Hate on the 38th by Rival’s Rapture

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

It happened so quickly and was so painful, that even that next morning, when the memory came to haunt and horrify, it all seemed blurry and out of focus — except for her face. Taylor’s. Her smirk. Her taunting laugh. Those bits of it would never fade — never soften, for they were seared into Rebecca’s soul — as if she had been branded by her chief rival.

A woman who had been Rebecca’s co-worker at Bowman International since the erection of the company’s new tower in New York. A building which housed each of the two women on the same floor, on the same projects, in cubicles not feet from each other for approximately 2 years at that point.

Yes, they had survived without killing each other, but it had always been hard — painful — as each found the other absolutely nauseating. Not unattractive mind you, as both women were tall, leggy, and stunning — but there was just something — just EVERYTHING about the other that drove them insane.

Such mutual disdain had led them down the primrose path, as each engaged in argument after argument, in private and in plain view of their office-mates. Their feud eventually becoming so vitriolic and distracting for not only their co-workers but themselves, that they were called into not one disciplinary meeting, or two, but more than either could even remember.

The last of those “get-togethers” as Austin Bowman called them, had been months ago. And, perhaps foolishly, that distance in time had led Rebecca to believe that perhaps finally, she and Taylor had reached some sort of equilibrium — a plateau in their escalating office war.

That was until she, the girl with the fire-red hair, arrived home one night, with the sounds of moaning and grunting hitting her ears as soon as her key hit the lock. With speed and well-earned suspicion, she threw the door open and ran upstairs, finding there her husband with his legs spread, lying beneath Taylor, her hated rival, who sat facing the door to the room, fucking him.

On the blonde’s face as she rode him hard was an evil and expectant smirk, one that read like a victory speech — a gloating eulogy to their parity. An expression that had been aimed straight at the door, making it clear that such a moment and in fact, the entirety of the seducing of the redhead’s husband had been orchestrated by blonde, just for Rebecca. Just to punish and humiliate her, in the most intimate of ways.

It was a masterstroke. A finishing blow, Taylor thought. One so devastating and hurtful that Rebecca would have no choice but to quit her job, and leave the 38th floor of Bowman Tower all to her better.

The shock, the pain, the rage, all led Rebecca to scream and yell, as Kevin quickly tried to pull his cock out of Taylor mid-thrust, and run to his spurned wife. But for that attempt Taylor was ready, and before Rebecca’s traitorous husband could even sit up, the blonde reached down, grabbed the comforter beneath both of them, and used it and her sexy bottom to keep him pinned.

Then, as the bed-bound man struggled beneath her, and as Rebecca stood mouth open and fists clenched, Taylor sped up her riding. Her rod-centered bouncing.  And within seconds, drove not only he, but herself to an explosive orgasm.

At that happening, both Taylor and Kevin screamed out out in ecstasy, as the spurned redhead could do not else but watch. Watch and cry as she buried her face in her hands and tried to leave, too hurt and dejected to fight or yell. Too wounded by her rival to do anything at that moment, but run.

But Taylor was not finished, as she needed to drive home her message of finality, and so she chased. The platinum blonde grabbing her clothes as she sprinted, catching up to Rebecca in the hall, and though wearing nothing but sweat and Kevin’s fresh semen, Taylor grabbed the redhead by the shoulders and slammed her back against the wall.

Then, before Rebecca could turn all of her anger and hatred into sound or action, Taylor reached between her legs, scooped what juices she could from her red-hot sex, and then as she glared into the redhead’s eyes, smeared them across the cheek and lips of the same.

It was truly a devastating exclamation point of humiliation. One that left Rebecca quivering and defeated to her very core, as she slowly and pathetically slid down the wall and to the floor. She just touching down thereupon, as Taylor said with her most venomous of tones let drift:  “I win….”

Afterwards, once Taylor had left, and Kevin found Rebecca sobbing in the hall, he tried to explain — to apologize and console her in whatever way he could. But his words, his actions, his EXCUSES, meant nothing. Because, despite the dagger he helped plunge into his wife’s back, this wasn’t about him. It was about her. Taylor; and the last line between them being crossed — the last straw broken, along with the camel’s back.

From that night on, Kevin was relegated to not just the doghouse, a shared Facebook account, and the couch, but also the back of Rebecca’s mind. For first and foremost, she sought revenge. A revenge so complete and destructive that Taylor would regret ever entering the redhead’s home, fucking her husband, or even thinking that she was Rebecca’s equal.

Despite those fist-clenched vows of taking swift justice on Taylor, Rebecca spent the night crying. Crying and thinking, searching desperately for some master plan to ruin her enemy’s life. But as the sun rose, and her cell phone’s alarm went off, she had nothing — just anger, a petulant, impotent rage. One that she carried with her out her front door, into the car, the parking garage, and then into Bowman tower.  

At that point, despite wanting more than anything to cause Taylor a searing and unforgettable pain, all Rebecca had in her mind was to simply work and try to breathe — try to live. And yet, in the back of her mind, in the fanciful imaginings of a desperate woman, the young redhead had hoped, that Taylor wouldn’t be there when she arrived, or at all. That she would be sick, or that she would take a day to celebrate her victory.

Clinging to such wild-eyed possibilities, Rebecca walked into the ground floor elevator of the tower, and pressed the button to take her to the 38th floor. As soon as the button was depressed however, she found herself greeted from behind by Amber, personal assistant turned fiance of Austin Bowman. “Good morning, Rebecca! You have a meeting today with Mr. Bowman. Austin, to be exact.”

“I do?” Rebecca asked confused, her hair a mess, her eyes bloodshot, and her eyelids puffy from a night of sobbing without sleep. “When?”

“Yes, you do! Oh, ugh … right now, actually! Mr. Bowman is waiting for you in the conference room on your floor.” Amber continued to explain, her demeanor sweet, and her smile wide.

“Do you know what the meeting is about? It wasn’t on my calendar.” Asked Rebecca as she fished for whatever info she could get, nervous that somehow Austin had heard about the goings-on of the night before.

“I do.” Amber said shortly.

“Uh, can you tell me?” As she spoke, the elevator let loose a loud bing, announcing their arrival at the 38th floor.

“I’ll let Austin do that. Good luck!” The short brunette added, her expression impenetrable, and her comment of ‘good luck’ ominous.

“Ok, well … thanks, Jennifer.” Rebecca said, not all to clear on which personal assistant she was talking to. Bennett and Austin’s looking so similar it made it hard to tell them apart.

“Amber.” The thick and busty brunette corrected, not near as infuriated by the comment as she would have been only a month prior.

“Right. Thanks!” Rebecca, embarrassed at having made such a mistake, left the elevator nonetheless, and headed towards the conference room. As she did, those about the floor watched her, gawked at her, and then quickly looked away, if the redhead’s gaze moved anywhere close to them.

Their eyes told Rebecca a tale that scared her. One that made her feel as if everyone knew what was about to happen, except she. With that terror struck deep in her already wounded heart, the redhead reached, turned the handle to the office where her fate awaited, and then entered the location of her impromptu meeting with one of the two owners of Bowman Industries.

“Rebecca! Glad you’re here. Have a seat.” Austin said cheerfully, as he sat on one side of the overly large conference desk. His hair being, as always, immaculate, with blonde curls held perfectly in place and styled until it almost looked fake. He wore a sharkskin suit, the jacket of which hung on the back of his chair, with no tie, and a French-style dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks.

But as Rebecca’s eyes detached from his near angelic glory, she found to her right: Taylor, who beamed with a confidence-born smirk and the kind of glow reserved for a woman who had finally overcome their most-hated rival.

The very sight of her threatened to send Rebecca into a spiral of shame and sadness, effects she was able to restrain only by focusing on the seething hate she had for the woman.

“As you can see, I’ve invited Taylor too. Say hello, Taylor.” Austin bid.

“GooOooooood morning, Rebecca! Rough night?” Doing as Austin asked, Taylor greeted, but in so doing, buried a verbal knife deep in the redhead’s back.

At hearing the comment, Rebecca’s eyes began to blink, and she grew dizzy, her swelling anger and rage threatening to explode right there, in front of her boss. But again, she fought off reaction, only by imagining what it would be like to attack Taylor — to hurt her — to beat her until she begged for mercy. As such barbaric imagery played in the redhead’s mind on loop, Austin continued.

“Now look, you’ve both been here for awhile. You know this department. You do your jobs well. But….” The suited-man’s ‘but’ brought a sudden end to both Rebecca’s daydream of violence, and Taylor gleeful but wordless gloating.

“I think it’s time for something a little different. I like to think our company is one that thinks outside the box and lets our employees’ passions drive us to innovation and success. And really, I think that the reason you two have had so much conflict, is because you’re both so passionate and in a lot of ways: similar. Now, I believe, that’s a good thing. A great thing. And I want to utilize those dueling passions to help this department.” Quickly the man spoke, not wanting to give either woman a chance to argue or even question his proposal.

“So, starting tomorrow, I’m promoting you both….” Austin’s words took each on a rollercoaster of emotion, through fear, and then excitement, and then straight to confusion. Promoted to what? They each thought.

“Thompson is retiring. Which means this department needs a lead. I am making you both co-leads. That means you work together, on everything, from now on.” As if Rebecca hadn’t suffered enough in the last 24 hours, she again found herself beset, as her employer laid out that she and her nemesis would be bound at the hip from that day forward.

“But, I…” The blonde began before deciding to reword her question. “Wouldn’t it be better to just promote one of us?” Taylor asked, her voice breaking through her nauseatingly fake all-smiles attitude. And as it did, Rebecca remained quiet, she being too overwhelmed by emotions to argue. All of this, every moment of it, seeming like hell to her.

