Emily:
This party sucks.
I agreed to come for the sake of a friend, and they promised me drinks, dancing, music and general debauchery…. and so far, all I’ve had is the drinks.
I mean, seriously, Halloween is supposed to be all above people shedding their inhibitions, and in fancy dress so they can pretend they’re not still in their boring, humdrum lives.
I took that to heart tonight, and dressed as a chinese Harley Quinn, my tits swelling up out of my bustier top, and my hips and ass sheathed in a matching set of hot pants. I look hot as fuck, and everyone here knows it… and yet this is just a run of the mill party.
If I could sigh audibly and not be rude, I would. Instead I take another sip of my rum and coke and scan the room, looking for something, anything, to entertain me.
Chloe:
Since that day – the day we fought. The day you and I met in that sauna, and warred with our tits for more than an hour. Sweating. Struggling. Straining against lust and desire – hatred and mirrored tits, I have tried.
Tried to recover my confidence. Tried not to think about how I gave in to you. The gym rival I had fixated on for months. Was I successful in any of that? Maybe…. Kinda…. You never left my mind, but shame eventually gave way to hatred. Regret to jealousy. And a want to heal, to a obsession with fighting you again.
But somehow, our schedules changed. And our daily run-ins at the gym stopped. Leaving us each to go our separate ways, until now. Until this fucking party. Until I see you there across the living room sipping on your little drink. Dressed like a fucking slut, which wouldn’t both me, if you were anyone else.
But to have you somehow here. Somehow dressed just as sexy and as revealing as me. Each of us baring our gorgeous tits. You in your clown outfit. And me in my light, tight Wonder Woman costume. One I don as I move closer to you. Slipping through party attendees. Trying to decide if I should ignore you, or grab you and get my revenge.
Emily:
Just for a second, through the sea of boring people, sheep and faceless drones, I see something different. A pair of tits, cased in scarlet and gold. A pair of tits to match mine, maybe even…familiar ones?… No, that’s ridiculous. I haven’t seen you since that day in the sauna, and though I sometimes pretend to myself you’re buried and gone in my mind, I know I’m lying.
But it can’t be you, so I crane a little, glancing around… and not seeing a repeat of those tits anywhere, I turn my torso and head to place my drink on the little table next to me so I can go looking.
Chloe:
I watch you carefully as I move. Not wanting to lose this. This advantage of surprise. Why do I want that? Why do I feel I need it? I don’t know, but regardless, it brings a cold smirk to my lips. An expression and cause that you almost take from me. Looking up suddenly, and peering through the party.
I have only a second to shift, to side-step, and get out of your angle of vision. Traveling further and further, out of your light of sight, until finally, I am walking along the wall you stand next to. Coming up from behind you slowly and quietly.
When I am only a few feet away, a young man we both know from the gym calls out with a “hey!” before waving at us. At him I smile. Nod. And then just before he sets his mind to approaching us, I step behind you, wrap my arms around your waist, and pull your body against mine. My large, soft tits pressing into your back, as I lean my face in and press my lips to your ear. “You’ve been hiding from me bitch….” My voice is a gentle coo spoken through a false smile. The seeming affection and intimacy of the moment just enough to ward off our mutual acquaintance, and for the moment, to earn a privacy I am sure we will both need.
Emily:
I see a guy I know from the gym wave and call out, and it doesn’t really register that he’s motioning to more than one person. I’m about to respond and wander over (at least it’s someone I know) when I feel arms slide around my waist, and a pair of firm tits against my back, and your lips at my ear.
No-one watching would see anything other than two friends saying hi, but you’re pressed against me, and you feel my body stiffen as I hear your voice. I turn my head slightly, just enough for us to see each others eyes, and the hatred in there hasn’t dulled through the weeks since the sauna.
I don’t turn around… instead I move my hips in a light circle, grinding my ass a little against your hips and rubbing my back against your nipples… answering back in a similar sweet tone and a fake smile…
“I’m not the one who’d have reason to hide, Chloe…”
Chloe:
The second we drop this act. The moment we give people a reason to believe we’re anything other than friends, they will surround us. Either to pull us apart, or to chant ‘fight, fight, fight’ as we square off.
And though that’s what we want to do – to fight, fuck them. All of them. We’re rivals. We’re enemies. But to win or show off for other people. This is about us. Woman to woman. Pride to pride. And tit to tit.
And though it is, you keep with the charade. Grinding yourself back into me as our eyes lock and lips release hushed and hateful hisses. A contact and closeness that instantly fills me with the same lust we battled against, just as we battled each other. Despite it, and in part because of it, still do I reply. “You got lucky, EMILY.”
The words have barely left my mouth when I try to roll out from behind you, and with my hands slam your back against the wall. Looking to come face to face and chest to chest with you. All while we continue our malicious whispers while looking as if we’re on the verge of kissing.
Emily:
So, here’s the thing. Two hot, busty bitches, dressed like us? We’re getting attention regardless of what we do. But our little private rivalry? The second most important word in that sentence is private. No-one else gets to be involved in it, and if that means we put on a little charade for a while, then so be it.
You slide around me, your hands moving over my hips as you press me back, and though every single part of me wants to viciously, violently resist you, the fact we’re in public means I have to be cautious… and so I let you take the initiative, pushing me back against the wall as you move forwards… and then, for the first time since the sauna, our tits meet.
Fuck.
Even through our admittedly thin costumes, the sensation of that first touch is electric. We can feel each others already stiff nipples the material, and my eyelids flutter a little before our glares meet again.
That doesn’t mean you get it all your own way, of course. My hands slide down to your hips, my claws digging in just a little harder than observers would notice… and I pull my shoulders back unobtrusively… but enough to jam my tits back into yours as we end up nose to nose…
“Oh, I did, huh bitch? Want to put that to the test sometime, CHLOE?”…
This party isn’t boring anymore.
Chloe:
God, I hate you. So much I can feel it in my stomach. I can feel it in my SOUL. This is right. This animosity we feel. This jealousy. The very air around us seeming to spark with electricity. Our hate-filled eyes glistening with emotion, passion, and a need that neither of us can control.
The world around us, namely this party and all these meaningless people, fading into the distance recesses of my mind as I can taste your breath again. Each of us leaning in and arching our backs. To feel our tits press together again, and to near a kiss that I was so close to having when last we fought.
I was able to resist it and so were you.
Painfully. Agonizingly. And now, when we’re so close. Our heads tilted and lips only centimeters apart as they tremble, we are forced to struggle against that desire again.
But the closer we get, and the nearer we get to that cliff, we each have to avoid. People’s interest in us grows. We are the two hottest girls in this whole house, and we are locked in a body to body embrace, on the verge of a moment that would ger us each a million views on Tik Tok, or a hundred thousand subs on Only Fans.
