass. I grunt and lunge. Rising to my feet only for a brief second, before dropping down. Knees aiming for your ribs. Roaring loud. But you twist your body and roll away. I moan out in pain when my knee hits the ground and fall to my back.

You lunge to your feet and rush me. And I see your boot rising in the air, you scream for me to answer you, and I roll to my right. Your foot smashing into the ground. I pull my legs to my chest and kick hard, driving my boot into your breasts as hard as I can, sending you flying back and crashing to the dirt.

“SHE DIED LIKE A COWARD. BEGGING FOR HER LIFE!” I scream at you, my eyes wide in fury. Lying my fucking ass off. But doing it just to hurt you.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


My thrown kick lands, and buries itself in your exposed stomach, causing you to crash down to your knees in the dirt. Half-expecting you to dodge me again, when my sole lands, I don a devilish smirk, one that fades as you grab my leg, and after failing to forcibly retract it, I fall to my ass in front of you. Before I can stand, you do, and then leap into the air, aiming to come down knees-first into my already claw-damaged ribs. But I roll, not yet broken by our battle, and still strong and virile enough to do so. That escape causes you to crash down on your knees again, and when you do, I leap back to my feet and charge at you. Striking with an attempted stomp, which you, like me, dodge, causing my foot to ram into the ground awkwardly, leaving me off-balance. A state which you worsen by raising your legs, bringing back your sexy tattooed thighs, and then kicking them up and out, driving your boots into my breasts. The impact sends me hurdling back, and smashing into the dirt on my back.

As such a game of attack and parry takes place, you continue to deny me my request. Refusing to tell me of my sister’s last moments, until finally, as I struggle to gather myself, you yell at me that the former my warrior sister died like a coward, begging you for mercy. And though we spent nearly 10 minutes satiating our hunger for pain and punishment already, I skip standing, and almost roll into a lunge, one I undertake while screeching like a banshee. There are no words to describe the hate. The anger. The rage. I want to ……. to ……. gouge your fucking eyes out and feed them to you.

But, you are clever, and that is exactly what you fucking wanted. And as I fly low, moving towards you just above the dirt, you extend your legs, and as I land wrap them around my head and neck. I go to reach out, to keep them from sealing around me, but as I do you catch my hands, and lace our fingers, keeping them at bay. Knowing how bad this might be, I try to pull away, both up, and away, but you fight me. A contest of wills, though lopsided, as you try to secure me in a devastating headscissor. My nostrils already picking up the scent of your womanhood, which moves closer and closer to my face as I try to avoid the same.

My thrown kick lands, and buries itself in your exposed stomach, causing you to crash down to your knees in the dirt. Half-expecting you to dodge me again, when my sole lands, I don a devilish smirk, one that fades as you grab my leg, and after failing to forcibly retract it, I fall to my ass in front of you. Before I can stand, you do, and then leap into the air, aiming to come down knees-first into my already claw-damaged ribs. But I roll, not yet broken by our battle, and still strong and virile enough to do so. That escape causes you to crash down on your knees again, and when you do, I leap back to my feet and charge at you. Striking with an attempted stomp, which you, like me, dodge, causing my foot to ram into the ground awkwardly, leaving me off-balance. A state which you worsen by raising your legs, bringing back your sexy tattooed thighs, and then kicking them up and out, driving your boots into my breasts. The impact sends me hurdling back, and smashing into the dirt on my back.

As such a game of attack and parry takes place, you continue to deny me my request. Refusing to tell me of my sister’s last moments, until finally, as I struggle to gather myself, you yell at me that the former my warrior sister died like a coward, begging you for mercy. And though we spent nearly 10 minutes satiating our hunger for pain and punishment already, I skip standing, and almost roll into a lunge, one I undertake while screeching like a banshee. There are no words to describe the hate. The anger. The rage. I want to ……. to ……. gouge your fucking eyes out and feed them to you.

But, you are clever, and that is exactly what you fucking wanted. And as I fly low, moving towards you just above the dirt, you extend your legs, and as I land wrap them around my head and neck. I go to reach out, to keep them from sealing around me, but as I do you catch my hands, and lace our fingers, keeping them at bay. Knowing how bad this might be, I try to pull away, both up, and away, but you fight me. A contest of wills, though lopsided, as you try to secure me in a devastating headscissor. My nostrils already picking up the scent of your womanhood, which moves closer and closer to my face as I try to avoid the same.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


The jostling and thrashing ensues. And the crowd goes wild. They have been demanding a vicious battle and they get it. Bloodied faces curl into snarls. Insults fly. Screams. Your questions and my denial to answer.

Boots slam into flesh. My intestines almost bursting from my mouth from your hard boot. And my twin kick almost crush your large firm glands.

Then I curse at you, telling you the lie about your sister. Intending to wound you. And to make you slip. To throw your focus off, and it works. You lunge and I trap your head between my legs. I try to take you to our sides, but you slap at my thighs and pull back. I grimace and lock fingers with you. Palms grinding and nails stab into the back of the others palms. I try to close my legs, but you pull your body back. I thrash, and so do you. First on our sides. Then you push a knee under you and rise.

My left leg, hooks over your right shoulder, I bend it so my lower body rises with you, and I end on my back, pivoted on my shoulder blades. You on your knees. Realizing the vicious predicament. My right leg tosses up with such force, my tattooed inner thigh slugs your left cheek in a hard smack. And I lock my ankles and start to squeeze.

You groan in pain. The pressure is on your neck. And you thrash for a moment And then push up. You’re too fucking strong. You get one foot under you. Your right. So I twist my body to my right and pull on your left arm with my right. Whipping you off your foot and you crash to your knees again.

Odyn watches. Wide eyed. He can see your cheeks turning red. I don’t have the lock right just yet. And you are trying to fight. You swing a hard knee and jam it into my spin. I gasp in pain. But I hold on. And I feel your knee winding again. But I take my shot and send you flying down to crash on your right side.

My legs immediately loosening just a bit. I thrust dowards you, sliding my legs and closing them again. This time your head so much higher up my thighs. Your lips inches from my soaked cunt. And more importantly. My legs are closed on your temples now. Crushing your skull like a nut cracker.

I glare at you. Feeling you thrashing and kicking. But I hold on to you. Pushing up to my right elbow. Glaring, a vicious grin on my face. I lean up and spit right into your face. A powerful one that splatters over your bloodied features.

“Pathetic . . . Weak . . . Seems it runs in the family.” My words carry the terrible tone. My buttocks clenched. Trying to crush your fucking head and knock you out. Or maybe even snap your neck.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


Like a lion, trying to bring down its prey, we struggle, desperately, wildly, as if our lives depend on it, because they do. But finally, despite every ounce of energy spent by me, you drag me down to the ground, securing your leg scissor, not around my neck but around my temples. Then it begins, your squeezing. Flexing your calves, your thighs, your ass cheeks, until I scream out in pain, a sound you feel as it is delivered into your hot, wet sex, which is only centimeters from my face.

When such a sound comes, you prop yourself up on your elbows and let yourself have a moment to glow with pride and satisfaction at having caught me. And the worst part, yes even worse than the pain of your squeeze, and the knowledge that I am so very close from being smothered out, is seeing you celebrate. Watching you gloat in front of me, as you taunt not only me, but my dead sister. A verbal assault made worse as your spit splashes against my face, and drips down my nose, and into your womanhood, as a sudden pulse presses it into you.

Immediately, and driven to action by every awful thing you do to me, I set myself to escape, not willing to just sink into this hold, and let you end me. And so I pull back, not my body, but my hands, straightening my fingers and focusing on freeing them from your grasp. You fight me, digging your nails in deep, but I pull nonetheless, harder and harder, until I free them, though at a cost. Your nails taking little curls of skin with them, as my hands come loose.

With them, instead of trying to pry your legs open, something I know I could never do, I choose a different route. One which takes them to your sweat-soaked pubic hairs, which I begin to pull out in patches I catch between my thumb and index finger. Immediately, you react, leaning forward, to again regain control of my hands, even as I can hear the pain escaping your lips. But as you do, and by necessity, your thighs part only slightly, and when they do, I pull not back, but instead drive forward, using my shoulders to push myself through your legs.