“Maybe, but if I was promoting a single person, it wouldn’t be either of you. I am choosing you two, specifically because I believe, as does Bennett, that together, when you move past your grudges, you’ll be better than one person. If I’m wrong, so be it. But I’m going to be honest. If this doesn’t work, and you two can’t work together, or if one of you quits, I’m firing you both.” There had to be a workaround. An escape hatch. A way to get rid of Rebecca, and just take the role herself, Taylor thought. Taylor hoped. But as soon as plans began to formulate, Austin shattered them as he continued.

“If Rebecca fails, you do too, Taylor. If Taylor can’t hack it, Rebecca, you’ll be packing up your desk. To put it simply, you two either work for us as a team, or you don’t work for us at all….” There was no budge in Austin’s voice. No room for negotiation. This was his decision, and it was clear by his tone that no amount of whining from either girl would dissuade him.

It was that determination, and the weight of the very idea of they two working together, and having their future’s so entwined, that left each girl speechless. Speechless and winded — neither able to muster even the slightest reaction, each instead finding themselves lost in shock.

“Look … I know it can be hard to not fall in love with certain feelings. To cling to animosity, jealousy, and petty squabbles as if we’d die without them. But I am going to be increasing your salaries ten fold. And to put it bluntly, neither of you will EVER get a better job than I am offering you right now. But offer isn’t the right word, because you can’t refuse this and still work here. This is a take it or leave kinda deal. Promotion or dismissal. Taylor and Rebecca the team, either here at Bowman, or in the unemployment line….” There was so much sense in his words — in his explanation. And though it was couched in a bluntness that would have normally evoked at least some reaction from near anyone, including two women as fiery as they, Austin got nothing in return.

No, instead, both Rebecca and Taylor, redhead and blonde, just stared out the window behind the Bowman brother, stunned by the prospect of having to work together, after all that happened the night before.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to talk it over. Amber sent the staff emails last night, so they’re ready for you two to take charge. Prove me right, ladies. Prove you are each more than your little feud.” Austin added as a finish, before he stood up, grabbed his silver suit coat and left. He leaving the two women together in the conference room with their new reality. One that was already a smoldering pile of ash, though it had just begun, thanks to Taylor’s cruel seduction the night before.

There, between them, silence fell. The two women sitting a few feet apart, literally unable to come to grips with the sudden binding of their futures.

Minutes passed, one after another, up into the tens and then passed even that, until finally, Taylor opened her mouth to speak. Her voice shaking, timid, and lacking all of the confidence it had before, and yet still it came. “Rebecca, I….”

“Fuck. You.” Rebecca spat, her eyes still angled away from Taylor, though within them burned what appeared to be the fire of the sun.

“I deserve that, I’ll admit. And there isn’t anything I would rather do, than sit here and hate you. To gloat about last night, but I think you’d agree, we have to….” Always a practical girl, Taylor immediately began to try and talk Rebecca down, and calm her. She did so, knowing that though she despised the beautiful redhead, she needed her.

“Don’t even fucking speak to me. I don’t care about … about this….” ‘job’, Rebecca was going to say, but in an instant, Taylor reached out with her right hand and covered Rebecca’s mouth with her palm, not even wanting the words to be spoken — terrified by what they meant for her own future.

Already passed the boiling point, Rebecca in an absolute fury, reached up and grabbed Taylor’s wrist, so that she might pry it off her mouth. Taylor resisted, and together the two stood from their chairs. The blonde, closed in quickly, and wrapped her left arm around the redhead, pulling their bodies into a tight embrace, with Taylor’s breasts pressing against Rebecca’s back.

From such closeness, and as the redhead mumbled hatefully into the blonde’s palm, all while Taylor brought her lips to Rebecca’s ear and spoke calmly. “Shhh….. Shh…. I know you hate me. And you know, despite whatever Austin just said, I hate you…. BUT, ‘Becca we have to work this out! Think of the mone….”

Mid-word, an elbow drove back hard into Taylor’s stomach, causing her to not only release her silencing palm, but to also lean forward with a painful, though muted groan. Rebecca, with her blood on fire turned, grabbed Taylor’s golden locks, and with a hard toss, threw her in theory onto the table in the center of the room, but in practice over it and to the floor on the other side with a carpet-muted crash.

There, as the blonde laid on her back, Rebecca stormed over and dropped herself into a straddle of Taylor’s abdomen. The redhead then raising her right hand high into the air, as she prepared to deliver a hard slap to Taylor’s face. But as the hand raised, and then threatened to swing down, Taylor raised her two arms and guarded her face, terrified. Not of the pain, but instead of something else. “No, no, no, PLEASE, Rebecca! We can’t let them know we’re fighting!” Taylor pled in the loudest whisper she could muster, knowing that if either of them were too loud, the office would know, and both would be fired.”

“How dare you ask me for ANYTHING!” Came Rebecca’s equally hushed reply, as she abandoned her prepared slap, and instead reached for Taylor’s collar, dragging her up off the floor in anger. Two reductions, both in volume and violence, that showed she too had begun to worry about the consequences of being caught.

“We have to … we have to get out of here, we can’t….” Almost hyperventilating, Taylor spoke from beneath her rival. Her state brought about by a terror that at any moment, Rebecca might scream or attack again and their jobs would be forfeit.

“Fine, slut, where…? And don’t say my house, you will never step foot in my house again…. I should have killed you when I caught you there….” With every word, Rebecca shook Taylor, slamming her into the carpet and then dragging her back up, only to do so again.

“M-my place then. My husband won’t be home till — till later.” As Taylor stuttered out her answer, feeling as if at that moment Rebecca held all the cards, the redhead began to smirk.

“Fine…. We settle this there….” Rebecca said resolutely, as she released Taylor’s collar and stood up above her. There, as she stood, the redhead glared down at the woman who tore her life apart just the night before, and somewhere in all she felt, she found enjoyment. Satisfaction. Not in their delayed battle, but in the reversal of roles.

So much so, in fact, that rather than leaving, she lifted her leg, and then extended it, pressing the long, sharp heel of her footwear into Taylor’s breast. Digging it in without words, though Taylor swore she could hear her rival mouth out the sound of  ‘mmmm’, even as she herself only whimpered in pain.

A pain that along with a fear of being jobless turned the blonde completely submissive, pushing her to just lay there, and take the punishment. All as she looked up at her rival with a pleaful expression.

Please…. Her face said.

Not here…. Her eyes pled.

After a few moments of grinding her heel deep into the blonde’s breast, Rebecca had satiated her desire to hurt and humiliate Taylor. At least enough to wait — to pause their engagement and move it somewhere outside of the prying eyes of Bowman Tower.

With such satiation playing both the role as antidote and teaser, the redhead pulled her leg back and left — smiling wide at all those employees on the floor. Her every ounce of pain and heartbreak forgotten, it having been seemingly healed by her moments spent bending Taylor to her will.

An effect and replacement of emotions she would from that day on never forget, one that she found herself fixated on as she made her way to the garage, her car, and then to Taylor’s townhome. One she had been to for an office party, she was forced to go to, some months back.

Rebecca arriving only moments before Taylor, each parking in the business’ professional’s two reserved spots just feet in front of her door. There, as each exited their cars, the two women did not speak, each instead walking in silence together to the front door, as Taylor brandished her keys and did the unlocking.

But that calm and silence did not last, as within a few seconds of the open door opening and then shutting behind them, they each lunged at each other, absolutely desperate to reassert their own dominance. Taylor having finally acquired it the night before, only to have Rebecca take it right back there on the floor of the office. And Rebecca, having become addicted to it, after having her own taste in that same moment.

With that dueling and adverse need driving them, like banshees they screamed. Their hands moving to each other’s blouses and tearing, tugging, and snapping buttons as if they were popcorn in a microwave.

Something about what they wanted — what they craved, their primal need for domination and control of the other, made them act as beasts. Each of the two snarling at each other and brandishing teeth like fangs, as they shifted back and forth in a maelstrom of yanking limps and ripping clothing.

There was no doubt that they hated each other. That their feud was real. That Rebecca’s anguish from the night before, and Taylor’s terror of being fired were palpable and true. But, as they struggled against one another in entrance of Taylor’s home, each of the two found their hearts pounding, their pulses racing, and themselves more excited than either ever had been.

No, they weren’t bored housewives, searching and yearning for the other to be their small glimmer of excitement in an otherwise joyless life. Instead they found themselves on the very verge of screaming with glee as they clashed, because all of their time spent at each other’s throats. All of the insults; the backstabbing; the downtalking; the glares; the ‘accidental’ hip-bumps in the halls, and even Taylor’s sleeping with Rebecca’s husband had all led to that moment. A moment each of them had always wanted — a moment they had denied to themselves and each other for so very long.

That revelation and exaltation one might imagine them to be blind to, but in that moment they could each feel it. Each sense it. And so as each finally tore the others blouse not just apart but off, and moved their hands to each other’s hair, they clung together and hissed.

“You better not touch my fucking face, cunt!” Taylor laid down the only ground rule she needed, as her body and Rebecca’s met in a violent hurricane of hate.

“EErrrrrr” Came Rebecca’s animalistic reply, as she and her rival’s foreheads pressed together, their heels planting into the wood floor. With such footing, their powerful legs strained to drive themselves forward, their high heel-strengthened thighs and calves straining to push the other back, though each found only parity and a placement they could not alter.

Broken, however, such a stalemate was, when Rebecca found just the right angle, and with it, tugged cruelly on Taylor’s hair, sending her careening backwards off-balance. Such a state only worsened, as suddenly her blouse-covered lower back slammed against the black wrought iron railing that separated the entrance of her home from her living room. After such harsh and unexpected contact, and with the intense force each woman applied to the other, they spilt over it and then together crashed in a heap on the giveless wood floor.

If it had been any other fight, between any other women, both would have separated and taken a moment to recover from such a fall. But Rebecca and Taylor clung together like wolves, fighting for the last piece of on a kill. Such ferocity led neither woman to relinquish their grasp on the other’s hair, instead only tugging harder and sinking their fingers deeper as they laid next to each other on the floor.

