The Better Woman vs. Ewa – The Mistress of Milan – Part 1

The Better Woman vs. Ewa on FCF

Jennifer The Better Woman

Where: Milan, Italy
When: Now-ish

It was the curl. You know that little one that some guys have. Where it, like, hangs down between their eyes. Like Superman. YES! Like Superman. But, his eyes too. They glistened and sparkled, like Derek from Grey’s Anatomy, but he had a body more like Sloan’s. Then there was the accident. Ugh! His accent. His consonants drug, alliteration lingered, and punctuation popped. God, it was like listening to a romance novel on Audible.

And to think all that just came up to me. ME! Little old, errr-young, Jennifer at a bar. Who was I, you know? Like all the other women in the bar were just so pretty and statuesque. With legs longer than a DMV line and hair so perfectly styled it made me want to shave mine off like Britney did. Every one of them dressed in outfits that I would squeal about, if I saw them online.

And then there was me. Sitting on a stool in my 2-sizes too small jeans, not on purpose but on porpoise, if you know what I mean. With a top that I am sure made me look like I was a potato. And yet still, as ratchet as I felt, he still came down and sat next to me.

“Hello. My name is Enrico. And you my dear, are beautiful.” As he said it — as each incredible syllable left his mouth, I melted. Not a little or slowly like a candle that might, you know, look like a candle for hours. No, I just BOOM, right down into a little puddle on my chair. A puddle that somehow, did not scare sexy Mr. Enrico away. A puddle that he, in fact, continued to talk to — even in all the embarrassing puddleness.

American news, politics, and whatever else we could think of, we talked about. The handsome, sexy Milanese man seeming to be excited by anything I said, no matter how mundane or dated my opinions might have been. As if , I alone in the universe existed. And in a mirror of that, as we spoke, all I could think about was him. Well, more specifically about he, as I bit my lip and crossed and then un-crossed my legs. Once and then again. Almost squirming there next to him, like a teenage girl with her boyfriend over for the first time.

And though I wanted to, oh … rip his clothes off and fuck him right there on the bar, I waited. I resisted. And finally, all that expended will power paid off, when he invited me to come with him. To get out of the stuffy, and overly populated (at least for bar-top romance) bar that I had found, at random, on a cobblestone road.

Should I have gone with him? Could he be some kind of freaky, “Taken” with Liam Neeson bad guy? Sure. But, at that moment I didn’t care. I was on a once in a lifetime vacation, and he was the most beautiful and sexy man I had ever met. So kidnap me, Enrico — was basically my thoughts on it.

That … was about an hour ago though. Oh, those heady days of an hour ago. When unicorns ran free and the world was just a cute little bundle of Jennifer getting her groove on with a handsome Italian.

An Italian who pulled me into his house, kissed me (amazing, btw) and then left me sitting here. On a couch worth more than all the furniture in my apartment. Alone. Not only alone in that he had disappeared, after a promise that if I waited, I wouldn’t regret it. But in that I hadn’t heard a single sound since he closed the door at the other side of the room.

There was … there is just silence, as I sit here now. No Enrico. No sex. Just me, disappointment, and a room that looks like it was designed by the Queen of England, or France, or … you know … someone fancy and rich.

Ugh! I’ll give him another 5 minutes before I am leaving. Well…. Maybe 20, because he was just so damn cute!

Ewa S.

“Is she ready?” My voice trailed softly as I sat on the hand-carved velvet stool in my boudoir. My eyes, staring at my reflection in the rustic, misty glass of the 200 year old mirror… They say it was the only thing that was left in the fire that tore down the entire mansion few generations back.

My grandfather pulled it out of the ashes, and decided to keep it as he restored the Estate to surpass it’s former glory…. It’s the mirror that I watched my mother get ready at… And now, it’s mine… Old, smoked, dark…. Adding the true tones that someone with my genetic profile was born to suppress and hide….. My right hand holding my curler, perfectly drawing my lashes upwards, spreading them evenly and adding that voluptuous volume that screams command and conquer.

“Si, Señora.” Enrico’s voice softly whispered in my ear. Directly at my ear level, from his kneeling position just behind me. Like a knight of the templars, his head bowed, his strong forearm crossed over his knee cap. His obedience worthy of a war hound.

“Good.” I smirked and pushed up off my chair, checking my reflection in the mirror. “How do I look?” I asked rhetorically, and his eyes moved up, to check me out.

“You look, sublime, Señora.” My eyes glanced to the side, reaching with my right hand, I pushed them into his hair, curling my perfectly manicured claws, I scratch his head lightly, ruffling his Clark Kent tresses a little.

“Good boy.” — And with a twirl on my heels, I spun, turning to the door, walking cockily. My figure never looking more hourglass-y, than it is now. A long slanted black dress, speckled with tiny Xircons along the entire length, to make it look like a night’s sky…

Like the stuff Eternity is made of….

The shoulders slanted down just enough to let the peaks of my shoulder bones breathe, lined up with black raven feathers. My hair, held up over my head with a single gentle stab of a wooden chopstick.

“Take me to her.” I commanded, and he rose from his kneeling position. Nodding. Pacing forwards to take the lead, we walked down the long hallway, to the Cupid statue flanked stairwell. The smell of musk and old stone in the air, I take in a deep whiff of the glory of my ancestors who rebuilt this place, and those who predated them who laid the foundation to greatness. Down in the grand foyer, he pointed at a side door, one leading to the music room. And I nodded.

“Shall I wait, Señora?” His accented voice rose. But I shook my head.

“You may go, thank you, Enrico.” — And as if a the strings on a marionette were just severed, he dropped down to his one knee, taking my right hand in his, giving it a wet, warm kiss, that somehow did not leave any slobber on my hand.

