“Jesus Christ Almighty! Did you see how easily they gave that one away?”
Standing on the hockey pitch’s boundary line, Janice Mearns was practically spitting feathers as she watched the dejected Cardugan keeper recovering the small round hockey ball from the back of the net.
Watched by their demoralised opponents, the Rochebrune girls were celebrating right in front of the home team’s goal mouth now, literally jumping for joy as they high fived each other and jabbered away excitedly in French.
“Wait! Look at Mhairi go!” Shona Finlay pointed out to Janice, both girls watching as the red-faced Cardugan captain stomped over to the referee flailing her hockey stick in the air as she gesticulated for the goal to be ruled offside. The brunette’s actual words carried on the wind to the two spectating girls.
“Ref, that’s so unfair! A blind bat could see how far offside that was!”
“Well I’m not a blind bat, Miss MacGregor,” Cardugan’s PE mistress, Miss Anderton, replied sternly, “so the goal stands: consider it a token of the new entente cordiale between our schools if you will.”
Mhairi was clearly not any mood for rapprochement with the smug French students however as she stomped back to the centre line just as the match was about to restart.
Shona and Janice turned their attention back to the French girl who had just scored. As well as evidently being skilled with the hockey stick, the Rochebrune student had a most striking appearance, her long silver hair tied back in bunches, and a full bosom that swayed magnificently as she ran about on the pitch. For a few moments the girls admired the goal scorer’s poised and elegant demeanour, her clear complexion and the slightly haughty but also serene features of her beautiful face.
“Bet that one will give one of our girls a run for her money.” Shona observed sagely.
“Yes indeed,” agreed Janice. “In fact it’s already been settled: Amita will be tonight’s lucky girl.”
“It’s an obvious one really: seeing as how Amita is currently in second place in our rankings while the silver-haired one – Charlotte LaFleur – is number two at Rochebrune.”
“And so our queen Mhairi fights their queen, that – er – voluptuous blonde, Sophie St Clair?”
“Yes, and to complete the picture our very own ex-queen Helen Brodie was selected by Mhairi no less to fight the first warm up bout; against that girl standing over there – Yasmin Bouali.”
“The North African looking one? Why wasn’t Susan picked then?”
“Well Mhairi discovered that Yasmin has a rep as a street brawler and a trib specialist, so I guess that’s Mhairi trying to protect her lover from getting too much in harm’s way. She probably hopes Helen will lose to her in any case.”
“But if Helen loses to Yasmin, then our other two must win!”
“Agreed, but can you really see Amita losing against that posh-looking silver-haired bitch? I mean she might be full of refined airs and graces but that hardly means she can fight one of our best girls, does it?”
“And presumably Mhairi must be able to take Sophie apart after the way she demolished Helen to take the Cardugan crown in the first place.”
“That’s certainly the theory. Wait! That Charlotte’s on the ball right now. Oh shit, looks like she’s gonna score again!”
“Oh, did you see how Helen just shoulder charged her and ruined her shot on goal. Nice one Helen!”
“Wow, they both ended up in the mud! Cool!”
“Yes, and those looks they just gave each other! Would be enough to curdle fresh milk from one of my daddy’s cows instantly!”
Helen was indeed looking daggers at Charlotte, who was now giving her tackler a real piece of her mind: “Can’t you watch out where you’re going!? Are you Scots really such poor losers!? I will have to teach you a lesson some time!”
“Oh, don’t be so feeble! Hockey is hardly a sport for young women with such delicate sensibilities as your own!”
“Tcha! I wasn’t too delicate to score that goal earlier!”
“I call that pure luck and nothing more!”
“Huh – you’re impossible!”
“Well, will you look at that!” Shona Finlay exclaimed. “The ref’s just blown the final whistle. So that means Rochebrune wins the overall hockey series by five games to four!”
“Whooo… our team looks mightily pissed off, and the celebrating Frenchies are really rubbing our noses in it! Tonight’s fights between both schools’ leading ladies are going to be real grudge matches!”
“I know, and I can’t wait to see it!”
Somehow Janice had managed to wangle it that the tournament would be played out behind closed doors after hours, in the disused library old Carmichael Wing of the school rather than the girls having to traipse through the woods to the usual venue. Although it was highly unlikely that the event would be disturbed by prowling teachers at 10 o’clock at night, lookouts would still be posted at corridor ends as a precaution.
Janice had already discussed the rules with Marie Anne Delacroix, the Rochebrune coach, and it was decided that the evening’s tournament would be a freestyle event, leaving it to each competing girl to decide which favourite finishing move to rely on. As there were three fights to complete within the three hours allotted, it was also agreed that the victory conditions would be ‘sudden death’, with one deciding fall and no breaks. The victor would be the first girl to gain a submission or a knockout. Orgasm submissions would count, as would any submissions gained from other applied wrestling holds. The French coach also added the stipulation that a tit orgasm would also constitute a surrender.