And so, though it nearly kills me to do so, I whisper to you one last time. My lips almost brushing against yours as I do so. “Let’s test it. Right. NOW. Cunt….” My words are so hot. So short. So ragged with loathing and lust, that they seem to catch in the air between us, before we breathe them in.
My body peeling from you and your clawing fingers, as I turn away and start to walk. You knowing that you should follow me with your eyes, and when people stop gawking at us, with your sexy, displayed tits.
Emily:
Last time we met… last time we fought, we started off nude. It’s hard to believe that our rivalry, our animosity, our jealousy could actually feel more intense with us both dressed… and yet it does.
I’m having to force myself to not start a titfight right here, my fingers literally trembling on your hips as we press together.
And as our lips almost touch as we bitch, my mind goes back to that fight where we both had to resist the other’s mouth….and it’s happening again as we both feel each others breath on our lips.
God, I hate you so, so much. And yet part of me wants you in the worst fucking way.
You peel yourself off me and walk away, and I want to go after you right fucking now, but we have to keep up appearances… so I reach over to my drink and finish it off, whilst my eyes are locked on your hips and ass, watching which way you go out of the door.. and then, still holding my glass, head in the same direction as if to go get a refill from the kitchen, but surreptitiously placing it on another table next to the door as I head out and turn left to follow you..
Chloe:
Through the party and its guests, I move once again. My pace quickened by my need for this rematch. This revenge. This moment and you. I have to have it. Right now. I feel like I can’t even breathe without you pressed against me, now that I’ve tasted it again.
But my instinct and desire driven speed make it hard for you to follow me, once you’re begun to walk.
Seeing me only at the edge of your vision, until finally I disappear. Hidden by people and the unfamiliar corners and clutter of this house. But you keep going. Keep searching. And when finally you’re on the verge of indescribable frustration, I reach out from a coat closet you didn’t even notice. Yanking you inside with me, before I close the door. Leaving us in just enough light to see each others glistening eyes. Chest to chest, and nose to nose once more. Coats pressing against our back, while in the tight space, we glare.
“I will ruin you this time, slut….” I growl, hiding all the words I want to say. Unable and unwilling to tell you how intensely I feel about this eternal struggle and rivalry we have locked ourselves into.
Emily:
You pull me into the closet, and I go from bright lights, loud music and people, to claustrophobic space, the dark, and your body pressed up against mine, eyes gleaming in the dim light. It’s disorienting for a few seconds, until the feel of the coats around us and your tits against mine grounds me.
We can be a little louder in here, but not much, and I respond to your growl with one of my own… “You’re not dressed for that, whore…. but let me help you..” and my fingers slip into the top of your Wonder Woman outfit, nails brushing your stiff nipples for a second as I grip the material of your top and slowly, teasingly, bitchily slide it down over your tits…
Chloe:
I should grab your top too. Tearing it down to help us get into this battle of breasts quicker. But something about this – something about you makes me want to slow. To sip at that dark, quiet encounter.
Yes, we might be discovered at any moment. Yes, there is a party going on, just outside the door to my right, and your left. But fuck it. Fuck them.
You are the most important person in my entire life. My family. My friends. My boyfriend. All playing the role of afterthought, when compared to you. None of them transfix me. None of them keep me this obsessed. And so I decide to take my time. To let you slowly take my top down. Arching my back, to lift my tits up and out of my shiny Wonder Woman top.
They popping out in a healthy bounce, as my stiff nipples scrape against the top of your still partially covered breasts. “You know you WANT THEM!” I whisper and then in a louder, and yet still restrained voice, I grab for your hair, and drag your face down into my tits. For a handful of seconds before I let you go, and as your head snaps back, I reach for your own top and start taking it off and down.
Emily:
You letting me take your top down turns it into a pre-fight ritual of sorts. Each baring the others weapons as we glare and bitch. It makes the atmosphere, if anything, even MORE electric and dangerous.
My mouth is already dry as your arch your back and your tits pop out, almost defying gravity with their size and firmness. I can’t help but stare at the tits that have haunted my dreams ever since the sauna. Those fucking tits, so similar to mine in every way. Yes, when I put mine up against them, my tits came out on top, but that was more due to circumstances, and I hate that I can’t definitively say mine are better…
I stare a fraction of a second too long, and your hand in my hair push my face into your tits for a few seconds… I’m not struggling to breathe, but my lips press against your soft flesh for a little while, and at one point you could swear you felt my tongue…. and then you let go and I push up hard, glaring at you and holding back the bitchy yell tryin to come out. Then your hands are on my top, and as you ease it down, I pull my shoulders back and arch and let you watch my OWN tits pop out, my hands already snaking into your blonde hair to pull your face into my tits for a few seconds…
“Kiss them, BITCH!”.. I hiss harshly as I arch again, pressing my tits against your face.
Chloe:
I should know it’s coming. I should be ready for it, and fight you. Keep that second mental advantage, after my sudden appearance behind you at the party. But after I use my fingers to take your top down with an intentionally delaying speed, I get caught in them. In the beauty of them.
In the way they are shaped and sized just like mine. In the memory of you using them to smash my tits, keeping me trapped beneath you on that sauna floor. These are the breasts that have haunted my dreams these last few weeks. The tits I have imagined pressed against mine, as in the shower I lean against the wall. Imagining this moment playing out. Us together again.
Fighting.
Hating.
And desperate for more.
But as all of those thoughts and remembrances flood my mind, you grab my hair and yank me down into your tits. My mouth still open leaving the possibility and chance to taste your flesh too near and tempting to deny.
And so you feel it. Tongue and wet lips closing around your flesh. I hear you react to it. Ready to claim some momentary victory. Before you can get more than a few words out, however, I snap my teeth. Not hard. Not violently. But just enough to scare you into releasing me.
Emily:
I’m about to say something as you press your lips and tongue against my tit. Something suitably bitchy and gloating, something to remind you that my tits beat yours in the sauna… but your teeth close around my flesh, not hard, but enough to turn my comment into a hissssas I let go of your hair and let your head come back up.
And now we’re tit to tit again, not quite touching but the air pressure of your tits almost touching mine is almost tangible.
Nose to nose, and lips almost brushing as we glare at each other, the near dark of the closet forcing us to constantly re-assess the other’s position.
Eye to eye, the hatred, the jealousy, the sheer emotion almost shooting out of each pupil and crashing together in the space between us.
“So…. You think you can beat my tits this time, Chloe?”…
Chloe:
There is so little light in the closet we’ve chosen to war in. But what light there is, a soft bent blue beam from above and beneath the door bathes us in its hue. Our eyes continuing to try and adjust, to see more of one another. To catch the glints of hatred, challenge, and jealousy in each others eyes.
