It was his cologne.
The crispness of his red shirt, the color of which held even submerged in the technicolor lighting of the bar.
The way his hair looked liked a certain Dr. Shepherd’s, with just a hint of helix-curled gray.
Maybe it was none of those things, and instead just his swagger — his confidence.
The glimmer in his eyes that made it clear he expected her to accept his invitation back to his private booth.
Whatever it was, it was sufficient to catch the statuesque woman’s attention when he approached. Earn a smile and a laugh as he bought her a drink. And then to garner an excited, but self-assured smirk, as she picked up her purse and followed the man back to his private accommodations. Her long, half-curled black hair bouncing gently atop the straps of red halter top dress with every heel-driven step.
It was Ewa’s first time at that bar, or any bar in America, and yet still she moved with an outward show of confidence. A confidence she maintained, despite the dark cloud that still hung over her head.
One sewn together from wisps of memories. Of her native Poland. Of her high paying job there. Of the promotion she sought. And of how she had won it, only to have it stolen from her grip only a few months thereafter.
A painful series of events, which, just for the blink of an eye, caused her gorgeous face to dim, as if the sun had briefly disappeared. Quickly, however, did her normal glow and fire return. Not with ease or the flipping of a switch, but instead after a closing of eyes, whispering of self-affirmation, and a soul-deep commitment that she forget the life she had lost and focus instead on the new one she intended to build.
After all, this was her first chance to test and taste the red, white, and blue-hued waters of the American social scene. Not that she doubted, for even a single second, that she could catch a man’s eye and make him drool at the very thought of being with her. That was obvious and easy for a woman like Ewa. And so her wonder was about something different. What sort of man she would settle for tonight? What sort of prey would she hunt first…?
Her beauty was no secret. Her piercing green eyes had been more akin to myth back in Poland — a legend, though they could not have been more real.
In fact, even in this new country, which at least on TV seemed to be made up entirely of movie stars, snow bunnies, and beach babes, Ewa was gorgeous; she turning heads without even meaning to.
It was a strength she wore on her sleeve, knowing the power it gave her.
Yes, after Scarlet and the hell she wrought upon Ewa’s life, there was a doubt that followed her — a failure that tortured her when her mental strength waned.
But even that negative, her first taste of anything less than a certainty of perfection, gave the Polish beauty a fire in her heart and soul. It fed the proud setting of her jaw and the hip-heavy way that she walked. The visible and intoxicating depth in her eyes and the slow, mesmerizing way she would gesture while speaking. Each such trait making her feel strong, even in her new surroundings.
Powerful and certain though Ewa was, Michael — the man who gestured for her to scoot into the booth first, seemed no less sure. No less certain of his looks or his value. His very demeanor like an announcement over the bar’s P.A.. One that told every woman there he was a catch — THE catch. And one that every girl there should wish was hers.
In truth, Ewa did want him. Not as a husband or a friend, but as a taste of what America had to offer. A sampling, if only to attune her sensors to the long hunt that was to come.
Was that what Michael had in his mind? A one night stand? A quick fling? An affair in a flash and then an unannounced absence?
Ewa didn’t know, and frankly, didn’t care. He would be a plaything. A boytoy. Until he asked the wrong question, or tried to get too close.
Despite knowing the role she wanted the well-dressed man to take in her life, as Ewa slid into the opposite side of the booth, and moved to the rounded bench’s center, her eyes went wide. As there, just between her and Michael’s thighs, laid a coat.
Not a man’s coat, but a woman’s. It’s color black and style provocative. Not unlike Ewa would have worn, if it had matched her outfit that night. And though it was to her liking, its presence made her both wonder and worry.
Had some previous girl left it there, before this Michael scared her away? Ewa asked herself, as without pause or notice, the man to her right reached out his arm, and draped it over Ewa’s shoulders. A presumption and placement that made Ewa twitch with irritation, just as that same immaculately styled cause of that irritation began to speak.
“So how are you finding America? Warmer than Poland, I assume?” The question was boring and obvious. The same one she’d been asked by every person she had spoken to on this side of the world. And yet at that moment the uninteresting nature of the question was the last thing on Ewa’s mind.
For the jacket had taken center stage. The dark cloud of worry she had fought to suppress rising around her once more, pushing her to ask.
“Umm, whose jacket is this?” Ewa asked bluntly, as with her right hand she grabbed the stylish outerwear and placed it on the booth’s lowered table. “Surely it isn’t yours…. Or if it is, I must say you have wonderful taste.” She added to cut her directness with humor.
“It’s mine….” Answered a feminine voice. The door to the booth slipping open; revealing the dark outline of a woman, one illuminated by the pulsing lights of the nearby dance floor.
As was their custom, Michael and Bri had separated after settling into their chosen booth. The former going on his prowl, as Bri took a trip to the ladies room.
Despite that trip, the curvy blonde didn’t need the mirror to tell her that she was stunning or that her light layer of makeup was perfect.
Her face, as always, maintained a breathtaking and effortless beauty.
Which meant that her stop at the lavatory was just habit. What she did on these nights when she and Michael hunted and searched. For the one. The right one to take home.
Partially to give her man the time, but also so that she could, once he had, make her own dramatic entrance. Just when the girl needed one last push. After all, what better final argument could there be than Bri swooping in and starting her flirt.
Her playful touches under the table. Her heavy lean against the girl, making sure their bare thighs touched and forearms brushed. Making it clear that no one was going to get hurt and nothing was going to get out of hand.
It was a plan she had practiced and perfected over this last year. And, just like on all those other nights, Bri next stopped at the bar.
The bartender there breaking off from a conversation with an alluring redhead to personally attend to the blonde huntress in waiting. She ordering a shot of tequila only to down it a moment after it was given, doing so with the same effortless grace that she seemed to do all things.
Her eyes thereafter scanning the crowd until she noticed Michael, still on the move. Watching him only out of the corner of her eye, Bri gestured to her empty glass and ordered another.
A second drink that was a change to her routine, and a silent acknowledgement that her and Michael’s game was beginning to lose its appeal.
Yes, the woman Michael would bring back to the booth would be pretty. And the evening’s adventure fun. But still, Bri thought as she trapped her lower lip between her upper teeth, trying to think of the right word. It would be … tame compared to the unknown she had found herself craving.
The excitement and thrill she had begun to desire.
She couldn’t at that moment define what it was that could give her the same excitement her soft, playful engagements with these women brought Michael, but she knew it was out there. Somewhere. She just had to find it; with him by her side or without.
The latter thought, on finding her own pleasure faded, however, as suddenly, a movement caught Bri’s attention.
It was Michael, leading a statuesque woman toward their booth. It was what she was supposed to watch for. The sign that it was time. Knowing that, Bri slipped two folded bills under the shot glass and gave the bartender a wink.
A wink that brought a smile to his face that lingered, as Bri turned away from the bar and watched Michael and this other woman for a moment.
It was unusual for Michael to find someone as quickly as he had. And to go along with that, his mannerisms and manner were more animated than usual. Intrigued and even concerned, Bri tried to move to an angle that would allow her to see the other woman’s face, but no matter how many steps she took, or sight lines she tried, she couldn’t.
Rather than dwell on those failed attempts, she instead muttered, “Showtime”. The beautiful blonde barely resisting the impulse to indulge in an exaggerated display of jazz hands as she stepped away from the bar and down the three steps to the dancefloor and the route to their booth.
It was then, as she made that short journey, that her practiced smile slipped into place. She would be friendly, inviting. It was part of her duty, as Michael’s girlfriend, to make this woman feel comfortable. To set the right tone and perfect mood in which Michael could start to discuss his plan for this other woman.
With those duties in mind, Bri still paused just outside the booth. Lingering in shadow, and in the dramatic pause in the pulsing beat of the music in her surround. Using it to listen and hear the words spoken inside.
It was a woman’s voice, saying something about a coat. She was asking whose it was, but the words were irrelevant. As it was the sound of that voice that caught her.
There was something in it.
Something that made the sounds slide like claws over Bri’s skin. A sensation, psycho-sematic though it was, that pushed her to reply to the anger-tinged question the black-haired chosen posed about the presence of another woman in the booth. Bri knowing to the point of certainty, that she had to be the one that answered.
And so she did, using the lighting of the club to her advantage. In that, when first she spoke, she could see inside, but they inside could not see her.
That friendly smile she had worn having disappeared. Destroyed by the first glance of the woman sitting in the booth. Her intensely desirable body. Her divinely-hewed face. In fact, her everything instilled in the blonde a palpable, gut-wrenching jealousy that made her swear steam was coming out of her ears.
Qualities which rendered Bri completely unable to pretend that this woman and she could ever get along. Even for Michael. Even to help him feed his ever-hungry demons.
He was supposed to go fishing for another dolphin, another girl to have fun with and to get them in the mood. Instead, he brought back a shark, brimming to the gills teeth meant to rip and destroy.
A shark Bri needed to either drive off completely or dominate and control. Not eventually. Not by the end of the night. But immediately.
And so she made a call. A decision as she stepped into the light and answered Ewa’s question with a nasty growl. “It’s mine. Just like that seat you’re in and the man you’re next to!” The blonde’s abrasive words still echoing in the ears of those who heard it, as she slid into the booth and blocked the path of Ewa. A move meant to set a new mood. A new tone. One where the woman Michael chose either submitted completely, or left, tail between her legs.
The reason for Bri’s words and entrance Michael barely understood, but Ewa felt at the deepest of levels. The challenge that transfixed her, as she and Bri locked eyes.
Now it was Ewa’s turn to gauge the other woman. She was a mystery when she first spoke, but she was a reality now. And what she saw stole her breath. Not only because the giver of the response was no less stunning or heavy-chested than she, but also because in a single heart-stopping second, the pieces to the puzzle came together.
“I….” The black-haired and booth-bound beauty began as she looked up to the blonde wearing an ever-hot glare just next to her.
“Ewa, this is Bri. Bri, this is Ewa.” Michael introduced casually, like one of them was Oprah Winfrey and the other Uma Thurman.
“Can I ask what the fuck is happening right now?” Ewa, already past her limits of bullshit, asked. She looking from Michael to Bri and back. The former still wearing his cocky smile and the latter clinging tight to her soul-searing glower.
“Ewa, I didn’t mean to alarm you….” Michael began, as he reached out across the table and took Bri’s hand.
“I did.” The blonde quipped shortly, in her pink and black, figure-framing, fit’n’flare dress.
“This is my girlfriend. And, I…” Michael began before throwing a frustrated and instructive look Bri’s way. “…would be so very interested in you joining us at our house tonight.” As if he had only asked Ewa if she wanted another drink, or a drag off a cigarette, Michael invited the onyx-haired transplant to a threesome. Or at least, that’s what Ewa believed.