Biting, scratching, punching or gouging would mean immediate disqualification for the simple reason that none of the girls must show signs of physical violence in the morning, when the ceremony to mark the end of the hockey tour would take took place. Janice Mearns would be officiating in her usual capacity, and one of the French girls had been appointed as a judge alongside Cardugan’s resident judge Lydia Chen to ensure fair play.
As the three best chosen fighters from both teams entered the arena in their school uniforms and lined up for a preliminary stare down, Helen found herself watching Charlotte LaFleur, the girl she had tackled so hard during the hockey match, with renewed interest thanks to the arrangement her father had revealed to her only days earlier.
Having learned that Cardugan was to receive the tour from its twin French school, Hector Brodie mentioned to his daughter that Auguste LaFleur, his most important French client, also had a daughter, Charlotte, at Rochebrune. Discovering that the daughter was a member the visiting team Hector arranged for Charlotte to stay with them after the trip as a guest of the family. The privileged young French woman demurely accepted the invitation to a weekend of walking and shooting on a top Scottish country estate and so arrangements were made with the schools to have Helen and Charlotte picked up on the morning of the tour’s closing ceremony.
“I’m sure you two girls will get on like a house on fire!” Hector Brodie laughed, but Helen found herself wondering what sort of girl Charlotte would be. Rich and privileged for sure, and some rich girls came loaded with baggage and the wrong sort of attitude, but she would find out soon enough. Perhaps it was just as well, Helen told herself, that the two girls had been rostered to fight different opponents tonight. After all, it wouldn’t have been a great start to the weekend if she ended up pussy taming her house guest before they even had time to get properly acquainted.
Befitting her diminished status as Cardugan’s deposed queen, Helen found herself in the unfamiliar position of going up first in the night’s undercard match against Yasmine Bouali, a mid-ranked Rochebrune girl, who was still reckoned to be a mean opponent however.
Janice Mearns had shared with Helen what she had already gleaned through her usual discreet enquiries. Of Algerian descent, Yasmine was a scholarship student from a tough neighbourhood on the outskirts of Paris, and was reckoned to be a catfighting and trib specialist who was also handy with her tits. Armed with this information Helen thought carefully about her game plan before concluding that ‘fighting fire with fire’ remained her best strategy. So she would lock up in a vicious pussy battle with Yasmin as soon as she could and all the watching girls, including that bitch Mhairi MacGregor, would find out who the real trib specialist was again!
At the appointed time Helen and Yasmin stripped out of their school colours in front of the select invited audience, and took their starting positions facing each across the large, circular carpet that would serve as tonight’s ring. The other competitors also sat ringside, which would give them a great close-up view of the action. Although both contenders had raven dark hair their skin tones made for an interesting contrast, Helen’s skin being alabaster pale while Yasmin’s was perfect mocha brown.
Although the Rochebrune girl looked tough and sassy enough as they stared each other down Helen remained confident that she would win, especially if she stuck to her plan. Another key factor was how much Helen yearned to defeat another strong young woman in front of this audience of her peers, especially after the humiliating end to her previous match, having being outfought and ultimately face sat by Mhairi MacGregor. But she put these thoughts out of her mind for now, as Janice Mearns was signalling to both of the first match opponents that it was time to begin.
“Are you ready, Miss Bouali?” The French girl nodded her head while stamping one foot on the ground, her chest rising and nostrils flaring as she did her level best to stare Helen down.
“Sure, let’s just get going,” Helen said, returning the Rochebrune girl’s stare with as much casual disdain as she could muster for the occasion.
“Bien,” Yasmin Bouali whispered, glaring at her opponent while advanced confidently to the middle of the large, circular carpet that formed tonight’s ring. Helen walked out to meet her, and the two young women immediately clasped hands at waist height, pressing their well-matched breasts together.
“Understand – you’re gonna lose big tonight!” Yasmin hissed as they began to push against each other more aggressively.
“No, look straight into my eyes – I promise you will cum beneath me in record time.” If it was Helen’s intention to rile the French girl she might just have succeeded.
“Ce n’est pas possible – you are a madwoman! Totally deluded!”
“We’ll soon find out who’s the most deluded. Now let’s fight!”
Abandoning the needling comments the girls started to test each other’s strength, pushing one leg forward and letting the other sweep back, anchoring one foot on the carpet for greater leverage as they pressed forward. Gradually their bodies flattened against each other, neither managing to force her opponent back by more than a few inches: they were most evenly matched in strength so far.
Abandoning the first hold by mutual consent, they caught each other in a powerful clinch, locking their leading legs together; twining hands in each other’s raven hair and pulling their heads in; locking their full lips in an aggressive kiss to test each other out further. The test of strength continued as both fighters started swaying from side to side as first one girl then the other struggled to twist her opponent down to the ground.