At the sudden spreading of your legs, your ankles lose their lock, and with my right hand I press your left leg down to the dirt, thereafter mounting it to keep it from locking around me again. Then, with us locked in a half-tight scissor, I let go of your now gap-ridden pubic mound, and start to strike at you, bringing one hard hammerfist after another down at your face. Wanting to punish you for everything that just happened, and everything you had done since first you encountered our tribe.

You reach for my hands, to stop before even a single blow lands, but one makes it through, even as you secure one of my wrists. My blow lands, smacking your head back, and smashing it into the hard dirt below you. For a moment, you seem dazed, and I try to drag my left leg forward, wanting to straddle you, and escape this partial mount. But mid transition I feel a blow land in my stomach, a wild, desperate blow than winds me, and knocks me over and off of you. When I land, I roll a few steps away, not wanting to find myself below you, needing a moment to regroup. My breasts rising and falling as they glimmer with sweat under the star-filled sky.

For that moment, a brief oasis of calm in our battle, the crowd stands, chanting our names one after another, not torn, but together. “Chip! Clawie! Chip! Clawie!” Each feeling our plight, and each wanting to see this battle, no matter which of us comes out on top.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


The struggle rages on. I’m doing it. I’m fucking. Breaking you. Blood running down my face. The cuts slowing their bleeding, and the tears and sweat washing them down, at least off our cheeks. The dark bruise your knee left on my back glowing purple, but nothing compares to this lock I have on you. I can feel the puffs of airs. The cries of agony blasting against my cunt. But you . . . You won’t lay down do easily.

You manage to push up. Just enough that you are back on your knees. I try to roll my hips to throw you down to your side again. But you keep yourself bent so much I don’t have the traction, not without risking to lose the scissors. My ass in the air. My body pivoted. You slowly but surely free your hands. Paying the price in blood and skin, but you do. Then go for my pubes. You pinch and pull. Pinch and pull and I cry in agony. I try to make you stop. But the distraction is what you need and you jolt free. Crushing my right thigh under your knee, and my lips under your fist.

I crash down. Gasping, and feel your cunt sliding over my thigh. I feel your labia kissing mine. And I have to thank you, and them. They bring me back to my senses. And I shoot a hard fist to your belly. Knocking you off me. And you just writhe away. Despite my attempts to throw myself on you.

I pant and roll to my knees. Grimacing, and clutching my pubes. A bit hollowed bald patch in the middle the skin irritated to the point of bleeding. Tears fill my eyes and stream down. Glaring at you. Rising up. Tears in your eyes.

We growl and begin circling. Not on our feet, and neither on all fours. We’re halfway in between. Like two apes dragging their knuckles on the dirt. The whole tribe watching us. Our buttocks clenched. Warm young pink pussies peeking between the thighs.

I lunge for you and you feign meeting me in the middle. But you duck and sweep my left leg with your biceps.

“Uff!” I crash down to my chest. I try to twist, but you throw yourself on my back. Your breasts mashing down on my body, and your legs coil around my thighs. I can feel your naked cunt on my ass. Your fingers in my hair pulling hard. I cry in agony and reach yanking your hair hard. I pull. But you use my hair pull to bury your teeth in my shoulder.

I cry in pain and thrash. And we go rolling to your back. Your claws leaving my hair and going for my breasts. Jamming into them. Kneading, clawing and pulling them outwards. Not even bothered with our positions we go on in a savage roll. You latched to my back, mauling my breasts and chewing my shoulder. Yt

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


Already beginning to show and feel the effects of our wild battle, we drag ourselves up, but less than halfway. Too tired, at least at that moment, to reach our feet, and yet still we are driven to re-engage. Crawling towards each other like wounded animals, dead set on bringing about the others demise. And though one might assume that with that off-kilter, half-dragging movement, we would be unable to continue or move with speed when needed.

But those expectations we shattered, when in a flash, you dive at me, and I dodge, rounding you, and as you crash down on your stomach. With you exposed and defenseless, I leap into the air and onto your back, grabbing you by the hair and with a cruel wrench, yank your head back, pulling loose patches of hair, as I bend your neck painfully

Before you can react or counter, I latch on, reaching around and grabbing your impressive tits, catching them between my fingers and squeezing, digging each of my nails in as deep as they will go. I feel you panic, and try to throw me off, but just as you do, I lower my jaw and dig my teeth into your shoulder, biting you hard. Using that bite not only as an attack, but as another point from which to keep you from escaping. It is then, when I know I have you, that together I allow us to roll, unconcerned that I am on my back to the dirt, with you atop me, for I have you.

And with that possession I pour it on, the punishment, literally chewing on your trapezius as I claw and pinch at your breasts and nipples. As I do, the crowd which had celebrated us both, basking in our show, begins to quiet, becoming hushed and worried as the damage continues. Only those who truly fetishize violence or those who seek to benefit from our sudden removal cheering. Their voices clear enough to pick out, as all others turn to each other and whisper. For his part, Odyn has found himself too turned by our display to go another moment without release. And so he, with a snap of fingers summons over Nubia to please him by freeing his cock, and sucking it as he watches us battle.
But as that scene transpires, I hold on, having no interest in releasing you and moving to another move, happy to rest beneath you and punish my enemy. My emerald haired rival. The murderer of my beloved sister.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


A terrible fate. A fucking terrible fate awaits me, if I am to succumb now. I know it. I fucking know it in every cell in my body. In every muscle fiber and gray matter cell. A fate far worse than a merciful death. Torment. Ruin. Destruction. And then, death.

I scream in pain. On your back and me spread atop of you. Your legs coiled around mine. Our inked flesh brushing. And your ankles locked inside my thighs. You fight my legs and before long you are winning the battle. With all the pain spreading over my body, my legs give, and I am spread eagled. My knees bent and your heels latched on their insides. My pussy exposed to all. The leather of our boots squeaking. But the bald patch of fur above my sex showing the marks of your tugging not too long ago.

My breasts mauled, pulled, stretched. Your nails starting on the insides. The deep cleavage. Clawing and streaking out. Clawing viciously and slowly. Dragging talons across my flesh. Ripping and peeling skin. Your teeth chewing on my left trapezius until my left arm falls down in pain. My fist clenched, able to to nothing but swing weak punches to your left side. But they do little. Very little but send grunts through your lungs to blast into my bloodied shoulder.

Odyn glaring at us. Nubia bent over his lap. Her head bobbing up and down obediently like a good Valkyrie. Her eyes glaring at us. A smirk curled on her lips. She harbors no love for the intruder, who murdered one of her sisters. Her leader. And now, she grins watching the younger sister taking charge and leading her revenge.

The other Valkyrie begin to lift their spears and smack them intothe dirt. They can sense, and begin to announce the dawning of the end. And I know they have a point. But you don’t seem too intent on finishing me off. You want to torment me. And instead of bringing your forearms up around my throat, you opt for tearing my breasts. And I grimace. Eyes welling with tears. I need to . . . get out.

My left fist, stopping the punches. I push my hip up slightly, but you lift yours too. Feverishly sticking your wet cunt against my ass. Grinding and rubbing. Getting yourself off my round butt in a frantic savage display, that leads to few cries of approval and chants to Chip.

But I bridge higher and this time, I manage to wedge my claw between us. Palm facing down. I stab my nails into your cunt!

I feel you trembling. Your body thrashing and your hips slide down. Your legs remain coiled. But I jam two more nails. You let go of the bite and cry in agony. But I just stab the fifth claw, my thumb into your clit!

You begin to thrash and let go of me. I feel your bloodied paws pushing at my sides, trying to get me off you. But I just sit up a little. My ass grinding on my left hand, pushing it more into your cunt. I swing my right elbow back hard. High. I send it into your fucking right temple three times. Hearing you grunt and growl. Then I throw myself of fyou and go rolling in the dirt. Stopping five feet away.