“Alright, so…I just met you. And your girlfriend seems to be an absolute cunt, so I’m going to have to say NO to a threesome…. Sorry….” There was more coming. More words drenched with outrage and anger, but before she could speak them, Bri cut them off.
“He isn’t inviting you to a threesome, you nasty euro bitch.” The words of the blonde with shoulder-length hair were harshly spoken, cruel, and enough to immediately stop Ewa’s eyes from shifting from Michael and then back. They instead remaining firmly affixed to Bri, who stared right back at her. Each studying the other intensely, even as the man on the far side of the booth began to speak once more.
“No, not a threesome, though you never know what can happen.” Michael replied, with a statement of fact that sounded more like a question.
“Not with this one.” With a sneer Bri made it clear that no such softness and sensuality laid in Michael’s future. A removal of hope that came along with the same of her hand — an appendage she thereafter pulled free of the expectant boyfriend’s grip.
“Ah, well…. A little wrestling match it is then and nothing more. No strikes or claws. Just some gentle grappling. Bras and panties only?” As if the words made sense strung together in such an order, the man who had drawn Ewa to the ambush said with an excitement and presumptiveness he couldn’t hide.
“You. Two. Are. Both. INSANE!” Even as the words passed her lips, Ewa tried to exit the booth. First towards Michael, who did not move. And then towards Bri, who rather than fail to make way, shoved Ewa back into her seat hard.
“You’re not going anywhere, bitch.” Bri growled, though her face, as always, looked like that of an angel’s.
“How DARE yo….” Ewa began before her words trailed off, and her eyes narrowed into the curve and heat of an exploding star.
“Well….” Michael began, his charm and confidence still unaffected. “If you two will excuse me, I’m going to go set up a car ride home. Just take a minute to get to know each other. I’m sure you two reasonable adults can find a way to work this out so that we all have some fun!”
Yes, Michael had announced his Ewa-wanted departure, pausing for effect by the door of the private booth, gifting the two women with a leering wiggle of his eyebrows.
And yes, he was, in fact, leaving both the booth and enough space for Ewa to escape, and yet still the enraged Polish woman remained. Her hands clenched into fists, her heart pounding in her chest, and her pulse racing faster than it ever had before.
“Did I make you mad? Huh…?” Bri antagonized, as she raised herself up and into a kneel on the booth bench. “You want to do something about it?” The blonde added before pushing Ewa nearest shoulder back. Not hard enough to hurt, but instead enough to make her snap back in words and action.
“Don’t you ever fucking touch me again!” As she raged, the onyx-haired woman too crawled into a kneel on the seat on which she sat. Coming face to face with Bri, as each leaned in and through expressions shared their still nascent malice for one another. Their large and mirrored breasts pressing together and half-flattening as they sought to delve deeper into their mutual glare.
“I’ll touch you whenever I fucking want to.” With every word spoken the blonde could feel her rival’s temper grow. And so, just as she suggested she could, Bri reached out to push Ewa once again. But when she moved to, the Polish patron of her first American bar grabbed the blonde’s hands and held them so tight that each suffered the squeeze of it.
“Let. Me. Go.” Bri hissed, as her boyfriend disappeared into the bar behind her — he having made sure to shut the door of the stall as he left.
“I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend.” Ewa explained in a voice that trembled with anger. Her hands bound tightly around both of her boothmate’s.
“I don’t care, bitch. I just don’t like you.” Only inches apart, did the two kneeling women lips part and then close after leaving a trail of audible tension and temptation in their wake.
“I don’t like you either.” Answered Ewa, in the understatement of her lifetime or any other.
“Then meet me at our house in an hour, cunt.” As the words left the blonde’s lips, Ewa searched her crystal blue eyes. Looking for answers. Looking for assurance.
Was Bri inviting her to wrestle softly for Michael?
Was all of her attitude just a ploy to get her in their living room and then their bed?
No, the gorgeous girlfriend’s eyes screamed. It was about something more. Something different. A silent conveyance of message, that Bri then confirmed in a whisper. “Fight me, bitch….”
The words echoed in Ewa’s head and sent a shiver up her spine. They representing, at least to her, an invitation, a promise, and a guarantee. They wouldn’t be tussling gently and giggling for Michael as he watched and played with his cock. They would be battling like hellcats. Like women who hated one another. And so without question or need to confirm those assumptions, the prideful convert of country and continent agreed.
“Deal.” She said flatly, while releasing Bri’s hands. Her eyes making it clear how ready she was to make both the blonde and Michael regret ever pulling her into their little game of kitten and mouse.
“What’s the address?” Asked Ewa, as for a moment Bri just stared at her, taking in every glimmer of hate in her new rival’s crystalline green eyes.
A pause that then gave to a silence, a moving from knees back to seats, and a scribbling of numbers and names on a cocktail napkin. One that led Ewa’s uber driver not just across town, but out of town and to a nearby suburb where the overly large, single story houses matched in make, material, and shape. And the yards at their front were uniformly watered and trimmed
Through that ubiquity and the surrounding dark did the California newcomer search with narrowed eyes. Her search, driven by a desire and an excitement so palpable that she was afraid her driver could feel the throb of her heart rattling through his well-kept but aging sedan.
Feelings of anticipation that only got worse as suddenly she saw it. Bri’s house. A finding she announced with a hurried and impatient: “there it is! There it is!”
“Ok, ok, lady, chill! Goddamn!” The driver replied, as he slammed on his brakes, and brought his vehicle to a screeching halt.
“Sorry. Thank you.” Ewa said with a false tone of calm that she used to make up for her car-stopping outburst.
“Whatever, lady. What kind of accent is that anyway?” The driver asked, as he let his eyes linger on Ewa’s heavenly-shaped ass as it left the confines of his ride.
“It’s Spierdalaj.” She replied with a smirk. Her hand hitting the door of the car, just before she turned and stepped away from it and onto the walkway that led to Bri and Michael’s door.
Why was she taking that journey? From gig-economy 4-door to the door of a woman who had in mere minutes become the most infuriating Ewa had ever met?
To the door of an admittedly attractive, but overly self-assured and presumptuous prick? One who had the gall to assume that she, of all people, would just shred all of her self-respect and wrestle his girlfriend so he could get off?
None of it made sense! Not her choice to continue moving forward and towards a late-night collision sure to involve pain and violence.
Not her willingness to accept Michael brazen’s offer, given how degrading it was to not just her, but the woman he wished her to tussle with.
And especially not her desire to see Bri again, after how much of a bitch she had been. A longing derived not from some sudden softening, but instead a desire to punish. To hurt. And to humiliate her. The prospective presence of the blonde’s boyfriend making all of that just a little bit sweeter.
But behind the door Ewa quickly neared, nothing sweet was going on. A fact that the black-haired beauty could hear through the door and see through the open, but then quickly-shut baywindow of the home.
Each telling her that inside, there was no glass of wine waiting for her. No calm, patient wait for their nightly prize’s arrival. No, instead there was yelling. Michael first, and then Bri.
“This isn’t going to happen, babe! I’ll just tell her to go…. That we’ve changed our minds….” The once cool, even suave man with the perfect hair shouted.
“No, fuck you, Michael. Every week, we do this. Every week, I wrestle for you. So tonight….” Came Bri’s agitated and angry reply. And though Ewa could have waited for it to end. Waited to hear what exactly Bri had in mind and why Michael was so upset. Instead, and without an ounce of pity or interest in Bri’s plan, Ewa knocked, loudly and with the base of her closed fist as opposed to her knuckles.
“Babe, babe, don’t open that door….” Michael, once more begged. His voice only heard in half until Bri disobeyed the same by ripping the door open wide.
“Get in here you….” At the very moment she could spare the air, the blonde demanded Ewa’s entrance into the home. But even before her lips parted to give such a demand — their guest for the night was already half through the door and fully intent on entering. That is until Michael came around the couch that framed the entryway to the sitting room where he and Bri had been arguing.
“Look, I apologize…to both of you,” his voice of concern hovered in the mixing air between the two women, but neither the blonde or the dyed-black brunette paid any attention. “Let’s just say I made a mistake tonight. I made the wrong call, and because of it, this isn’t going to be something fun for any of us.”
As he tried to bring a swift end to the brewing confrontation between his mark and his girlfriend, Michael noticed that Bri and Ewa were glaring at each other over his shoulder. Their magnificent chests slowly rising and falling. Their lips curled back into sneers. The fire in their eyes so hot they could ignite entire forests and then put them out with their icy chill.
There was an undeniable aura of malice that made Michael gulp, as he forced his way between the two women. Then, as Bri’s breasts pressed into his A-shirt covered back, the man in the middle held up a clip of money, not even bothering to count the thick fold of hundreds.
“Ewa, here, take this and arrange for a ride home. I’m putting a stop to this before either of you get hurt. Now, please leave,” his voice tried to assume a commanding tone, but in it there lingered the hint of a question coiling around his words. A fear that he was losing control.
Undercutting Michael’s attempt to assert his authority was the fact that he had undressed in half before the explosive exchange with Bri had begun. And as a result, he stood between the two women clad only in his muscle top, a pair of white boxers decorated with red hearts, and a pair of black socks that reached up to his mid calf. In a different mood, and at the sight, Ewa’s full lips would have twitched into a mocking and cruel smirk of the type that men find emasculating, but instead she remained inexorably focused on the blonde behind him.
A blonde who uttered a half strangled growl of frustration and stepped forward. Her fingernails painted a menacing black. Hues which flash in the overhead light, as the fingers below them curl into talon-like claws. Claws which a moment later slammed into Michael’s gym-toned back, cutting marks into his thin top as in sheer rebellion, Bri threw her boyfriend forward.
Not in a hurried walk, but in a stumble — his black socks slipping on the marble floor of the foyer as he moved toward Ewa. An equally frustrated woman enraged, whose dark, blood-red nails reached up and gripped his neck, just behind the ears, twisted his head in a pivot, and then with a shove, sent him flying through the still open doorway.
Then, as into the cold of the night and the sprinkler-wet grass of his front yard Michael fell, Ewa grabbed the door and slammed it closed with a loud bang.
She, thereafter, sliding across the now closed doorway — her shapely ass and toned legs moving smoothly over the marble — eyes still focused like lasers on Bri. Her lips below twisting into an confident, dangerous smile, as her fingers felt the knob to the deadbolt and twisted it, locking the door behind her and trapping she and her new enemy inside.
“No one is going to save your pushy little American ass now, girlfriend,” Ewa hissed until her final word bent into derision of Bri’s bar-announced title.
Bri bristled at the last word, and shivered at its utterance like her rival had drug a dagger tip across her skin.