But they only “laid” for a second or two, for a flash later the two rose to a sit, while still clinging to their grips of the other’s hair. Grips they used to pull cruelly, even as they began to kick at each other. The pointy heels of their footwear landing and stabbing into the shins, thighs, and exposed tops of the other’s feet.

Attacks which caused the two women, battling with such violence there on the floor of Taylor’s home, to scream out in pain, as what felt like the sharpness of a thrust dagger plunging into their bare skin again and again.

Compared to such plunges and wounding strikes, their pulling at hair seemed not just weak but useless. So much so, that almost at the same time, they each let their grips on each other’s locks go and began to slap. Not with wide, focused wind-ups, but in quick, aimless strikes.  

The other’s kicking feet causing them each so much pain, they could focus on nothing else. Not the small trickles of blood that began to run down their bare legs from where their rival’s heel had landed hard and torn skin. Nor on the strands of the other’s hair that had been ripped follicle by follicle from their enemy’s head.

No, for instead, each found themselves focused on trying to decide between two adverse desires. The first, to escape the pain the other inflicted with their kicking heels. And the other, to punish their foe for daring to cause such tear-inducing suffering.

But as the two women tried to decide which path to take in their only beginning war, the decision was made for them. As kick after kick caused their red sets of heels to loosen and then slide off, until they hung uselessly off of their feet.

Hang as they did, Taylor moved to reach down and remove them, bringing an end to her spree of stinging slaps. But as blonde paused, redhead advanced, she looking to use that moment to take control by diving forward and on top of Taylor in a straddle.

Once there, she with a fire-touched soul fought to find and secure Taylor’s wrists, wanting to grab them and pin them to the ground. But Taylor resisted, abandoning her grasp for heel, and instead shooting her hands up to Rebecca’s cleavage-exposed breasts.

Rebecca’s first thought was to mirror the attack, and grab onto Taylor’s own. But instead, and with the pain already causing her eyes to well, the redhead found herself compelled to seek Taylor’s wrists again. This time seeking to find and grab them, not to pin, but to pull the blonde’s squeezing hands away from her tits.

Sensing her rival’s moment of weakness and her own growing control, Taylor used her grasp of Rebecca’s tits to roll them, moving the redhead to her back. With her opponent so placed, the blonde quickly took the top position, never easing her attack, instead squeezing even harder, loving the look of anguish on Rebecca’s pretty face.

“Today was your chance, bitch….” Taylor shouted down at Rebecca, as she lifted her right leg, and then after moving it slightly, let it drop down on the other side of the redhead’s left — wanting to make sure she didn’t find herself caught in a leg scissor. “….to just admit you’re nothing compared to me!”

With every word, Rebecca, as her eyes welled with yet-shed tears, continued to pull at Taylor’s wrists, desperate to escape the pain.

But NO!!!! You just had to fight me!” Not satisfied with only pouring it on physically, the blonde continued to belittle her rival with her venomous words, feeling as if the superiority she had always craved was LITERALLY at her fingertips.

“Even after I fucked your husband in front of you, and you. Did. NOTHING!” The hateful, hurtful comment having been spoken, Taylor was certain: Rebecca would break, release her grip upon the blonde’s wrists, and give into the torment she now suffered.

Such a fate seemed to be at hand, when Rebecca hands released from Taylor’s wrists, causing an evil, self-pleased smirk to grace the blonde’s face. An expression the blonde wore as those removed hands came to a gentle rest on Taylor’s thighs in an unspoken communication of submission.

“Mmm, just like I th–” Taylor began, as she continued to squeeze and claw at her rival’s tits. But just as sentence of claiming neared its ending, the redhead’s hands shot upward. Not to her attacker’s own breasts, but in an abandonment of the only rule that seemed to be in place, the redhead drove her long red fingernails deep into the sides of Taylor’s face — her effort-flushed cheeks.

“No, no, no!” Terrified of suffering a wound she could not hide from management, Taylor began to panic. Just as such emotion took the blonde, Rebecca’s nails began to drag down with all the ferocity the redhead could muster.

In an instant, Taylor began to scream, not in fear of what her employers might think the next day, but in abject pain. “You fucking BIIIITT–AAAaAaahhHHHh!!!.”

It was then, just as the blonde screamed out in pain, releasing Rebecca’s aching breasts as she did so, the latter retracted one of her clawing hands, and then with it, slapped hard. So hard, in fact, that she knocked Taylor off of her and to the side. Not to fall softly to the floor next to her rival, but face-first into the wrought iron railing the two had spilled over earlier.

The resulting impact let loose an echoing gong sound, as well as pained grunt from Taylor, who suddenly found the room spinning around her.

Just as the blonde was beginning to deal with the pain from the deep claw scratches on her cheeks, the hard slap to the face, and then being slammed into such an unforgiving fixture, Rebecca attacked again. The redhead doing so by grabbing two handfuls of blonde hair, and then with them, driving Taylor’s face being slammed into the hard railing again.

“FUCKING, SLUT!” Rebecca yelled at the top of her lungs, as she drug her rival back, and then shoved her forward again, bashing the blonde’s forehead into the unforgiving black metal. As that same gong sound rung out once and then again, Taylor went almost limp in Rebecca’s arms, who held her upright, as she herself sat on her knees.

“I will never…. EVER(!!!) forgive myself for letting you leave my house!” Even though Rebecca’s voice quaked with anger, her volume began to lower with every word spoken.

“But I can make up for it now, can’t I…..” As Rebecca asked the question, Taylor merely slumped in the redhead’s lap, her focus and strength taken from her by the repeated blows to the head.

“CAN’T I!?” The redhead asked in a sudden shout, one that came just as she tugged back harshly at Taylor’s hair.

“Fuck… You…. Bitch….” Taylor spit out in a barely audible mutter, one given as she tried to pull away and out of her rival’s lap. But Rebecca quickly extended her strong legs and encircled Taylor’s abdomen. They then clamping shut, and locking at the ankle in front of the blonde.

A blonde who found herself caught between the redhead’s squeezing thighs, the latter grabbed and yanked the blonde’s red blouse from the top of her shoulders down. A move that pinned Taylor’s arms at her sides, at least above the elbow. It was then, that with her opponent trapped between cruelly squeezing thighs, and with both of her own hands free, Rebecca began to torture.

“Let me go!” Taylor demanded, as Rebecca’s right hand suddenly caught a grip of the blonde’s hair and yanked the same’s head to the side.

“Owe! Bitch!” Came another protest from the once merciless blonde, who found her rival’s left hand wrap around her body and rip down her newly exposed black bra.

“Don’t you fucking….” Despite receiving no response from her rival, Taylor continued to speak, only stopping when Rebecca’s fingers latched onto the blonde’s hard left nipple and pinched hard. But not just pinched, for she also pulled — left and right, up and down, as far as Taylor’s excitement-erect nipple would go and then some.

The state of that nipple, and the obvious connotation it had, pushed Rebecca to finally speak. “That’s why you fucking tormented me, isn’t it? Because it gets you hot…?”

Even though Taylor’s mouth did hang open, and though through it came sound, such did not form words, but instead dancing whimpers of pain. Basking in the glow of those blissful reports of rapture misery, Rebecca’s hands continued to work. Her right tugging the blonde’s hair, and by effect, head awkwardly and painfully to the side. All while the redhead’s left hand and fingers continued to pinch and pull at the exposed nipple of her rival.

“This is what you wanted all along!” Rebecca continued on the same train of thought, as she began to toy with her now helpless enemy.

“To fight me….” She whispered in her sultriest voice, as her words almost splashed in the form of hot breath against Taylor’s ear.

“To have my body wrapped around yours, squeezing….” With every word, her lips began to brush that ear, and at the end of the sentence began to nibble gently.

“For us to hate each other….” Slowly, those nibbles became soft, almost seemingly sweet kisses, even as hands and fingers worked to destroy.

“To obsess about each other….”  Those kisses then traveled down, from ear to neck, even as Taylor continued to writhe and whimper in pain between the redhead’s legs.  

“That’s even why you fucked my husband…. To bring me here….” From the redhead’s mouth came her tongue, and it began to lick sensually down the blonde’s neck, until finally it came to rest, just at the center of her trapezius.

And though within Taylor there was a true, nauseating hate for Rebecca, even she began to doubt herself in that moment. Not just herself, but her purpose for all that had occured. Why she had stoked the fire to their feud for so long. Why she had taken it so very far and made it so very personal. But just when she began to almost, even through the pain, enjoy not only Rebecca’s lust-drenched words, but her slowly escalating attention, the redhead made her regret it.

“AaaaaahhHHhhh” The blonde screamed in agony, as Rebecca bit down on her bare shoulder hard — digging her teeth in deep, and clamping her jaw shut.

It only took a moment for Rebecca to taste copper, as her bite was vicious enough to draw blood on contact. But even with that taste, she continued, not just her bite or the pulling of hair, but the pinching of nipple and squeezing of thighs.

In reaction Taylor kicked out her heel-wounded legs trying to catch the railing to try and pull herself away from her rival’s clinging body.

But when that attempt failed, Rebecca settled in. Each of her attacks beginning to ebb, until they transitioned from wild, draining ventures, to slow and methodical continuations of what felt to Taylor like never-ending pain.

With that subtle, hope-crushing change, Taylor’s screams of pain ceased, they too changing in tone to low howls, soft plaintive whimpers, and haunting moans of agony. Every such sound bringing joy to Rebecca’s heart, until she found herself almost milking them from her rival. The redhead using her pinching of nipple at first, and then the tugging of hair, followed by a squeezing of thighs to draw them out, and finally an intensifying of her bite. Until she began to use each and every at random, finding herself in full and unquestionable control.

A control in which Taylor languished, as she, for the first time, began to feel as if she might not ever find an escape to her redheaded rival’s hold. That is until she saw it, one of their discarded red heels. One she knew she could use to her advantage, if only she had it.