Ah. Italians. Gotta love them. I’d kick him in the chest and to his back with my 4″ Manolo’s, and perch atop of him, fucking his brains out right now. But I’m not in the mood for Steak. I’m famished for something else. More delicate. More dangerous. Far more elusive. My bright red lips curled wide, wading to the door, like I’m walking through water. Enrico’s footsteps vanishing in the distance, echoing my heartbeat. My hand touches the old hand carved copper door handle. I pause, then turn it, hearing the soft click of the latch, and with it, a gentle gasp leaves my lips. I’m so close. I can feel it.


So … remember how I was sitting? Yeah, now … now I am walking, pacing, roaming from one side of the Vogue ad living room, or parlor room, or whatever rich people call their rooms.

I would tell you that I am mad, but it isn’t that. I would only be mad, if I had given up hope. Only mad if I wasn’t still wanting. Still waiting…. But I am.

In part, and foolishly, still for Enrico. But also for … for … excitement. My vacation to Italy so far had been perfectly touristy. The sites, the sounds, the sites being seen, but there was something missing. Something absent from a trip from California to the other side of the world.

And I am going to have that! Whatever it was…. Even if I have to wait here forever, I have already consigned myself. He’ll be back. My cute little Enrico, with his adorable curl, and puppy-dog cute eyes. And when he walks through that door, I am going to grab him. I am going to slam him against a wall. And I am literally going to … to….

As I think about it. What joys and terrors I have in store for my Italian bar-picker-upper-man. I finally hear it. Something. ANYTHING. Footsteps. YES!! Footsteps. Loud, weirdly-clicky footsteps for Enrico, but still… . They are coming.

And so, as any awkward, half-nerdy girl from California would do, I move quickly to the center of the room and pose. Well, try to. Wanting to look as sexy as possible for my soon-to-be Italian lover. Opening my overly-tight, white, tissue-thin pullover. Exposing my breasts, though not my nipples. Wanting to snare Mr. curl as soon as he walks through the door.

Ready though I am, in pose, with one leg straight, and the other bent at the knee, letting the tips of my white Vans pirouette on the carpet. I am not ready as the handle to the door turns. MY heart pounding so loud I almost go deaf from it. My pulse racing so fast, I can barely see, let alone breathe.

But even in that state of utter and cataclysmic excitement for the return of Enrico, what comes for me will drive me higher, further, and deeper into the pits of carnal and animalistic satisfaction than I ever could have imagined.


A tigress would hunt for years in the jungle, and yet, every time she’s on the prowl; it’s like the first time. The rush of adrenaline. The complex swishing of hormones and pheromones. The scent of blood. The taste of a fresh kill. It never gets old, for the day a predator gets complacent, is the day they become the hunted. And right now, I feel like I am 24 again. Opening the door to my first…. ‘guest’…. for the lack of a better word…

I take in a deep breath through the expanding crack of the door, almost praying that I can detect your scent through the air…. That I could assimilate your particles into my being… Become one with you… Even before seeing you…. My instructions to Enrico are simple, and yet strict; “Surprise me….” He knows my type… He knows what I want…. I’m not after inked up giant dykes…. Weight lifters…. Or Bulimic super model types….. And he has yet to disappoint me…..

The door opens slowly, the oiled joints and wedges not making a sound, and then…. My God… My eyes fall on you, and my nostrils flare a little… But… I hold on to my icy cold Baltic DNA kicks in, keeping my features calm, chilly, calculated….. I see your eyes go wide… Your sweater pulled open, the clean washed white fabric, barely keeping it’s claim to pure whiteness compared to the silky, unblemished flesh… The curves of your young, firm, perky breasts teasing their presence… I see the shock in your eyes.. The way your posed body freezes…. Your fingers twitch by your sides….

Then reach up to cover yourself awkwardly…. The confusion, shame, and slight irritation in your eyes… And it all makes my smile widen, a cocky grin forming in its place… And with that, I take a step into the room, and with a gentle swish of my wrist, I send the door flying shut…

Staring at you… Not saying a word…

Words are power…..

And right now, my silence is going to be even more potent to your meek, feeble mind…

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Here he comes! Here he comes! Here he comes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Every bit of me is on absolute, code red, four alarm alert. Finally! After what has felt like a lifetime of just sitting here! Just pacing back and forth like a pathetic, boy-crazy, thirst-driven lunatic! Which I so am, but STILL! Finally….

He is going to be mine. Should I take off his shirt or his pants first. Take control of him, or let him take control of me. UGH! Either both! NOW!!! I think to myself as I fight the urge to squeal. As I fight the urge to rush the slowly opening door and tackle him.

But behind the door, when it finally swings wide and allows they who push through, I find it is not him but a her. Not my Enrico, but instead someone else. An impossibly busty brunette, with an hourglass figure that makes me both drool and hate her — hate YOU at the same time. Your body hugged by a scorching hot black dress that makes it look as if you had just come from a ball or a masquerade party, though you only brought the mask of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

But apart from your leg-showing dress and onyx heels — your smokey eye-liner and soul stealing eyes, you are oppressive, even without words. Your silence seizing the moment and the room as you look me up and down. Your walk, slowly and sauntery like a real life Catwoman making me freeze as you approach, leaving me only the will power to reach up and barely cover up my half-exposed breasts.

I try to speak, once and then again, my nude-colored lips opening lightly before your river-deep eyes steal the breath from my lungs. I can feel it, as you move. Not what you want, but that you want. That you are a predator. That you are coming for me.

And though I should run, or at least prepare to, I find myself only able to mutter. “I … I…. I was waiting for….”

I want to explain. To justify why I am here. That need being the only thought left in my brain that makes any sense. But even that I cannot do. Even that I fail at, as my heart continues to pound and my pulse to race. Your every step bringing you closer. Your every shift of eyes seizing control of me.



I look at you…. The perfection he brought me…. Oh my dear, lovely Enrico… You will earn every last bit of pleasure and pain I bring you for this…. I will use my tightest harnesses and ball gags…. The tiniest of leather straps…. The most oiled of my Cat of Nine Tails….