Ever since she first laid eyes on this dark-haired bitch, there had been a crackling dislike radiating between them. The other women Michael had found in the past were pretty, but there was a friendliness to them. A sweetness and an innocence. A desire to have fun. But along with all that, there was a weakness. A timidity.
Fragility Bri enjoyed and needed. Not because she too was weak, but because she liked being in firm and unquestioned control when she and Michael’s marks wrestled and then fucked.
A control that kept her place as his queen secure. As nothing in those battles were really at stake. Michael wasn’t on the line, nor was her title of girlfriend or her place in his bed.
It was just a type of foreplay.
Something to get him hard and excited, and keep him from straying outside of Bri’s watchful gaze.
But with this woman, with her smoldering eyes and imperiously proud expression, there was no friendliness. No sweetness. No weakness whatsoever.
She was a goddess and she knew it. A queen who believed to her very core that she deserved to wear the crown.
And so the very moment their gazes met, Bri felt that she had been transported to some wild jungle where different rules applied.
Where there were but two cats stalking the deep green trees, and Michael had found and set bait for them both. Bri, his proud huntress, and this predator from across the ocean.
One who had a body no less supple — no less busty, and a face just as unforgettable. The type of woman, who if Bri wasn’t careful and on guard, could take Michael. But he was the last thing on her mind. And her possession of him not even a dew-drop’s glimmer in her sapphire eyes.
As Ewa’s presence, in a way Bri couldn’t even put into words, called to be suppressed and smothered out until all that remained were light, withering puffs of smoke. The confidence radiating from her person calling like the Pied Piper of Hamelin’s flute. Not to be followed but silenced, if Bri was to ever find the ability to breathe again in a world that so spitefully held Ewa within it.
A deep and desperate emotion shared by the woman across from the blonde. Their huge breasts rising and falling, hands spread out, and fingers curled. All as Ewa slowly moved away from the door with an evil, twisted grin on her face. Her knees bent as she stalked into the enemy’s territory, claiming it for her own right in front of Bri.
Just as Bri’s heart pounded in a way that it had never had during any of her earlier encounters or any night spent with Michael. An exhilaration that held as she began to mimic the dark-haired woman’s slow, feral movement. The two transfixed women moving back, from the entryway and into the gap between it and the living room.
“No one needs to save me, you cheap, fucking Euro trash whore,” Bri hissed back. “I’m going to tear your skanky ass apart and throw you out naked!”
At the sight, a soft, rumbling purr came from Ewa’s lips. It was not the peaceful purr of a contented cat, but instead was the solitary treble of a hunter, slowly moving on a hidden trail in tall grass, tracking its still creek-sipping prey.
A sound that came from Bri too only a second later, not from an attempt at copying, but instead from a genetically hard-coded and primal femanine response.
To a competitor.
To a threat, both present and predatory — real and immediate.
“Call me Euro trash one more time….” Ewa invited as slowly her circle and distance from Bri shortened, the warning in her words clear.
“I’m going to beat … your ass … until you beg me to stop, you cheap, nasty, dollar-store, cock-sucking, EUROPEAN CUNT WHO WISHES SHE WAS….” At the very moment Bri opened her smirking lips to respond, Ewa charged. Knowing what was coming. That Bri would not obey or listen and would instead attack in the exact way Ewa told her not to.
“BITCH!!!” Bri screamed as Ewa reached her. The pair of women, each still in their heels, sinking their hands deep into each other’s hair and grabbing hold. Their every muscle and ounce of focus spent not on remaining quiet or uncaught — obedient or dubtiful, but instead on destroying the other.
On wrecking the other.
Not until the moment they submit or cry, but until she regrets it.
Their refusals and demands.
Their resistance and insults.
But their suffering-earned repentance can’t stop there. No, for even the day they were born must seem like an agony and a destiny of anguish set free when all is over. When all is finished between Ewa and Bri.
A pair of warring women, who in quick, awkward steps, careen in a tight circle, just at the unwalled transition of the entryway hall and living room.
“I’ll MAKE YOU….!” Ewa shouted at nearly the top of her lungs, the ending to her sentence not spoken or even known — it having been erased by rage at the very moment it was conceived.
“YOU WON’T MAKE SHIT!” Bri responded, her lips letting go of a tiny spritz of saliva, that splashed across Ewa’s face as together the two pulled tighter.
Their tight, body-locked dresses catching at their knees and hips and restraining their movements as they together moved. That is until, in a wild splash of intertwined and anger-fueled bodies, they landed hard on the nearby, chestnut-colored couch. Its soft, plush surface taking them in like a cloud — dipping at the center in an attempt to keep them there and still.
But a cloud neither could stand or accept. As only a moment later, their clench-pressed tits, thigh-climbing dresses, and quickly coiling legs rolled. At first, to the left and further into the couch, and then after a back-aided stop, to the right and then down to the carpeted floor of the living room in a loud, thudding crash.
A crash that threatened to separate them and to by force and pain alone rip them apart. But instead they clung tight to one another. Letting only their legs come apart as there on the floor they ripped at each others hair. Yanking. Tugging. And whatever else they could do to rip the others roots from their scalp.
Not enough was that pulling however. As rather than rebinding their legs around those of their rival in a swirl of soft, beautiful flesh, they began to kick. Wildly. Frantically. Not with soft soles and delicious toes, but with the long, dagger-like tips of their heels.
Dull, and yet deadly weapons that landed on exposed thighs, defenseless calves, and even the unprotected tops of their returning feet. Each such glance or skewer coming with a scream or a shriek from both.
Sounds which would horrify you or I — a man with sanity or a woman with even an ounce of reason. And yet to them, the sounds of the other suffering. Of their own suffering only made them want more.
More sounds of torment and terror.
More kicks. More gouges. More of everything they found themselves in and enduring at that moment.
“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK!!!” Bri insulted loud once and then again, only to find herself curse out in pain a millisecond thereafter.
“CUNT! GOD!! AAAHHHIIIEEEHHH!!” In the same way, Ewa too sought to wound with her words as well as her pulling hands and kicking heels.
But even the two, in all their jealousy and malice, could not stand to be kicked and impaled again and again — over and over.
And so Bri screamed out! “FUCKING CUUUUNNNNTT!!!”
Just as Ewa did the same “AARRGHHH!!!!”
Each cry and curse echoing through Bri and Michael’s home only a moment before, in a unison of allowance, the two women released each other and rolled apart.
Not to lay on the floor whimpering or licking their wounds. But instead to force their way to a stand, their legs bruised, cut, and bleeding — if only in a series of slight dribbles. And once there, in a barely-stable wobble, to kick off their blood and scuff-covered heels and then glare at one another from only a few feet away.
“Take that FUCKING dress off!” Bri demanded, blaming Ewa entirely for their fall, and hating even more how hard it was to move within the confined of her pink and black attire.
“You want this dress off? HUH!?” Too angry to comply, and steadfast in her belief that amongst women at war, clothes must be torn off and not simply removed, the Polish goddess flared. “You want to see the body of the woman Michael chose to domme you? You prissy American CUNT!? COME GET IT!!!”
“FUCKKKK…” Shouted Bri, a blink both after hearing Ewa’s words and before lunging at their speaker. She continuing her shout of rage mid-air “…YOUUUU… BITCHHHH!!!”
The tailend of that battlecry coming, just as both blonde and dyed-black beauties collided and in a sloppy helix of bound bodies and grabbing limbs. Bodies which crashed hard to the carpeted floor of the home in a tumble and a crumble.
Neither of the pair having any plan or tactic in mind, only rage. Only a desperate need to hurt one another. For all that had been said. For all that had happened. But most importantly, whether they could or would admit it, because it felt right.
The intensity of their emotions. The gravitational pull each felt to lay their hands on one another and squeeze. To sink those same hands into hair and pull as hard as they possibly could.
Acts of violence they resorted to, as on the ground their legs coiled and then in the aftermath of that binding they began to roll. One way and then the other. In full, half, and quarter circle turns. Each wanting more than anything in the world at that moment to mount their rival.
To pin their rival beneath them.
And then to unleash whatever horrors they could muster upon her.
All whilst finding the idea of the same happening to them nauseating. For this woman — this bitch with whom they writhed and rolled, had drug feelings from the very depths of their soul.
Feelings that made no sense, in logic or imagination.
Feelings which overrode their every instinct and caution.
Until in the closeness and violence of their grounded struggle, Ewa dug the nails on her left hand into Bri’s cheek. And then, without warning or threat, began to drag.
But that word “drag”, is so weak when compared to the blonde’s reality. One in which she suffered so greatly that she imagined three parallel ditches being dug by a heavy farm plow pulled by an oxe, as opposed to pulling fingers and perfectly manicured nails.
Her red-painted lips parting at the terrible sensation to scream out, BITTCHHHHAWWW BITCHH!!!”
With a scream, and as Ewa rolled on top, Bri twisted her face, parted her lips and bared her teeth. An unspoken warning she gave, as she sought out those fingers — those claws that had wounded her. They being weapons she would destroy, just as a general would overrun the cannons of an enemy held on high ground.
A plan she put into action as her tongue slipped out of her mouth. Not to lick, but to ensnare the ring and pinky finger her enemy and slurp them toward her own waiting weapons.
Weapons which caused an audible crunch and then a scream of pain from Ewa, “ARRRGHHH!! FUUUCKKKERRR!!!”.
Sounds which made Bri smile, as she spit fragments of those nails she had taken by force into the face of their former owner, taunting her over the small victory. At the spitting and still echoing pain, Ewa shouted and slapped, before quickly she withdrew her hand.
In the wake of such a desperate and halting slap, Bri groaned. Her blonde hair–so carefully styled just a short time ago — at that moment, in wild disarray. A disarray that matched how little she, or the woman she battled cared about dignity or class — civility or restraint. They having each committed, not with words but to themselves. They would break the other. No matter what it took. No matter how dirty they would have to get.
A commitment exemplified by Bri, who at that very moment sunk her claws into the back of Ewa’s shoulders. She digging them deep into the dress of her Polish nemesis, and then pulling. Straining the zipper at the center of the outfit until it gave — making a hissing sound as it slid down — exposing more of its owner’s skin.
A sound and a happening that revealed an opportunity to Bri. She demanded that the European slut take off her dress and she refused. Now it would be taken from her, against her will. Even more, damage would be inflicted as it came loose.
A plan the blonde set into motion as her hands gripped the small opening the zipper provided, one on either side. Then, as her arms swelled from the effort, Bri pulled her hands apart, popped the zipper from it’s sewn in moorings, and then straight down its center, tore the dress almost in half.