To the audience it seemed as if an impasse was developing as both girls pressed their inner thighs together until their pubic bushes were touching, straining to overcome each other, their mouths extracting nipping little kisses as they struggled in the standing clinch.
Eventually one of the French girls started to chant their fighter’s name and the call was quickly taken up by other girls: “Yasmin – Yasmin! – Yasmin!”
Amita quickly started up a chant for the home team: “Helen – Helen! – Helen!”
Both girls were sweating profusely from their exertions but Helen was the first to gain the advantage, slowly managing to bend her straining opponent backwards until Yasmin seemed perilously close to falling over backwards “Is this all you’ve got?” She shouted, exhilarated that she was finally taking the fight to her opponent.
“Fuckin’ arrogant bitch!”
All it did however was induce an incensed Yasmin to fight back even harder until she raised herself level with her opponent again.
Now the French girl kept using her forward momentum… bending the Cardugan fighter backwards in turn… until she could no longer maintain her balance and both girls went crashing to the ground.
A fast and furious melee developed as they rolled over and over on the carpet; each time one fighter forced her way on top she would raise her hips and slam her opponent’s crotch, trying to weaken her before the rough pussy battle they both now craved.
Suddenly Yasmin slammed Helen’s head on the carpet, stunning her opponent and grinding her crotch down, forcing the Cardugan girl’s legs wide apart, allowing their wet vulvas to mate properly for the first time. Helen’s head went back at this sudden violation and the grunts and groans and wet tribbing sounds quickly grew in intensity as the pinned girl found herself on the receiving end of a strong and determined attack. Morale in the Scottish camp was sinking by the second: if a former Cardugan sexfight queen could be dominated this easily by her French opponent, there seemed little hope of saving the overall match.
But just as the fight seemed to be turning decisively in Rochebrune’s favour Helen flexed her pussy powerfully against the other girl’s, their big clits grazing each other as she fought to stop her opponent in her tracks and force her off.
The battle paused for a moment as the two girls at up and caught their breath while eying each other with a newfound respect.
“So, ready to do this pussy to pussy until one of us surrenders?” Helen asked coolly.
“Yes, of course!” Yasmine retorted. “Bring it on, now!”
With that the girls slid forward and locked legs again in a full frontal trib position, knowing that they would not separate again until one of them had been vanquished.
Helen was keen to regain the momentum as she pushed her engorged vulva directly into Yasmine’s hot, wet twat. The two girls sighed erotically, throwing their heads back as their hungry cunts mated, their juicy labia slowly spreading and penetrating each other.
Steadily at first, but quickly lunging harder and faster, they began to twist and pump their hips with total abandon, really drilling their pussies into each other as cunt juice started to spray in the air with each powerful thrust. Both girls really began to gasp and pant as their big clits came into play, licking and rubbing against each other until the exposed nerves trembled with raw pleasure.
It was rare to see a freestyle contest progress from a standing test of strength to a full tribbing finale in such a short space of time, and with each girl now trying frantically to mount her opponent in order to deliver the coup de grace it was incredibly exhilarating to watch.
As the erotic battle reached its climax it seemed that both girls were close to orgasm, their faces and breasts flushed, their pussies making lewd smacking and sucking sounds as they both went all out for victory. But the Cardugan girl began to gain control, grinding with strong, deliberate strokes, until she finally managed to climb on top and hoist Yasmin’s leg in the air, forcing her opponent’s vagina wider to facilitate a final deep, penetrative clitoral attack.
A heavy sexual scent hung over them both as Helen felt her opponent’s big wet pussy start to clinch, then contract hard beneath her own as it surrendered to a powerful orgasm.
“Oh fuck! Nooooo! Ahhhh!”
Helen drove her clit in hard again and again, until the Rochebrune girl arched her back and ejaculated forcefully, her creamy liquor spraying in the air like a fountain, high enough even to splash the Cardugan girl’s magnificently heaving breasts.
“Ahhhh! Huuunnngghh!” “Fuck yessssssss!”
As her opponent collapsed finally and lay supine, Helen raised her head ecstatically in victory. Cardugan’s deposed queen was back with a vengeance she told herself, making deliberate eye contact with Mhairi MacGregor whose face still looked remarkably sour, considering that Helen had just put Cardugan in the lead with a stunning first match victory.
Despite her own pre-fight nerves, Amita Kaur had been overjoyed to watch her best friend Helen riding her French opponent to victory in the thrilling first match of the unprecedented contest between the cream of the Cardugan and Rochebrune fighters. Amita was so impressed that Helen had beaten her opponent in record time that she also resolved to attack hard from the start, wearing her opponent down until she was ready to be tribbed into submission.