I will milk his cock with my hands, between my tits, and inside my tight pussy until he is a dehydrated husk hanging off my dungeon walls…. His tongue will get stuck in a permanent twist calling my name that will make his accent even thicker; for bringing me this perfect nymph….

I take in a deep breath, that causes my breasts to expand and swell inside my dress…. I keep watching you… Your shy, shocked eyes.. The hands try, and fail, to cover your breasts…. I smile cockily….. as your words stumble from your lips….. Hearing you say that you were waiting for Enrico…. Like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar…

You stand there, watching my every motion with the right mixture of guilt and shame that could convict you for life in front of a jury of your peers… But…. what peers.. You have no peer….

I turn slowly, and begin to wade around you, at the same fluid, watery pace, like a mermaid floating through the water, my head turned slightly, watching you. Like a satellite in its orbit, I can now smell you… All of you…. So smooth, clean, fruity….

My eyes glancing down at the round, firm buttocks that make the undersized jeans look painted on… At the tiny waist, and strong swimmers back and shoulders…. But instead of talking back to you, I just walk forwards, towards a little box set over the mantle of the fireplace….

I can hear you stammer more… Like a broken record on a loop, telling me that you were waiting for… Enrico…. But I keep my smile, I open the box, and out of it, I pull a giant, 15″ long peacock feather….. Holding it carefully by the stem, I turn, and gaze into your pretty eyes…. I smile and walk towards you…. Confident, and cocky….

I stop in front of you, and gently, I lower my right hand wielding the feather to my hip, and in a soft voice, I purr; “What’s your name, pretty thing??” — My hand moving up slowly, letting the tip of the feather touch your lower abs, just above your ultra-tight jeans, gently dragging it up along the soft ripples of your core, and around the curve of your belly button…


As if a beam of light at the distant end of a pitch-black cave, it comes to me. Enough focus — enough sentience in my mire of you-brought confusion and conflagration, to think. And in that space I wonder.

What are you? A goddess? An angel. A form of pure perfection poured from the heavens and into a mold made to drive me mad.

What do you want? In a dress so salacious and with eyes that tear through to my very soul.

Who are you? Enrico’s friend? His sister? Oh god…. I panic internally as it dawns on me. His wife? What have I done? Was my cute Italian would-be lover married and I have been caught in the middle of some sordid affair?

I worry. I wilt. But before I have shown signs of either you have come to me. Back from the mantle with a gorgeous technicolor feather. One I would focus on, if I could look away from your eyes and your movements.

If you didn’t have me trapped in your gaze and stolen away by your ways. In such bindings, I wither. Dizziness taking me, as the electricity of the moment not only sparks between us, but up my spine.

Still the thoughts hovers, somewhere in the deepest recesses of my mind. You are his wife. You must me. Why else would you be here, in a house I can only assume to be his.

But even with that fear nagging, causing my eyes to lower and water with shame, as you speak, I can do naught but answer you. “I…. My name is Jennifer.”

So much more could be said. So many questions could be asked. But I have not the power or the strength. All of it being yours at that moment. My body shivering not from cold but nervousness. A state worsened as your feather runs up my stomach, and crosses my belly button.

A plague of powerlessness that grows as you move ever so close to me.


Slowly, you part your lips…. Your eyes, wide as dow staring at the deadly headlights of her doom, completely and utterly mesmerized, I breathe softly…. Deeply…. My jaw pushed forwards just a millimeter, perfectly the right amount to make sure that my breath is softly blasted towards your lips and nostrils…. To fill your lungs, and swirling mind with my essence, my scent, my power….. The feather, trails up your skin….

Brushing softly, the tip finding it’s track just like the pin of a turntable in the grooves of a vinyl, and softly slide up into your cleavage…. “… Jennifer??” I whisper your name back, as my right hand moves the feather sideways, letting it gently trace along the heavy, wonderfully uplifted by nature, underside of your left breast, almost like a feather scale trying to measure the weight and mass of your perfect bosom…..

And while your nipple is barely covered by the open flap of your sweater, I slowly slide the feather up, letting the stem force it’s way gently, between the silky, creamy skin, and the cashmere of your top…. The way I pronounced your name, with a wondering, questioning tone; is meant to intimidate you… To make you feel… inadequate… To make you question if that is actually your name…. To plant the seeds in your innocent, pure mind; that you would want to drop your name, and beg me to pick a better fitting one for you, that suits my moods and whims…..

The feather, now pressing gently against your nipple, I can feel the first sign of resistance…. Your nub, hard, stiff, swollen, obstructs the path of the feather, and I smirk… Wondering, if they were always so hard? Did they get harder waiting for Enrico? Or did they just get this hard in my presence?

Smirking confidently, I tilt the feather stem slightly, like a scholar pushing the tip of a letter opener in a thick envelope, and prying it open to peek inside….. Letting the sweater gently slide off your breast, and like a curtain in the grand opening of an opera, swing softly, to rest just along the line of your left shoulder…… Exposing your left tit in its entirety….

I smile, staring at it, then, I take a step back, pulling the feather up, and letting it brush across my right cheek, my lips…

My deep hazel-green eyes staring into you…. “Take it off…” I say in a soft, commanding voice… Still, offering you no explanations…. No answers to your questions… Just… commands…. One…. more dastardly then the one before…


Apart from the feather you have not touched me. Apart from our eyes, yours and mine, we have not truly connected. And yet still my breaths hitch, and pupils dilate as if I am on a drug.

And though I remember taking no such intoxicant. And though it has been too long from my last drink to have been slipped anything by Enrico, I feel as if I had. As if I am high. As if some substance I have known or heard of has taken over my body.

Leaving me defenseless against your slow onslaught. Leaving me without a will of my own as you drag your feather up my body, beneath my pull-over, and over a nipple so hard I could stab someone with it.