Only a moment after shouting with exaltation, “YEEESSSS”, Bri then leaned up and bit into the flesh suddenly exposed on Ewa’s neck. A bite that came with a buck as the host’s hips fired upward and into her guest’s. The forceful contact forcing the two warriors to roll over slowly. Allowing Bri to glare down into the icy fire of Ewa’s eyes.
“I told you to take that fucking hideous dress off, you fucking European CUNT,” she released her bite to brag. “But you were afraid of me getting my claws into you….”
For a second there was stillness, a moment when all the forces paused, gathered, prepared. Then an explosion of movement came from the dark haired woman as the fiery glare of Ewa’s eyes erupted like an icy volcano. Her hands slapping and clawing, while her feet kicked and her toenails clawed at her foe.
A spree of offense that only ended when finally the Pole’s claws caught hold of the back of Bri’s dress. She thereafter tugging outwards, not making any effort to try and tease the zipper down. A decision and attack, brazen though it was, that quickly gained the same popping and ripping sound the two had heard only moments before.
“Look at this piece of American shit you draped all over yourself,” Ewa muttered hatefully. “Even a streetwalking whore in Amsterdam would wear better clothes! But that’s what you are, aren’t you…? A whore. Doing whatever your boyfriend asks….”
The comment needled and enraged to the point that Bri, almost beside herself, fired off a blistering right hand slap. One that echoed and stung, as the two women, without speaking, took part in a series of slow, grinding rolls.
Each of them, when able, tearing and ripping at the back of her foe’s dress until they were assured that they could no longer stay on. Then, wanting to see their own good works, they pushed away from each other, giving vent to the hatred they felt gnawing at their souls.
A hatred that drove them to their feet, kicking and pushing at their own dresses until they could finally step out of them. A removal of shredded fabric that left them in nothing but expensive, shape-hugging lingerie. Exquisite garments which too showed damage from heels and scratches as the two women circled each other.
“I’m not going to let a cheap American whore like you ruin these,” Ewa hissed as she unfastened and removed her bra and panties, tossing them to a corner in the room. Her large breasts jostling and bouncing with the effort.
“I’m going to put those ugly, cum-stained rags through the fucking garbage disposal after I finish kicking your scrawny ass,” Bri hissed back as she shimmied out of her thong, turning so that the European woman could see her healthy, junk-riddled trunk. All as she reached back and unhooked her own bra. Turning back around not a moment later, to let it fall dramatically from her breasts, exposing a pair that were the rival of Ewa’s.
For a second that dragged on in both minds like an eternity, each of the two warring women looked over the body of their rival. Their lips curled back into sneers as their fingers stretched and then flexed into curling talons. Talons which seemed to glint in the shafts of moonlight coming through the home’s skylight windows, as with a scream, they both charged. The bodies of the pair, at once thick and trim, set on a course that could only end in collision.
A collision that left each in a state of shock and stun, though in the wake of it their arms wrapped around each other and legs tangled until they fell to the floor again. Ewa unleashing her claws once more, not only ignoring but using the damage done to them earlier by scraping them down the blonde’s back until she could stop and slash sideways just above the swell of her rival’s ass.
Bri cried out in agony, but then silenced her pain by biting Ewa’s neck once again, just where it joined her left shoulder. She, as her bite took hold, straightening her fingers so that she could shove them like twin daggers through the rich target of Ewa’s cheeks. The resulting scream of “AIIEEHH!!” from the dark haired woman being a sweet, hate-laced reward.
A reward that dissipated into the fog of their struggle. A struggle that continued, as brown and black-haired rivals fought not only one another, but the growing pain they each inflicted and had already endured.
Claw after claw digging in and tearing flesh.
Bite after bite latching on and gnawing to the other’s dismay.
Stinging, angle-restrained slaps firing off and in claps striking down against exposed and swollen flesh.
Until finally, driven by a shared and shameful need for cessation — at least for a moment, Ewa and Bri shoved each other away again. Both resting, two to three feet apart, on one hip. Their hands out in front of them and supporting their bodies as they stared at each other through matted, sweat-wet, and tangled locks of hair. The eyes of each swollen from tears and rage — emotion and anger.
“You’re a … fucking psycho….” Ewa spit out in accusation through heavy, chest-heaving breaths.
“I’m the psycho….?” Bri responded in part, before taking a deep breath and then continuing. “You’re the one … who wanted this…. You’re the one … who came to my house, and….”
As the words poured from Bri’s pretty little mouth, Ewa fired up from her hip-braced rest to her knees. A shift of position Bri mirrored, as once more the two women at war found themselves triggered and face to face, this time on their knees. Their large breasts brushing and grazing between them as they each fumed. The ever-hard nipples neither could hide catching, and in tiny struggles bending for each other with every slight movement the two made.
“I wanted this….?!? You’re the one who….” Began Ewa, a woman who was ready to scream her truth to the world, and yet before she had reached even her second sentence that truth failed, as she glared cavern-deep into Bri’s eyes.
“Tell me this isn’t what you want, you European whore…. Say it….” The words were cutting, not in insult, but with the sharp razor edge of truth.
For a moment the fiery eyes of Ewa moved from their focus on her rival to a memory only she could see. A memory of the lead partner’s office coming back to her. The afternoon where she had placed her entire career, her entire sense of self on the line. The time when she fully trusted in her body, in the raging, competitive fire of her soul.
And was defeated and driven out.
It was a memory that wounded her. Haunted her. And yet even with it on her back, and bearing down upon her, with this new woman. This blonde bitch from hell. Ewa felt as if she could give no other answer. No other response, but….
“It is what I want, you fucking cunt,” her voice a low growl, the kind heard along jungle hunting trails on a moonless night. “This is absolutely what I came here for….” Ewa continued, her bloody, cracked lips curled into a sneer as her determined jaw set.
“Good…. Bitch….” Came Bri’s hissed reply. One she gave before shifting her upper body right, and shoving her bare breast on that side into Ewa’s left. The combined flesh of which flattened together, widening at their compressed bases.
It was a taunt. A dare. One the blonde couldn’t let speak for itself. She, even as she peeled flesh from flesh by shifting back and separating their tits, added, “Because I want it too….”
“Yeah…?” Ewa asked as she leaned closer to her rival. The tips of their noses glancing as she began to speak again.
“You want me to BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF…?!” Before the Polish beauty had even finished her volume-raising query, Bri began to shout over her.
“YOU’RE THE ONE WHOSE GONNA…!”The blonde yelled loudly, as to not let Ewa finish speaking. A duel of voices that drove the pair to then in unison, change verbal course and let loose overlapping and curse-laden screams.
“I FUCKING HATE YOU!!!” Bri raged.
“NNRRAGGHHH!! I HATE YOU MOREEE!!” Ewa stormed.
As the final words left their lips, together did they slam, body to body, knotting themselves into a writhing mass of flesh, hatred, and the lust to destroy.
Ewa’s neck thrusting forward, ridged with tightened muscles as her jaws closed around Bri’s right bicep. A flexed muscle on which it snapped with the power of a bear trap. Her head then shaking from side to side violently, as further and further her head tilted back, pulling the flesh within her jaws up as high as it would go without tearing off.
“AWWWWWW FUCKKK FCUKKKK!!!” Bri screamed out in pain toward the ceiling-cut windows. A howl of pain that sent to the cold surface of the moon, just as it had been for so many centuries before by wolves and man before the wheel.
An invention Bri tried to match in brilliance by curling her right hand into a set of hooking daggers and then thrusting them into the section of throat just behind Ewa’s jaw. Her nails, there, digging in and twisting until her foe had to release her grip and bellow out her own pain. “FUUUCKKK!! AIIEEHHH!”
A blood-curdling scream that would have woken the neighbors had they not just moved away. A thought of privacy that did little to stop Bri or Ewa from once more grabbing for each other, falling to the floor once more, and then in a tightly bound knot, rolling in fury and pain. Each gouging, biting, and clawing at each other again, until in a loud thud they slammed against a nearby wall and could go no further. An opportunity of happenstance Bri took to fire a knee into Ewa’s side, forcing a grunt of pain as it slammed just under the dark-haired woman’s ribs.
In response, Ewa thrust the palm of her hand into Bri’s face, a strike that drew a burst of tears from the blonde’s eyes. A blow followed, as the bitten and bloody Pole curled what was left of her claws into a circle around the edges of Bri’s face and twisted, dragging them around and leaving a red circle against her pale skin.
Bri’s voluptuous body exploded into a wild mass of thrashing arms and legs. Limbs which battered the European transplant in directions she could not even guess. Each one making it harder and finally impossible to keep her foe down, despite her focus and desire to do so.
The blonde breaking away from her and getting back to her feet in a stumble. An escape that made Ewa give voice to her frustration with a loud and guttural, “ARRGHHH!!!”
A roar that ceased as mid-growl, a kick slammed into her solar plexus hard. So hard in fact, that a spray of sweat, saliva, and blood then leaped from Ewa’s battered frame and splatter against the wall beside her, the soft carpet beneath her, and even Bri’s own brutalized body.
A body that stood on its feet, as their owner wiped her tear-leaking eyes and blood-stained lips with the back of her hand. All as she glared down at the prone onyx-haired woman.
“Get up you bitch, so I can properly throw you out,” the confident and seemingly ascendant host demanded. The eyes of the woman at her feet widening for a second at the passion and rage in the voice of the hellcat standing above her.
Fuck her, Ewa thought. I’ll stay down here just to spite her! She planned, if only for a moment. Hating the fact that by rising back up to fight once more she was, in essence, obeying Bri’s command.
Hate it though the proud Pole did, still did she rise. She rolling back to her feet, wincing at the various aches her body acquired through the fight and wobbling at the fatigue that had not only begun to take hold, but instead had already begun to ravage her once strong body.
Pains and fatigue which nipped at her as she brought herself to a stand and faced off with her rival once more. A rival she did not even know existed at the start of the evening. A mystery woman whose hand flashed through the shaft of moonlight at her side — her palm smacking Ewa’s cheek with a heavy, blood-wet smack. The head of she who suffered the strike shifting hard to the side as Bri lunged, her fingers burrowing into the European’s hair and seeking out her already wounded scalp.
The heads of each twisting from side to side and then back, as Ewa, in instinct and malice alone, returned the favor. She grabbing two tight handfuls of her enemy’s hair, as the same drug them away from the blood-splattered wall.
A forced stumble that continued until they reached a side table holding a white vase containing freshly cut roses. Roses Michael had brought Bri earlier that day when he asked, as sweetly as he always did, his loyal girlfriend to wrestle for him. To “tussle” for him, as he always put it.