The map of those emotions coming together like a puzzle, little by little, until finally this tight, sapphire-colored storage space becomes our home. Our sight adjusting as far as it can, as we breathe and try to prepare for the struggle that is to come. Your question so soft and delicate it makes me rage.
My hands, in a blink, raising up to your shoulders and shoving you back against the coats behind you. “Fuck you, Emily…. Hate me. Dare me. Insult me. But don’t you EVER–” I try to continue. To keep growling at you in outrage, but before I can complete my thought you fire back at me, and break my diatribe.
Emily:
There’s a soft thump as my shoulders hit the wall of the closet, and I glare at you as you hiss your words… but before you can finish, I interrupt, pushing your hands off my shoulders and moving up to you again, pushing past the coats..
“Don’t ever WHAT, Chloe? Challenge you? Push you? WHAT?!”…. my growl getting dangerously loud as my hands snake over your hips and briefly pull your hips against mine before relaxing my grip..
“Anyway bitch…. your nipples don’t feel like they’re ready for mine…. let me help you out…”
And before you can bitch back at me, the outrage in your eyes clear at my comments, I drop down just enough to take your left nipple into my mouth, letting my teeth scrape over it before sucking hard…. still glaring at you..
Chloe:
I was going to say it. Going to tell you not to … to doubt me. Or go soft on me. No mercy. Not looking out for me, or making sure I am READY. I will ALWAYS be ready, I tell myself at that moment. Always your equal, and never less.
But when you surge back into me. Grabbing my hips and yanking us together, tit to tit. Our hard nipples catching at their tips before snapping past and then grinding side by side for a moment, I freeze.
My words lost. Intention to speak muffled. And then before I can reset, or move on, you drop. Your dagger-tipped centers pulling away from mine, just before you latch your mouth onto my left nipple. Your teeth dragging down the length of my tight, pink nub a flash before you begin to suck.
My hands lift and press to your bare shoulders. Looking to shove you away. To get you off of me. But no. This is a test. A contest. And so just as they press down, the force they would have applied fades. My head dropping back to the coats behind me, and my eyes closing as I hiss at you. “Bitch…. Your nipples are no match for mine, just like your–fuck–tits.”
Emily:
At first, I think you’re going to force me off you with your hands on my shoulders… but then, you just rest them there and lean back, bitching at me as you take this for another round in our rivalry… which it is.
I nibble, suck, lick, chew on your now almost rock hard nipple, and as much as I hate it, you taste fucking great…. But obviously I can’t work on just one.
So I let your nipple pop out of my mouth, stretching it out before letting it go, and as I move over to your right tip, I hiss up at you…
“I’ll make your nipples harder than they’ve ever been, whore…. and they’ll STILL lose to mine…”
Chloe:
I didn’t force you to stop when you caught my left nipple in your mouth, and began to suck. Nibbling at my steel-set center. You had a right to it. To your attack.
Yes, we’re at war. Yes, we’re trying to best one another. But there is an element of cooperation in all of this. Hiding our intentions when we were in the party proper. Chasing each other, and then disappearing into this room.
And just like in those moments, we share the burden of keeping our contest of tits fair and in a framework. The two of us agreeing, without speaking to terms well outside of a catfight, though it is almost certain that some day we will have one of those.
And so, driven by that, I let you suck. Let you bite. Your tongue, teeth, and lips drawing moans that I try to stifle, and my nipple even further out from my chest that it was before. But when you try to switch, telling me how fucking incredible you are, when I already know. I only then resist. Using my grip on your shoulders to keep you at bay while I drop down with a hushed and hateful reply. “Never, bitch. I’ll make your nipples so hard, they’ll ache.” Words I get out before you can protest, thereafter catching your own, right nipple between my teeth.
Squeezing it there between, while I begin to such. To lick. And to lavish it with one lash of my tongue after another.
Emily:
You catch my hair in your hands whilst I’m halfway to your other tit, and simultaneously pull me up and drop down, and before I know it, my right nipple is getting worked over by your lips, tongue and teeth, forcing a moan to escape my gritted teeth as I close my eyes and take it, fingers curling into your hair as I lean back against the coats and wall.
“Unngghh…They’ll still bend your nipples, bitch…”
Knowing I have to take this just as you took it from me, even though it’s so fucking hard to resist your attention on my tit, arching my back a little to push it more firmly into your face..
Chloe:
I keep your nipple in my mouth and work it. Sucking as I swirl my tongue around it. Nibbling on it, just hard enough to give you a sensation of both pain and pleasure that will at once entice and anger.
Feeling how much you hate it and hate me. How much you want to fight back, and be once more on offense. That fire in you makes me want to just punish you forever. To continue sucking and melting your mind with this triple pronged attack.
But instead I allow myself the same exact amount of time you took, and then not a second later, release, stand back up, and then as you come for me, shift my chest. Aligning the nipples we each just assaulted, and at their very center and height of rigidity, drive them together. Flattening out tits hard, on that side. Wanting to see whose pair gives in.
But at that unison of purpose, push, and paired up pokers we each gasp.
Shiver.
And nearly explode with the resulting sensation.
Emily
I’ve had girlfriends who lavished attention on my tits to the point they were obsessed with them, on several occasions having them sucked, nibbled and licked until I was about ready to cum hard, just from that feeling.
But at no point during any of those occasions was my nipple as hard, as stiff, as long, as sensitive as it is now.
Our rivalry, our hatred, our jealousy-fueled lust and bitchiness… it just
Drives
Me
Wild.
As so as we attack again, and our tits and freshly sucked nipples drive together, the sensation is explosive and devastating, my head going back in shock, biting my lip hard to try and avoid a moan that would bring partygoers down on us in seconds, the electricity flaring through my body from that impact like nothing I’ve felt before.
And yet.
And yet.
Despite that…. I can feel that neither of our nipples bent. Still pressed together. Still grinding. Not bending.
Fuckkkk.
Chloe:
I was going to glare at you and snipe. Watch you melt before me, and your nipple give into mine. We were going to struggle, yes, but your tip would bend, invert, and then you’d withdraw in defeat.
All of that was what I imagined. What I pictured in my head as I planned this moment out.
But instead, when our saliva-wet nipples collide, they stay hard. Stay rigid. And instead of inverting on either side, stab into each other, and at their base, push back into our already flattened breasts.
The feeling is heaven and hell — pain and pleasure, and it robs us of our breasts. Our focus. Our minds, for a second and then a handful of them. Our eyes closing, and mouths opening as we mutter and curse. Each of us sounding broken and lust-drunk, and yet still, we fight. Trying to shift. To push. To try and gain the advantage. And eventually, after what feels like a blissful and agonizing eternity, we find purchase and press. Your nipples, as I imagined, inverting, but at the exact same time and to the exact same depth that mine do.