Panting, I lay down. My ruined breasts to the dirt. My arms pushed down. Catching my breath, and with it, so much dust and dirt. Coughing. I stare at you and see yours regaining their focus.

I flash you a dirty grin . . .

“Thought you had me, didn’t ya, you stupid cunt?”

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


Deeper and deeper into my control I pull you, like a spider, slowly wrapping a trapped fly in a cocoon from which she will never escape. But as you succumb, new opportunities arise. As your shaking legs give up their resistance, and with my prying ankles I spread your legs wide, exposing your sex to the crowd. And though it is your bare cunt they can see, it is mine that I grind against you, your pain and suffering becoming my please. Finding myself intoxicated by my domination, not subconsciously, but actively. Moaning into my bite of your shoulder, with every sound of pain you give me, beginning to rub my wet cunt against your ass faster and harder. I know you can feel it, but at this point, after all we have done to each other, and as deep as we have proven we will go, I don’t give a shit. I want to do it, and so I will, even as Odyn looks on. Even as Nubia, my first lieutenant pleases him and smiles at us.

Such an expression I know, comes from not because of my own dominance, but your pain and her opportunity. For Nubia, since she was a little girl has loved Odyn. Wanted him. Sought out his attention and favor. And until now, until this very moment, he has denied her. No doubt reserving a back up plan, in case it is you who falls in this battle. I wonder, even as I torture you, if you know that. I wonder if I should tell you, when finally I let you free of my bite.

As I wonder, I feel you pull your ass away from my thrusting sex, and both wanting to control you, and have it back to continue my own self-pleasing, I chase you. Not wanting you to even think about resisting me, wanting instead to take from you every hope of escape. But then, even after you return, you try to bridge again, and when you do, your arm, which had flailed and punched without effect, reaches behind your body and between your ass and my sex. The latter you grab onto with your nails and attack.

Any other attack, ANY other attack and I would have held on, and just worn you down. Daring to see which of us broke first, but when your nails hit my cunt, and your thumb digs into my clit, it feels like a hot knife cutting through butter and I howl. My everything loosening, but my bite coming completely off. But as I writhe beneath you, your elbow drives back and smashes into my temple hard, not only hard but again and again. I can literally feel my brain slap against the inside of my skull.

That was your chance to strike, but instead you throw yourself off of me, and when you do, I just lay there. As I do, I try to collect my focus, after you shattered it like a hammer and a piggy bank. I have no way of knowing how long it took, but finally I pressed myself up off the dirt to a wobbly kneel, and locked eyes with you once again.

There, as we glare at one another, you grin and comment, about my assumption that I had you, and quickly, and with confidence I reply. “I have had you since the moment you agreed to fight me, CLAW-IE.” I say with a mocking tone, denying to both you and myself that the nickname sounds impressive, even though it does.

But from that wobbly kneel, I press a boot down, and then stand, watching you do the same as we ready ourselves to come together again. As you do, I raise my fists in front of my face, challenging you to a new kind of battle. “Did they teach you to fistfight in the gutters you crawled from, slut……?”

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


Punch drunk. You glare at me. I see the look in your face. Disdain. Hatred. My breasts are cut and bleeding, and I just find myself pushing them into the dirt. Whimpering in pain, but trying to use the ground to stop the bleeding. Hoping the dirt just seals the wounds a bit, forming a paste with my blood.

Then your expression shifts, and you grin. A mocking smirk, one that shows me how blood red your lips and teeth are painted. With my blood. The wound on my left shoulder it is stinging and making my left arm tremble. And in a menacing voice, you mock me, and even my name.

Brown eyes flare open. Both pushing up. The crowd chanting impatiently. Their blood thirst completely disregarding the state both of us are in. They just want more and move violence. Cocks are hard and out. Stroked and sucked. Pussies are being fingered and rammed. Few bent at the waist entered from behind. While few girls are curled in 69s, licking, flicking and teasing while staring at us.

They all want more. They all crave more.

We rise. Slowly. Groaning. You sway and crash to a knee, and I grin. But in my haste to rise, a powerful spasm rips from my left shoulder and I collapse to my right knee. Cursing. I grab a handful of dust and slap it on the wound. Wincing in pain, I rub it, and push up. My body and yours caked indust, grime, and dirt.

Your hands come up. Clenched into fists. And I stare at you breathlessly. Your fists are up.

I ball mine and raise them. Bent at the knees, I snarl back.

“No one taught me anything . . . I learned it all on my own. You pathetic cunt . . . Come and I’ll show you what I’ve got. Come on!”

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


Slowly, carefully I step towards you, with every passing moment my energy begins to return. Yes, we have fought brutally, but neither of us have undertaken anything other very short bursts of activity, before we lock the other down in some kind of torturous hold. But still, that ebb and flow, of action and then agony has worked the crowd from one emotion to another, and now, all around us, spurred on by our leader, they give into their passions; even as we are forced to deny ours, at least outwardly.

But in the center of that orgy, we still focus on our task, hurting each other. Breaking each others will, body, and soul. Something we approach each other to do and continue, fists raised, and eyes filled with hate. Closer and closer we come, circling each other in half, and then back again, each of us cautious, having little to no idea which of us is the better fist-fighter.

Despite that unknowing, we set in on each other, to answer that very question. It is I who throw the first punch, one aimed at your fists more than your face, testing your defenses. Defenses which lead you to block it, and then counter, but not which a punch, but a knee, which you drive up and into my stomach, taking me completely off-guard. Some in the crowd boo, but it almost seems to drive you as I keel over, and you lower your leg and then drive it backup hard into my face. From the attack my head snaps back, and I groan, and just as I do, you throw a hard punch into my throat. The blow passes my already reeling defenses and in a sputter of coughs and hoarse wheezing, I stumble backwards a half-step and then collapse forward into you.

As the boos louden you catch my collapsing body with your right shoulder, and then drive your right fist into my stomach. Not once, not twice, but three times, before I slide down you to my knees. There, feeling as if you have me completely at your mercy, you grab my hair, and yank it back and then left, left and then right, mocking me as you do so.

I wobble and rock, dizzy from all the pain, and only barely able to breathe, but as I hear your words, unable to process most of them I suddenly fight back. Lunging forward with my mouth and biting your lower pubic mound, catching your clit with my left bottom incisor. You try to pull away, even as you scream in pain, but I cling to that bite, knowing your continued pain is my only hope for earning a chance to recover.

Finally, knowing one good bash will send me to the ground, you look to send a second punch. That attach, is meant for my cheek, but I with my own state of weakness as aid, I fall back and dodge it, releasing your sex, the taste of it still welling in the bottom of my mouth. Then, as you move your hands to cover your poor cunt, I kick out with my feet, which land on your shins and knock you down, and on top of me, not quite what I had planned.


The crowd screams for blood. For a slugfest. One that I am getting goaded into by you. And I make sure to give them a performance they don’t forget. Nailing you with that knee shot, that makes them all boo in rage. They wanted fists. But fuck them. I grin and savage your face, throat, and when you collapse. Your belly. You crash, still hacking for air. I grab your hair and shake you around. A condescending savage grin on my face.

I almost reach for the sky and scream out Where is your God, Chip! But I don’t . . .

Instead, I shake your head back viciously and spit right into your face. Another time. Letting it hit your pretty mauled face and drip down to your enormous breasts.

“Where is your fucking sister now, Chip?” I hiss.

And like a fire lit under your ass. You roar and bury your face into my crotch. You bite my clit hard and viciously. I wail in pain and try to stumble back but you grab my thighs. I scream. You will bite it off. You will fucking bite if off if I let you, and I hammer you in the side of the head. Catching your ear. And you let go and fall back. But not before kicking my legs and I fall into you.

I grunt. My breasts clawed and bloodied. Too tender to mash against your still perfect orbs. You thrust up and yank me off you by a tuft of green hair. You push a foot to the ground, half rising, and you unload into my face. Three vicious punches, catching my left cheek twice, and my mouth once.