And so the blonde began to wriggle and writhe, until her left arm came free from her arm-binding crimson blouse. As it came loose, so did her right, with the pressure of the constricting fabric lessened.

Then, with arms that could reach once more, she did just that. Extending with her left, and leaning, as painful as it was with her body, to grab the discarded heel which laid just feet away. One she then lifted, and before Rebecca could react, drove into the flexing calf muscle of the same.

“Arrrrgggghhhh!!!!!” A muscle that in an instant went soft, as Rebecca wailed. The other muscles of the redhead’s legs releasing the blonde as their owner scrambled backward.

Despite the pain that remained, Taylor quickly spun, and dove. Keeping the red heel in her hand, in fact grasping it with another, as she attempted to drive the sharpest point of it down into Rebecca’s pain-etched face.

Almost blinded by pain, and certain her leg had been even further damaged by the desperate attack, though she was, still did Rebecca reach up. Her hands grasping not at Taylor wrists, but the heel itself, as the blonde landed atop her. Each struggling with the other for the bright red dagger-bottomed heel.

She on top to stab down and destroy, and she on bottom to take, turn, and re-aim. Each still ravenous and wild. Their hearts beating faster than they ever had before, as their wild battle continued. Neither in control any longer — their jobs on the 38th floor be damned.

In that state of utter madness they struggled and grunted, rolling together to the left, and then the right. Until suddenly they both stopped, and in a combined effort of push and pull their arms shot right, the heel flying from their grasps and across the room.

As an animal pursuing its last chance at food, Taylor chased the tossed heel, only to stop and turn, when she made it back to her feet. She finding that Rebecca had followed her to that stand, though she remained a few feet away.

Each of the two glaring at each other like no two have ever glared at each other before.

Their mascara running — their makeup ruined.

Their hair twisted, matted, and tangled.

Their every cell telling them to re-engage. To fight once again. To whatever end they might find.

And yet before she could or would, Taylor first began to remove. Taking off her formerly trapping blouse and the remnants of her bra. A sight that led Rebecca to do the same with her blue-hued top and lacey black bra, she not wanting to be any less maneuverable than her rival. She knowing full well how effectively she had used Taylor’s button-up to trap and torture her.

But the blonde did not stop there, as she then, even as she glared, reached behind her back and unclasping her skirt. An act Rebecca copied, as each shimmied their black bottoms off, leaving themselves in only panties, and the absolute loathing etched on their faces.

Each wanted to speak. To taunt. To hit each other with every insult they had ever thought of. But instead, unable to take another second without hurting one another, they each stormed forward, and in a flash grabbed, binding their fingers to each other’s hair again.

Then, as each pulled, and pushed, their bodies came together. Their nude breasts meeting, as undeniably hard nipples stabbed into soft flesh and then drug. But such sensations meant nothing to them. For at that moment they were each truly lost.

Whipping each other back and forth violently. Stumbling. Staggering. Into the living room proper then past it. Taylor’s back smashing into the corner of the hall and the kitchen, she only a second later pushing off of the same. A sole-applied force that sent she and Rebecca, with their hands still laced and grabbing at hair, down and in.

Down the hall, and into the opposite wall, knocking picture frames from their nails and to the carpeted floor with an accompanying sound of shattering glass.

A sound that if Taylor’s husband had made, she would have lost her mind in fury, but that mind had already pulled loose from its teathers. A fact made clear, not just for she, but her rival, as the two warring women, with equal force, slammed each other into a hallway door.

A door which swung open hard, and slammed into the bathroom counter behind it with a loud, echoing THWACK. A sound that, for whatever reason, caused each to change tactics. Taylor to lean in and bite Rebecca’s shoulder hard, once and then again.

As those teeth sunk in, and then lifted, their receiver, even as she screamed, took a hand from the giver’s golden hair, and with it: punched. The redheaded wildcat driving her balled fist hard into Taylor stomach.

A stomach, which though formed and framed with more tone than fat, still gave off a quick pop sound, as the afflicter’s knuckles drove in. Drove in, and then retracted, as the owner of that battered tummy collapsed to her knees, her hands falling free from Rebecca’s hair.

“BIIIITCH!!!” Rebecca screamed in a rage so ferocious spital came with it. Spital, and then a hard, arching slap, that landed on Taylor’s face in a vicious splash. One that sent her into a twist, and then stomach-first, to the cold tile floor of the bathroom.

At that moment Taylor’s cheek stung, and her lungs seized, searching for an air that had been knocked out of her. And yet still, despite those ailments, she began to rise. To lift herself from the floor to all fours. But just as she pulled flesh from AC-cooled tile, she found Rebecca’s foot drive forward and into her ribs.

A kick delivered so hard that Taylor, even as she fell back to the floor, rolled to her back. A back on which she remained, as she heard the sound of her own shower being turned on and her rival threatening.

“I’m going to wash every trace of my husband from your body, cunt. Do you hear me!? DO YOU HEAR ME?!” The words came just as fingers once again wrapped like a curling iron in Taylor’s hair. A grasp that then pulled, as the blonde battler found herself – drug across her own bathroom floor.

A pull that then angled upward, as Rebecca tried to pull Taylor to a stand, so she could toss her in the shower. But as the blonde rose, she lunged, while still only halfway up, tackling Rebecca into the lipless standup shower.

A beautiful, mocha-hued, stone box of bathing. One with two shower heads, one on either side, and enough space for a couple to lay down together on its floor. And though Taylor had fucked her husband countless times in such a position, it was now she and Rebecca that stretched out together in that width.

Their hands grabbing and pushing. The claws catching and dragging. Each crying at the other’s painful touch, though such sounds of pain did little to slow them. Little to stop them as they continued to battle. The warm water of the shower pouring down on them being their only respite from the hell they had gladly drug each other through and into.

And though all seemed equal for a moment, with each giving as good as they got as they rolled this way and that. Suddenly, due to angle and luck, the spray of the shower entered Rebecca’s eyes and she could not see. The distraction lasted only a blink, but in it, Taylor clambered and crawled — as quick as she was cruel.

She, in her speed, finding herself able to clear most of her rival’s body, and before Rebecca could resist, drop to a kneeling sit. The blonde’s sex coming down with precision, right over the redhead’s face. And though at first that pressing was against shower-wet tiffany blue panties, after a quick and intentional shifting of those panties by Taylor, one effectuated with a quick grab, and an even quicker pull, it became a full press of one set of lips to another. Those of the blonde’s pussy spreading and then encompassing the mouth and nose of her rival.

A mouth which then opened in a hateful scream, not a moment later. And a nose, which along with that same mouth fought to get air, though in vain.

In response to that failure, and her mere placement, Rebecca tried to use her arms to reach and push. But when such attempt failed, and as the shower-floor sprawled redhead found her biceps pinned under Taylor’s pressing shins, she sought instead to grab and pull. She using her fingers to  catch and secure the blonde’s soaked unmentionables.

On their fabric, she yanked, not just once, but continuously, stretching them as far as they would go. She hoping that the force would either give her freedom or at least enough room to breathe. But as she pulled. As she tugged. She heard it.

“YES!!!” The voice of the blonde came loudly, in utter jubilation, as her hands reached to Rebecca’s bright red hair, and latched on.

“Right where you belong, cunt.” The blonde continued, as her hands began to yank cruelly at her rival’s hair.

Those pulls were not meant to gain any kind of compliance, but instead just to hurt her. To make her rage, as she laid there stuck between Taylor’s legs. The redhead’s every breath coming from her enemy’s pussy. Her every wisp of long term consciousness dependant on the mercy of the same, or some kind of miraculous escape.

A mercy that was absent from Taylor’s heart, as she, with swiveling hips, drove Rebecca’s face deeper and deeper into her quickly wetting sex. The kneeling thighs of the blonde spread, so she could watch Rebecca’s eyes flare and widen as they filled with white-hot hatred and then heart-seizing panic.

A panic Taylor wanted to consume and luxuriate in, as warm water sprayed down upon her. That moment feeling like absolute heaven, after the hell she and Rebecca had been through. The blonde finally able to just punish. Just enjoy.

Something she set out to do, by adjusting her seat, so that the redhead’s nose pressed hard into her clit. “This is exactly what I needed to finish you off. Fucking your husband, in YOUR FUCKING BED wasn’t enough.”

Taylor began to grind hard and forcefully down, as she continued her kneeling sit on her rival’s face. She doing so approximately 2 feet from the nearest shower wall. “Noooooo, I needed to fuck your pretty little face.”

Beneath Taylor, Rebecca struggled and kicked wildly. Her hands still pulling with all their might. Her lips still parted as she screamed in absolute rage. The sound of that cry still muted by the sealed lower lips of her rival.

The resulting spread of the same causing the newly drawn excitement-born juices of Taylor to seep into Rebecca’s open mouth. A transference that angered the redhead even more as she suffered there, beneath her rival.  

Suffered though the redhead did, Taylor just continued to taunt — continued to grind. Loving the idea of getting off on her rival’s face. Wanting, ever so desperately, to live in a reality in which she had cum not only on, but into the mouth of the woman with who she had tangled for oh so long.

It would truly be the masterstroke. The killing blow in their feud. One that Rebecca would never recover from. One that would leave her a frightened, and broken husk, that would never dare challenge her again.

Not just for some sense of superiority, but for place in line at the copier, or who presses the button first in the elevator, for ANYTHING! Such decimation would leave Taylor in full control of their pretend shared control of their part of the Bowman empire.

The once fiery redhead becoming to more than a pet for Taylor to toy with. A slave to collar and lead around on a pretty Tiffany-colored leas–”OWWWWEEE!!!” As the blonde imagined her sweet, sweet victory she felt it. A burning. A searing. A pain deep between her thighs, one caused by a sawing fabric and resistant pride. As Rebecca used the last bits of clothing on her rival to cause pain.