The Sikh girl had been watching her own opponent, the aristocratic Charlotte, closely during Helen’s match and noted that French girls’ intelligent eyes seemed to miss nothing. Something else was apparent now the girls were sitting closer: Charlotte’s left iris was green and the right one blue which together with her naturally silver hair, gave the French student an intriguing, slightly unworldly appearance, and made Amita shiver oddly as she anticipated how it would feel to be locked up in combat together.
Born and raised in a chateau on the banks of the Loire River two hundred kilometres from Paris, Charlotte LaFleur had found her early family life incredibly stultifying and had been glad to escape to boarding school in the end. Her father was a successful financier and businessman who spent months away from home, and her mother a talented artist who was nevertheless derided in high society for her bourgeois roots. Partly to make up for her parental shortcomings, Charlotte became an avid reader and fantasist. Starting by devouring the works of Charles Perrault, she soon graduated to Thomas Malory, whose Le Morte D’Arthur remained in her mind the finest version of the legends of King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table. Charlotte was especially captivated by the character of the Lady in the Lake, whom she often liked to role play, with other girls playing dark-haired, sultry enchantress Morgana to Charlotte’s silver-haired Viviane.
In terms of personality traits, Charlotte, the adjectives conceited, aloof, arrogant and possessive had all been used to describe Charlotte. But that was only one half of the story, for Charlotte was also bold, intelligent, charismatic, and highly competitive. Notwithstanding her refined manner, she was also well equipped to compete in carnal struggles, being adept at stimulating opponents with hands and tongue until they reached a state of weakness before she rode them to the final submission. In other respects, the aristocratic young French woman remained a formal and elegant individual, refusing to resort to coarse or vulgar language, even in the heights of passion.
Charlotte had been studying the attractive young Sikh woman closely during the first match as well. Amita looked pleasingly nubile and tough to defeat in equal measure she decided, and the French girl felt a warm tingle in her guts at the prospect of locking up together in close quarter combat. Based on what she had seen of the Scots’ ways of fighting, Charlotte expected Amita to grapple with her strongly at first before trying to mount and trib her half to death: such were the ways of less sexually sophisticated girls that she found herself forced to fight in France too often, let alone in this colder and harsher land they called Scotland.
“Ladies for the second match please!”
As they stood up and undressed for the second match of the evening, it was fair to say that both Amita Kaur and Charlotte LaFleur were supremely confident in the belief that their different styles of sexfighting would bring victory for themselves, and honour for their respective schools.
Amita kicked off the pre-match needling that was so important on these occasions: “Well, you’re a pretty little one aren’t you? I’m really going to enjoy making you writhe under me.”
“Huh – you honour yourself too much. Remember you are fighting a blue-blooded French girl now, not one of your bovine Scottish sows.”
“Yes, I saw just what French girls can do up against Helen.
“Huh, poor Yasmin – she is really not as accomplished as me.”
“So, can you fight as well as you can talk?”
“I guess we’ll find out!”
At the signal both girls took up fighting stances Amita raising her hands in the air as she challenged Charlotte to lock fingers with her. The French girl accepted the challenge and, as they pushed against each other, Amita could tell immediately that Charlotte was stronger than her refined manner suggested. As the girls pressed together and stamped their feet on the rug, their erect nipples brushed several times. Amita had heard Rochebrune girls considered themselves to be titfighting experts and glancing down she noted how Charlotte’s pale mammaries matched her own in weight and size. How wonderful it would be to crush the posh Frenchie’s rack first, before finishing her off in an unstoppable trib attack. Now that would really impress Helen and the other girls!
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed as the Sikh girl eyed up her big assets and she guessed what was coming next. Did the idiotic girl truly think she could take on a pair of France’s finest and win? But Amita still forced a surprised gasp from her opponent as she swung her pendulous brown tits upwards without warning, catching the soft undersides of Charlotte’s pale jugs a heavy smarting blow.
SMACK! SQUISH! “Owwww! Ooouff!” The silver haired girl suddenly found herself on the back foot as her opponent swung at her several times while advancing and forcing her back to the edge of the carpet. Managing to steady herself by digging her toes into the tightly woven material, Charlotte twisted sideways to avoid a further blow and brought her own rack back in a mighty swing, catching Amita’s tits side on with a mighty thwack!
The blow was painful for both girls, but it had the desired effect of stopping Amita in her tracks, enabling Charlotte to drive her opponent back into the centre, swinging her tits in a punishing sequence of left and right hooks as she advanced.
However once they were back in the centre Amita stood her ground again and both girls continued to swing at each other, using combinations of jabs, hooks and uppercuts until both their racks felt swollen and thoroughly tenderised. Charlotte was the first to move in close to break the impasse, her excited eyes signaling she wanted a full breast lock-up with her opponent.
“Let’s see what your breasts are really made of, eh Scottie?” The Rochebrune girl murmured as she wrapped Amita in a tight bearhug and began squeeze.