And though when given, they made Bri smile widely and wrap her arms around Michael in a hug. At that moment, with her hands buried in Ewa’s hair, she had forgotten not only about them and their placement, but also Michael. The pair of hate-bound women stumbling into the table, and knocking it over — sending the vase flying and the shattering on the floor.
The loud, calamitous sound of its breaking filling the warm, sweat-scented air of the home as the both blonde and onyx fell onto the overturned table — it giving way under the weight of their battling pairs of curvaceous hips.
There in the aftermath of collision and crash, and while both women struggled to regain their breath after such a hard fought battle, Ewa proved quicker, grabbing Bri by the hair, pulling her up off the newly-stained carpeted floor, and then swinging her in a half turn before releasing her. A release which sent the blonde, in a heavy tumble, crashing into the couch they had spilled onto earlier.
Over that couch Bri tumbled, tipping it over as she sprawled out at the edge of the carpet and the start of the marble. “You bitch…. You bitch…. YOU BITCH!” The blonde mumbled again and again under her hateful breath, as there on the polished stone she laid.
Trying to shake off what just happened to her.
Trying to control the anger welling inside like a poison of both mind and body. Until finally the blonde pushed herself up to her feet, shaking her arms out, trying to loose the pain that plagued her.
“Get up, cunt….” Commanded Ewa as she rounded the tipped over couch. The fire burning and the hate smoldering within her eyes seeming to radiate from her very being.
A sight which, for the first time, made the confident blonde doubt.
Was this Euro bitch some kind of masochistic psycho? Could she even feel pain? How could she even be walking after all Bri had done to her? Questions which flew through the rising host’s mind as her enemy neared.
Stalking her prey, Ewa breathed deeply — listening only to the anger and battle-lust the frigid cunt of a woman she just tossed across the room had awoken within her.
Feelings so intense and irresistible that Ewa could barely understand them, let alone control them. A sense of rage and catty competitiveness coursing through her veins and pumping through her heart since first she laid eyes on this … this … Bri.
There being something about her. Something that drove Ewa to spin so wildly out of control that when the abyss presented itself, she not only stared into it, but dove right in.
Ghosts from her past perhaps? One might assume. But Bri looked nothing like Scarlet — the only notable trigger she could remember.
Instead, it was as if Bri was born to get under Ewa’s skin. Forged from the fires of fate to force fixation and make necessary obsession. An obsession which pushed Ewa to near that source of intoxication and insistence. Ready for more. Ready for war….
A fact known to Bri, who like a coiling and threatened snake, slid back on tip-toe planted feet. Her hands stretching out in front of her and fingers extended, so that they could support her as she leaned forward. A placement she then leapt from with a scream, flinging herself up and at Ewa with no regard for her own safety.
“YOU FUCKING WHORE!!!” Bri shouted as a battle cry, her legs pistoning and bare feet finding purchase on the slick marble surface.
“PLAY TIME’S OVER BITCH!!!!” Ewa cried out with just as much rage.
And though so many times before, they had come together in a crash of bodies, their digits grabbing for hair, this time those fingers chose different targets.
Each of the two wounded and fatigued weakened women, when the distance between them had closed, chose instead to reach. To latch. And then to dig their sharp nails into each others breasts.
Breasts which in their similarity mocked and in their comparable size taunted. Breasts which made each of the two who they were and set in stone who they weren’t.
Breasts that they wrenched at.
And in all manners they could: savage. Their eyes locked in a loathing-coated gaze, as at the end of the stone entryway, just where it met carpet, they stood.
Not pressed together body-to-body as they had been, but instead a foot and a half apart. Their every focus. Every thought spent on ruining the other’s chest.
A mutual choice of tactic that sounded good. Felt right. And called like a siren before it began. But at that moment, as nails sunk deeper and deeper into malleable flesh and then drug, it was agony. For each of them.
Unbearable, and yet in determination they bore it.
Crippling, and yet in their unquenchable flame to overwhelm and dominate the other, they continued to stand.
Sob-inducing, though even as the tears dripped from their eyes, they strove to look strong and unaffected.
Those tears they shed rolling down their ravine-hewed cheeks, over their trembling chins, and then down into the newly opened wounds each had torn in the others tits.
At first the eyes of both Ewa and Bri were filled with fire and malice — animosity and determination. But with every passing moment the two spent dragging their claws from top of tit to bottom, only to raise them up once more and go again, those eyes softened.
And then pitched in glimmer to weakness. To desperation. And then fear. Their souls, against their will and want, begging for mercy. For cessation. Even as together they in unison dropped to their knees.
Their kneading and gouging hands continuing their dark works even as there, with their legs having failed them, they leaned together. Their upper bodies and breasts only separated by those implements of destruction they continued to use.
Their heads which wobbled and drifted in their pain-brought dizziness, finally coming down in a soft crash on one another’s shoulders as they fought to avoid collapsing entirely.
“You … bitch…. I-I hate you….” Ewa growled, her voice wrecked with emotion and suffering.
“I ha-hate you more … whore….” Bri seethed back with no more strength and just as much unchecked sentiment.
Then, as long ragged breaths shook the shoulders of both women, their large breasts collided and rubbed. Bringing out new moans of pain from their battered lips. Each coming as fatigue and attrition forced them both to lean into each other to keep their attacks alive.
Until finally, and simultaneously, their hands dropping down to their thighs, arms suddenly too tired to be held up.
“This…. Isn’t over….” Assured Bri, as if their shared moment of weakness might signal the end of their battle.
“Get off mee….” Ewa demanded. “And I’ll show you … who’s over, whore….”
As together they leaned, sharing threats and promises of more pain through whispers, they looked to be resting.
But instead, even then, on their knees as half-breathless and trembling, they fought. Shifting slowly their upper bodies left and right, right and then left, as with every ounce of strength they had left, they pressed their maddingly mirrored tits together. First one pairing, and then the other. Each trying to drive the other back and down to the floor behind them.
Not willing to let their hate calm or their battle break.
Not until the other gave. Until they begged. Until they sobbed, pathetically, into whatever body part they chose to smother them out with.
But even with that soul-deep commitment and essence-felt desire, they withered and slumped. Their heavy, compressed tits coming to a clearing of competition and stillness of struggle, as even they in their malice could fight no more.
They instead just laying against each other. Their faces buried in each others necks, as their split, bloody lips whispered hushed and hateful curses to each other. The words spoken lost amongst fog in the specific, but felt and understood by each in that primitive state of consciousness they still clung to.
In that moment of pause, the clawed and bloodied tits of the two women began to seal together as their blood congealed and flesh closed. The wounds they had inflicted on each other slowly binding their bodies together.
It was a feeling they might have noticed. Might have concerned themselves with, if they weren’t focused. On recovering and then continuing their battle so that they might inflict more scars.
A need Bri acted on first, as she moved her right hand slowly up and over Ewa’s curving ass and narrow waist, until it buried in the European beauty’s matted and wild hair. The chipped, scrapped, use-sharpened nails on that hand then digging into the onyx-haired hellcat’s already scraped scalp.
The sound of it, Ewa’s resulting cry of, “AARRGHHH!!”, allowing the blonde’s breathing to deepen and become more controlled. Her enemy’s pain reviving and nourishing her.
A truth that dawned on her, as with a growl she dug her claws in again, jerking her rival’s head backwards and exposing her neck. A sudden movement which tore the blood-glued skin of the two women’s upper chest apart painfully. The resulting pain causing both women to scream out together. “FFFUUUUCKKKK!!!” “UGHHHHHHNNNN!!”
In the aftermath of such horrified cries, Bri’s lips parted and then darted toward Ewa’s exposed neck. A neck on which the blonde bit, and then chewed. Her jaws working until she could taste the blood of her prey. A flavor that drew a savage purr from the back of her throat in a rumble.
Unwilling to play the victim or scratching post a second longer, Ewa’s hands slashed up through the air like daggers. Until after turning in, they plunged into the wild hair of the blonde, seeking any means available to stop the latest attack of the same.
Ewa, as she sought such relief, being then the one to wonder. Not just if she could defeat the vicious ice queen she found herself pressed against, but whether she would survive their battle. One without limits or lines — mercy or sanity.
Questions she had not the time to answer before she twisted, turned, and then drove her fingers deep into her enemy’s scalp. Her thumbs flexing and scooping just under the blonde’s temples. A pair of gouging attacks that caused Bri to release her bite and scream! Her deep, guttural cry of anguish reaching to the stars and beyond.
A sound that came with a collapse. One which saw both Bri and her rival falling and then crashing into the smooth, cool marble tile floor. Bri on her back and Ewa on top of her.
Their legs wrapped around each other as both women realized the damage that could be done if those lower limbs were left free. Ewa locking her ankles around her foe’s calves, looking to stab her toenails into the firm leg flesh of the bitch queen beneath her. She grunting in effort, as she poured every ounce of strength she could spare into clawing and gouging at her enemy’s vulnerable limbs.
Refusing and resistant to whatever it was Ewa had planned, Bri tightened her legs, stiffening and spreading them, and in the effort, prying Ewa’s open. A widening that left the black-haired Pole’s toes just out of range to enact her malicious plan.
In addition to thwarting, however, that spreading had another effect. That of forcing their interlocked legs open, the pelvis of each to push in, and then at their center, the smearing of smoldering folds of one over the moist, fire-hewed flower of the other. A contact that made the two women grunt with mutual disgust at the touch, and at the dampness that they found there.
“Get your weak … European cunt off of me….” Bri snorted, her lips curling into a sneer as she glared up in the blazing eyes of her foe.
As Bri snarled, she thrust her hips up, punching her mound into the Onyx’ to drive it away like a frightened puppy.
“You’re the one who … needs to wrestle other girls to get your man off,” Ewa growled back, as she absorbed and withstood her enemy’s hip-driven blast.
“So … which of us … has the weak cunt again?” Ewa finished her vicious reply just before cocking her hips and then slamming them down into the American’s sex. The resulting wet smack emphasizing just how affected by the contact and their battle both women were.
But that liquid spatter was not alone, for with it came a moan from Bri. A sounding out of pleasure the blonde hated herself for, just as much as she hated Ewa.
“You’re the one that followed ME home like a horny dog, you fucking cunt!” Bri hissed out in denial and revenge. The pinned host planting both of her bare feet on the floor and then ramming her swollen and leaking sex back up into her rival’s. “The only reason Michael noticed you was because you were the nastiest bitch in heat in the whole club!”
To show her spite, her disgust, Bri remained bridged up into Ewa, defiantly refusing to give the woman atop her the ability to strike back.
A denial of angle and range that left Ewa straining to keep her position on top of the blonde. She having to shift her hips one way and then another, causing both women to hiss as their swelling folds ground together, sending waves of heated excitement through their battered bodies.