A pain that pushed Taylor, if only for a moment, to lose focus and re-adjust. And when she did — when she lifted and lessened the pressure she applied, the redhead slid. Pulling not only her arms, but her head free, and out from under Taylor’s lower half. The sudden escapee gasping for breath as she scrambled back, and away from her rival.

As she reached the opposite wall of the warm, steam-filled shower, she dropped and rolled to her back, knowing she didn’t have time to stand. Once there, and as she looked back, she saw her coming. Taylor, looking to not only, take back control, but also to reclaim her rightful place atop her rival’s face.

But as the blonde dropped down to all fours, her stretched and half-torn panties fell free from her. They being lost somewhere along the way, as she moved to scramble and then mount, her enemy. As she did, however, Rebecca’s legs raised, surrounded, and then clamped down around Taylor’s neck. They in their alabaster glory then locking at the heels, high above her enemy’s head. A sudden application of force that trapped the blonde in a painful headscissor. One in which her own mouth and nose hovered only a centimeter or two from the center of Rebecca’s shower-wet red panties.

“AAAAaaAgggggHHhhhhH!!” Came Taylor’s cry, as within an instant of having her rival trapped, Rebecca seized her thighs and in the process, crushed that same rival as cruelly as she could.

“Fucking bitch!!!” Rebecca blurted, as if the words needed to be spoken so that disaster might be averted. And yet, disaster still came for the blonde who found herself trapped. For even as the redheaded scissor-maiden cursed, she began to slap. Wildy. Harshly. Her fingers landing, as opposed to her palms, as Taylor was sunk too deep into a pain-filled cushion of flesh and flex to allow for more.  

As those slaps landed, and as Taylor found herself stuck in front of the very core of her rival, the blonde reached as best she could to catch Rebecca’s striking hands. And though she sought to capture two, she only found one. The fingers on Rebecca’s right hand and the blonde’s left lacing and then locking together. All as the redhead’s left shot down between her own legs, as she and her rival laid there on the shower floor. Warm water pooling around them as they fought.

“NoooOooO!!! SHIIiIiTTT!!” The blonde screamed again, as Rebecca sent a wicked pulse through her trapping legs. A pulse that made Taylor’s vision blur and her neck to crack.

Despite that pain, Taylor saw it. The redhead’s hand move down and between. And she knew what she was attempting. She knew, because it is what she would have done — what she had done, when it was she who had her rival trapped between her thighs.  

The redhead was planning on pulling her own panties to the side, so that Taylor could see it, smell it, and even taste it. The sex of her momentarily dominant rival. Just as was done to her not moments before.

To forestall and avoid that fate, the trapped blonde reached, so that she and her rival’s hand met and grabbed, each for their own grasp of Rebecca’s panties. The redhead to pull and Taylor to hold. One wanting to move those panties to the side, and the other to keep that from happening.

Viewed from anywhere else than the two warring women’s brains, the battle of shifting fabric made little sense. But somehow, to them, it was everything. It was a struggle for vengeance. A battle of wills.

Would Taylor escape her rival’s thighs without being pulled face-first into the sex of the same?

Would Rebecca show her enemy that she would repay any punishment inflicted upon her? As she had failed to do when she caught Taylor in her own home — in her own bed — and grinding herself on the cock of the redhead’s own husband?

Those questions, as important as they were, found no answer at first. For as Rebecca pulled and Taylor held, they found that the panties would move one inch and then two, only to be pulled back. No matter how much urgency they put into their efforts. No matter how much each of them wanted to win that most minor of struggles.

But as parity persisted and lingered — languished and lounged, Rebecca suddenly let go, allowing Taylor’s own resisting pull to yank the panties to the side. An allowance that not only gave Rebecca exactly what she wanted, but also, in the force applied, broke the side-band of those same, now shifted panties.

In an instant Taylor cursed herself, but before she could do anything more, her redheaded rival moved her now free left hand to Taylor’s water-darkened blonde hair, grabbed, and then pulled. In so doing, the scissoring beauty yanked Taylor’s face forward, and more importantly, the mouth and nose of the same deep into a waiting and wet pussy.

At the capture, Rebecca’s legs seized, and then shifted, leaving their high ankle lock, so that they could cross at the calves behind Taylor’s head. A change in position that drove the blonde even deeper into Rebecca’s smothering valley.

For a few moments, the redhead just focused, not only on Taylor’s muted and muffled cries, but also her fingers grasping and fighting for release from Rebecca’s own. Fingers that thereafter pulled free, so that they might move to join their right-side counterparts to Rebecca’s thighs. They landing, claws-first, only to then drag. An attack which the blonde hoped would set her free.

But as she clawed, Rebecca doubled down on her grasping and yanking of hair. Keeping Taylor not only trapped but smothered. Not only breathless but humiliated beyond all imagining.

A humiliation that continued despite Taylor’s fingernails digging and then pulling down — catching and then clawing Rebecca’ beautiful white thighs. Futility which pushed her to find some other method of escape. One less focused and more frantic. She attempting to crawl back and away from Rebecca’s center, all as she moved her hands to the ass of the same and pushed.

At first, she found nothing. No give. No removal. But finally, her head began to slip out, only a centimeter or two, but once the first inch was taken, it began to happen faster. Even when Rebecca tried to squeeze her legs tighter and pull desperately at the blonde’s hair.

In fact, Rebecca clung so tightly to Taylor’s locks, that when finally the owner of the same pulled herself free, and out from between squeezing thighs, the redhead came with her. Each of the two warring women meeting as they rose. Each burying their hands in each other’s hair as their upper-bodies came together in an echoing, water-made clap.

A clap that sounded amongst fury and falling, as together, on their knees they pulled each other one way and then another. Until after a few such teeters, and no less totters, they spilled out of the shower together, and down to the fluffy pink rug that rested on the floor outside of it.

There they did not remain, however, for after only a few seconds they clambered to their feet. Their bodies and hair soaked with the remnant drips of their abandoned shower. And their effort-and-water-warmed cheeks pressing together, as Rebecca’s ripped panties fell from her to the ground and then off of her. Each there, in the other’s grip, cursing at the other.

Not in recognizable comments and retorts, but in hotly spat slivers of absolute hatred. Words that continued to be shot back and forth as they drug each other out of the bathroom and into the hall. They each collapsing there, not once or twice, but again and again, as their journey to nowhere in particular continued.

But as they so moved, they felt it. The bite of their efforts spent. The sting of their muscles used. They had waged their secret little war with such fire — such anger, and only then did they realize such a struggle came with a cost. Exhaustion. A slowing and seizing weakness that had taken them, when they could afford it least.

And though they felt it deeply, that fatigue, they still pulled, not only themselves, but their rival back to their feet when such faltering would occur. Until finally, in part due to luck and in other to Taylor’s instinctual guidance, they crashed through the unclosed door of the blonde’s most private of rooms — the master.

Though they together had been equal in almost all ways during their staggering stumble from shower to bedroom, as their trip ended, Taylor gained the upper hand. She driving Rebecca back, and then even as she fell, shoving her hard. The redhead thereafter slamming lower-back-first into Taylor’s unmade and messy, beige-covered bed.

Such a landing caused Rebecca to groan out in pain, as she dropped down to her knees. And though she had so landed, she then began to lean. Lean and then collapse forward from pain and exhaustion. She and Taylor having fought so hard, and so intensely, for what seemed like an eternity at that moment.

And yet as the redhead began to wither and drop, Taylor surged forward, and caught her falling rival. Not out of care or Mercy, but tactic. For the blonde quickly leaned her own, knelt bodyweight against Rebecca’s right shoulder with her own left. And then, with her there propped, drove a hard right fist into the redhead’s gut.

A blow that landed with a loud, echoing plop, and then a quick, jolt of a moan from she who took it. That series of sounds that came once and then again — a third time, and then a fourth. Not quickly, but at fatigue’s insistence, slowly. With long, languishing gaps of time between each punch, as both Taylor and Rebecca leaned. Not against some object, but each other.

As Taylor continued her slow, thudding assault. One that earned a sputtered cry of pain from her rival at the landing of every closed fist, she muttered. “That’s right, bitch….” The words coming as the blonde’s head rested on her rival’s shoulder. Her own body leaned against that of the same. Weakened though Taylor was as she said it, the comment came with no less force than one of the shots she delivered into Rebecca’s stomach. It hurting…. It wounding….

And though she suffered, the redheaded wildcat was still unable to muster or marshall her energy enough to counter or attack. She, even legions deep into her battle with Taylor, finding herself overwhelmed. Feeling, just as she had the night she found the blonde atop her husband. And for the same reason. Her own will-withering worry.

Where would it end?

She and Taylor were locked together, in the very depths of the blonde’s home fighting. Brawling. Hating each other with every fiber of their being. How could either of them ever escape? Ever relent? Not only in that struggle, but the one it would spawn, and then the one that would come after that.

And yet as Rebecca spiraled into her own fears and anxieties, Taylor ceased her punching. And, as she sensed her rival’s suddenly returning weakness, raised that then unballed fist, and cupped the redhead’s cheeks, squeezing them as one might a child. All before she mused in a hiss. “Mmmm, there she is again. The scared little slut that let me fuck her husband. The one who didn’t fight back!”

As soon as the blonde spoke the words, she could see it. See it enough to regret prodding — regret challenging her rival to become firm once more. For as Taylor’s syllables ended, Rebecca’s eyes flared. They setting a light only a flash before Rebecca shot her head down, forward, and then top-first into Taylor’s smirking face.

The blow, headbutt though it was, came not pretty or skilled. Deft or dextrous. No it came ugly and brutal — stumbling and clumsy. So much so that as Taylor fell, Rebecca fell on top of her.

And there, in the aftermath of that wild, half-witless attack, the two laid for a moment — each breathing hard and pausing long.  Taylor’s hands pressed to her nose and lips, feeling not only for swelling, but blood. It feeling as if her nose had been broken, though by Rebecca’s fatigue alone, the damage stopped just short.