A nub that hardened not at the feather’s touch, or at your closeness. Not at your question or at your walk to the mantle. But as soon as I saw you. As soon as you saw me, and in so doing, without a word, claimed me.

Claimed though I am now, and have been since you entered the room. As you linger next to me and open my top to the warm air of the room, whispering my name back to me, I feel it. A pull. A need. Not to speak or wonder, but to kneel. But to beg you. For what, I don’t even know.

For everything.

For anything you will give me.

To ask you what you want. What you desire and how I might provide it, though I have only just met you. Though I have only just come under your spell.

But without a plea let loose from bended knee you tell me. You instruct. “Take it off….”

I do not comply, at first. Not out of a rebellion of sanity and logic, but instead because I am entranced. Mesmerized by you. Until through such a stilling of soul-stealing desire I do as you ask. Lifting my hands to the edges of my top before slowly, obediently pulling it off.

Its soft fabric dropping to the floor as I look to you for any instruction. Any word about my body or what you want of it. And though I could wait for such guidance, I instead, in an act that feels as bold as a lioness, I ask, in a shaking and timidity-laced voice.

“Who…. Who are you…?” And though I ask it, who you are, all I want is to hear your voice again. To engage you in anyway I can. Feeling already addicted to something I have never had. A slave to a mistress who has yet to even touch my flesh with hers.

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My eyes narrow, staring at your pretty face…. The innocence in it…. But it’s an innocence that hides.. so much… I can see the feint tan lines on your temples….

You wear glasses… Thick ones too…. You’re a reader… A bookworm… A ‘nerd’… As they say it… A total wallflower…

You left a bar in a strange country with a strange man… One who is too pretty to be anything but a porn star, a serial killer, or someone running an organ-farm…. And yet, there you were…. Thinking you’re suddenly the heroine of some romance novel, meeting the perfect stranger somewhere… And following him into my webs… I smirk recalling your cute, seductive pose… The parted top, showing off your goods… And to be honest, despite the amateur attempt, you do… have a lot to show…. Your lips tremble, yet, you comply… My spell still strong…. You pull the top off, and let it fall to the floor…

Then you fire yet another question, in a more urgent, pleading tone….. But I smile further, brushing the feather across my lips…. Purring and humming an old childhood tone… A lullaby meant to calm and relax children, but in this place… In this room, it must feel terrifying… Menacing… Something from a horror film…..

I slide my right heel forwards, and take a step towards you… I see you tensing, but you don’t move…. You are still trusting the fates…. That somehow… This will go your way… That somehow things will end well for you….

And well, there is a way for that to happen… Just… One… Slim… way… but it won’t be without a price… A hefty one….. I stop a foot from you… My right arm down with the feather, and in a slow, subtle motion, I drag it up between your denim clad thighs, letting the feather brush across the crotch of your jeans… Dragging softly…. And once again, ignoring your question; I issue my next command; “… All… of it….”

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I spoke. I dared. I asked you a question, and though one might assume that I did so wanting an answer, when you ignore me, my eyelids shudder and my body tenses. Not out of anger but excitement. Sheer, unrelenting excitement. This. THIS is what I wanted. What I needed. Something different. Something that I will never forget. And though the moment we share, however unequally is that, I do not recognize it. Do not understand it.

For all I perceive is the moment we exist in. All I sense is you. Whoever you are.

And though that is true — and though your control over me has not ebbed, as you drag your feather once again, and then instruct me to take off the rest of my clothes, I finally understand.

If not the why or the who, the what. My role, at least I think I do. This moment. This closeness. Your absolutely blistering mastering of this space and my body is seduction. You … you want to see my body. Naked and unhidden.

Shallow and errant though that belief is, it fills me with a strength. Not one that pushes me to rebel against you, but one that gives me freedom.

Freedom to feel not shame, but desire. Not humiliation, but sexual confidence.

A confidence you can see as my eyes fill with a telltale fire and an unmistakable flame. A blaze that burns not to spite you, but to feed you. To give you, what I, in my nascent theories of what you want of me, form.

Before you respond to such a look forming faminine strength, I reach my hands down to my jeans and unbutton them. One button after another, until finally, I am able to pull and shimmy them down my thick Latina thighs to the beautifully carpeted floor below us both.

Then, after a subtle twisting of feet to dislodge them from my shoes, I kick both away. Both the jeans and my shoes. Leaving me only in a pair of white silk panties.

Panties you want gone. Panties I know you instructed me to remove. And though you did, and though I know it, I reach out without permission, grab your free hand, and pull it towards me warm, panty-covered center. Another daring move I make, before I whisper to you. Not a question, but a command of my own.

“You take them off….”

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I breathe softly…. I can see something… changing…. In your eyes… It makes absolutely no sense, but you can fucking sense the air getting thicker….. Turning into clear water flowing between us, the currents shifting and tugging on our follicles and hairs, creating goosebumps on our flesh….. The pause, lasts longer than before….. And I… HATE… repeating myself…

But then, I see you… smirking… just a little… A beam of confidence shooting through your pretty brown eyes, and you bend over, your nose, almost dipping into my own cleavage, shimmying out of the jeans, shaking your hips and wiggling them down….. And I just stare into your eyes… Never breaking contact…

You kick it aside, and then, my left eyebrow shoots so high, it almost flies off my face and smacks the roof… You… TOUCH… me… No.. You HOLD my free left hand, firmly, strongly, and you yank it forwards, pushing my fingers to your panties…. And you add insult to injury, commanding me to do it…. The ‘help’ is asking the lady of the manor to do her own tidying up…. The chef, demanding I cook her a meal…. My assassin, telling me to do my own dirty work….