“Oh, they’re a lot tougher than yours, Frenchie!”
With Amita gladly reciprocating the hold, both girls now began to rub and press their engorged breasts together, marveling at how quickly the heaving titflesh displaced itself and squished sideways as straining biceps strained. The girls had taken pains to line up their erect nipples going into the clinch, and these stiff nubs were now fighting to invert each other while their large, equally-matched areolae sucked and lapped together. As the erotic pressure increased each girl felt pussy juice running down her inner thigh and as they pressed together more tightly they could smell each other’s sweat and hot musk.
Gradually both girls’ heads went back and their mouths gaped open as the erotic tension in their fighting nipples became almost intolerable, but neither gave any ground as they slowly dropped to their knees.
As in the last contest, the rival girls’ supporters began to chant out their names in encouragement:
“Amita – Amita! – Amita!”
“Lotte – Lotte! – Lotte!”
As they struggled on their knees Charlotte opened up a new front as she let one hand drop down before insinuating it between Amita’s legs, lightly tracing the lines of the Sikh girl’s drooping labia, marvelling at how wet and full they had become. Still focused on the tit battle Amita moaned suddenly as she felt her opponent caressing gently but insistently between her legs. There was no doubt that the French girl had a light, exquisite touch, and Amita began to arch her back a little as her body responded to the dangerous stimulus.
Confident that events were moving in her favour, Charlotte pressed her tits down more forcefully on Amita’s and was rewarded with a gasp as her rival’s nipples seemed to give way just a little. Realising she was being outfought Amita slapped her own hand between Charlotte’s legs and began massaging her opponent’s wet vulva in turn.
The moist sliding and sucking sounds grew in intensity as both girls fingering attacks became more intense, but Charlotte still seemed to be gaining ground as she gradually bent Amita back on the carpet, her engorged breasts weighing heavily on the Sikh girl’s straining rack.
For a moment Amita seemed to lose track of where she was, her head beginning to loll back as the French girl continued to work her fingers expertly all around inside the Sikh girl’s soaking wet pussy. But a worried shout from Helen quickly roused her: “Amita! Don’t let her dominate you like that. Fight back now!”
Charlotte smiled quietly to herself at the raven haired girl’s intervention but suddenly had more to think about as Amita suddenly twisted violently away to escape the hand that had been so diligently and subtly setting her up for surrender.
Separated at last, the two girls sat on their haunches while fixing each other with antagonistic stares, having finally got the measure of one another.
“What’s wrong Amita, had enough foreplay already?”
Amita was still working to control her heavy breathing after the fingering she had just endured but still managed to sound a defiant note nevertheless: “No! I – I just want to fight pussy to pussy now, that’s all.” Charlotte’s eyes narrowed at this in a calculating sort of way.
“Very well. Since the foreplay is over, why don’t we lock up now for the main event?”
Amita thought she smelt a trap in the other girl’s sudden willingness to engage her on equal terms again.”
“Oh really? This isn’t one of your French tricks by any chance?”
“No tricks. I know how much you Scots lasses like to trib, so I’m now offering you that chance. Woman to woman right now…if you’re not scared that is!”
“Huh – you won’t stand a chance against my superior pussy, so let’s go!”
And so, as Charlotte opened her legs wider, Amita slid in close so that the girls could scissor each other fully and commence the final stage of the erotic contest.
The battle that followed was truthfully a bit of an ordeal for Charlotte who preferred more seductive and sensuous tribbing to the pussy-slapping, clit-banging style of her opponent. But she held her ground nevertheless, mostly giving as good as she got, in the knowledge that her own pride as well as the honour of Rochebrune demanded nothing less. Amita for her part was anxious to finish the French girl off quickly to secure an unassailable two–nil lead for Cardugan in the best of three contest.
SLAP! SMACK! SLLIIK! SUCCKKK!
“Aaaahhhh!” “Uuuunnhh!!” “Oooohhhh!” “Nnnnuuuuh!”
The fight seemed to be reaching a crescendo as both girls continued slapping, rubbing and grinding their engorged labia together but Amita’s greater aggression seemed to be paying off as she slowly forced Charlotte on her back and began deep-clitting her French rival.
“That’s it Amita! You’ve got her now!”
“Charlotte! Defend yourself – think about the honour of our school!”
“Do I look in trouble?” the silver-haired girl gasped testily as if the mere suggestion affronted her.
Both girls breathing became more laboured, signalling that they were both getting closer to orgasm and, for a brief moment, Helen had a tantalisingly sexy view of Amita and Charlotte’s thick fucklips locked together, all lathered up with pre-cum as they struggled.