While blonde examined and felt, her redheaded rival raised and lifted her own naked body off Taylor’s. She coming to a kneel just next to the body of the same.

Wished though she did, that she could just stay there, so that she might rest. Rebecca instead leaned in, leaned over, and then when she came face-to-face with her rival, closed the gap. The redhead lowering her own forehead down on the blonde’s.

Then, with they being so connected, Rebecca lifted her right arm, and then after balling her own fist, drove it down into Taylor’s stomach. The blow caused the blonde to groan out loudly, and then whimper as her hands fell from her face. Only for the same sounds to come again, as Rebecca repeated her strike.

A second hit then became a third, and as it did, Taylor’s confident, hateful eyes softened. Not in lust or love, but fear. The same worries of unending conflict taken her, just as it had taken Rebecca moments before. All as their foreheads pressed and lips hovered. Each pair moving closer and closer with every passing moment, as Rebecca’s own remaining strength began to fail.

Threat though that was at first, only a moment later did it became reality, as the red-headed hellcat collapsed to her side next to her blonde rival.  The redhead’s own right leg extending and then hooking behind Taylor’s left to keep her close.

In that position, Rebecca’s left arm was stuck beneath her own body, it being pinned to the floor. And much in the same, Taylor’s right arm found itself trapped just the same — beneath Rebecca and her gorgeous wound-covered body.

And though that sudden repositioning might have forced their centimeter-distant faces apart, Rebecca held them close. Her eyes locked firmly on Taylor’s.

“You broke my nose….” Taylor muttered in the closeness.

“You fucked my husband….” Came Rebecca’s hushed reply.

Serious though their charges were, each found themselves caught — distracted Not by anger or hatred, but instead, a nearly irresistible desire to … to….

The two women could not believe it. Could not speak it. Could not even think it. No, instead all they could do was obey it. The pull. The desire. Each leaning in closer, further, until their lips were so very close to meeting and more.

Their drying bodies pressed together on that floor. Taylor on her back and Rebecca on her side. Each staring soul-deep into the other’s glistening eyes.

The moment was not just electric, but inconceivable and indescribable. They hated each other. So much that the other’s voice made their skin crawl. And yet, there on the floor of Taylor’s bedroom, there was nothing either of them wanted to do more than….

“AArrrgggghh. Owe, owe, owe….” Taylor wined.

“Uuuuggghhhh, nooo!!!” Rebecca cried the same, not a moment later but together with Taylor. As each, at the same second, latched their fingernails onto each other’s face.

“Were you going to fucking kiss me you dyk-AAAaaAahhhhhh!” It began a question, but came out as a pained whimper.

“You’re the dyke, biiiiiIIIIIIiiiiiiIIiIITTTCCCHH!!! OOOWWWEE!” In the same way, Rebecca’s denial suddenly became a recital of unexpected pain.

Each of two releasing those sounds as nails drug painfully down their cheek. They both knowing what it meant. What it would cause. Taylor already scratched and wounded from before, and certain her face would be swollen and bruised the next morning. And in a like state of not caring, Rebecca, at that moment, sought only revenge — only Taylor’s destruction after all that had happened between them.

So why not!? Why not make their own corporate execution official. Why not be the cause of the other losing her job. Fuck it! They each thought and committed to with dragging claws.

But even when such had been done, and their own nails had dug red lines in each other’s cheeks, they continued down. Until each hand reached and grabbed the other’s breast — Taylor’s left and Rebecca’s right. Each taking that supple mound of sexy flesh and squeezing it hard, before digging those same pointy ends in as deep as they would go.

Hurt though it did, not just the breast which the other gripped and ground but their wounded faces, they together remained. Rebecca with her right leg lazily draped over Taylor’s left. The two women glaring at each other, even as their faces contorted in pain. Neither struggling to escape the other’s tortuous attack or their side-by-side position on Taylor’s brown-carpeted floor.

No, for they had what they wanted for that moment. The other’s breast in their hand. The other’s scraped and peeled flesh beneath their nails. And their rival’s face to read and whimpers to hear. It was heaven, though it was hell. It was the sum total of their hateful desires made manifest, mutual though it was.

And so they laid there together. Prying. Clawing. Dragging and digging the sharp fingernails of their free hands into the other’s breasts. Moving from one to the other and then back, though their loathing gaze never broke. The two rivals — two enemies communicating without words. Each telling the other:

I hate you. Not just now, but forever.

I will hurt you — torture you — seek to humiliate you, until by fate or frailty, I can do so no more.

And though their eyes promised and then threatened — cursed and then countered, after moments there laying next to each other, in their mutual state of agony and antagonism, Rebecca sought to open her mouth. She looking to speak what her eyes had made ever so clear.

And yet, at the very first movement of those lips, Taylor reached and sealed, with her one free hand. Doing so by pressing her palm over not only the redhead’s mouth, but with index and thumb, pinching her nose closed.

It took not moments for Rebecca to return the seizing, she sealing her blonde rival’s mouth and nose closed. Each cutting off the other’s air, as their eyes flared defiantly.

I will NEVER let you go. Their eyes again spoke. The communique, if understood, being not some idle threat, but something they felt to their very core. A certainty that no matter what might occur after palm pressed to lips, the end had come, not just for their feud, but the other.

In such certainty, they remained for a moment and then two, each just glaring, as they each seemed to settle into their positions. Rebecca’s leg hooking and pulling just a little tighter around Taylor’s, and the latter turning in, and rolling to her side to face the redhead. Both of them sending the message. I will not relent. I will never again let you breathe again….

But do not mistake the resolve they felt at that moment for some sudden transition from business woman and wife to murderer. No, instead their loyalty to purpose and retention of smother came from petulance, pettiness, and their own insistence that they win. Not just their feud as a whole, but anything — but EVERYTHING! Even something as small as contest of wills buried in a battle such as theirs. Who would release their mutual handsmother first? Who would give in? Who would blink before oblivion?

Not they, each was sure.

Not even if it meant walking through the shadow of the valley of death and back again.

500 miles and then 500 more? Ha! They would walk it…. They would glady and gleefully skip it.

And yet, as they laid there together, with nude and wounded bodies pressing together almost gently, their lungs began to burn and their vision blur. Try though they did, to shake off the effects, and continue to glare — continue to smother, each began to panic. They, almost in unison deciding to rise up from their positions on the floor to a mutual kneel.

A kneel they took in mirrored positions about a foot from one another, even as they kept the other’s mouth sealed and nose pinched closed. Each adding their second, newly freed hand to the effort, to make sure not a single molecule of oxygen made its way into their rival’s lunges.

Hope though they did, that rising might strengthen them and keep their enemy’s smother from stealing their consciousness, it only made the effects worse. So bad in fact, that they began to wobble and lean, as their eyes began to blink fast and then slow. Dizziness flooding their mind, as a glaze layered their once hate-filled eyes.

They could just let go. Just release, and the other would likely do the same. And yet, they couldn’t! They wouldn’t! They wanted to win! The other would give in and let loose her smothering palm and pinch, wouldn’t she? Oh god, would she…?

They asked themselves in a delirious panic. One that led Taylor to move again, she fighting her way from her kneel into an attempted stand. One that Rebecca tried to follow, she not willing to let Taylor just stand up and out of her smother. She had to go with her. It was her only choice. For she could do nothing else, without losing their long war of mutual smothering.

But as the redhead rose, Taylor drove, smashing a raised right knee into Rebecca’s stomach. An attack which caused not just she who suffered, but she who inflicted to release their handsmothers, as the former dropped back to her knees in a clump.

“HccckkkkaEEeeecccckkkkkkKKKKKKCCCCCHHHH” Taylor coughed so hard, she could swear she tasted blood. And though she could swear, and though she felt so dizzy she wanted to vomit, she held. Keeping to her stand, as she reached out with her hands to grab Rebecca’s hair.

“Hcccckkkkk haaacccckkkkkk” Rebecca coughed just the same, after her collapse. She thereafter keeling forward, only to find herself come to a soft rest against Taylor’s naked body. A body that propped the redhead up, as she continued to wheeze.

And though the blonde did the same, as it gasped for a long-denied air, she still pulled at her enemy’s hair. Yanking it hard, and dragging Rebecca’s half-scratched face forward and into her shaved pubic mound.

“Bi-ii-HHCCCGGGKKK-itch….” Taylor could not even make it through a single hissed curse without it being torn in two by a heavy cough.

One that came again and again, though softer each time, as the distance between she and the long smother she endured grew.

“You’re going to….” The blonde paused and sputtered, as she fought a sudden spell of dizziness that threatened to send her to the floor with her kneeling rival. “…fucking eat me … right now, cunt.”

In response, Rebecca only coughed softly, there in front of the blonde and the bed behind her. The redhead not even able to keep herself safely in her kneel, as she instead just leaned against her enemy, she fighting just to breathe.

“I won, bitch! I FUCKING WON! AGAIN!” Taylor fought through her own exhaustion and screamed despite the danger of her voice giving out. And as she did — as she claimed her rival’s weakness as her victory, she yanked harshly at that same rival’s hair. Pulling her left and then right. Right and then left, but always after each, forward. Loving the feeling of the redhead’s swollen and scratched cheek against her bare mound.

“Don’t…. Make me…. Hurt you…. Anymore…. JUST DO IT!” She wanted it hard, Taylor did. Rebecca’s tongue sliding past the lips of her pussy and inside.

Not because she was desperate for sexual stimulation, as she had not only her own husband but most recently, her rival’s. No, her desire came from a deep, soul-aching need to subjugate Rebecca. To dominate her. One that she had felt since the moment they first met. One that made it imperative that she take back every ounce of control Rebecca had seized in the conference room that morning, and in their fight until that moment.

Gnawing and binding — unrelenting and unrepentant as that drive for subjugation was, it brought a swift smile, or more a smirk to Taylor’s face when she looked down. And found Rebecca righting herself — centering herself, and preparing to concede. To please. To apply her tongue to the very same pussy that had stolen her husband’s cock. That had slid down it, not in some fit of lost control or finally realized love, but out of malice alone. Out of hatred and a will to conquer.