The crowd roars in approval. But they see my left palm flying flat out, chopping you into your tender throat. You gag, and rear back. But I don’t let you fall. I grab your hair, and we go rolling over. You flat on my back, and me kneeling over you with one leg. Just like you did. Your guard goes high, still gasping for air. And I unload with five hard blows to your breasts. But before I complete half a dozen. Your right thigh shoots up, catching between my legs. I grunt and collapse forwards. And you clutch my cheeks with your nails. Pushing up. And practically monkeyflip me, but coming with me in an overhead roll. Our legs spread, scissored. You unleash another barrage.

I put my guard up but you manage to penetrate it twice. Catching the bridge of my nose. I grunt and my head lolls back. Hitting the dirt. I gasp and taste blood. My breathing encumbered. But your punches are weaker due to the two throat punches. I spot an opening and fire a right to your ribs. I catch you by surprise and you fall to your side. But your legs clamp around mine, and mine returns the favor. Thick thighs scissoring each other.

You on your left side and me on my right. I reach for your hair with one grip and you almost beat me to mine. Each getting the same idea. We begin raining hard, unprotected, zero defense punches with our raised arms, your right and my left at the other’s faces, cheeks and necks. Trading hard fucking blow after another.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


Our battle has been an ebb and flow of intimate, agony-causing closeness, and brief respite in which we circle one another, preparing for the same. But even when we come together to hurt — to wound, we too wax and wane, shifting between trying to pull close and hold, and trying to escape, when the other gains control. Now is one of the times when we seize, when we grasp and coil around each other, using one hand to grab at the others green hair, as our legs lock and squeeze, our wet and quarter-damaged womanhoods seeking each other out somewhere in the eye of the maelstrom.

But as we cling to each other, we attack, viciously, slamming fists into each others faces, and any other body part that gets in the way of said blows. Closed fists landing on forearms, shoulders, but mostly — and most devastatingly, noses, cheeks, eyes, and lips. And though the furious flurry of blows we share do not slow us, they damage — they destroy. Not only battering and breaking the remaining beauty of our clawed and bloody faces, but knocking and stealing from us our sense to pull away — to retreat. Each of us compelled more and more by the moment to continue and outlast. And though that is our goal, and though we strive to reach it alone, as punch after punch lands, we slow — we weaken.

At first we had glared at each other, but as eyes begin to swell, and blood to drip more and more, we find ourselves unable to even keep our eyes open. Instead just punching blindly, fueled by hate and a desire for vengeance, both old and new. In that darkness our fists begin to come with less and less frequency, and though they still hurt, hitting already beaten and swollen flesh, they weaken. Until it seems between each punch we must rest, and gather the strength to strike again. Almost seeming to lay together in the dirt, exhausted and battered. Tight grips on each others hair, and thighs still gripping, though loosely now.

In such a position, when the interval between punches becomes unbearable, I use my grip on your hair to pull you forward, and you do the same. Once again pressing bruised forehead to the same of the other, pulling so close, our wounded breasts meet and press, our hard nipples stabbing into each others flesh like daggers. The crowd gasps, thinking that perhaps, after all of the violence — after all the words, we have, in our desperation, given into our passion — to softness to avoid anything else.

But then, just as even you begin to think as much of my desires, I lean into you and push you to your back. Then, with excruciating slowness, I mount you. Willingly placing my body between your spread thighs, not alert or aware enough at the moment, my mind slowed by blows, to think of what you might do. Instead focusing only on my offense; that being to lean forward and press my breasts to your face, as I search to find your hands with mine. Intent on smothering you here and now, in front of this crowd. Knowing that at least at that moment, we are each too weak to conjure much resistance. Not unless we take a moment to rest. Not unless we separate again, and give in once again to the seemingly endless ebb and flow of our battle.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


Blow after blow. Punch after punch. Grunt and groan after another. We just trade the shots. Vicious. Hard. Bitter. And desperate.

I’ve lost sight in my right eye. At least I think so, or maybe it’s just swollen shut. Or rolled back in the socket by the vicious blasts that landed into my temple three times at least. But I fire at your face. Bashing in as hard as I can. But you . . . Oh fuck you! You still have your wits about you. That savagery and cunning. That blood thirst. And you smash your fist into my right cheek. Where you headbutted and cut me with your nails. I groan. And I begin to teeter.

My right arm going up, but not to punch, but to defend. And your swinging left crashes into it. Forearm to forearm. I grab the inside of your elbow, and you mine. And we groan. It might not look it. But you won this vicious trade. And you know it. You pull me in, and I groan. Tugging on your hair. Our bodies clenching. Then you push into me. I try to resist it. But you push hard and our thick, curvy bodies roll slowly until I am toppled down. You’re pinning my right arm down, and then go for my leg.

You shimmy up. Dragging breasts and nipples then plop your chest down on my face. Your face bloodied, you toss your head back flinging your hair. Staring blankly at the crowd. But not realy. Your strong frame clenched like one giant muscle. And for a moment I panic. Feeling the air cut off, and your naked, wet cunt pushing on my belly button. Your clit grinding down. Gyrating. Trembling. You’re fucking my belly button. Getting wet and high on the sensation of choking me out.

I thrash and fight. But I can’t do much. Not initially. My legs kick up, trying to scissor you. But your hips are higher than my hip joint. I can only wrap my legs around your thighs. I drum my heels against your powerful hamstrings. But you continue to grind. My head shaking wildly. Twisting. Turning. Trying to find a way to create an air passage. But what is not sealed by your DD’s is now made so with the sweat.

My lungs begin to burn. And my mind fading.




I flex and tense. Pushing with my arms on your elbows. I can’t lift you, but I get your shoulders arched back just a bit. To separate your breasts few millimeters. And it’s all I need, turning my head, sucking in for air . . . and flesh. Your left nipple swallowed between my left molars, I bite on it hard. I can’t slice it with the thick flat teeth. But I can sure crush and chew it until I find a way out of this smother.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


Slowly come my breaths, as my eyes close on the crowd. Each of them meaning nothing to me at this moment, only you — only denying you air — only putting an end to the killer of my sister. A need and desire that seems to be coming to fruition, as my heavy breasts hang on either sides of your face, the soft skin just above sternum pressing to your straining lips. I can’t see your face, but I can feel your panic and taste your terror as you realize this could be it.

God your suddenly resurgent struggling turns me on, setting a fire to the desire that has coursed through my body since the very beginning of this battle. A desire that leads me to drag my clit against your stomach as I smother you out, your every push and muffled scream doubling my pleasure. Not only that, but as you try and then fail to scissor me, then reducing your ambitions for pathetic kicks against my legs, I find myself in literal heaven.

“I have you, you fucking bitch.” I hiss at you in a voice heavy with fatigue and frayed mental acuity. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I wish you could I want you to know these are your last few moments, and despair as I fuck your navel.

But just as I let myself believe, you reach up, grab my shoulders and push up. You cannot get me off of you, not fully, and instead press me up an almost imperceivable amount to the crowd. But still it is enough to turn your head, and then after a quick, teeth chattering search, you take my nipple into your mouth and bite. Or at least, you try to, for at the very second you bite down, I jerk at your hair, and pull you back between my breasts, which smash down around your face in what most feels like the end of all things. Your last gasp of resistance fended off. Your last hope extinguished by the powerful breasts of the sister of your victim.

Despite the air you found in your brief moment of respite, I simply set back to work, letting my sweat covered flesh, aided by a thickness we share, suffocate you. “Mmmm, bitch … It’s over!” Gleefully, I comment at you — my strength already returning, half from earned rest, and the other from the glory of your imminent defeat. But just as I reach my moment of true, unshakeable confidence, you reach up with both hands, and dig your nails into my eyes. I try to shake my head — try to yank at your hair to stop you, but with all the force you can muster you stab.

“Aaarrrgggghhhhh” I do not scream or yell, but groan like a wounded animal, as the pain sets in. My bloody face making it hard for the crowd to know what damage had been and is being done, but I can feel it and it is anguish. A terrible sensation that causes me to roll off of you, bring my hands to my eyes and sob — a reaction that hurts even more, given all of my many facial wounds.