My nostrils flare quietly… And I tuck my chin up… Glaring at you.. Gazing at your pretty eyes, and with a cruel grin, I say nothing… But I curl my fingers a little, and even with your hand wrapped around my wrist, I… THRUST…. My fingers forwards…. Each of them curled gently in a straight line, and I JAB all five nails, like tiny spear tips right into your crotch….. The white thong offering you the protection of a wet sheet of toilet paper… I see your eyes widen in shock, your lips parting…..

The sudden surge of five sharp nails biting into your tender, nerve-rich nether region must be paralyzing…. And as you blink in shock, I lean in softly, letting my right cheek brush against yours… My lips… An inch from your lips, I whisper in a soft, almost too kind voice; “My sincerest apologies…. But if you are under any illusion… That you get to call the shots here… That’s a gross misunderstanding on your part…. Jennifer….” I whisper your name almost like a prayer, pulling my left hand back sharply, and retracting the claws that were tormenting your womanhood… “Take…. it…. off….”

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You wanted it. More fire. More strength. Even if you meant only to quickly subdue it with your own. And though you do, I can sense that it irritates you. That it angers you.

And though such a reaction might have scared others, in a blink I soften. Doing so as I stand on my tip-toes. The raised stance a feeble attempt to lessen the pain and pressure of your fingernails digging into the already moist valley between my thighs.

Feeble, as though I take it, you continue to dig, drawing from me a soft, strengthless whimper. One I offer as you lean in and instruct me once again. Telling me, in your beautifully accented voice, that you want one thing from me. Compliance. Complete and utter. And as you withdraw your claws and I lower, I give it to you. Moving my once reaching — once grabbing — once pulling hands to my panties.

Panties I shove down my thighs with the tiniest swivel of hips. My eyes not moving to yours, but instead looking to the ground. My momentary dalliance with freedom and fire not just shrinking in the wind but extinguished in its entirety.

My hands coming to a gentle and unmoving hang by my sides. My naked body waiting for you and your plans. Whatever they may be.

Obedient though I am once more, my mis-judgment quelled, I am still transfixed. Still enthralled. Waiting for your next offering or demand.

Willing to comply, if only I knew how.

Willing to be yours, if only you would let me.

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I might as well be holding a knife to your heart right now….. I can see the way you tremble…. Your confidence… Shook…. You nod softly, and I pull my fingers back, and quietly, you grab your panties, then…. You peel them down your legs… I watch you as you actively try to take as little volume as possible with your motion, fearing to stumble or bump into me. You peel them off, and I can sense a whiff of your aroma filling my nostrils… And I love it…

I bite the bottom of my lips, breathing hard… Breathing deep… Then I step back and stand there, admiring you….. My eyes moving across your physique… It’s… perfect… Your young latina curves… Your immaculate complexion…. Your soft silky hair… Those obedient eyes, that are not tricking me, for I’ve seen the inferno blazing behind them, when called for…. But right now, those swelling, rising and falling breasts…

Those begging, pleading eyes, that dripping pussy… It calls for my next command…. I wonder how long ago was the last time you thought of Enrico, or remembered that my minion existed… I smile at you, and slowly, I step forwards, reaching down with my left hand, I press the tips of my middle and index fingers to your labia, softly massaging it, to soothe the pain of my claws sinking into the tender flesh, for a few moments, I watch your eyes almost roll back, the moans forming in your chest, unable to even escape through your lips… And with the tiniest amount of pressure, I part your lips just slightly, enough to slide the stem of my feather between it, and I relax my grip, sticking the feather in there, as I whisper; “Hold that for me, for a moment, will you?”

I whisper, gently letting my red lips caress your cheek, leaving a feint trail of their crimson…. I then step back, reaching up with my fingers to the slanted shoulders of my dress, and with a deep, knowing glare into yours, I slowly tug down, letting them slide down my smooth arms, sliding fast, then pausing at the feint ripples and bulges of my bone structure and taut sexy muscles. Pulling it down along my cleavage, letting it stop at the tips of my hardened, caramel colored nipples, before a soft tug pulls it further down…. Exposing my breasts….

The next stop is around my hips, and the amount of effort I exert is minuscule, as I tense my abs and gently push down, helping the dress past the ridges of my hip bones and it slips down, pooling around my heeled feet, leaving me completely naked, except for the Manolo’s….. I smile, staring at you, walking forwards, and with a gently grab of my fingers, I pull the feather from it’s safe keeping. “Thank you, Jennifer….”

I say your name again in a way, that will make you HATE your own name every time someone else say it…. I smile and gently rest my left palm on your shoulder, my palm pushing a bit low, at the top swell of your breast. Bending one leg back behind me at a time, using you for support, I unclasp the straps of my heels and let them thud heavily to the floor. Breathing slow. Staring at you. I descend down to my natural height. Smiling back at you. “Did you like that?” I say quietly. Staring into you eyes. Not specifying initially, before adding. “Did you like that…. pain…. when I touched you down there?”


I quiver at your correction and tremble at your reprimand. Giving into you. Giving away when you push. And when I do, you soften. Teaching me well, that you are my master in this moment. My mistress and my queen.

I do not know your name, and yet I want it. Not your purpose, though I am yours.

And as that truth subdues me, you sear into my very soul. Your once clawing hand moving and taking — pressing and massaging. Not my shoulders or my back, but the very clit you once threatened — the very core you once tore.

As you take it, I quiver. And as you touch it, I gasp. My eyes rolling and legs trembling, before suddenly I feel you slide it. The feather into my folds.

“Mmmmnnmnn.” I mouth without intention, before you move back and away from me. Leaving your make-shift tool of domination inside of me as you do so.

Stripping there before, as you reveal every bit the body I assumed you to have. One that cannot be described with words, only moans. One that cannot be measured or assessed, only fawned over in a puddle of drool.

And though every movement you make and garment you take off, drives me deeper and deeper into your control. Before I breathe, let alone process, you return to me.

Thanking me, and using my name. A name that sounds like a curse when you use it. Filthy, because it was not given by you. And though for those reasons I chafe at its usage, I remain still and obedient. My eyes once more moving to yours as you ask me.