And though that, at the time, seemed like not just victory, but a complete and utter decimation of Rebecca, it was only a taste. Only a hint at the humiliation Taylor was on the very verge of inflicting.

For how could Rebecca ever even look in Taylor’s eyes again, after doing what she was about to? How could she ever even bring herself to feel like the equal of a woman whose pussy she had licked and lavished after such a battle of bodies and wills? She couldn’t. Not the next day or ever again. This was the wooden stake. The silver bullet. The…

“AAAAaaAaAhhhhHHhh!” Came Taylor’s scream as Rebecca’s teeth sunk in. The redhead’s top jaw locking down on her blonde rival’s pubic mound, and her bottom clamped down on lips, and then as they closed tighter: worse.

With that scream came yanking and hitting — grabbing and pushing from Taylor, who tried frantically to force Rebecca to loosen her clamped jaw. But she wouldn’t. Not even under a hail of bottom fist strikes, stinging slaps, and yankings of hair.

In fact, those yanks only made the pain more intense for Taylor, who after only a few moments began to stumble back and then with her redheaded enemy still in tow, collapse. The blonde falling onto her own bed, on her back, in sheer blinding agony, as Rebecca continued to bite. Not hard enough to draw blood or maim, but hard enough to harm and torture.

Things she inflicted until she knew Taylor would be unable to fight back or resist when she suddenly released that bite and clambered. Standing and climbing onto the bed, only to thereafter grab her rival by the hair and drag her, as she groaned, to its center. The blonde laying as she might in bed alone, but squirming and grasping her wounded and bitten sex. One she hoped to protect from being the source of any more pain.

But those hands were suddenly stolen away, as Rebecca grabbed the wrists just above them, pulled them up, and then as she mounted Taylor, pinned them to the bed.

A full reversal of fortunes for the blonde though it was, Rebecca was still ravaged by pain and fatigue, and so instead of taunting — instead of attacking, she just remained. Her thighs and Taylor’s flattened together, with the latter’s being trapped beneath. Their mounds met and pressed, they acting as a fulcrum for their two wounded bodies. One which laid flat, and one which was bent up, as Rebecca kept her upper chest just a few inches above her rival’s, as she glared down at her.  

“Get … off me … you fucking … BITCH!” Taylor spoke as she struggled, trying with all her might to force her enemy off of her with her arms. Pushing and pressing up hard, as if her very life depended on it.  

“Not a … fucking chance … cunt.” Rebecca spoke with the same delay and distraction as she and her blonde rival, with their arms alone, pushed against one another. Each struggling, with all they had left to enforce their will.

One to dislodge and the other to keep.

One to own and the other to break free.

“Uuunnnnggggghhhhh” Taylor groaned, as the muscles in her arms began to burn.

“NNnnnnnNNggggGGhhh” Came Rebecca’s returned moan of strained and aching upper extremities.

And though once and then again they tried — they pushed, putting everything they had into that muscle-fought battle of wills, eventually, Taylor could push no more. And so, just a fraction of a second before Rebecca would have conceded the same, the blonde ended her efforts to push her rival off of her and collapsed back to the bed.

“BITCH!” Taylor shouted in a sudden surge of anger and frustration, one that tore through her just as she turned her face to the side, not wanting to even look at the redhead who kept her pinned to the bed by her wrists.

“Mmm hmmm, let it out, cunt. Let it aAaaaAAAllllll out.” Rebecca purred, as her lips curled into an evil smile. She reveling in her moment of dominance, and in turn, her rival’s moment of subjugation.

“Fuck you!” Again came Taylor’s petulance, she seeming to pout as Rebecca held her. Neither moving or fighting for position. Each just remaining, with one on top and the other on bottom.

That is until, in a momentarily quizzical mix of action and sound, Taylor bucked her hips hard upward, she attempting to throw her rival off. But as she did, and at the very moment that her own mound met her rival’s, she screamed out in pain.

The bite! Damnit! Taylor cursed in thought alone, as she realized what had just happened. And though she knew — though she feared its consequences, the blonde said nothing after the scream. Did nothing. Hoping against hope that perhaps, despite that scream, Rebecca was clueless as to its cause.

A hope that was dashed as Rebecca, without wasting a beat drug herself forward, and more importantly, her sex over Taylor’s. A slow, pressing, flesh-against-flesh stroke that caused the pinned blonde to erupt in a cry of both pleasure in pain, one that left her whimpering at its end.

Whimpering until she demanded. “Stop it, you-you fucking bitch! Get off of me!”

“Mmmm, nope!” Rebecca replied, just as she pulled her lower body back and then drove forward again. Making sure that her mound and Taylor’s — her sex and her rival’s caught on each other and then only by sheer force of redheaded will, separated.

“AArrrrggghhHHHH!! OWEE!! STOP!! OWE!! Oh, goOOOdddD….” So strange it was. A burning pain, but one that seemed to sit as a poisoned cherry atop a mountain of pleasure-drenched ice cream. An ice cream that made Taylor moan, even as she cried. That made her, even against her strongest will, enjoy her enemy’s strokes, even though she was sure they would be her undoing.

“Tell me … who … ungh … won, slut!” Came Rebecca’s shakily delivered terms, even as she continued to thrust herself forward, again and again.

“No FUUUUCCCKKKKing waaaAay, bitch…. This-this isn’t oOooooooooOoooover…. OOoOoWWWEEeeEE!” It was agony and bliss — torture and ecstacy, and it robbed Taylor of her focus. And yet still the proud blonde refused.

“It. IS. OvVvvveeerRr. Bitch. Just give…. Just SAY IT!” Again Rebecca demanded Taylor concede their battle, even as the pleasure of her long, deep, devastating thrusts made it hard to speak.

“No! I…. NoooOooo…. Nevveeerr…. OOOOoOOHHhhhh GoooooooDDD!!!” Float on a sea of euphoria and ocean of agony though she did, Taylor remained defiant. Even as Rebecca tribbed her wounded pussy, and clit-fucked her bitten sex.

“SaAaaaAyyyy IiIiiTT!” She feeling the beginnings of what would soon become orgasm flood her body, the redhead leaned in, and lowered her head. Not wanting her rival to see her face contort with pleasure or to increase that sensation by watching the pinned blonde’s contort with pain.

“OhHhhhk, ok…. I…. You….” She was on the very edge of saying it. Of giving it to Rebecca. Her concession. Her submission. But, as the words began to form in her brain, as shameful as they would be to Taylor, suddenly they heard it.

“Taylor-baby?! Are you alright?!” The voice asked. One unfamiliar to Rebecca, but familiar enough to Taylor to make her eyes go wide.

“Oh shit! Shit, shit, shiIIIIIIIit!!!” The blonde chanted, as she once again struggled to escape her rival’s pin. But even as she did — and even as whoever had spoke approached the door to the bedroom, Rebecca continued to thrust.

“Aaawwww, “Taylor-baby”…. Is that your husband…?” The redhead asked in an utterly fake softness.

“No, bitch! Get off me! NO! Don’t even thiIIIIiiiink abooouuuTtTt-OH GOD! STOP!!!! UUNNNGHHH!” It was intoxicating for Rebecca, Taylor’s fear. Her squirming. Each of which intensified as a well-built brunette man stormed into the room, his face written with concern.

“What the HELL is going on here?!” He demanded to know, and rightfully so.

“Yes, why don’t we tell him, Taylor. Tell him exactly what we’re doing here….” Confidence pure and unaffected did the redhead exude, as she continued to grind her sex into her rival’s. Even with their new guest there to watch. Even with his worry growing by the second.  

“No, FUCK YOU, Rebecca! Let me gOOoOooOooOOOhhhh-you-bitch!!!! I-hate-yooouuuuuu….” Through burning and aching — quivering and yearning the blonde rebelled and yelled. So much so, that the man in the doorway began to charge forward. He didn’t know exactly what was happening between his wife and this woman, but it wasn’t what Taylor wanted, that much was clear.

But as he marched — as he stormed, raising his arms to grab Rebecca and pull her off of his wailing wife, Rebecca shouted. “She fucked my husband! Last Night….” The words were direct and without mercy, and yet still, they made the man stop cold in his tracks.

Stop and then question, his tone bending from anger and worry to sadness. “What? Baby, you wouldn’t….”

“Tell him, Taylor!!!” As she demanded once more, the redhead thrust and drug, harder than she had before.

And as such a strong stroke came, Taylor finally blurted. “Ok, ok, I fucked her husband! Yes! But, but….UUunnnnngggghhhh!” The blonde tried to explain, to lessen the impact it might have on her husband, but as she began, Rebecca thrust once again. The redhead using both pain and pleasure to render the rival beneath her a wreck.

“Why…? Why would you…?” The man questioned, despair clear in his voice.

“Because, I…. AAArrrrnnnggghhhh!!” No explanation. No words from Taylor would be allowed save for what Rebecca wanted. And what Rebecca wanted was….

“Tell him to fuck me, Taylor. Tell him to take his FUCKING pants off right now, and fuck me.” The words were none that Rebecca ever thought she would speak, but at that moment they sounded so very right. It was the ultimate evening. The ultimate payback.

No! NoOooooO!!!!! NooOoOOOOooOOOO!!!–OK-OKK!! OWWWWWEEEEE OK! FUCK HER, CHRIS!!! FUCK HER!!! OOoohhhh gooodddd” With one stroke after another — each of them coming harder and faster than the last, and then back again, Rebecca drove Taylor. Not only to instruct as instructed, but then to the most painful and incredible orgasm the blonde had ever experienced in her entire life.

And while that orgasm tore through her, causing her to moan and whimper — shake and curl at her toes, Rebecca lifted her own body up and off of Taylor’s, and presented herself.