The former Cardugan queen was full of admiration for the way her friend had persevered and finally come out on top against a French girl who was more experienced and dangerous than she had appeared at first sight. The contest would surely be over soon, now that Amita had her opponent pinned on her back and could dictate the course of the action. Amita was certainly making every effort to finish Charlotte off now as she arched her back and drove her pussy hard into the other girl’s, causing wet flecks to spatter their straining thighs. Helen could see Charlotte’s head going back now, her beautiful mouth wide open in a soundless ‘O’. Surely this was it!
Then Helen saw the French girl’s hand gripping Amita’s breast tightly and simultaneously heard two, high pitched female cries. Her expert ear decoded one as the unmistakable cry of a woman losing control as she orgasmed; but the other was more like a woman straining hard to hold herself back. Sure enough there was the cum shower – and a massive one too! But the angle was all wrong. Omigod! Somehow the French bitch had forced Amita to come first!
After the match Amita tearfully confided in Helen that the exquisite fingering attack her opponent had subjected her to left the Sikh girl in a heightened state of arousal and vulnerability going into the tribbing contest, and Charlotte had played on this expertly, timing her vaginal thrusts to work on her opponent’s growing weakness. In the end it was all too much as Amita’s oversensitive vagina started to ripple with pre-orgasmic shock waves, the final blow coming as Charlotte’s erect clit started raking her from beneath.
The judges moved in quickly to confirm the result: an equalising win for Rochebrune; Charlotte LaFleur having forcing Amita Kaur to orgasm first which meant the two schools were drawn level again with the final match to go. The tearful brown-skinned girl lay motionless as her vanquisher rose in victory, still breathing heavily as she acknowledged the extravagant compliments now being paid to her by her fellow countrywomen.
Helen now found herself studying the silver-haired girl with keen interest as she stood over her defeated opponent, chest heaving, her heavy breasts still dripping with Amita’s cum. Helen and Charlotte had both won their first bouts handsomely, and the same condescending looking French girl was coming home with her tomorrow morning as a guest of the Brodie family! The resolute Scot knew that there would be fireworks then, as neither alpha female would be able to relax until they had settled which of them was going to be the dominant one. At that precise moment the silver-haired girl’s and Helen’s eyes met, and they held each other’s steady gaze evenly for a long time before someone stepped in the way and broke the spell.
With the contest between the Scottish and French schools still tied after two matches, team captains Mhairi MacGregor and Sophie St Cyr rose and started to strip off for the deciding contest. Shimmying out of her uniform first, the French girl walked confidently out into the ring, obliging her rival to hurry and join her as they faced off for some preliminary trash talk.
“So, ready to lose again are we Mary?” Sophie smirked, mispronouncing her opponent’s name as she cupped her big mammaries and pointed them at the Scots captain. Sophie’s deadly tits had almost wrecked Mhairi’s when they had fought in the Alpine chalet three weeks previously, and both girls remembered that torrid evening as if it were only yesterday.
“You won’t win this time, you arrogant bitch,” the Scots girl said aggressively, her hands rising automatically to caress her own breasts which were becoming engorged in turn, the nipples thickening as her body responded to the aura given off by her hated but undeniably sexy rival.
“Well, maybe not so easily,” Sophie laughed theatrically, conscious of the other girls listening in avidly. “’Cos no doubt you are thinking this time your stinkin’ l’il pussy will ride to the rescue.”
“Don’t be a stupid slut!” Mhairi retorted, rising quickly to the bait. “My pussy could eat yours for breakfast, lunch and dinner!”
“Hah! You don’t know what proper sexfight is! Don’t forget, I am queen of Rochebrune, and French girls make the best sexfighters… as well as the best titfighters!”
The French girls in the audience cheered at this obvious attempt to play to the gallery, while the Scots responded with jeers and boos.
“Well fuck that, ‘cos, I’m queen in these lands, and ah’m gonna prove just how mistaken you are!” Mhairi was now shouting out of control as the tension reached boiling point, and both girls’ faces were flushed, their chests were rising and falling rapidly as their breathing intensified.
Realising that a catfight could break out any moment, Janice Mearns stepped in quickly to complete the preliminaries.
“Okay thank you ladies, it seems that this also promises to be a highly-spirited match! Are you ready, Mlle St Cyr?”
“Mais– yes. Of course!”
“You fuckin’ bet!”
Helen thought she detected mischief on Sophie St Cyr’s face as she took a step closer to her seething opponent.
“Eh bien Mary, I thought maybe you will like to take the first swing… just like last time?”
It was a clever ploy as the Scot could hardly turn down the invitation without losing face, even though she was hoping to avoid getting into a toe to toe titfight with her opponent if she could help it. Mhairi’s eyes narrowed briefly as she shot back her response.
“No Sophie, I think it’s only fair for you to go first this time – so please be my guest!”
“Well okay then, if you insist.”
And Sophie took a rapid step towards her rival while pivoting at the waist, allowing her heavy, torpedo-shaped breasts to swing powerfully at Mhairi’s. There was a resounding smack as both sets of delectable mammaries collided at speed, causing both girls to let out sharp gasps.