“Did you like that … pain…?” At first the question confuses me, and sets me back. Why would you ask that? What does its phrasing mean? And though I muddle through such queries, it comes to me. The answer.

“I did….” I tell you, before my mind has a chance to examine it.

“I … want more….” Before I can decide why.

And though part of me might have withheld the information and another try to bend it to fit my own sense of normalcy. It was the truth I spoke. I did like it. My weakness and your strength. The pain and my reaction.

Why? I could not answer.

What about it excites me? I do not know.


My long curled lashes pat softly like the wings of a butterfly…. My heart is beating deeply…. The spell is straining…. Holding you in check is, as I’ve found out moments ago, a tricky affair…. You’re a fighter…. You are stronger-willed than I initially presumed….. My caramel nipples slowly grow in size and rigidity…You know they are getting hard, when you can actually feel it first, before even taking notice of them…..

“I….. want more…” You whisper, and I lean gently closer….. My right breast pushing into the side of your own right, gently disrupting the oval rock hard formation, and pushing it into its twin…. My forehead gently resting against your temple….. My lashes flutter again, this time, dragging across your skin, as my breath softly churns across your skin like a dormant dragon slumbering over her pile of gold and secrets…. And I’m about to reveal one for you….

“Good…..” I vent out gently….. My left hand softly reaching up, and with its back, I brush up the silkiness of your hip, dragging my hand up across your goosebumped skin…..

“Very good…. Because…. The reason you are here… Is pain….. Not only receiving it… But… dishing it back…….” I purr, my tongue slipping out, and with it’s tip, I dot your cheek from the outside, before lashing upwards in a gentle motion….. “Below us, is a two-storied dungeon…. And right now…. There are six studs and beauties chained up….. Ready to take any pain I dish at my whim….. But you….

You are special…. You, I brought here… To…. fight…. Have you ever fought another woman… Jennifer?? have you ever put your body on the line…. Pulled her hair like you wanted every strand to come off…. Clawed and bit her like you’re an animal carving a carcass….. Tangled your entire body around hers, and rolled in a little mating dance of a catball, to see who belongs on top, and whose back will be chaffed by the ground? Have you ever tasted another woman’s blood that you drew out, and felt that you just want… more….”

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Before it was intense. Before it was incredible and mesmerizing. Before you took your clothes off. Before your state of nakedness matched mine. But now that we two are naked. Now that you allow our flesh to touch, I find myself, at least at first, almost unable to stand. Unable to breathe, as every attempt hangs in my throat. The throbbing of my rapidly beating heart sending each back and out of me, as if they have been taken by you, my goddess, my queen.

And though you have already become those things in my eyes, you not yank harshly at my leash. No, for instead you agree, with breathless responses of “good”. Before telling me the true reason for my presence.

The real reason why Enrico sought me out, and with charm and seduction, lured me to this mansion at the end of a cobblestone street.

You want … to fight me. The idea is not one I can even think, let alone repeat without it sticking and snapping in half in my mind.

Why would you want to fight me? Why would you want to fight anyone? Why take pain of pleasure? Why wound when we could writhe together in pure bliss, kissing passionately as our tongues lash against one another? I would have thought of those questions. Would have asked them of you, if you had not explained.

If you had not asked me, and in so doing described the joy you find in fighting. The excitement such combat gives you. And when you do. When you tell me…. I do not just hear, but see. Images of you and I doing and daring. Pulling hair and clawing — biting and drawing blood — wrapping our legs around each other and rolling from one side of the room to the other. So close…. So … so…. Wantonly and without regard to taboo or normality.

I could answer you, a quivering mess of denied and then heightened expectations. But instead, and in a flash, I shift towards you, and with my left hand grab a handful of your hair. Dragging your body fully against mine. Pressing us forehead to forehead before I finally speak.



Like a plague spreading through a village, ravaging the land, the beasts, the people, scorching the skies with the piles of burning bodies; my words spread their claws through your mind… Digging in deeper, taking hold of your soul, of your mind… Of your every essence….. I can hear the soft grunts coming from deep within you… I can feel the goosebumps rising on your right arm, cradled between my breasts, as I lean and pour my twisted, sick venom into your heart…..

I can smell…. more… Jennifer… in the air…. And with the back of my right hand, I gently swipe across the front of your right thigh, brushing it softly, and feeling the warm, sticky dew on your flesh…… I smirk, as we stand there….. My intent revealed, waiting for you… To say… To do…. Will you push me away and run for the door….. Will you even pick up your jeans and top…. Will you look behind to see if I’m chasing you…..

Would you be disappointed or relieved to see that I won’t give chase… That I don’t want this with someone who is not willing… Not aching… not fired up for it as much as me…….

But suddenly, I feel the beautiful definition of your right arm flexing, muscle knots pushing into my cleavage, parting it like the staff of Moses to the Red Sea, and you spin, facing me…. And I see the fire and fury in your eyes…..

It makes my grin widen, before a soft grunt leaves my lips, your perky, warring, formidable breasts smashing into mine…. Nipples digging into flesh, and your hands, snatching up my hair and giving it a tug backwards, growling… ‘… more….’

And a split second later, you feel my arms coming up to your sides, my biceps flexed, brushing against your ribs, as my fingers slide up, for an asymmetrical hair grip, my left, going higher, gripping your locks by the bangs, while my right, buried in deeper behind your left ear, bunching your soft tresses, and forming a fist, with my thumbnail poking out, pressing into your scalp……

My right leg, pushing forwards, between yours, and curling around the back of your left.. Not to tackle, or strong leg you…. But simply to… bind us… together…. “….ALL of you… ALL of me….” I hiss, tightening my grip on your hair, and giving your head a hard jerk backwards….