But unlike before, I do not roll away far, no, simply off of you and to your side, with my back turned to you. My pain too great to focus on our battle or what would be wise given the circumstances. Leaving me next to you in a crying heap, vulnerable, helpless (at least at that moment), yours to do with as you please, unless you choose to just rest.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


Not a peep is heard from the crowd. Only the sound of wet flesh sliding together. Tongues lolling inside cunts and asses. Cocks slipping in and out. The orgy going on, but with an eerie quietness. While they watch you woman handle me. Even with teeth to your nipple. You pull my head back hard. Wrenching my neck violently and you set down again.

Legs squirm and rub. And your body is shifting. With renewed vigor. Borrowed strength from the rush of adrenaline. A runner’s high, with the finish line suddenly coming to your sight. You set off. Determined to put me out and be done for.

And in the moment of your triumph. My left claw sets out. To your face. I stab into your cheek. Then up. You cringe and lean back and I free my right, and slash it upwards. Going for your eye sockets. Clawing and scratching. I feel the soft skin of your lids and a sharp cry makes me know I scored too damn close to them. Too close, enough to throw you off me, but I don’t detect any runniness that tells me that I gouged one out.

You fall off me and to the side. Clutching your face. Sobbing and screaming.

Groans and murmurs start then erupt into a loud raging protest from the crowd at the sudden upset. The literal pull out just before a climax they anticipated, and mostly desired. But it’s in that high that they are soon reminded by me rolling to the other side, still almost in arms reach of each other. Coughing and spitting blood to the dirt, that it means only one thing.

The war is not over. Neither is the blood shed.

I cough and squirm. Gagging and gasping. I can hear your whimpers. Wanting to reach for you. Wanting to grab you, but I don’t have much strength. But I need to. I fucking need to shatter the Chip.

I reach with my left hand and find the ends of green hair. They are not yours, they are actually mine. I know it from the bits of scalp skin attached to their ends. Still knotted around your hair. I pull viciously towards me. Pulling you up, rising to our knees. Then I flop to my back, my legs kicking in the air.

My left inked limb flails in the air, flashing my pink ripe cunt to everyone in the crowd. While tugging your head to let it flop on my right thigh. Immediately, I close my legs and lock my ankles. Flexing my thick powerful thighs. Staring down, my eyes locked with yours. They are still both in their sockets. Not for long, I will be carving them out before the end.

I tighten my thighs further. Cranking up the pressure on your neck and jaw. Two fists in your hair pulling and twist. I rip a strand of hair out by my right.

“Yes Chip . . . It’s fucking over . . . Just like it was, for your whore sister.” I hiss, then smash my right fist into your mouth hard.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


From the glorious verge of victory, to the pits of crushing devastation, I fall; dust kicking up at my landing. There, I lay, curled into the fetal position, my hands covering my eyes, and when I muster the courage, feeling them, to see if they are still there, and if they have been as damaged as I expect — as it felt when you dug your nails in deep. It is in that agony I find myself lost, when you pull my hair, or our hair, more accurately, and pull me to you. I do not resist or pull away — lunge at you to take control or plant the seeds for some later counter.

At that moment, I am truly broken, a state that continues as you almost gently lay me down on your soft inner thigh. Then, just as I blink my eyes open for the first time, and find that I can still see, even if my view is tinted with with blood, I see you glaring at me.

I wish I could look back at you with the same fire and hate you have held to this entire battle. I wish I could be strong, like my sister taught me, and glare back at you. But I am afraid. Truly afraid. And you can see it, I am certain. But that fear and your knowledge of it, does little to stay your hands, as you move them to my hair. With such grasps, and just as you flex your legs into tot, iron-willed anchors, you yank hard, pulling out my hair, and tearing root from follicle, cruelly. I whimper and yelp, just as you taunt me, calling back again to my sister’s defeat. Before such a comment would have driven me to fight back harder, but now it only pushes be back to tears, as you raises your right hand and then smash it into my face.

As that blow lands I find myself dizzy, even while laying. My focus centered not on the pain of the blow, or the wounds on my face that bleed, but on my sister. In fact, even as you taunt me, and smash my face with another blow, I find myself standing in our parents bunker again, looking up the stairway to the outside world, just as I did before we left it.

“Come on, Amber, we have to go.” She says, with an outstretched hand and a sweet, supportive smile on her face.

“I don’t want to go. It’s scary out there….” I reply, just as I did then, my head hanging and tears welling in my eyes.

“Sis, I will protect you. It’ll be ok. Just … trust me, ok? Like you did daddy. We have to go….” One step down she takes, as she readies herself to hug me, if I refuse again.

“Promise me…. Promise me you’ll never leave me like they did….” I demand, as the tears begin to flow, raising my gaze to hers, needing to hear her say it.

“I can’t promise that, Amber. But I can promise that if I ever do, you’ll be ready. You’ll be brave. You’ll be strong; just like me, ok?” It isn’t what I want to hear now, or what I wanted to hear then, but as she says it, I nod — a slave to my memory of that moment.

Suddenly the scene, which had played out before my wounded eyes ends, and I am back between your strong thighs, your fist coming down for another blow. But as it comes, I suddenly rage and sit up, even as you try to force me back down, bringing a halt to your strike. From my lips come a scream, and as I get my legs beneath me, and I wrap my arms around your clenched thighs. You reach for my hair to keep control, but just as your fingers are about to clench, I lift you off of the dirt with a hard, loud groan.

Then, using a newfound strength, I carry you as you hang and bend at the waist, still trying to force be back to the ground. Under your weight, my own, and our mutual fatigue I begin to stumble, but making it, finding the wherewithal to slam you into the wooden steps that lead up Odyn’s seat, crashing down with you, the outcome of my desperate gambit unknown to me, at least at that moment.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


The muscles flex. The fibers contract. Not needing the feverish commands of my brain to constrict like two powerful pythons around your neck. Only your jaw line stopping them from shutting down and turning your neck into an empty tube of toothpaste.

My eyes hazy. With rage. With lust. With the surge of power flowing my muscles, powered by the look in your blood shot eyes. Your ruined, once beautiful and innocent face. I see it there. The longing. The loss. And it stabs at my heart in a weird way.

You miss her.

And it breaks my heart a little.

But this is . . . mercy.

I’m going to relieve you of this life. Of the pain of waking up every morning, thinking of her. Of staring around the camp to recall your memories. Your dreams. Your hopes.

I’m sending you to be with her.

Then my fist crashes into your face. And I can’t help but realize it was overkill. But that’s alright. I also want to hurt you, before setting you on the boat across the river Styx.

My fist lifts up. And readies to crash once more into the bloody mess that once housed your pouty lips and cute round nose. But you stir and shift up. My punch whiffs and hits the ground.

“Ey!” I grunt and try to roll my hip to wrestle you down. You fall, but brace on your knee. Your claws push into my buttocks. But they are clenched like steel balls. They drag on my sides, stabbing then. Then with an impressive, almost shocking show of stretch you power upwards. Displaying the muscle core of your thick curvy body. My legs still around your neck. You wear me like a necklace. Digging nails into my sides, wrapping arms around my belly. Gouging in. Holding me in place.

The cheers rise and the crowd erupts.

But I flail wildly. Bending at the waist. And I fire angry elbows at your thighs and chins. I grab your wrist. Pull myself up and swing a fist at your face. But I whiff it again. Your stumbling and thrashing making it even harder. And I flop down again. Dangled upside down.

Then I see them.

Odyn’s face, and Nubia’s. Wide. Staring at me. Upside down. And I see the wooden steps. And then . . . A trainwreck.

I don’t know what happened. I feel everything tumbling. Darkness all around. Then. . . .My vision returns.

But before it does. I realize that something is wrong. Horribly wrong.

The unbelievable stabbing pain in my left rib. Something is wedged in there, at least I think I feel it, but then realize that it’s my rib itself, cracked and sending surges of pain.

I feel the weight on my back. And recognize immediately your soppy pussy and hard clit, jammed into the small of my back.