For a moment, Chris just stood, with his eyes filled with sadness and yet un-shed tears. In his mind ran so many thoughts and emotions — worries and wants, but finally all of it crystallized into anger. Not at the redhead, who was at that moment so proudly displayed and seductively waiting for him. No, instead that anger was focused at the woman beneath her, his treacherous wife.

A wife who had begun to cry, even as she continued to twitch from the after effects of an orgasm. A wife who had cheated on him only a night before. Not only with some man, but a married man. What kind of woman was she? Who had he married, he asked himself as rage built within him.

A rage Rebecca called to when she said, “make it even, Chris…. Fuck me….”

With a clenching jaw, and anger-filled eyes, the brown-haired man let his eyes shift. From wife to her conqueror. From she who laid pinned and pining, to she who was ready and waiting. Her beautiful alabaster ass swinging gently from side to side, almost as a snake dancing for their pungi-playing master.

A master that with a quick, almost violent motion, shot his arms down and undid his belt. Then, after yanking through and out his nicely worn belt, came down his clean cityboy jeans, and then his red silk boxers. He, this Chris, who had been wronged just like Rebecca, not even bothering to take his button-up purple shirt off before moving to claim his revenge.

No, instead, as his dick and resolve hardened, he just climbed. Onto he and Taylor’s bed, into a kneel behind the redhead pinning his wife beneath her, and then….

“Mmmm, Taylor … is this what it was like…?” Rebecca asked, just before she felt Chris grab her hips and position her.

“What it was like when you seduced my husband, you fucking bitch….” Even then, even as her own spiteful vengeance was at hand, she was angry. Hateful. And ready to wound Taylor as deeply as she possibly could.

“When you came to my hou–UUuunnnggghhhh!! YYEESSS!!” It felt so good, not just because Chris’ cock was cement-hard and at least for a caucasian, long, but because Rebecca knew how it felt. How Taylor must hate her. How deep such penetration would drive, not just into her own carnal crevice, but into Taylor’s heart.

But Rebecca could not linger or slowly take it in. No, for Chris was angry. Almost-violent in his have-at-thee. He moving fast and thrusting hard. The moment more like therapy for him than sex. And Rebecca more a whipping post than a woman— a role she was happy to play, as long as it would hurt the blonde beneath her.

Such though it was, Rebecca reveled in it, the man behind her slamming forward and then ripping back. His grunts breaking and stuttering even in his ferocity. He giving the victorious redhead what she wanted, and what Taylor had instructed him to, even though his heart broke and eyes well as he did so.

His tears dripping upon release on the pearl-colored cheeks of Rebecca’s rebounding ass. A sensation, subtle as it was, that made Rebecca’s victory even sweeter. A victory she claimed in its entirety as she leaned in, leaned down, and began to whisper in Taylor’s ear. She speaking words for only her rival to hear.

A rival who still kept her head turned, she being too shattered to even open her eyes as her wounded husband fucked her rival. Closed though they were, the blonde’s eyes were wet as well, with wild emotion and unexpected despair. Chris was a good man, and a beautiful specimen of the same, but Taylor always felt he was just a stand-in. A cock and a wallet.

Until that moment.

Until Rebecca had that cock secured tightly within the walls of her sex.

Until the blonde could hear Chris grunting as he fucked her. Moaning as he took her.

Each of which filled Taylor with sadness and regret. Not for having waged such a war with the redhead, but having lost it.

And as Taylor so suffered, Rebecca’s words came in a hiss. “Kiss me, bitch…. Kiss me, while I fuck your husband….”

To the outrageous request, one made as the normally callous blonde wept, came no response. No, instead she just ignored Rebecca, waiting for the moment to be over and for her punishment to end.

“Kiss me, or I’ll quit, cunt….” What did it matter, one might ask. Their faces were already scratched and battered to the point where anyone who might see them would know what had happened, and yet still….

And yet still …  Taylor turned her head, and with a tearful glare, stared at the smirking and expectant redhead above her. The one who moaned and whimpered at Chris’ anger-and-betrayal-aided efforts.

And though that face Taylor hated. And though that face she would never forget. The blonde still leaned up, and though it made her almost sick to do so, kissed Rebecca.

A kiss that was hard. Violent. Hateful. And a microcosm of the women’s feelings for one another. Intense though it was. Communicative though it was. After what felt like an eternity for one and a fraction of a second for the other, it was broken.

For as Chris increased his thrusting, he and Rebecca both began to lose their focus on anything other than the rhythm — than the pleasure of he and she.

One ramming forward and the other slamming back.

The steel-hard cock of one driving head-long into the red-hot, and hate-wet sex of the other.

Deeper and deeper.

Faster and faster.

Until at the very pinnacle of grunts and moans — whimpers and screams, together Chris and Rebecca came. As a unit. As a pair. Not one in wedlock or sport, but a pair made for vengeance. To punish Taylor for what she had done to each of them.

The orgasm was … not something that can be described by me or any other writer. Not well. Not accurately. For it was born in the pits of Rebecca’s hatred and nurtured by the same of her rival. It had built not for days or weeks, but since each of the two enemies first met oh so long ago.

And though it may have come in some other setting or engagement, it instead came here, on the tip of Chris’ spear. On the end of an appendage that belonged to Taylor. Her husband’s cock. Just as the same released its own spiteful comeuppance.

Release though they did, Rebecca kept Taylor pinned. Re-engaging she and her rival’s kiss throughout her release, each such return driving the dagger a little deeper into the blonde’s heart.

But finally, when that glorious moment of vengeance had passed, Rebecca reached down between her legs, just as Chris pulled out and stumbled off the bed. Then, with him removed, she used two fingers to press in, curl, and then drag out. Those digits bringing with them a collection of not only Rebecca’s essence but Chris’.

Essences which Rebecca wiped on Taylor’s claw-marked cheek, even as they continued, against reason and expectation, to kiss one another hatefully. A rough, rebellious kiss that Taylor pulled back from as she felt her rival smear. The blonde knowing exactly what it was, and what it meant.

But in case she had forgotten, Rebecca reminded. “I win….” The redhead gloated as she finally let Taylor’s wrists go, and then climbed off of her.

She then leaving the room without a word given to the man she just drained. A man who, in his abject state of dismay fell into a lounge chair in the corner of the room. His eyes closed and head hung — the reality of what had just happened — what he had just done, only then breaking through his fog of rage.

In that realization and in Taylor’s humiliating defeat, Rebecca left them. She collecting her clothing, torn and mangled though it was, on her way back to her car.

A car in which she sat for a few moments, her smile wide and pride restored. No matter what happened the next day. No matter what Austin would say when he saw them. It had been worth it. She had won. She had defeated the bitch.

The next day, that same smile and those same thoughts persisted as she sat in the familiar conference room of the 38th floor next to Taylor. Their moods and expressions having switched from the day before. The blonde being deflated and destroyed by the acts of her rival, all as the redhead glowed due to the same.

In that room, as the cityscape of New York surrounded them, neither spoke. In fact, Taylor would not even look at Rebecca, she being too humiliated and terrified of losing her job to dare such a thing.

A fear which sparked and flared as the door to the conference room suddenly opened. And though each had expected Austin, or maybe even Bennett Bowman to appear, instead came their assistants … or fiances …  or whatever position they had magically lept to in the past few days.

They being two brunettes, each shorter and thicker than Rebecca and Taylor, but bustier by leagues, as far as they from the 38th could see. In such states of thickness they came, they sat, and then stared. Examining both Rebecca and Taylor closely.

The eyes of each brunette seeming to seize on the waiting women’s wounded cheeks, despite their best efforts to cover their scratches with makeup — hoping they wouldn’t be noticed.

“So, we’re ready fo–” Rebecca began, before finding herself suddenly cut off.

“Sorry, one second.” Amber said with a fake smile. One she donned as she took out her cell and dialed Austin and Bennett.

One ring came and then two, and then suddenly and with exuberance, one of the brothers answered the phone, though Taylor and Rebecca could tell not which.  

“Amber! So … what’s the report? Are we going to be able to trust the 38th floor to our quarreling co-leaders? Think they can keep their hands out of each other’s hair? Ha ha.” The comment was flippant, and not made with any insider knowledge of Rebecca and Taylor actually having fought, and yet still it caused Amber to smile knowingly.

“I think they’ll be fine, don’t you Jennifer?” Amber asked, as she intentionally and dramatically raised a hand to her own cheek and scratched. The display meant to let both Rebecca and Taylor know that she knew what had happened between them.

“Mmm hmmm, they’ll be ok. Just let Amber and I watch them for you.” Jennifer replied with a knowing and confident set of eyes trained on the blonde and redhead that sat before them.

“I like it. Anyway …  Bennett and I are off to look at this Rival’s Ranch property. Talk soon.” Before Amber or Jennifer could reply, the brothers were gone. And left in their verbal wake, were their two assistants to deal with the leadership of the 38th floor.

“Ladies….” Amber said without more, as she and Jennifer both pushed back from the table and stood up.

“We … uh….” Rebecca spoke again, as Taylor remained silent and seething — wounded and worried.

“Just keep this floor in order, and each other in line, and you’re golden.” Jennifer explained as she and Amber walked to the door.

“But leave each others faces out of it….” Added Amber in a playful, bouncing whisper, as each of the two brunettes exited the room, and the door shut behind them.

As that door shut, and the words registered with each of them, Taylor looked not only up for the first time, but at Rebecca in a inferno-hot glare. A glare that set a blaze, only a second before both blonde and redhead lunged at each other from their chairs.

And though both blonde and redhead fought hard that day and thereafter, those are tales for another time and perhaps another place.

For the Hate on the 38th was not that day quelled or thereafter squelched. No, it continued and lingered. And in the pain and passion of it, our two enemies existed. From that moment of re-engagement and freedom, until one of finality and fate I shall mention not here. Not yet, at least….

The End

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

Thank you for reading! For more stories: Click Here!

Leave a Reply

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

Skip to toolbar