Despite my fire and flare — reach and pull, I am terrified. The look of resolve and glare of menace true as it can be, resting atop a foundation of worry. Is this what you want? Is this how I start it? How I take it? How I become the fighting wildcat I believe you want me to be?

Before I assumed and tried to be more than obedient — more than submissive. And you rebuked and punished me. Demanding my complete and utter obedience. Will this time, as I lace my fingers with your hair be any different?

Will you take it? Will you accept it? God I want you to. God I just want to engage with you and become whatever you want me to be. Jennifer was my name before I entered. Before you came. Now I am yours, if only that could be my title.

Not a slave, but your rival. Not a tool of pleasure, but competitive flame. Someone to struggle with. To test yourself again. To hurt and be hurt by. And I will give it to you. I will shower you in it. Smother you with all that I can be. No matter the cost. No matter the suffering of it.

Just take me….

Keep me….

Let me be your catfighting eternity. Your catballing counterpart. From the moment I take a grasp of your hair to the second one of us submits to the other in tears, having lost all temerity.

To my joy I feel it, see it. Finally I have guessed right. Finally I have cracked the code. A revelation you give me as you press back into me. Breast-to-breast and body-to-body.

At the increased contact and answered prayer I shiver, though no weaken. Keeping a hold of your hair, as my glare hardens and intensifies. Its previously shaky foundation solidifying as you extend your leg between mine.

Not in a push or a trip, but to make us one, coiling your soul and mine. And when you do, I hook my own right leg behind yours. Again soft. Again just to communicate something that cannot be said with words or defined by the same.

There, in that closeness we linger. Glaring into each other’s eyes as you say it. “All of you…. All of me….”

They are the sexiest words I had ever heard. Your voice no different than the seraphim or sirens. It calling to me, like fate calls to us all. Blissful though it is, the sound and the serenade of my goddess’ voice, I still respond. “Forever.”

Assent and aspiration there is in my comment. Yes, I will fight you with all of my essence, but keep me, my mistress. Own me, my queen.

Unsaid and subtle. Unspoken and delicate as the subtext is, I give you not time to answer or deny me. Instead, using my last free hand to grab your chin, and wrench your face to the side. Leaving it there as I lean in and latch my teeth to your cheek. In a bite. In a clamp. But one that tests you. Tests us and the battle we wage.

Show me the violence you want, my owner. Show me the pain you need.


We clench together…. She… She fucking did it… She wants it…. Oh Enrico, you gorgeous talented Italian fool… You’ve got the perfect one… Finally…. After so many failures and disappointments…. After so many who crumbled to the floor weeping, or balled in a corner screaming and pulling their own hair out, not realizing it is MY job to do it for them… After pleas and begging; she… is… perfect…

You thrust your curvy latina body into mine…. And much like your breasts force mine to flatten and swell to the sides like mushroom caps… My hips smack into yours, and we can feel the heat between our legs… You slither a limb between my legs and you counter curl your leg around mine… From behind you, anyone standing would see the bulging sides of my breasts, and from behind me, they would see the outer curves of your hips and thighs…. And…. Your leg tightens more.

I jerk your head back. A low snarl leaving my lips. Your lips part. In a silent yelp. You don’t scream. I twist my right hand further into your hair. And your lips open more. But no sound. You hold it. I grin. Like a twisted scientist testing a lab rat, I keep poking, seeing how much you can take. My right thumb nail pushing into your scalp, Gouging in. And your eyes shut. Your head archs and your mouth is a gaping maw….. There it is.. She will scream…

But instead…. You yank my head forwards by the hair, and you latch your teeth to my cheek, and you… BITE… You chomp harshly, and I hear the growl coming from your lips… You’re using my face to muffle your scream, and my own mouth gapes… A low squealing yelp rising from my depths.

I tense my arms, I can’t pull your hair back without risking skin breakage. No. I have to hold on to you. To let you break the bite at your own terms. It hurts. My hips rear back a little, squirming in immense pain, but the lab-coated maniac in the dark corner of my brain is rubbing her palms together… She wants to find out… To know how far you will bite…. When will you stop… WILL you stop….. My hip thrusts forwards, and with a loud SLAP our abs collide hard. I push my crotch into yours, my right leg lifting up slightly, pointing my toe nails inwards, I jam them into the back of your curvy calf, and I… rakkkkeee down…. dragging my nails from the fatty side of your calf down to your Achilles tendon….


Oh my god, it is nothing like anything I have ever dreamed of doing, let alone done. It is miles away, err, realities away from the intimate experiences I have had before. And yet it is EVERYTHING. It is passion and pain — power and weakness — intimacy and rage.

The two of us wrapped and bound Holding onto each other with coiled legs and pulling hair. Sharing, in the silence that once irritated me with the smallest most delicate sounds of effort and anguish.

The two of us pushing and prying. Wrenching and ripping at each others hair as we struggle in whatever closeness we can find. Fighting over not just space, but the electricity-drenched air that lingers between us.

And though at first out grips and tugs were light — more threats than attacks. As we delve deeper into this fucking incredible war of bodies and broke breaths, you tug hard. Yanking at my velvety brown hair. Pulling it back so hard I have to fight to return. Fight to advance my lips and teeth. Biting your cheek, not just in an assault or attempt to test, but also to muffle. Also to hide my own utterance of pain.

Not sure how to share it with you. Too timid and new to this style of engagement to trust you hearing me cry out in wound.

But as I bite, you yelp. And as that precious, incredible sound is given to me. I I shiver. In excitement and anticipation.

Feelings that increase as with a sudden and unexpected reprisal you retract your hips and then thrust forward. Slamming your lower body into mine.

The effect a mix of trib-brought pleasure and Ewa-caused pain. For only a blink after you thrust your mound into mind, you raise a leg and dig your nails in deep. Scraping them down my flesh, causing me to yelp, just as you did.
Not once or shortly, but in a cascading set of whimpers that come with each half-inch your nails drag. My sounds of pain only ending when your attack ends.