I can hear your groans and pants. And feel the hand jerking my head upwards. Staring at Odyn. I see Nubia gasping and turning her head away. While Odyn grins savagely, grabbing her hair and pulling it down to his throbbing manhood.

My tongue lols in my mouth, everything numb, feeling small pebbles. Or are they jagged wood chips? I spit them down, in a bloody spray to the ground and recognize three of my front teeth. I stare at them strangely, weirdly. Stunned still. Shocked, and completely at the mercy of the vicious warrior straddling my back.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


It took every single bit of me to do whatever it was I just did. Driven and pushed by grief and abject misery. I loved her so goddamn much. She was the only person in the entire fucking universe I cared for, and you took her from me. It is that fact, my surging adrenaline, that lead me to the cruelty, I about to unleash upon you. For I heard your rib break, and so despite my perch on your back, I roll you beneath me, over the shattered wooden planks. My own pussy resting and dripping again into your navel. You look up at me, eyes glassy, your mouth bloody, with teeth missing, and I sneer at you.

“I hate you!” Comes my scream, before I bury a fist into your broken rib.

“I hate you!!” I shout again, before delivering another blow. Not aiming it to hurt but not damage, not caring about my level of violence, or what you life you might lead when this fight is over.

“I HATE YOU!!!” I shriek as I punch again and again, until finally, when the sight of your pain is sufficient to breathe, I close my eyes and try to calm myself.

But all I can see if my sister’s face. All I can see is a piece of some debris stabbed into her. And when I see it, I reach down, grab your hair, and pull your face to mine. With you there, I plead.

“Give her back to me….” As my lips move, and my desperate hopeless please comes, I scan your eyes — your soul for any sense of emotion or regret.

“Please….” I beg you, even though you are powerless to give me what I want.

“I’ll do…. ANYTHING…..” At those words I break, and lean into you, my forehead pressing to yours as I cry. Not longer fighting. No longer hurting. Finding myself just lost, in my despair. But as you fail to answer, I reach beneath you, giving no sign of a return to battle, and grab a smaller metal fixing plank, one with a sharp, dagger like end. Then, lost in my madness, and feeling as if you have refused my lunatic request, I bring it up, raise it into the air, and then try to stab it down into your chest.

As it lowers, and you having finally recovered, you reach up, and grab the bottom of my wrists. Pushing up as I push down, each of us struggling, me to end you and you to live. Because of the sharp pain in your brutalized and broken ribs, I get the better of you and with quick leaps in progress, lower the very tip of the blade to an inch off your chest, but there you hold it and me. Our eyes locking. Our souls seeming to war for us in our emotion-filled gaze.

It seems as if an eternity passes with us there, locked together on the very verge of your death. Until suddenly the wood on which we lay, which had been broken, but still propped up above the ground below, collapses yet again and together we fall. The piece of metal I wielded driving forward as you fall, it then stabbing not into your chest, but the dirt just above your shoulder. And though, you escape that perilous moment without additional wounds, I did not, as in our landing a piece of wood, stabbed into my right side, through abdomen. It is not a fatal injury, but as I roll of of you, and with an agonized scream pull it from my body, I greet my teeth and writhe. The fact now clear to me and all else who watch, that even if one of us survives this awful, torturous battle, we will never be the same again.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


My life flashes before my eyes . . . So there’s a thing.

It flashes with every punch. Every fist. Every harpy screech of you venting out your rage. With very tooth shaking in my mouth, rolling the dice to whether it would stay, or pop off. Every gash and cut opened, or widened by the incoming blows.

Always heard about it, but never experienced. Even when I was fighting for my own life in the gas station against your sister, I didn’t feel this. So close to death, staring it in the eyes. Trying to fight it, but failing.

Gurgles rising from my throat, blood running down from the busted and broken teeth, choking me. My eyes gazed up at you, holding your wrist, and fighting a slow losing battle. Please . . . just wait! Just give me one more second. One more breath. Another! Another!

But you have no mercy. You have no weakness. And whether it’s power, or gravity. Or the thumping in my head, you just lean in further, more.

I feel the shard’s edge against my naked chest. Slowly, it bites into my bosom. Adding a cut. A gouge. That dips in. Searing pain burns. And I begin to whimper. Gasp. I stare at your eyes and my lips curl, forming words . . .

“You . . . made . . . her . . . proud.”

I see the shock in your face. Your blue eyes going wide. And your force slacking. The edge jagged into my flesh. Then you collapse off me. Pulling it out. And I gasp rolling to the other side. Heaving and panting. Coughing out blood. Another tooth.

I just lay there, and so do you . . . The crowd watching. And they start . . . Booing.

Odyn himself, shows a cold, disgusted expression on his face. He pulls Nubia off his lap and rises. His arms up in the air.

“What a display! What a display. Give them a hand everyone!”

The crowd starts looking at each other, and a couple begin clapping.

“QUIET!” He roars out, his face turning. His feet drum down the steps, hovering over you, then he drops in a squat. A hand grabbing your cheek. Cut and scratched. “There is no room for the soft in my clan. Chip. Finish the job.” He says in a deep commanding voice.

You stare at him, your eyes soaked. And slowly shake your head.

“I . . . I can’t . . . “

“FINISH HER!” He roars, reaching down he pulls a long, curved dagger from his belt, he pushes it into your right hand, and slowly pushes your fingers shut around it. One hand, then the other. And with ease, he turns the sharp pointed end, towards your own throat.

“Or you will be finished.” He says in a calm voice. And rises, stepping back, his arms out stretched by his side. A menacing glare at his face.

You push up to your knees. To look at me. I’ve crawled, with my nails digging into the dirt, dragging myself. But I haven’t made it that far. Six or seven feet. That’s all. And you push up to your feet. You walk up to me then drop your body down, your ass crashing on my hip. I grunt, rolling to my back, seeing your arms raised up, dagger aimed for my chest.

Then a handful of dirt is flung into your eyes. You gasp and sputter, blinded. You slash down, but I turn my body and the blade sinks into the dirt. Odyn groaning. The ground certainly would dull and chip his fine weapon. But he grins, when I sit up and smash my forehead into your lips, knocking you off me.

I turn, and try to grab the dagger, but you drive your foot into my ass, and I stumble forwards, away from it. And I turn, watching you crawling towards it. Wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. I charge and charge my body into yours, sending us both rolling away from the blade.

The boos have stopped. And now, the crowd is cheering again. For us. For more violence.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


I had thought I was iron. Steel. Forged in those battles my sister had me take part in. Strengthened, as nightly she took me to hunt, dragging me through peril after peril just to survive. But after I saw it in you, feigned or not, your humanity, I was less. I was weak. Not just was, AM. As in that moment everything you had tried to tell me, became crystal in my mind. It wasn’t your fault. You were just fighting to survive. And though you claimed you did not want to live with the guilt, that is exactly why you are fighting me now. Giving me my precious vengeance, just to atone for a sin you did committed at last resort. And though now I know, and though now, I regret every single moment since first we met, there is no turning back.

Not as you lunge into me, and we splatter weakly to the dirt together, you laying on top of me. Not as you and I reach for each other, despite our closeness, pressing palms into the shoulders of the other, almost trying to push the other away, even as our thighs cross, and legs coil around each other. From that quickly forming catball, I look up at you, and you can see in my eyes the change. The realization. And though there is something in that — something to it, I am not giving in. Not submitting, or letting you dominate me to make amends. For at this moment, it is kill or be killed, regardless of cause or right. The dagger laying nearly ten feet away, but every second it threatens to find its way into one of our palms and be brought to bear.

Though I can still see it out of the corner of my eye, and though we both want it, I still reach for two handful of your hair and then roll you — roll us away from it. As I do I want to drive my sex up into yours, want to battle you in the most primal of ways, but for the first time stopping myself from taking the initiative. Giving you, for the first time since we met, choice. A real choice, not one you are bullied or brow-beaten into. It is of little worth, but at that moment, our fates sealed and Odyn ready to kill us both, if need be, it is all I can offer.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


Crashing down to the dirt, you turn to me and toss your legs up. I slip down on you, between your legs. Crying in a sharp yelp when my wounded chest touches yours. Your left leg curls up and around my hip, and I await your right to follow suit. To lock your ankles around me, and squeeze me like putty.