Then a further cracking SMACK! as the Scottish captain fired back with her own chest, raking her opponent’s tits hard in turn.
“Ooof! Not bad,” the French girl admitted grudgingly. “It feels like you have been practising.”
Quick as a flash however, Sophie stepped in again to launch a further heavy salvo, her clear intention being to uppercut the Scot’s breasts from below. This time Mhairi was too quick for her however, turning away so that the blow hit her hard below the armpit as she brought her own mammaries sweeping round in an arc again, catching Sophie another smarting sideways blow. Now the Scots captain seemed to have her rival temporarily on the run as she fired first a left then a right hook, finishing with a neat uppercut that sent the French captain’s big tits rocketing skywards.
As a surprised Sophie St Cyr took a step back, her eyes watering from the punishing blows, Mhairi thanked her stars she had trained so assiduously with Susan Walkerburn as soon as her wounded tits had recovered from the hammering the French girl had given them last time out. But the Scot knew she was still likely to be outclassed in a titfight that went the full distance and she closed quickly now, gripping her opponent in a rough clinch, while bringing her thigh up hard between Sophie’s legs, noting with grim satisfaction that the other girl’s cunt felt wet already.
Some in the audience believed that Mhairi had made a tactical error in clinching so soon, allowing Sophie time to recover as the girls squeezed their interlocked mammaries together. Meanwhile, the French team captain seemed equally eager to force her thigh up against Mhairi’s slippery pussy.
For several minutes both girls focused on rubbing their abrasive nipples into their sweaty opposing tits while grinding thighs into crotches as their breathing became increasingly laboured. Finally Sophie seemed to have had enough of this game and pushed Mhairi away angrily.
The two girls prowled around each other in a circle for a few moments, eyes narrowed with malign intent, their rosy cheeks and engorged breasts flushed with sexual ardour.
Suddenly Mhairi and Sophie both broke from their pacing and charged simultaneously, coming together in the centre with a resoundingly wet smack of flesh. Grasping each other roughly by the shoulders, they began slamming their pendulous tits together forcefully, and painfully.
‘WHAP!’ “Owww!! Fucking CUNT!”
‘SMACK!’ “Unnnnnnnnnn…ohhhhh Jesus….”
The tense audience could see that Mhairi’s straining tits were starting to come off worse in the mutual battering, as Sophie’s strapping jugs began displacing them in all directions, even though the Cardugan girl was still getting in some good shots of her own. Finally Mhairi was forced to close with her French opponent to protect herself, the atmosphere in the room becoming even more electric as the desperate team captains locked up in another tight clinch.
As in the previous matches, both girls’ supporters now began chanting out their encouragement as they swayed backwards and forwards together.
“Mhairi!” “Mhairi!” “Mhairi!”
“Sophie!” “Sophie!” “Sophie!”
Both girls began to gasp and moan as their swollen breasts slid and crushed against each other, but Sophie was beginning to look more in control, her breasts now visibly overpowering Mhairi’s which were starting to soften and yield. To increase the Cardugan girl’s evident discomfort her opponent pushed her thigh forward and resumed rubbing between her legs causing the rival captain to moan until her head slowly lolled forward to land on her opponent’s shoulder.
Helen saw the imminent danger her captain was in now, and shouted an urgent warning:
“Mhairi – You must fight back! Now!”
“Don’t let her back in the game Sophie, time to finish it!” Charlotte called out immediately in response.
Hearing her old rival seemed to rouse Mhairi from her daze but her struggling tits were trapped under Sophie’s firmer jugs as the French girl’s well-toned arms kept tightening around the Scot’s arching back like a vice.
Suddenly Sophie let out a kind of battle cry as she braced and lifted Mhairi clean off her feet, holding her opponent suspended briefly in mid-air. Mhairi grunted as the air was crushed from her lungs but quickly began to flail her legs as the French girl struggled to hold her squirming opponent up. But the Rochebrune captain immediately flung her opponent to the ground and dived on top, lining the angle up carefully so that her big tits landed on top of Mhairi’s, flattening them completely.
It was another of Sophie St Cyr’s feared milk bombs, and the watching girls winced as they imagined how much the full body slam must have hurt Mhairi, who now lay groaning beneath the French girl. Surely the Cardugan captain was on the way out now and Rochebrune would win the sexfight tournament by two matches to one having already triumphed on the hockey field.
“Fuucckk!” Mhairi shouted in anguishas she struggled in vain to escape from her opponent’s commanding pin.
“Come on bitch – you got nothing left now!” Sophie laughed, taunting her rival while raising herself up on her arms as she prepared to deliver a second massive body slam.
The watching girls could see that Mhairi’s bloated tits were already leaking milk and surely could not take much more punishment; but that was exactly what Sophie had in mind as she plummeted down on Cardugan captain’s chest with almost suicidal intent, creating the wettest, loudest smack of flesh on flesh that anyone could remember hearing in a long time.