We two warring women releasing quiet, lamenting cries, as we slowly retreat. Allowing our nipples to extend and seperate. Until finally, leaning on each other, chest to chest, and forehead to forehead, we open our eyes, and hiss at each other.
“I haaaaate yoooouuuu, Emily.”
Emily:
It feels like we’ve been in here for hours, but in reality it’s been maybe…. 10, 15 minutes?
But the intensity of our rivalry and the heated nature of our bitching and fighting makes time slow down, or so it appears.
We glare forehead to forehead, and the urge to lean in and sink my teeth into your lower lip is almost undeniable… but the feeling of your hot, wet tits against mine just riles me up even more…
“I fucking hate youuuuu more, Chloe…”.. I hiss into your face, still quiet, still conscious of the party going on in the rest of the house….
“Going to fuck your tits up…. again….”
And with that, I shift sideways just a little, just enough to press my nipples into the side of yours, and push in, our tits slowly mushrooming together as I try and put more and more pressure on the sides of your iron hard nipples…
Chloe:
The clinical definition of obsession is an unbidden, intrusive thought, image, or urge that intrudes into consciousness. And you, since the very first moment I met you, have done just that. Intruded into my every thought.
I thought it would fade when first we spoke, but it didn’t. Then again, I assumed, when we flared at each other and then fought, it might release its grip on me. But it only got worse. The image of your face. Your tits. Your body haunting me night after night. And so now that I have you, and you me. Alone. Together. We take time to satisfy that obsession. Toying with each other, as steam seems to rise from our bodies. Testing and teasing, while we explore this rivalry that has haunted us both so.
But now, now that we have tasted the cream atop our now second battle, we begin to drink. Slipping into the meat of our fleshy struggle. Tit to tit. Nipple to nipple. Our eyes locked on each others face. Studying while we shift, left and then right, back and then forth. Enjoying every wince, and lip rounding gasp. Hating, each other, as we always have and will as minutes pass uninterrupted. Wearing out each others tits. Not in quick strikes, but in slow, heavy drags. Sometimes full, and at other times in quarters or halves. Driven by the look we see in each others eyes and the growing ache we feel in our warring chests. Our nipples dragging. Catching. Stabbing. And then moving on to another plane of skin to damage and dredge.
Emily:
The titfight heats up now. Less about teasing and taunting, and now more heated, more bitchy, more aggressive.
Soft groans escaping both our lips as titflesh drags, rolls, grinds.
Eyes locked cattily as nipples press, bend, flick and stab.
My hands still on your hips, keeping you pulled close against me, not prepared to let you move away as I attack your body with mine, some of our most prized assets clashing again and again, in a fashion we’ve both dreamed about.
Both of us starting to sweat in the close environment, the dampness of our skin allowing our tits to roll and grind more freely…
“Ugghhhh….fuck youuu Chloe….”
Chloe:
My arms raise, somewhere in the growing heat between us, and then drape them over your shoulders. My fingers crossing over loosely behind your neck, knowing you won’t run. Not now, or ever again. I can see it. Feel it. You want this. Just as bad as I do.
You are my nemesis and I am yours.
And we’re going to stay here, and fight until one of us has been beaten…. Finished…. Broken by the other.
All as the heat of this enclosed space, and this hot summer night weighs on us. Making us sweat more and more with every passing second. A dim glisten that makes our shifts easier. Something that we barely notice. Too busy hissing. Growling. And cursing at one another.
“Fuck…. Fuck you, Emily….” You can hear it in my voice. My growing fatigue. And the stacking soreness that I can only hope affects us both.
Emily:
I can hear the fatigue in your voice as you bitch at me… but I can also hear its partner in my own voice. In our last fight we were fresh, ready, eager.
This time we’re fighting after we’ve already partied, already been drinking, dancing.
We’ve already drained some of our reserves, and that means a faster, more tiring, more desperate struggle.
I can feel my legs start to tremble a little, but my hands are still firm on your hips, claws digging in, your arms around my shoulders as we
KEEP
ON
GRINDING
A total titwar, all out, bitching and hissing just audible over the music filtering through the door.
“I hate you, Chloe….. fuckkkk….”
Chloe:
It feels wrong. Discordant with our sense of things. It had only been 15 minutes of foreplay before we began this long war of attrition. But how much time has passed since then? Minutes, yes, but how many? Ten or twenty? Thirty? As engaged as we are, we do not know.
Not only because of our focus, but also because of how our mutual obsession affects our view of times. Seconds, minutes, hours, no matter how plentiful, are enough. And so we drain every passing tik and suck dry every tok.
And though we miss the moving of the clock, we cannot help but feel the exhaustion that it causes. Our legs shaking and threatening to buckle. Our tits aching and swelling, as we use them as weapons of war.
Perhaps we could just lower ourselves into a sit – knowing how tired we are quickly becoming. But instead, I pull back from you and then slam forward with what strength I have left.
Our sweat-wet and swollen tits crashing together with an audible clap. One that is so fierce, I hang on you for a moment. Needing your strength to keep us both up, just as you need mine. All while I mutter back to you. “I hate you more, Emily. I always … will….”
Emily:
Fuck. Your tits crash into mine, and although I know you’re just as tired as I am, the impact still makes me stagger…and there’s a moment where I almost stumble and fall….but my grip on your hips and yours on my shoulders keeping me up until I can steady myself…
And then I return the favour, leaning back and arching my back a little to lift my already assaulted tits… and bring them crashing down with as much energy as I can muster, impacting on your tits hard from above.
And through it all, our eyes are still locked in a hateful glare, through our pants, our gasps, our desperate grips on each other keeping us up….
“Never, Chloe… I hate you more than anyone… you fucking bitch….”
Chloe:
It takes us time to recover between every gather and slam. Our exhaustion and the pain we have inflicted keeping us from slamming together as we might have when we were fresh. But still, on every subsequent impact, as sweat comes off in a hard jostles and sprays, we groan for each other.
Muttering about our hate as our eyelids fight to stay open to let us glare. But after nearly 9 paired blasts of tits, one from me and then a counter from you, my lips near yours, just as I go to reply.
“No…. You’ll never…. Hate me…. Mooooore….” At that moment I feel it. So intensely. So deeply…. I want to kiss you…. Not because of some denied desire to be lovers or in love, but instead because I want to ravage your mouth with my tongue. To meet you on every battlefield I can and ruin you.
But I have to stay strong. Have to focus on one fight at a time…. Or do I…. Or do we….