Bodies which held there in that stalemate until finally gravity forced Bri’s trembling legs to collapse beneath her. A giving way of foundation that led the pair’s lower halves to smack back down onto the cool marble floor and their moistened cunts to crash together once more in an audible clap.
That collision of clits only barely having occurred when Ewa snapped her ass muscles and thighs, clenching them in a sudden thrust that ground her pussy into her enemy’s once more.
Bri moaned and shivered, then her jaw shot up like a striking serpent and as she bit Ewa’s lower lip. A soft, almost sensual snaring that came, just as the blonde planted her feet and drove her heated cunt up and into Ewa’s. Their labia spreading as the red hot centers of each ground together once, twice, and then once more. It being only after that last, elongated drag that Bri spit out Ewa’s lower lip with a growl.
“Fighting and then fucking, just like Michael wants,” Ewa said with a snarl, and then an unmistakeable moan. One she offered, though her eyes locked with Bri’s.
“Fuck Michael…. This about us, bitch….” She on bottom replied in words that sounded like they had come from a snake. The eyes of their speaker looking like those of a predator hungry for more.
A desire shared, as both women panted. The all-natural perfume of their warring bodies changing from sweat and blood to include the thick musk of the arousal they could no longer deny.
‘Fuck… Michael, then,” Ewa spat back as she slowly increased the pace of her hips, giving into the need to meet this blonde sex to sex. “And… fuck… you.”
Bri ground up into her guest, picking up her pace as she replied, “fuck you.”
“FUCK YOU,” Ewa roared back, grunting as she gripped her blonde rival tighter, trying to find a way to increase the pressure pushing their bodies together.
“FUCK YOU!” Bri shouted back as she did the same — her arms wrapping around Ewa and locking at their palms.
The last words sounded like insults, but in truth they were commands and screams of unmet and animalistic desires.
A truth lost to the pair, who leaned together and then in the closeness latched their teeth into each other’s lips. Not in gentle nibbles, but in turns, harsh, blood-drawing bites. The hatred of both women growing, swelling, and surging through their bodies like molten lava probing for a way to explode and then flow.
“I hate you….” Bri muttered, with eyes closed and mind overcome.
“I…. h-hate….” Ewa replied, her voice trembling and thought only half offered.
Between bites and gnawing, the wet smacking sounds of clashing cunts echoed over and over.
“Fuckkk… fuckkk….” The blonde cursed as a pleasure she hated built within her.
“Fuck you, Bri…. Fuckk you, bitch….” Decipherable and assignable, though those last curse-laden whispers were, those that came after came too quick and far too overlapped to be separated. The volume of their voices raising, as their back and forth battle of blisteringly hot kittens quickened in pace and increased in precision.
“Awwwww… FUCK… uwww youu… UGHNNNNNNN”
“Awwwwwwww awwwwww gawwwddddd uwww… UWHNNN…”
Why were they…? What were they…? Each asked themselves, but in only a blink of the questions being asked, they knew.
The answer being the same for those queries, as it was for all those they had asked.
Because they had to.
Because they needed to.
Squelch it. Smother it. The fire in their enemy. The defiance in her heart. And the strength in her soul.
And what better way would there be to do that than to drag her kicking and screaming to an orgasm. To force her to wilt and writhe — moan and melt. All as she who inflicted that release found herself free to violate and deprive.
That desire, and the molten flow of emotions beneath it — a magma made of hate, jealousy, lust, and emotions they could not yet name surged through them. The fires of it burning down obstacles and then exploding like volcanos powerful enough to shift the axis of their combined worlds forever more.
“UWWWWWNNNNOOOOO NOOOOO” — “GAWDDD NOOOOOOO!!!!” Their final, primal screams of unified frustration and simultaneous release filling the home in which they battled. Its haunting echoes surrounding them as an orgasm like none they had ever experienced tore through them like a tornado.
No, a hurricane.
Or perhaps something so unique — something so deep and divine that naming it lessens its power.
The coiled legs of the two releasing and ravaged women tightening hard and then coming loose as their bodies collapsed together and apart. Ewa, using her last unbroken ounce of focus and force to peel her own body from Bri’s.
The lower two thirds of their wound-welded chests tearing apart so painfully, that even as they continued to shake and squirm with the leftover ecstasy they felt, the two groaned out in pain. Groans that persisted and lingered as next to each other, on their backs, they laid.
Ample and freshly reopened chests heaving in unison. Each fighting to catch their breath and regain whatever control over their own bodies they had before they made their wild gambit.
To make the other cum.
To shame their rival — their enemy with an unwanted orgasm, and open for themselves a chance to brutalize without reprisal.
A chance each took. A dare each made. And a failure and defeat each suffered, in their impromptu game of pleasure amongst so much pain.
A mutuality of “might-have been” and “if only they had” that left them each speechless and silent.
Weakened and weary.
Desperate to re-engage even in their exhaustion, but somehow fearful of it. Not the fighting that would ensue or the pain they would inflict, but looking into each other’s eyes after having broken. After having came. Not in stride, and upon the other’s face like the goddess they believed themselves to be, but together and at least in that moment, as equals.
And so they resisted it. Their already burning need to lock together once more. Each simply laying, breathing, and recovering. Side by side, until finally, and in unison, they rolled to their knees and then fought their way to wobbly, liquid-dripping stands. The sweat, blood, and cum of not just their own making but their rival’s seeping down their body as finally, they found the courage to lift their gazes and glare once more.
“Bitch.” Ewa spat out flatly, her unwavering confidence finally wavering.
“Cunt.” Replied the blonde 5 feet across from her, she too feeling her certainty of superiority filed off at the edges.
Having spoken their malice-mandated mantra, they remained. Their hands on hips, as they studied each other’s clawed, bruised, and battle-splattered bodies.
The image of their good works bringing cruel smirks to their faces. Smirks they still wore when their slow, ranging, toe-to-tits examinations finally brought their eyes back to one another.
“You fuck like a dead fish!!” Suddenly, out of the depths of Bri’s hate and still burning anger, she began to shout once more. Letting her voice raise and derision fly, just as all of the same drove Ewa to charge forward and then lunge.
Not in another hair-grabbing, body-to-body crash, but in a hard, dual-handed, palm-first shove that sent Bri stumbling backward, a wicked smile on her face.
“FUCK YOU!!!” Ewa yelled as she chased after her fury-inducing rival.
“That’s what you were doing you stupid slut! And you came on me like the pathetic Euro slut you are!” As the blonde continued to stoke her enemy’s already red-hot fire, each began to push at one another with hard, emphatic shoves.
Shoves that sent them each deeper and deeper into Bri’s home, careening on unstable legs past the living room, the broken table, the shattered vase, and all else that told of their struggle. Until finally they found themselves together at the end of the main hallway of the home.
Each on either side of it. Bri nearest her own master bedroom, and Ewa standing against the wall. Separated by only bare carpet, and all around them were framed pictures. Not of Bri or her family. Not of her cousins and parents, nieces and nephews, but of Michael.
Each depicting him in some moment of self-perceived glory. At the end of a long, wooden dock with a giant fish hanging to his right. Him and the boys, clinking drinks at the same bar that Ewa had met him in that night. Even pictures from his high school football days, looking fit and confident in his grass-stained uniform.
Images which drew Ewa’s eyes, and in their absurdity, demanded she examine them — picture by picture. Even as a boy, Michael had the same eyes, the same confident, smug look. It was the face of someone who had been born to success. The face of someone who always expected to have his way, to twist other people to do what he wanted.
A truth that somehow, made Ewa even angrier than she already was. Not at Michael, but at Bri. The most ferocious and intoxicating rival she ever met.
One who had inflicted so many wounds upon her body.
But as she, the woman drawn to that house and hallway by invite and irresistibly hateful chemistry, studied a hall devoted entirely to someone other than her blonde enemy — other than the succubus from hell she had battled. She felt that their wounds were now cheapened. The blood smeared on their skin having lost its power.
Despite the viciousness.
Despite the hunger they had each felt.
Despite the instinctive urge that pulled at them like gravity from the very moment they first laid eyes on each other.
For all of it was set in motion by another — by a cocky, presumptuous, manipulative man named Michael.
A thought that made Ewa’s bruised and bloody lips twist and then peel apart in a scream unlike any she had uttered so far that night.
That sound tearing through the silence that had before existed between them, as she who let it loose moved to the wall and grabbed the first frame she could reach. Her fingers yanking the picture from the wall, and then hurling it across the hall. It’s wood and glass barely missing Bri as it flew past and then shattered just behind the wide-eyed blonde.
Why? The eyes of that blonde asked. What the fuck was Ewa doing? They demanded to know, though no words had yet been spoken.
It was his eyes: Michael’s. Eyes that didn’t deserve to see them as they were.
Nude and war-torn.
Bruised and battered.
Passionate and desperate. Not to escape or survive, but to fight. To struggle and battle with one another until finally, one of them had given up — given in, and admitted the other was the true hellcat amongst them.
But Ewa’s needling frustration and overflowing rage were not only because he, if even in print, watched them. But also because of what the wall represented. What it showed the Pole about her rival’s life.
How fully Bri had given into to Michael’s wants and needs, abandoning her own in the process.
A revelation that remained unspoken, as after the picture flew past Bri, she blinked, almost as if she was dazed. A daze that came to an end when the blonde turned and grabbed another picture, one closer to her, and then hurled it back at Ewa. It too failed to strike her foe, breaking on carpeted impact nonetheless.
In the aftermath of that second crash and removal of imagery, their large breasts rose and fell in unison. Each seething, shaking, and communicating with fire-etched eyes.
The two women, blood-covered and sweat drenched, sharing, at that moment, a common foe other than one another. The pictures. His face. The ink-written eyes of the man who tried to control them, manipulate them, and drive them to fight for any reason other than their own desire to do so.
And so they acted. Their hands lifting to and grabbing one picture after picture, and then hurling them at walls and into other rooms. Listening to them shatter as they moved on to the next. Wicked smiles taking to their faces, even as their eyes remained locked together as if they had been made to never part.
Their destructive, raging, gleeful spree of destruction and celebration only coming to an end when every record of Michael had been removed from the hall.
It was then that Bri turned and walked into her master bedroom. Forcing Ewa to watch her full hips twitch and her gorgeous ass shift from side to side and jiggle in the most teasing of ways. The sight drug the onyx-haired woman’s mind back to the still remaining ending to their conflict.
To the soul-deep need she had felt since the first moment she and Bri’s eyes had met. A need to engage, to combat, and then to prove her feminine dominance. To squelch the challenge presented to her, hell the one Bri threw in her face at the club.