But you don’t. Instead, you just keep the one leg up and thrust, yanking me by the hair and rolling ontop. And your right thigh slides between mine. My eyes going wide in both shock and confusion. But the sensation of your thigh pushing on mine, spreading, and letting your cunt mash on my own reveals it all.

“Ughh! Fuck you!” I gasp, and grab your greenlocks back. Teeth clench. I stare at you. And slide my own left up and over your hip. I cross my ankle against the curve of the small of your back and turn. And we go rolling again. Our other legs curling and locking together. A needed, unholy union, to give our hips the leverage they need to smack into each other.

Your challenge noted, understood, and accepted.

Grips on hair turn into nothing more than handles to lead the rolling. To direct it. To slow it down or hasten it up, depending on the requirements and position. And unlike their earlier reactions, the tribe is cheering, not booing, despite the lack of bone crunching punches, and nose bashing headbutts. For the constant rolling and loud grunts. The sounds of hips thrusting and bashing the other. The dirt we stir with our ferocious, rapid barreling is enough indication that this combat might be different, but not in anyway less severe.

Our breasts, are the problem. Mine at least, with all the cuts and gouges. They pancake against your bosom. Flesh swelling and mushrooming. I lean in, and try to bite your right shoulder. But I realize that it’s not the best of ideas. Not with three of my front teeth missing. But I still sink the chipped edge of my lower incisor into your trapezius and clench my jaw.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


It is almost a nudge — a timid request, my thick thigh pressing against yours, and asking, almost begging you to accept my challenge. I can feel it, your body stiffening. See it, the confusion in your eyes. But as we cling to each other, our hot and heavy breath mixing between us. Our swollen, wounded breasts pressing together, aching as they do, reminding us of the pain we have caused each other. Of the war we have been through, as if our other wounds and bloody, soon-to-be scars were not enough. But our fight is not over — our war not complete, even if we have chosen to test one another in a different way. One in which the very cores of our feminine strength meet, seeking to drain its rival of its inherent power and precious essence.

But just meeting at our center, and coiling legs around each other is not enough. No for we each need a firmer hold, not just our hands buried in each others once beautiful green hair, but something more. A bite, one you give me on my trapezius, weakened and whimper-inducing, not to me, but you as you try to keep it on. As you do, I bite you just the same, but hard, digging my teeth in just hard enough to hurt you, but not to draw blood. Not wanting to cause you fight to pull away, knowing that I need this moment of lesser violence and action if I am to continue.

Then, with our bites secured, we begin, not with our first thrusts, but with focused ones. Seeking out the right angle to meet your clit with my own. Moving my right hand from your hair to your ass, on which I dig my claws in and pull your hips forward into mine. As I do, and as the resulting contact hits, we moan into our bites, causing them to weaken. An effect that happens again and again, as we roll, pausing for a few seconds with one on top, only to roll again. Neither of us fighting too greatly to maintain position, instead focusing on the sounds the other makes. Studying each others reactions. Wanting to know if during our driving of hips, and meeting of clits, we discover a weakness in the other.

The crowd for its sake, so unwilling to give us time to battle intimately before, realizes what is happening, and cheer. In part, because they have already given into to their lusts, and want to see us do the same. But also, because this is where other battles like these have led down a most exciting path. A path where combatants give fully into their passions, and forget they have pledged to end each other. Such a fall from white hot hatred to pure desire leads to both being made slaves — slaves which the tribe may use as they see fit. Several of those slaves, in fact, are in the stands now — being fucked by those tribesman without a mate to call their own, or even pairings looking to add another.

And though there is always that risk, with enemies such as we, when a battle turns to one of sexual prowess, we still cling. Not only to each other but our desire to fight, to live free, or die with honor. Desires I try to focus on, as the pleasure from our mutual thrusting begins to well within me. A feeling, so wondrous after all this pain, that causes me to thrust harder, and aim tighter, spreading my thighs wide to make sure our clits strike hard. And though, with such focus I seek to drive you into ecstasy, suddenly I feel it. A thrust by you, which so perfectly finds my most sensitive point of pleasure, that I moan louder than any either of us have released.

You feel it in an instant, and strike again, and again. Memorizing its location, and searing into your memory exactly how to best attack it. And with each such attack I moan and scream, until the pleasure overwhelms me, and my jaw slacks, releasing my bite. Until we stop rolling, and with you atop me, you raise up, and begin to destroy me. My back pressed against the dirt. My arms falling back to the ground, as your eyes narrow, and lips form into a confident smirk. And though I am oblivious to all but the pleasure you force upon me, you see it. That in all our rolling, we have ended, next to the dagger — it sitting just an inch or two out of your reach. Leaving you to decide, to you push me into orgasm, and then take it’s handle into your hand for the kill, or reach for it now, and free yourself from this seemingly endless war of attrition and pain.


We thrash and roll. Fighting. Fighting with everything we have. But not with fists or claws. Although we have deadly grips on the other’s hair, and teeth into her shoulders, we are battling for position and for thrust. For pussy blasting blows, using our own flowers as weapons.

You roll yours back and hammer down. Hitting me with some near misses, but plenty of spot on, devastating, libido blasting shots that make me want to just lay back and let you take me. But I shut my eyes and fight. I pull, twist, and slam back. Blindly, each trying to guess the best angle, and do her best to conceal her louder moans whenever she is hit the right way.

But you slip first. And with it, you gasp and release the bite. I hit again, and again. You thrash, and roll me off, but I know the spot now. And I angle my hip and hit you from below. You flop and go down. I let go of the bite and sit up. My knees bent. I hold your right leg up in the air. And start to just . . . Fuck you. Hard. Rough. My breasts jiggling on my chest. Teeth, or what’s left of them clenched. My clit finding that sweet spot under yours. Boxing it. I see your claws dig into the dirt. Gasping, moaning. On the verge.

I see your eyes shooting sideways, fixated on something, and I see it too. The dagger . . .

Within arm reach of you, and yet, you don’t reach for it. You can, but instead, your fingers curl. You’re choosing the orgasm over murder. Over winning this. And I lean in, spit and blood dripping from my chin on our clenched thighs.

“You want it that bad, you fucking bitch?”

You fire me a crazed glare, your fingers cupping your own breasts. Panting. And you thrust into me. Almost demanding a resumption of the thrusts.

But when you do, it’s you who hits the right spot. The one that you could not get when we were coiled in a catball. Just to the right of my clit. Poking and rubbing it upwards. Irritating the tiny fold on the side of my clit.

“Owhh!” I gasp, and I freeze in place, and you sense it, pushing on your elbows, you thrust up and drag it again.

“FUCK!” I yelp and spasm, falling to my back. You try to rise and straddle me, but I push my right foot to your chest and kick you flat to your back. Legs still scissored. I try to rise up but your right leg jams into my chin and lays me back.

And without delay, without a word. Without pause we grab he other’s legs. Both on our backs, slightly rolled to our left, we start to gyrate and fuck. Slamming our cunts. Each figuring the other’s weakness. Each sending the clitty uppercuts, and the side rubs. Each making the other gasp and moan. Tremble and freeze. A feverish race to the climax.

A battle we both seem to have agreed to settle this with. Not our claws. Not our fists. Not weapons. We settle it . . . Like fucking this. Woman to fucking woman. Each striving to knock the other out. To fuck her brains out and into a coma.

And then . . . Then the winner, can claim the dagger.

My right hand digs into the dirt. Gasping. You do it again. And again. And fucking a gain. My eyes rolling. You push up to your elbow. Odyn watching you with wide eyes. He’s never had you worked up like this. He’s known that you are . . . different. That you just laid there, taking him, just because you had to. But this. This rage. This fury. This lust is new to him.