Emily:
We’re both struggling now, both with the fight, our energy and our wish to take the fight further. That last slam from your tits finally makes my knees buckle, and I start dropping to my knees… but your stamina goes at the same time, and instead of standing bitchily over me, you drop with me until we’re kneeling on the floor of the closet, tits still pressed together, and still forehead to forehead, but now our lips are almost pressed together as we bitch and hiss tiredly…
And fuck, I want to lock my mouth on yours, open up another arena to prove I’m your better… and for a few seconds I fight the desire for a heated kisswar, and then…
Then…
I think… fuck it..
And lean forwards, locking my lips onto yours….
“Fuck….. you…nngghh… Chloe….”
Chloe:
No, I can’t…. We can’t…. I hate you. So much you make me sick. So much that … that…. UGH, I can’t even put it into words! The rage and loathing I feel for you pushes me to wake up in the morning, and keeps me breathing….
So how can we kiss…? Even if it is a contest…? I’ll be telling you that somehow, someway, I want you….
But, I need it. God, I need it…. And so I go to close the distance and lock our lips together, but when I do, you pull back and deliver one, final slam of tits, and when you do, we collapse together to our knees with a loud thud.
Too loud a sound, with voices so close. Too hard a crash, with us so near being interrupted. I would tell you. But before I can, we have both given in. Each of us leaning in and sealing us together in a hot, hateful kiss.
One that we take for ourselves, just as we hear a voice near, and the handle to the closet turn. In reaction we do not break out kiss, but instead reach for the nearest few long coats, and pull them in front of us. Hoping that they will not see us beneath, as we battle with our tongues. Seeking dominance. Control. And for the first time since the sauna, a quenching for our growing thirst for one another.
Emily:
This fight, this rivalry, has been full of ever-increasing moments of intensity that each time, I’m convinced nothing will match it…. and then the next one exceeds it.
Even so…. that first moment when our lips meet, our mouths open, our tongues tangle…
This is the most intense, the most electric, the most bitchy and vicious experience in the rivalry so far….and yet I can’t move, or make a sound to indicate it as the door to the closet opens and someone comes in… the only thing saving us from discovery the coats you’ve pulled around and over us.
Still though, I escalate… tilting my head and widening my mouth to allow my tongue further access to your mouth, sliding one hand into your dark hair to try to control your movement as our hatekiss deepens… and still our tits grind and roll together, again and again as the coats above us rustle..
Chloe:
Our hands tremble, and yet they raise. Seeking grips on the luscious locks we spent so much time styling for tonight’s party. And though we styled so our hair could be seen, we now use the same for leverage and to keep the other still.
Knowing, even as we now indulge in this truly hateful little kiss, we cannot be caught. Cannot be seem, without risking being torn apart. And though in truth, I wouldn’t allow it. My desire for you and this battle too intense to be interrupted by some fratboy or his girlfriend. Still do we try to hide.
The coats that drap over us, allowing us to both savor the flavor of our great and insatiable rival, but also to try and steal away every last ounce of control and resistance to the lusts that grow within.
If I can make you want me more than you hate. Make you so hungry for me that you cannot remember the malice that binds us, I can beat you. Its what I didn’t realize last time. What led me to make a mistake, when I otherwise could have won. My carnal cravings for you.
But not this time. This time, as we slowly, almost imperceivable shift, fighting micro battles with our wounded tits, I try to capture your heart. Your soul. Your mind with this kiss. Even as above us, we hear the shouts of a moron.
“Becky, there is nobody in here. It’s just a fucking closet, yo!” He explains to the girl across the way. “You’re paranoid. Plus it’s a party! Who fucking cares, you know?”
Emily:
Before we dropped to our knees, we were in…. not darkness, but the dusk of dim lighting. Enough to see eyes, and faces, and grimaces, but not enough for clear views.
But now… now, with the coats surrounding us, covering us, smothering us…. now we’re in darkness. Utter, total, darkness. Both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing, as the frat boy and his girlfriend can’t see us, even as they look around drunkenly for the cause of what they thought they heard.
And a curse, as with total darkness, we can’t see each other, and with our inability to bitch lest we get caught, our war devolves into a battle of just one sense.
Touch.
Our lips… our tongues… our fingers… and our tits.
Both trying to overwhelm the other as we hatekiss and titfight.
If I could see, I would think the room is spinning, such is the intensity of this struggle now. The minute movements of our tits. The desperate clutching of our fingers in each others hair.
The pressing, sliding of our lips…and the explorations of our tongues.
And still….. still… the moron hasn’t closed the door yet, still casting around to see what might have caused the thump, even as the girl implores him to come back to the party.
Chloe:
If I just had it. Your tits pressed against mine, in a nasty battle of breasts, I’d feel satisfied. But it didn’t. It only made me want more. My hopes, of ridding myself of your poison, then laying on a kiss. A cruel, hateful, contest of tongues and saliva, that would break my fever. But again, it has only served to make me want more.
And so as we kiss, and the party-goer above us spends his double-digit braincells to pretend like he is searching, my left hand moves from your hair down. At first you don’t notice, nor would you care, if you did. Until that same hand, and the red-nailed fingers upon it come to a rest just above your skirt. Not much further up than where you’re own hand rested on me, a few moments ago. But unlike you, my fingers hook, slide, and then hook under the band of that skirt and your tied thong. And then, in a sudden and yet subtle jerk, I undo your thong’s knot and let them slide down your bare thigh to your calves.
I can’t see your eyes, but when I make that move. Unexpected and unagreed to, I can feel a hot breath escape your nostrils, and here just the same. A gasp, even in our kiss. A possible, threatened crossing of another line, just as our tormentor above continues to argue.
“Babe, babe. I looked, ok? We’re good! Have you had anyone look up stairs? Wait…. Me? God, babe, ugh!” He grouses in the doorway of the closet, as his hand nears to handle to push it shut again.
Emily:
Finally….finally the door closes, and we’re left alone again. But barely notice, because at the same time, your fingers curled around the side of my thong and snapped it, letting it fall to the floor…
Only in my darkest imaginings did I think that our fight would escalate to the point where you’re stripping me while we titfight and kiss bitchily…. but when those dark dreams happened, all hell broke loose… and the idea that it could happen now…. it makes me shudder. something you feel through our tits, our mouths.
My hand snaps down, no more need to be slow and careful as the frat guy stomps down the corridor, and nails tangle around your own thong and snap it easily, the thin ties no defence against the abrupt motion…and now we both just have skirts and heels on.
I feel your breath suddenly speed up, get deeper, the motion against my chest undeniable, and as I push the coats back just enough to get a little light on our faces, our eyes are wide as we glare at each other, pupils dilated both through excitement and lack of light… and although we both know what’s about to happen…. it needs spelling out…
“Chloe… bitch…. no more limits…. no more holding back…. every part of you…. against every part of me….Right here and now…”
Chloe:
Ugh! Finally the idiot leaves. And we are alone again together. Left to fight our growing war. My gambit to distract you not only met, but matched. Each of us getting rid of the others thong, whole leaving the skirts that lay atop them in place.