Yes they had fought fiercely. Yes, they had brutalized each other. But still, the blonde remained unbowed. Her gorgeous body still moving on its own volition and in a way meant to torment Ewa.
And so, growling softly, Ewa followed Bri into her bedroom. Into the very lair of the fellow predator she sought to overcome and conquer.
Once inside, and after slinging the door closed behind her, the pursuing Pole closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt a deep and radiating pain throughout the entirety of her once unblemished and unspent body.
A state of disrepair that caused her to sway gently, from side to side, as she stood and examined the room where Bri had no doubt dommed so many of Michael’s targets.
Would she be next? Ewa asked herself as her eyes opened and then answered defiantly with a renewed and confident glare.
You aren’t like the others….” Bri spoke calmly for perhaps the first time that night. She knew exactly what Ewa pictured in her mind.
“And this wasn’t for Michael….” The Blonde continued, as her hands rose into the air and to her sides, her knees slightly bent as she began to circle the dark-haired woman before her.
“But just like every girl he brought home, I’m going to break you. Right here, in my own bed.” It was a challenge, yes. A threat, of that there could be no doubt. But it was more. Or perhaps less. As it was a lie.
One that they both told themselves. Denying the fear and uncertainty they felt as there in that bedroom, the two fate-affixed women began to move slowly around one another.
“Never….” Ewa almost spit in reply.
A word that hung in the air, as without another word or warning both women lunged toward each other.
Neither clinging at that moment to strategy or tactic. But instead responding to their need to attack each other once again.
To collide and then writhe together once more.
Their large, blood-strewn breasts collided with a spray of sweat that coated the flesh beneath their chins as their arms wrapped around each other.
Arms which did not tighten and then clasp, but instead dug claws in once more. Into backs and then down. Ass cheeks and then back up. Every inch of skin traversed drawing a wounded scream of rage and pain from the two tiring titans of tits and temerity. They together locking together in a stalemate of slicing nails and pressing breasts, until Bri moved for more by hooking her leg around Ewa’s.
The gorgeous blonde doing so, not to keep the black-haired beauty from escaping, but to fell her by slamming the heel of her foot down into unprotected calf
A blow that crumbled both leg and pond-hopping Pole, sending not only her but they together down to the carpeted floor in a tangle of bodies.
At the soft thump that sounded out as they crashed down, their lips peeled back and bared teeth snapped at lips and cheeks as they started to roll. Each letting their jaws clamp down and then release, clamp down and then release, there at the foot of Bri’s bed.
And though that quick succession of piercing bites hurt, as Bri rolled on top, Ewa slapped her left hand down into the proud right cheek of her rival’s ass. Then, after gripping it tight, she dug her claws in cruelly. They, broken as they were, stabbing into the mass of the American’s perfect glute and then scraping their way across, down and up.
The damage done making Ewa smile, even as she continued to catch and gnaw at her enemy’s pretty face. The blonde’s ass having become, somewhere in the madness, a symbol of her unbroken spirit. It’s shape, symmetry, and sexual draw an open challenge to Ewa’s own magnificent body. A quality that made the animalistic yowls of pain and rage that sprang from Bri’s lips manna from heaven to Ewa.
But as Ewa worked at Bri’s behind, the latter reached in, between, and then through the narrow gap between the Pole’s thighs and toward the plump folds that had been gorging on both blood and sex lust that night. Once there, and before the bottom-bound onyx even knew what was happening, the blonde above her drug her claws over those folds, digging into them and revelling over the tortured screams that burst from her foe’s lips.
From those attacks, they each should have broken apart and retreated. But instead they held onto each other and fought to withstand the others attack as once more they began to roll. Both certain beyond reason the other would give before they did. Ewa ravaging the cheeks of her rival, as Bri tore cruelly at her sex.
Until finally, even those attacks became too much. Their up-and-over rolling slowing and then stopping completely. Leaving the two broken women to continue their exhaustive battle on their sides. Ragged gasps and moans bubbling up from their throats as the time between their once ferocious and continuous bites lengthened.
Each only barely aware of their own dimming strength and weakening attacks, as with those physical limitations came a fog and confusion.
The fire in their eyes waning and the digging of their digits lessening, until finally the two fell apart. Their hands falling to their sides, and away from their targets, as once more they rested.
The chests of each rising and falling as they attempted to draw air back into their bodies. Their hair wild and matted, and crystalline eyes of emerald and sapphire looking not to each other, but to the roof which seemed to spin above them.
There they could have laid — should have laid for hours. Recuperating their strength before even thinking of battling once again. But driven on by the same passions that had held them together and at odds since they met, Bri and Ewa pushed herself up to a sitting position, their once styled hair plastered to their skin by pools of sweat and blood. Newly opened streams of crimson trickling down from pubic mounds and lips and cheeks at both ends.
Trickles of liquid that did little to stop both women to, as if on cue, push up from the floor, to their knees, and then to a barely-held stand. Their eyes going wide, as they each tried to comprehend how their rival could have met them there on their feet.
After all they had done to each other.
After all the damage that had been inflicted.
A resilience and unspoken fear that drove them to once more dive into the breach. They, with frustrated growls, raising their exhausted arms and staggered in toward each other.
Their hands grabbing for shoulders, as each, in desperation, hoping to force the other down and only to then pray that they could not get back up.
Efforts which failed them, as instead, they found themselves trapped in a stalemate. Locked together, as they swayed and staggered about in ragged circles. Their legs tired beyond understanding, and struggling just to hold them up, let alone drive them forward. The two women nearly tripping and tipping over every few seconds, though somehow they held to their feet.
A holding that left both Ewa and Bri to wander about in front of the blonde’s bed, in a slow, awkward waltz, their large tits swaying and brushing between them. A hell in which they lingered until their fingers slowly worked in from their foes’ shoulders, reaching instead toward sweat and blood covered throats.
Those being perhaps the only body parts they had not wounded in their long struggle. A gap they closed, as without pause or even conscious thought, they gripped each other in a mutual choke. One they held onto as together the warring pair twisted and turned, their hands coiling tighter and tighter around their opponent’s neck. Their breathing became quicker, shallower, then turning into desperate gasps for air, that did little to get them breath.
Untenable though their mutual strangle was, and destined to lead to their mutual unconsciousness though it may have been, Bri could not see it. She, fighting at that moment on instinct alone; knowing no truth, no reality, no future, other than holding on to Ewa with every ounce of strength she had.
And though Ewa was no more clear-headed or aware, suddenly her knees gave and she dipped down. Not fully, however, for just as she teetered on the edge of collapsing down to the carpet, she found the strength to surge back up. Not in a controlled ascent, but in an awkward, springy, overcorrecting spurt of force. One that came as drool slipped from her formerly proud lips and then ended with an unplanned and forceful impact, the top of the European’s tits slamming into the bottom of Bri’s.
The unexpected collision of chests that caused the blonde to fall onto her back on the bed behind her. Her lower back acting as a fulcrum, with her lower legs hanging off the mattress and her feet still braced on the floor.
But Bri was not alone in her collapse. For at that same crashing of tits against tits, Ewa dropped to her knees. Just at the foot of the bed, and after the dust had settled, between Bri’s wide-spread thighs.
Thighs which quickly lifted, swiftly wrapped, and then before Ewa could escape or stand once more, drug her forward and face-first into her blonde’s enemy’s cunt.
Bleary eyed and spent. Dizzy and half-delusional, Bri was a wreck. But still, she knew. She felt it. Where Ewa was, and how easy it would be for her to end their epic battle of pride and power. Not with a strike. Not with a submission. But in the most personal and intimate way one woman can finish another. By smothering her out, river-deep in the pussy of her enemy.
A thought that, even in her state of utter devastation, brought a wide smile to the blonde’s bitten and bloody face. A smile that only grew as she could feel it. Ewa struggling and shouting into her wet and sweltering kitten.
Every squirm and attempt to escape rubbed Ewa’s plump, bloodied lips against Bri’s inflamed and dripping folds. The blonde groaning in reaction, she being almost too exhausted to feel the pleasure, but drinking in the glory of having the dark-haired woman trapped deep between her thighs and serving her against her will.
Ewa, in reaction to the same, slapped the heavy comforter laying on the bed, her fingers digging into the material. Her every attempt to escape her rival’s hold, without intention or thought, only serving to heighten the pleasure felt by the hyper-sensitized labia of her coiled and cooing blonde enemy. The hot breath streaming from her nose and lips causing Bri to shudder. A happening that pushed the Pole to reach out with her right hand, but no matter how desperately she tried, she could not get it far enough to grab the blonde’s battle-damaged left tit. Worse yet, at the effort, Bri grabbed the kneeling beauty’s wrist and then with an angled-aided ease, slammed it down to the comforter — pinning it there.
Growling from rage and frustration, even in her weakened state, Ewa thrashed about, looking for any avenue of escape she could. But the toned legs of the blonde were up to the task, momentarily squeezing tighter. An effort meant to warn the onyx she kept engulfed in her sex, that her situation could be made much, much worse.
Even without that warning, however, the fatigued and failing transplant of continent and country, already knew that with every effort she made, she only wasted the energy she had left.
And so Ewa, furiously bridling at the idea, pursed her lips into an O and breathed out toward the swollen lips mashing into her face. A groan and slight shifting of hips were her foe’s response.
Then, with her lips curling back into a hateful sneer, Ewa snaked her left hand up between Bri’s legs until it rested just under her chin. There was a warning squeeze from the blonde’s legs as she guessed what had just occurred. The two women ceasing every movement and message — shift and struggle, as they remained motionless for a second. Their labored breathing the only sound in the room.
In that moment, the cobra and the mongoose faced off. Each asking themselves and one another the same question. Could a strike by Ewa, like a bite perhaps, do enough damage to keep Bri’s retaliation from ending her. After all, the onyx was already so very close to giving in and giving out. Her face hot, wet with perspiration, and ravaged by the blonde’s claws. Wounds she wore as she struggled to get air, captured and cornered in the tight, humid valley of her rival, one seeping with sweat and cum — not only of Bri’s making but of Ewa’s too. Liquids, the scents of which seemed to weave into a sweet and salty mask that made it nearly impossible to breathe, especially when coupled with her slow descent into Bri’s welcoming pussy lips.
And so, with what she had left, Ewa began internally to weigh her options. Her heart burning with the need to not only continue this fight, but to win.
To beat Bri; the cruel, hateful, incredible bitch who had in a single meeting of eyes transfixed her more than any woman — than any person ever had before.
A need she felt burning so brightly in her soul, that even in her new found acceptance, respect, and even enjoyment of her rival and their war. She hated.
Not Bri, but the fact that she was trapped.
Not the woman who kept her ensnared and sinking deeper and deeper into a hungry and waiting kitten, but her own weakness.