And he watches you slowly turn the tide. Until I am arched. Screaming into the dawning sky. A shrill cry of lust and pain. My orgasm gushing hard. My eyes rolling to the back of my head. Gasping. Shaking. And then laying still. A soft groan departing my lips, along with my consciousness. Your hips still shifting. Slowly. Grinding. Winding down. Watching me slip away.

Your head then turns, and reaches for the dagger. Fingers around the hilt. You pull it out of the ground. And you turn to me. Legs still scissored. My cum smearing your thighs and cunt. The crowd holding their breath. Staring in shock and anticipation. But they can see it in your eyes . . . The hesitation gone . . .

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


It takes me a moment, but as you rear up, and begin to fuck me, not in a catball, but like a lover, I see it. The dagger. I can reach it! I can take it! I can escape this imminent march towards orgasm! Or at least, that’s the first outcome I conjure in my mind, one that you shatter as you thrust into me again and again. Such a brutally effective attack forces me to give into my passions, and cup — squeeze my own breasts rather than reach for the dagger. But through that fog of lust and pleasure I fight, mustering the will to reach — to take — to stab. But then, just as the neurons fire to move my arm out, and hand from the dirt to the handle of Odyn’s dagger, I feel you shudder, and hear you moan.

God I should just go for the dagger anyway! I should just end this! But what if I try, and you take it from me? What if I stab, and you dodge, and then lose the blade again? I will have lost this chance to weaken you. This chance to learn your weakness, just as you have mine. As so I resist my urge to take and tear, and instead focus back on our dueling cunts, aiming for the same spot which causes you to react so strongly. Like you, studying with every thrust the placement and force required to make you sexual defenses break. As I do you curse, and then fall back to the arena floor.

One after another we try to rise, to take control and straddle each other, for maximum effect and aided angle. But as I do, you press your foot to my chest, and push me back down. And when you do, I use my thick calf’s weight to keep you grounded just the same. Neither able to rise and ride, we do all we can, grabbing each others legs, and pulling into each other. Then, as our weapons of choice meet and seal together with an audible clap, our legs crossed, and sexs sopping, we pause and lock eyes. Glaring. Hating once again. At this point, no longer fighting for my sister, or your guilt, but dominance. Superiority. Alpha vs. Alpha. Woman-to-woman.

But as that pause ends, the crowd erupts, each of those in attendance, save for Odyn, having cum already, not once but multiple times, finally finding time to focus on us alone. As their eyes so turn, and as we each continue to hammer the other’s now pinpointed achilles, we set in — settle in. Having found what makes the other tremble and scream — those screams which ring out in unison for the crowd as we fuck one another.

On and on we go, holding the other’s leg as a handle — as a liferaft in this sea of passion, me leaning in and applying my teeth to your bent knee. The placement not meant to hurt but to try and suppress my quickly building orgasm. God it is coming so quickly, coursing through my every vein and nerve. Flooding my body with endorphins, that prepare by wounded form for a release like I have never had before — one that will feel like a supernova, or what it must have felt like when the bombs went off in The End. But just as I begin to mutter into my soft, sensual bite. “God, no, no, no. Shhhiiii…..” I feel it. You seize, arch, and scream to the heavens. God, that sound, the sound of your orgasm, is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. A sound that comes with a feeling as glorious, your pussy giving into mine, and gushing the sweet essence of your defeat onto mine. It is warm, the feeling of victory — of dominance.

And though I linger in that warmth, rubbing my sex against yours softly, as I slowly pull myself back from the brink, I know it is time. So I then, finally, reach out for the dagger, take it’s handle into my hand, and then with a newly found energy, I grab your hair and drag you to your feet. With you standing, staggering, barely able to keep yourself upright, I move behind you and keep you up, pressing my body to yours. Stabbing you already with daggers, those being my nipples into your back. Then, with you so places, eyes barely open and lips still letting loose small, pathetic whimpers, I look to Odyn, and bring the edge of the blade to your throat.

“ODYN! I have defeated /your chosen/. My enemy, and I am ready to give her the punishment she deserves!” I shout loudly, proudly, and so everyone in the wasteland can hear.

Before he nods, or gives me a thumbs up, I begin to drag the dagger across your throat, the teeth of it slicing your skin in the distance of a centimeter, before Odyn shouts. “No! Wait! Sigrun, my warrior matron. I have seen something in you today I have never seen. Desire. Lust. Sexual intensity. You have not shown me this. Not shared it with me, or any other. But you have suffered, lost, and served this tribe proudly, even through your pain. And so I say — I COMMAND, you keep her, this “Claw-ie”, as your slave, from this day on.” His words anger the crowd, but they remain silent, knowing how he hates descent, especially in front of others.

“Hmmm….” I sound out while thinking, before leaning my chin on your shoulder. “Death would be too good for you, wouldn’t it. After all, you said most of all, you wanted — needed freedom. All I wanted was my sister.” I let the words linger, waiting for you to reply….

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


I pass out. I completely go into a coma of shooting starts, lightning starts and bright colors. And my last thoughts before descending into it, is wishing for it to be the last thing I see. Praying that you have the mercy, no, the decency to end me before I wake. To give me a painless end.

But mercy is not in your genes. Not now. Not ever. Not since you were a child, dragged by her sister’s hand into the bunker. The sister I took from you. The one I clenched tightly to, hearing her gurgle and gasp, sputtering and jamming the glass shard into her sides, until an hour later, they found me still clutching her, fearing she would spring back to life and take me with her.

My eyes roll, in near REM sleep. I see things and hear sounds. But I don’t know which. I get a dream of being dragged on my knees through a dungeon . . . But I soon realize it wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t a dungeon. You were just dragging and pull me up to my feet.

Your left arm around my waist, the only thing propping me up. My arms dangling by my sides. My knees weak. Cum still running down my inked thighs. I feel your chin on my shoulder. I hear voices. I know they are words, but I do not understand.

Then I feel the edge of the blade against my throat. The bite of the dagger that we dulled by jamming it into the ground and rocks. And I gulp, knowing it will be painful . . .

But before you cut more than an inch, and just before you slice open my artery. You stop. And I blink. What is going on. Clarity returning to my mind. Your forearm lifting my chin, I stare at Odyn, and his huge grin. Nubia by his side, staring at me in utter hatred. What did he say?

But when I hear your words, and your question . . . I tremble. I think of all the torment, the abuse, the horrors that you will inflict on me. And I just moan out . . . . “Please . . . End it here . . . “

But instead of driving the knife into my heart, you let go of me and I collapse down, and the last thing I hear, before you smash the back of my skull with the butt of the knife is your roaring voice screaming:


And I face plant into the dirt.

I don’t know how long I’ve laid there. But I know it must have been long. Half a day at least, since it was night. But the state of my wounds, that have mostly closed, tells me it is probably been multiple days. I haven’t died from my wounds. And I wish I had.

I shift on the hay and dirt. It stinks. And I begin to notice my surroundings. A large bamboo cage. My arms bound behind me. My legs are free. But clearly the intent was for me to not end my own life.

I wiggle and begin to thrash and sit up, when I hear the chilling voice.

“Awake, at last . . . “

I gasp and turn, and I see you suddenly, squatted I the dark. You slowly move. Your face beaming I the pale moon. A dark, hateful look on your face.

“I’ve waited a long time for you to come to, slave . . . And I hate to be kept waiting.” You slither down and straddle my thighs.

My back pressed against the bars. I move my mouth to talk, only to realize it’s gagged in a dirty rag. I shake my head, eyes pleading, then I see the blade.

“Odyn gave it to me as a gift . . . He said I earned the right to use it when I see fit.” You grin. “I will, one day . . . But not soon. Oh, no no. You’re not going anywhere for a long, long time.” You hiss, pushing your cunt down on mine. And I feel the edge of the blade, simultaneously sliding against the side of my right breast, gently, leaving a silent cut curving along with my aerola.

“. . . A very, long time . . . Claw-ie!”

The End.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png

For More Sexy Chat Logs, Click Here!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Some of the images/videos seen on this site have been provided by,, All That's Jass, and Charlotte Blanche! If you haven't yet, check out the Free Catfights Forums! The links to all of the above can be found in the Links menu above!