All before you break out kiss, and put what our new reality into words. Setting out our terms, and daring me to agree to them.
No more holding back. Every part of me vs. every part of you. And though you make it clear we begin that true contest here and now. I reply with a cold, and yet molten-hot growl. “Not just here. Not just now…. Forever, cunt.”
As I speak I seem to rise up, straightening my spine so I can look down into your eyes, and threaten to kiss you once again with a nearing and open mouth. Then, when my temporary lift ebbs, and I drop back down, I shove you down to the floor of the closet softly. Thereafter letting myself fall back to my ass, so I can spread my legs, just as you do the same.
Each of us scooting forward as we glare. Getting nearer, closer, and finally a cunt-hair’s width away from meeting pussy to pussy. Each of us feeling the others warmth. The others wetness. And for the briefest of moments seeing in one another’s eyes so much desire, that tears of hate seem to well at their edge.
“Give me your best, Emily…..”
Emily:
This rivalry has reached new…. heights? depths?… Whichever.
Up until now it’s been tits against tits, and honestly, even that was further than I’ve had to go with most bitches… but you matched me move for move, escalation for escalation, two hot, catty woman meeting something they can’t push through and it driving them to new extremes…
But now? We’re in the closet (and there’s a metaphor in itself for our secret, hateful, dirty war…)… nude with the exception of our skirts…. almost at the point of no return before we slam our cunts together in the final escalation in this battle… and for just a second, the last rational part of my brain asks me if I really want to do this…
And then I look at your fucking face, eyes locked with mine and glaring…. I look at your tits, so frustratingly perfect and virtually identical to mine…
And that rational part is lost in a red haze as I drive my hips forwards that last bit of space and our pussies meet with a small slap, the first impact making me gasp… but it doesn’t stop me…
“I’m… unnghhh… going to fuck you raw, Chloe, you bitch!”…. hissed between clenched teeth as I try to stay quiet…
Chloe:
I would have fought your tits with my own. Nipple to nipple. Supple soft flesh vs. supple, soft flesh forever. In one battle after another until fate or felling ripped us apart. But since the first moment we met we’ve felt it.
A gnawing hunger. A gravitational pull. Not just to test tits, but to ruin each other. To devour one another. To get as close and to duel as intimately as any two women can.
Until now we have fought that soul-deep need, along with each other. Wanting to keep our battle straight. To deny each other any space to claim the other wants us.
But then … because of placement, position, and that damn pull, we kissed. Not on accident, before pulling apart in disgust. But long and hard. And in so-doing we opened the floodgates. Letting it be known that not only were we willing to cross more boundaries, we wanted to. Each of us and together.
And so now, as we inch closer, feeling the molten heat emanating from each others wet pussies, we snarl and glare. Savoring the moment. The calm before the storm. Until finally, we take a deep breath and then slide forward. Our sizzling and sex-shined cunts coming together in a flash of pleasure so intense that we can barely speak. Barely think…. And yet still we try. Our husky hate-filled voices overlapping.
“You’ll cum for me, Emily. You’ll cum for me and then beg me to stop fucking you.” Hissed, just like those words of yours, we try to keep quiet. All while our hips adjust in quick, cutoff attempts at finding the limits of our tolerance.
Of this new war. Of this forbidden and taboo duel. Two rivals set on fucking each other into submission. Here in the dark and dim confines of this closet. Where nobody can see us battle or watch one of us break.
Emily:
The lack of space and the fact we still need to keep this private means the need in both of us to just slam our hips together in all out, loud, screaming war still has to be pushed down… at this on this occasion. So instead, our initial skirmishes involve quick positioning of hips, and short, jabbing drives against each other, watching intently through our bitching and strangled gasps and moans to see the effect our attacks have, and adjusting accordingly.
Each impact of our cunts and clits sends a small shockwave through me, radiating outwards from my pussy, setting off sparks in my nipples, making my bite my lip… but it doesn’t stop me fighting back, looking for those same things in you every time I impact on your stiff clit with my own.
After our first half dozen or so movements, I reach out, hands sliding over your shoulders to pull you in against me…. this rivalry started with our tits, after all… and although its expanded outwards, it’s still going to end with them… and so our titfight widens to become a hatefucking sexwar…. but it’s still a titfight as well…
“I’m going to flatten you…. and then break you, bitch!”… hissing in a hitched voice as our foreheads press together, along with our tits and our hips…. three points of pressure…
Chloe:
So much of our war has seen us both claiming that we are better – stronger. Wanting to seem like we are in full control, even when behind our attacks, we are anything but. And though, when we fought with our tits alone, we could each hide our suffering and doubt. Now, this far past the limits of most sane women, you can see my weakness. Feel it. Hear it.
Your every thrust of hip and jab of clit ripping a gasp, a moan, or a tiny, self-squelched cry from my lips. Just as mine to the same to you. We hate it. Showing our intensely we are affected by each others body and power. But we cannot help it. Cannot stop it. And so, past that hate and into another we push.
Wanting back at each other an into the seeming safety and distraction of our battle of breasts. You reaching out for me, and me gripping back onto you so we can pull forward and into each other. Tit to tit. Nipple to nipple. And in that closeness, forehead to forehead once more. Our threats once more overlapping.
“Keep talking, cunt. Until I smash these tits, that pussy, and everything else you have left.” Layered and muttered sentences that disappear into another hateful and haggard kiss.
Emily:
Our lips lock, making sure we’re still joined in 3 places as our tongues lash spitefully together, our tits grind, roll and smash, our and hips jab and drive into each other, each impact making us jerk and so intensifying the titfight, nipples drilling harder into flesh as we moan and hiss into each others open mouth.
In our titfights, there was always some semblance of strategy and tactics in how we approached the other, but now all that has gone out of the window… this is a brutal battle of attrition and willpower – purely a war to see which of us loses control first as we pit our bodies against each others in every way we can…
I sink my teeth into your lower lip as the hatekiss breaks, stretching out the flesh before letting it go and hissing “bitchhhhhhhh….” before our mouths lock together again… no trash talking now, all I can manage is name calling in between hitched breaths and hateful kisses as our bodies grind and rock in the closet, both of us rapidly approaching a point of no return…. the only question is who goes over the cliff first, and which of us pushes the other over it…
Chloe:
A strike and a parry. A shift and a dodge. Were we fighting one battle, or maybe two. We could plan and then put that plan into practice. Follow a strategy and take on some semblance of tactics. But here, tit to tit in the dark. Pussy to pussy on the floor. Tongue to tongue in the closet of some random’s home. All we can do is try to survive.