A weakness which left her unable to muster the piston-like power she would need to drive up onto the bed and overcome her foe. Knowing that Bri’s thighs would flex and squeeze, with probably enough power to render the Pole unconscious, another victim to Bri’s body and bed.
A self-loathing and hard-earned fatigue that made her lips curl back to expose her fangs. Fangs which dripped with a mix of saliva, blood, and sexual consequence, as Ewa panted like a she-wolf locked in a death hunt to bring down her prey.
She having decided and thereafter committed to the last attack available to her. That being her pink tongue flicking out and tasting the swollen folds of her foe. The thick nectar from Bri’s sex, as sweet as it was, scalding Ewa’s pride. And branding it with a shame she would endure in no other battle. With no other woman.
For it could signal submission. Subjugation. And even leave her branded a cheater in her own mine. But to defeat Bri — to defeat this blonde goddess of a woman who in the course of those last few hours Ewa had delved to the seventh layer of hell and then back to the gates of heaven. She would do ANYTHING.
Even pleasing the woman who held her captive, not on accident or as side effect, but with intention, talent, and a tonguing like only she could give.
A lavishment that made Bri groan out in pleasure and spasm slightly, her hips shifting, adjusting, and presenting her sex to be ravished on instinct alone. They, admitting for her, no matter how tightly she clung to her headscissor,that she was more than ready to claim her victory prize.
A prize that seemed to be her’s, as again and again, Ewa’s tongue flicked out, tasting, licking, and pressing against the soft inner pink she would have gladly torn apart earlier. And as she did, Bri’s moans became louder and longer — deeper and more desperate.
Yes, those sounds came amongst warning growls and a tightening of thighs whenever Ewa would move too far or her attention would slow. Making it clear that the blonde had not completely surrendered to the pleasure her rival offered.
A distrust of purpose and commitment to cause that acted as a salve to Ewa’s mental wounds. It being proof that neither woman assumed that their fight was over, or that finally the proud Pole had submitted and given in.
A fact that made it easier for Ewa to continue, slowly gauging the blonde enemy’s response. The shift of hips, the tightness of her scissor hold, each being measured and metered — translated and taken as temperature.
Until finally, the moment came when her foe’s ass lifted up slightly from the bed, just as a spasm rippled along her toned legs and a moan escaped her lips.
There, in that howl, there was a pitch and quiver that told Ewa something. Something deep and intimate — telling and truthful. And in response to that unspoken, and yet heard message from one enemy to another, the kneeling newcomer to the country let her ragged claws spread before a moment later she thrust talons into Bri’s softest flesh. The cobra, after so long a wait, beginning her attack.
Bri’s scream tore through the room thick, sex-scented air of the room. Her legs convulsing and tightening around Ewa’s head, causing — for a second — the prostated Pole’s vision to blur and darken around the edges. Her fingers digging into the blonde’s swollen folds, even as she continued to lick and thrust her tongue into the blonde’s soaking slit.
Bri, in reaction, tried to crawl backward, seeking to escape the sudden overload of pain and pleasure, but Ewa — the hunting she-wolf — would not allow her prey to escape.
And so it was then that half dragged, half crawling, the onyx-haired European found herself rising. Her ass up, jutted out, and swaying as she continued her dual-sided attack. Bri’s hands, as her hips thrashed and twisted, shooting up to her own hair, and burying claw-deep into the scalp beneath. The additional pain just increasing the overload of sensations now tearing through her body.
Clear though it was that Bri was breaking, Ewa kept up the pace of her attack. Not doing so under fear of some threat, or in response to some demand. As instead, the two women had instinctively fallen into this new private war. Ewa’s tongue tasting and licking as her lips sucked at the budding clit of her rival, kissing it gently. Her sharp-edged and broken nails continuing to dig in and tear the soft flesh her mouth had just caressed.
“YES!!!! YES!!!! FUCKKKKKKKKKKKK!” Bri screamed, revealing that her thighs had loosened, and that once more Ewa was free.
If she wanted to be.
If she chose to withdraw from the thighs draped over her shoulders and then reengage.
A realization and chance for decision that dawned as the squirming blonde pulled her hands from her own hair and began to slam them down on the comforter again and again. She understanding, at some level, that her very body had been turned against her.
Betrayal that was not nascent or threatened but real and complete as the lava flow of sensations burst from her core and moved through her, obliterating everything in its path.
In the wake of that devastation, Bri did not feel shame or anger, but instead a soul-deep sense of freedom. A clarity and cleansing that came as Ewa rode through the seismic heaving of the angelic blonde’s body, continuing her attack until there was a final stiffening.
A reapplication of thighs and headscissor, that the Euro-zone queen feared for a moment might crush her skull. It a consequence of Bri’s wicked, paradigm shattering orgasm that caused her body to stretch out like a plank, just as her head slammed and then pressed down hard into her pillows.
For one second and then two, it was agony for Ewa. Who cursed herself for not escaping sooner, knowing she would submit if the sudden pulse of pressure lasted even a moment longer.
But it didn’t.
As with one final scream that stretched into a moan, and then a moan into a whimper, the American host collapsed back down to her bed. With that drop, and as Bri shivered and shook, the painful, seizing scissor that had been renewed released.
Gasping, Ewa pushed herself up on hands and knees, and looked down at Bri. Her eyes speaking of so many different emotions neither she nor her rival could make them out. Anger; desire; satisfaction; pride; shame; respect; and something more?
Before those questions could be answered or mysteries solved, the moment arrived. The moment when the she-wolf stalked over the body of her prey. She sliding her right knee between Bri’s legs, then her left, spreading the blonde’s thighs open as she moved up her body. Her advance continuing until she hovered above Bri’s face, looking down with those same piercing, emerald eyes.
At that moment, as Ewa looked down at the woman who gave her a night, a battle, and a release of emotions so intense that made the rest of her life seem dull and dithering by comparison, it faded.
She was no longer an immigrant fleeing her old country. A woman without a home, staying in a hotel room until she found a place to rent. THIS was her home now. She had claimed her place by rite of combat and would never surrender it.
A silent oath taken — an unspoken commitment made as Bri looked up, her eyes focusing on her gorgeous rival. One who’s long dark hair, matted, wild, and coated with the fluids of battle, cascaded around them, framing Ewa’s and Bri’s faces so that all that they could see was each other.
In that seclusion, the eyes of the two women locked.
Insistence, flared in the piercing green eyes of one.
Acceptance, glimmered in the crystal blue eyes of the other as she nodded softly.
A look of longing and need — demand and forgiveness shared as Ewa crawled forward a bit further, lowered her hips so that her mound found Bri’s once more. Their savaged lower lips kissing, though Bri could no longer see Ewa’s face.
That view replaced by the now overwhelming mass of Ewa’s breasts, which though clawed, bitten, bruised and battered, remained proud and unbowed. Their irrepressible strength made known as slowly they lowered toward Bri’s face, as the blonde silently wrapped her legs around Ewa’s, giving her additional access.
“Mine,” Ewa whispered as Bri’s face disappeared between her deep cleavage. The dark haired woman’s hips thereafter forcefully beginning to thrust forward.
The resulting contact making it Ewa’s turn to moan and to shiver as she took her reward. She feeling Bri’s soft upper lips, bloodied and bruised though they were, pressing against the flesh of her tits. Not as a prelude to a bite, but instead hot, panting attempts to bring air into the blonde’s lungs.
Attempts made, as with purpose, Ewa began to smother. Not out of hatred or malice, but desire. She having discovered the voice Bri had been trying to fill. The lacking excitement that had kept her Michael’s docile pet.
It was pleasure, mixed with pain.
Struggle, laced with sensuality.
Suffering and pain, not in turns but together.
And though in part, she cut off Bri’s air, and left her buried core-deep between her cavernous cleavage for she who lingered there. She too wanted it.
To bring an end to their battle. Their first of many. Their best of every. Severing this night from all others, and to, as truly as she knew how, to bind them together.
Bri would never forget this moment. This smother. This defeat. And so she would come for more. Not just once, but forever. Not for revenge, but satisfaction.
A satisfaction Ewa felt swirling in a tight ball forming in her core stomach. Her swollen lips and sweltering clit taking pleasure from rubbing against Bri’s. The pace of the oynx’s drags quickening as she felt Bri’s gasping efforts intensify and her breathing become ragged.
Ewa’s free hands gripping the covers beneath them, her fingers digging in as the moans started to turn from soft sounds to primal noises made before campfires long ago.
Sounds the Polish goddess let loose into the hill she had taken, her ass and thighs clenching harder and harder — quicker and quicker, as she felt Bri’s weaken beneath her. The hands of her rival pushing against her shoulders and arms, as on instinct alone the blonde fought for air.
But that air was Ewa’s tribute now.
Her’s to give and her’s to deny.
And with the latter being her choice, Ewa’s hips continued to slam, pounding into the less and less responsive blonde’s. Until finally, as her head tilted back, the dark-haired dominant howled out in a primitive and animalistic moan. Her explosive release able to rock not just the bedroom, but the house — if sound and fury turned tinder to tumult.
A tumult that took Ewa as her back arched, her upper body tilted back, and breasts lifted gently from Bri’s mascara-smeared face. The once defiant sapphire eyes at its center closed, the blood-stained lips beneath them parted and sipping only barely at the air.
A sight that made Ewa’s glorious, earth-shattering orgasm linger and last, until finally the foaming waves of sensation died down. A calm that came just as Ewa rolled off of Bri, onto her back beside her foe.
She staring up at the ceiling for a moment, before realizing that it was perhaps the first time she looked at anything other than her rival since entering the house. Well, apart from those shattered pictures of the man from Bri’s past.
A man who, no matter his hair or good looks — charisma or confidence, would have to pry Bri from Ewa’s hands. A man who was not sitting on the stoop of the house or pounding on the front door, but instead prowling the bars once more. He being more interested in satisfying his fetish than finding his way back into a house he did not own, or into the arms of a woman who had so willingly let him move in and take over.
Certain though Ewa was of the ferocity with which she would defend all that she had found, and as mirrored as that desire would be from the smothered and sleeping woman next to her when she woke, still did Ewa then gulp down air hard. The victorious and voluptuous vixen from the bar finally feeling the pain her mind and will had suppressed before that moment.
Pain from scars that she would wear as badges of honor and brands of mutual ownership from her new found obsession. An obsession she listened to, glancing over toward the slowly rising chest of the blonde who in the heat of a battle unlike any other, she had come to need.
Michael, Poland, and all else that once ate at her and set them at odds fading into the din of a past before they found each other.
Bri and Ewa.
Lovers, rivals, and partners forevermore.