The impact to both girls’ racks was devastating and, for a short while, they lay entwined and moaning as more milk seeped out around the soft edges of their squashed mammaries. Not surprisingly perhap, the Rochebrune captain started to stir first and slowly raised herself on her elbows over her rival’s chest again.
“So Mhairi, do you want to surrender to now, or do we go again?”
“Fuck you, bitch,” was the grunted answer.
“Oh well, was nice knowing you then,” Sophie sighed, preparing to drop a final, devastating milk bomb. But before the French girl could make her move Mhairi quickly brought both hands up under the blonde’s armpits, holding her up with her forearms as she squeezed the other girl’s tits.
“Oooouff! Fuck! Owwwhh!”
To her surprise Sophie found herself suspended above her opponent, unable to deploy her breasts as long as they were being kneaded and roughly milked by the brunette’s strong fingers.
But the experienced Rochebrune captain knew that when an impasse is reached it’s often better simply to open up a new line of attack, as she nestled her soaking pussy into Mhairi’s and began steadily tribbing the other girl while fighting to remove the hands that were assailing her tits.
Gradually the girls’ hands migrated to each other’s shoulders, with Sophie, whose nipples were dripping with her own milky fluid by now, straining to bring her tits back into contact with Mhairi’s. As the intense struggle continued, the Cardugan captain’s arms bent slowly under her opponent’s weight, allowing Sophie’s breasts to settle lower until they were pressing down on her rival’s. The girls nipples disappeared into each other’s areolae, then the broad pink circles themselves were swallowed up by the surrounding breast tissue. But while this seemed to spell bad news for Mhairi, the brunette was now focusing elsewhere in fact, forcing her crotch up into Sophie’s aggressively so that their thick fucklips began to spread around each other.
The trib battle that Mhairi had craved for so long against her nemesis was finally on and, as the girls started rocking rhythmically against each other, their cunt lips spread, allowing their clitoral shafts to press together for the first time. By the time Sophie realised she had been ambushed it was too late to do anything about it, so she accepted Mhairi’s challenge and, trusted that she could still win having mostly dominated the Scots girl in the contest so far.
Eyes burning with antagonistic lust, both team captains now pushed into each other aggressively so that their cunts sucked and sealed in a hot, fleshy lock.
Gathering pace rapidly, Mhairi and Sophie bucked and humped against each other, rubbing their clits together relentlessly, their hot fucklips straining to overwhelm by each other. Even though the French girl was still on top, her breasts effectively owning their rivals, they were fucking so furiously now that position seemed not to matter anymore as their grunts and gasps grew louder and more intense.
As the vicious clit to clit grinding reached its peak Mhairi felt Sophie shudder suddenly and launching a supreme effort she managed to force her opponent on her side. But the Scot got no further as both girls entangled bodies suddenly began trembling until their hips jerked violently against each other and their cunts erupted simultaneously, prompting the judges to move in close to adjudicate the result.
Mhairi and Sophie lay scissored together side by side in a state of complete exhaustion for several minutes, their breasts rising and falling heavily as their massive mutual orgasm subsided. As the contest had by now overrun the judges had no choice but to declare a tie, which meant the tournament between the two schools was tied. It was hardly the outcome any of the Cardugan and Rochebrune girls expected, or would have wished for, but one observer at least had found the entire spectacle most absorbing and positively scintillating.
An overzealous head teacher had installed a concealed viewing gallery in the library behind a secret panel during the Victorian era to enable teachers to watch students surreptitiously while they worked. Precious few staff, let alone any of the students, was aware of the gallery but Amelia Turner was one of them, and she had watched the whole proceedings, culminating in her favourite’s efforts to defeat the French captain with keen interest. Amelia felt that Mhairi had improved on her last performance but she was also impressed by Helen’s ability and she wondered what the outcome would be next time the two girls fought, as they would have to inevitably at some point.
The girls were now wrapping up the proceedings and getting dressed while Janice Mearns sparred verbally with Marie Anne Delacroix, the Rochebrune coach.
“Well, our teams fought to an honourable draw on this occasion, but I’m quite sure that our girls will obliterate yours next time we meet.”
Marie replied to this with a haughty laugh: “Yes, but in fact ah’m sure our girls will take great pleasure in ‘ammering yours almost to death next time. But for now at least, we depart with the hockey trophy as most acceptable consolation!”
While the team coaches were arguing Amelia was the only one present who noticed Mhairi and Helen having sharp words with each other while getting dressed, no doubt arguing about their respective performances tonight. She wondered if the headstrong young women would take the altercation a step further once they stepped outside and resolved to try and follow them from a distance as they returned to the main building.
She would have to hurry as they were getting ready to leave now…