Hoping to try to push the over over not one edge, but several. Knowing that with every passing second our tits ache and well, our cunts leak and lather, and our tongues coil, pulling us further into utter and irresistible carnal cataclysm.
Orgasms welling in each of us. At first on the periphery and then in the near-enough distance.
Still we fight on. You breaking our kiss to bite my lip, and pull it back. The sounds of our labored and desperate breathing seeping out from our lips, as I try to gather and get back to you. But in that sudden and unplanned chase, I lean into you, and you in reaction lean back to try and escape my own nibble-bent teeth.
That’s when it dawns on me. How I win this. How I can defeat you. And with it mind, I keep my lean, and focus nearly all of my efforts on slamming my tits and taint into yours. Not only to break your weapons with my own, but to knock you back, down, and to the floor of the closet beneath me.
Emily:
One mistake.
This close to each other, and this close to losing control… one mistake is all it takes to seal someone’s fate. It doesn’t have to be a big mistake.
It can be small, or even unnoticed at first… but still, that one decision can set the path of the rest of the struggle, no matter how much you fight to change it.
My mistake was in leaning back so you couldn’t bite my lip. A sensible thought at the time… that extra sensation could have pushed me too far… but it meant I was slightly arched in front of you, and that meant you could drive your tits into the underside of mine.
“Nnngghhh, bitch!” I moan at the impact, your nipples digging into my underboobs… but that impact also paused my hips… just for a second, but enough for you to angle just right and drive in, catching my clit perfectly…. “Fuckkkk!”… I’m not done yet, but I’m gritting my teeth, and my head tossed at that impact as pleasure rippled through me.
I fight back, my hips rolling against yours, trying to attack your clit from the side… but I’m on the back foot now, my tits in a disadvantaged position against yours…. and we both know it.
Chloe:
Fiercely we strain. As a heat-built sweat drips from our bodies. Now expending whatever energy wasn’t devoted to slamming pussies and tits or dueling with our tongues to pushing into each other.
You trying to unmake your mistake, by righting our position and bringing us back up to equal. All as I lean in. Lean down. Putting all of my weight on you, even as we writhe and grind. Our once focused kiss now breaking as we grunt and curse into each others mouths. “Give into me, bitch.”
You can hear the words, yes. But so close are we and so intense is our jealousy and hate that I want you to taste them. To chew on them while my nipples stab into the bottom of your breasts Piercing the soft underside of your proud tits, all as I search for that perfect angle again. Wanting to hit your clit where it’s weakest. Where it has the most affect. Wanting this slowly collapse to continue. My lips continuing to mutter into yours. “Lay down and cuuuummmmm…..”
Emily:
My hands have slid down your back to your hips now, claws digging in… but less to fight back and regain the initiative, and more to hold on in the face of your relentless attack as you sense the tide of the fight moving in your direction.
I’m leaning back now, and although normally I would do that to add power to my attack, with you pressing in like you are, you’re slowly forcing me down to my back, and as much as I strain my back to prevent it, I’m only delaying the inevitable, and I know it.
“Nnngghhhfuck you, Chloe…..” gasping harshly as I fight back.
I keep rolling my tits against yours, desperately trying to find an angle I can fight back…. when you catch my clit perfectly again… my mouth drops open and my eyes squeeze shut for just a second as I jerk against you… but that second is more than enough for someone like us to take advantage…
Chloe:
It is all I want. All I NEED. Just one more shot. One more perfectly placed jab of my throbbing clit into yours. Now that we’re this far from level. This bent over. Your abs quivering as you try with all your might to keep yourself from falling over.
One blistering crash of aching tits after another. Both of us knowing that if I can get you to collapse. And if I can mount you, with this little space to play with, it might be over.
Not our rivalry, but your chances of winning this second of two rounds – as different as this battle has been from the first.
But as I seek that final blow to knock you over, we continue to fuck. And as we do, we drag each other closer and closer to orgasm. Moaning for each other while we nibble on lips. Groaning and glaring, as I slowly, centimeter by centimeter push you back and down.
All of which comes to a head when in a strike of lightning I find that perfect angle again, and you close your eyes. Just as I deliver another heavy smack of my heavy tits against yours. Completing my master plan to knock you over.
Each of us thereafter scrambling. You to try to get out from beneath me, and me to keep you trapped. My right leg advancing, and bending at the knee to give me a heavier and wider base to fuck you from. My heavy tits laid atop yours, while my right hand moves up, cups your cheek, and then lets me whisper. “Mmmm, now let’s see whose getting fucked, Emily….”
Emily:
There are two fights happening simultaneously now, with me on my back and you on top.
Our tits still grinding, with yours clearly in the ascendant now, rolling into mine and forcing them back.
But below that, we keep hatefucking relentlessly, hips churning as I writhe and buck under you, perilously close to cumming hard. My hands now clutching at your hips, nails digging in as I glare desperately up at you…
“Nnngghhhh you fucking bitch, Chloe….. Ugh,my tits!… Nooo…. fuck you….”
Gasping under you as I feel my tits lose ground, but unable to stop the wild fucking as we come to the end of the fight, my legs now tangled around yours as we start to finish me off.
Chloe:
I can feel your nails digging into the soft fleshy valley between my hips. Mmmm, I love it. Not because it feels good, but because I know what it means. How badly you want me off of you. How desperate your position is. And so I tell you, even as a tsunami of sexual explosion bears down upon us. Getting nearer and nearer with every passing second.
“Remember when you had me down, bitch….?” I hiss as I grab for your hair with my hands, and drag your head off the closet’s floor – to make you look at me.
“Remember when I was the one on bottom…?” Again I ask if you remember as we fuck and grind our tits together. Knowing you do. Knowing you have thought about that day in the sauna, just like me. Dream about it. Fantasize about it. And wished, you had me pressed against you again.
Those memories I hope to use to push you over the edge first, in our race to make the other cum. All while trying to drag, shift, and crush your perfect tits with my own.
Hoping to not only tie our score in titfights, but to also best you in this our first sexfight. Wanting that dual-pronged victory to eat at you – to pain you, until next we find ourselves together.
Emily:
I’ve lost all control of my hips now as they meet yours thrust for thrust, driving us both wildly towards an explosive end, my only hope there that we hit that peak together and not with you forcing me over the edge.
You pull my head up to meet yours, and my eyes are wide with disbelief and frustrated rage that this fight is ending so differently to the last…. with my tits being flattened rather than yours, with you on top bitching at me and my back against the floor as you finish me off.
And then we both feel it.
That moment we both search for in these wars.
That one moment where one set of breasts finally crushes the other… pushes it back… bends the other nipples…. as your tits force mine back into my ribs.
“Nnggghhhh!… Fuck….. you…..Chloe!”…. I gasp into your face, my back arching as your tits beat mine… I don’t have to give in with the words… my final defiance and the feeling of your tits pushing mine back is all you need to know you’ve beaten my chest this time….
And that feeling starts to force me over the edge in our other war as well… my hips jerking against yours…. but hoping to god that you lose control as well as I start to cum hard against you…. gritting my teeth to try and hold in a scream as the bitch I hate and yet lust over makes me cum….
Chloe:
My fingers remained tight and clenched in your hair – even when I have your head up. Why? I want to see it. That look in your eyes. The hate. The jealousy. The rage. The regret. The … the….
As I see that next set of emotions form in your eyes, I cannot help but to be captured by them. Pulled by them, like wild horses, past focus, past tactic, and with you towards orgasm.
“The frustration. The disbelief. The … the … defeat.” God, it’s so good. So perfect. Your tits giving into mine.
I can feel it. I can sense it. I can taste it, as I inhale your exhaled breath. And now I know, I can’t live without that. Without causing you this pain. Without breaking your body with mine.
All of which crystallizes in my heart. My soul. And in a terrible and cruel excitement, pushes me into release with you. Not separated by a second, or less. But in a simultaneous and devastating orgasm that we must endure without screaming.
Pushing us both, victor and victim – conquerer and the conquered into a wild, hot, passionate kiss that we use to muffle our cries of absolute ecstasy.
Grinding pussy to pussy and clit to clit as our shared orgasm washes over us. Not in a quick, passing flash, but in a long, incredible marathon of earth-shaking, soul-rending satisfaction.
Emily:
Fuck.
The orgasm is all-consuming, both of us doing our level best not to scream until the house comes down around us as we thrash and buck on the wooden floor of the closet.
Our mouths locked together, muffling any sounds, my fingers clawing at your hips as yours tighten in my hair. Your tits grinding into mine as our bodies jerk together.
The most hateful thing about this is that the orgasm is so… SO…. fucking good.
The very idea that the hardest I’ve ever cum in my life is with the person I hate most….
Fuck…
It takes a while to come down from it, and when the feeling returns in my toes and fingers, I feel your weight roll off me as we lie there… nude…drained…. and more hateful than ever.
Chloe:
One might assume the fever would break. That by cuming together, our hate would ebb. That we’d realize we could stop fighting, and instead enjoy the similarities that drive us both wild.
But as we wrestle each other over the precipice and into a blissful oblivion, our obsession and loathing for each other only worsens.
This was supposed to be my revenge. Or in your eyes, your true ascendance into being better than me. We should have been able to break the ties that bind us, and prove, once and for all we were not the same. We were not equal. One of us was better, and we both thought that would be us and not the other.
But instead, as we erupt in orgasm together, we realize. At the very apex of our heaven-sent and hell-made release, that we are now more equal than ever.
We have each beaten the other in a titfight. And now, tied in a sexfight. Damnit! DAMNIT! FUCK! I would scream and curse and hit you, if we weren’t rapture-deep in an orgasm brought upon by our nemesis.
And though those same feelings hold, as we crash through to the other side of the same, I can find no find no spark. No fire. No will to strike. My body instead rolling off of yours to the side in a sweaty, cum-splattered mess. Our shoulders and arms aligned and sealed together, as with the hands attached we clear the sweat from our brows, and spit from our mouths.
I want to tell you how mad I am. Want to take a moment to breathe and then fight you again. If only to break the stalemate we have found ourselves in. But instead, after a few minutes of silence, I turn on my side and glare at you. My mascara run. And lashes a stuck-together mess.
“Bitch….”
Emily:
We lie there.
Drained.
Exhausted.
And still hating each other with every fiber of our being.
More now, in fact, as rather than prove one of us is superior, we’ve just reinforced our equality…. an outcome neither of us wanted, and would move the heavens and earth to deny.
but I want nothing more than to start again, to refute the position we find ourselves in and to once more assert that I’m the better woman, that my tits, my pussy, my tongue are better than yours…
My body won’t obey me, drained after the war and the intensity of the orgasm we shared, however hatefully.
So I glare back at you, but make no effort to resume our struggle, merely pushing my wet hair off my face as my makeup runs from the sweat.
“Whore….”
Chloe:
Gazes locked, we glare. Fire seeming to leap and flick in our fatigue-glazed eyes. Neither of us able or willing to move, save for an almost imperceivably slow lean. You up from your back and me down from my side. Until once more our foreheads seal, and our throats rumble in a low growl.
“825 Hampton Street, slut. (212) 655-2314.” I mutter both almost into your lips, and then wait. Wanting you to memorize and remember the numbers I have given you.
Your eyes tell me that you’re doing exactly that, and when you have committed it all to memory, you give me your own address. Your own phone number. And then, on the very verge of diving into another battle, we kiss. Hatefully. Violently. Not an ounce or love or affection to be found.
But finally when that meeting of lips and battle of tongues has ended, I grab you and pull you up to a seated position next to me.
“Let’s get dressed before they find us here and we have to pretend to be friends.”
Emily:
I hate having to agree with you…. but you make sense, so we quickly and quietly find our clothes and pull them on, although not without the occasional bump of hips, or bitchy glare… and towards the end, we realize we’ve each put on the others top…. but we leave it and just hope no-one will notice.
When we stand, dressed, and wipe our faces (it’s probably best to just wipe the makeup off rather than try to fix it), I pull you against me for just a second, feeling our tits press together again… and though that aggression is still there for us, we also know we’re too tired to instigate anything new…
“Next time, bitch…. Your tits are mine….”.. I hiss before reaching behind you to open the door.
Chloe:
In each others tops, you pull me into you. My hands landing on your shoulders as we try and savor one last moment together. Knowing that until we are together again and fighting we will miss this feeling. This passion. This endless war we have found ourselves in.
But when you try to break that moment, and leave with a control I claim for myself, I resist. Clinging to you even as you try to spin us and move past me.
That unanticipated hold, and unrelenting weight cause the door to open behind us, and for us together to fall. Not down to the floor, as the door opens, but against it. Rolling from the inside of the door as it opens, and then out onto the wall it flattens against.
Together we gasp, assuming there must be hundreds of people watching us. Pressed body to body, breast to breast, and forehead to forehead in each others tops.
But when our gazes break to asses our situation we realize that though the room is filled with people, they are all drunk and asleep on whatever furniture they found themselves in when the proverbial lights went out.
Leaving us free to break apart, collect ourselves and then after long, promising glare, to leave the party.
Now more intertwined in a rivalry that has only just begun.
The End.