When that end comes, I pull back. Releasing my bite and clenched jaw, so that I can once again look into your eyes. Stare and glare into them, as I mirror your attack. Pulling my lower half back before slamming my precious nether into yours. Just before I lift my right leg and then with angled nails try to dig. Try to hurt.

Still learning though I am, as I prepare for such an attack, I leave myself unstable. The mere pressure of your hairpulling and body pressing against mine making my ground-bound left leg shake, as I fight to keep my balance.

But the danger of such a wobbly base is lost on me. My only thoughts forming in words that like a dancer diving into the air, leap from my tongue. “Bitch….”

The word itself brings me pleasure, both in its defiance and its meaning. I will be yours when we’re finished, but right now I am your enemy. Your rival. Your fighting partner. Your hateful creation.

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My jaw is rocking, trembling in mid-air… Held by your twin grip on my hair, and the set of teeth latched to my face…. You’re biting…. Hard…. You’re doing as I told… As I asked… And you’re doing it spectacularly…. No clumsiness or faltering in this girl….. In this… Jennifer…. This nerdette turned uber slut, with a little tease of an Italian hunk, and overdose of Polish dominance….

You’re a gorgeous, beautiful jungle cat, unleashed of her shackles, her cage door pried open…. It feels like you are flexing your claws and teeth. Testing your body, like you’re taking your first step, ever…. And my gawd, do you fight… beautifully…… Your teeth relax on my face, but not out of pain, you do it because you want to see what you’ve done, to inspect your handwork… To check the arched double crescent marks your perfect teeth left on my face…..

The cops could take a perfect profile of your dental records off my skin….. And I see a little smirk dancing on your face, before my toes reach their destination, raking across your Achilles…… Your yelp is sweet music… And I reward it by a savage shake of your head…. Snarling savagely…. only to feel your right foot, moving up, imitating me, and my own teeth clench in a low hiss, our noses brushing, our breasts grinding together, and our hips resounding with your counter thrust….

“…. Bitch…” You hiss at me, and I wince, my eyes shut…. And with you putting more of your weight against mine, my raked left leg trembles and I stumble back a step….

“…. Slut…” I hiss back at you, and fighting to keep my right and your left legs put in place, I twist my left hip backwards, while both my grips on your hair shake your head towards your right, then push on it DOWN….

My thumbnails, one stabbing into the back of your skull, the other, right into the center of your forehead… Like I’m trying to give you an Indian Bindi mark, as I screech and push down with my body, trying to bend you at the waist and if I can, cost you your balance…..

The arching causing our hips to angle up, and our pussies touch each other, one swollen fold to another, leading to a static interruption of moans through my forceful grunts….

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A fantasy of struggle beyond imagining. A collision of cats I could never have dreamed of or known I wanted. Our battle of pressing bodies engulfs me, mind, body, and spirit.

Each of us pulling hair and whimpering for each other. Each of us fighting a battle of placement and purchase. Who owns this space? This closeness? Which of us is in control? Which of us will have it?

Dominance over the other…..

The glory of hearing the other beg for release and cessation….

Those are the questions we ask each other, as our pressing breasts flatten together and ever-hard nipples stab into each other’s chests. Those rods, which traitorously reveal our excitement clashing like sabers and bending.

Another risk it was, calling you a bitch. Cursing at you in such a manner. But again, you like it. You want it. And you reply back. Hissing the word “slut” at me.

Insult though it is, I love it. Cruel though it sounds, I covet it. The heat of it. The passion of it. Your will against mine. You and I, wrapped in hate and malice. Clinging to each other, as we submerge into a world of violence containing only we two.

Beautiful and incredible though it is in concept and theory, there is still the fact of it. The reality. One in which you rip my head from side to side. Digging your nails into my head at two points, as you wrench me this way and that.

Then you press your magnificent breasts into mine, pushing into me. Trying, as you stiffen your hooked leg, to end our standing battle of attrition and torment. And though I would love nothing more than to move our battle to the floor.

I want control of it — of you. Not wanting to cede anything, no matter how minute. Wanting to make you either claim it by force, or to take it from you ain’t the same.

And so as you lean down and in, shifting your body, I do the same. Angling myself not forward and into you, but to the left. Looking to turn us as you drive. Roll as we fall.

My intention to land as I withdraw, and then mount as we recede. My drive to best you and break you growing with every second. Not because I am any less, but because to you I want to be more. Your perfect partner. Your forever rival.

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The skin over our temples is stretched, pulled back… Our eyes forced into teary slits, like two overflowing wells, each showing the intensity of our souls, the glimmer and flickering of our fighting spirits….. You are what I wanted… What I coveted…. For years…

Years of dishing pain and punishment, until I became numb to it…

Years of hearing knee caps thunk into the grounds around me as I walked, as I commanded, as I breathed; until it all became a meaningless blur; a gray blob; an emotional vacuum…..

Until you…

Until this moment….

From the second my eyes fell on you, with your parted Pull-over, your creamy breasts half out… The second I saw your eyes, and heard you utter your voice… I’ve wanted this… I wished it… I willed it… And there we are…. Struggling like two fiends…. Using all of our strength to move the other… To pry her grip and jockey for control…. Control that has eluded us both…

You force me back half a step…. And in that defeat that I cease my opportunity, pushing your head down. Bending you at the waist… But like an acrobat you maintain your balance, long enough, to give my hair a sharp tug, telling me that you won’t go down alone….. And I smirk at you, through the slit eyes and flared nostrils; I hiss; “… together…..”

And with that we both shriek and your powerful leg collapses, not out of failure, but design, taking us down…. And simultaneously, you turn your body, pulling me forwards, and I yelp, watching the ground approach rapidly…. I did not plan on this!! But I tuck my head just enough, to take the fall on my right shoulder…

But the momentum does not stop, neither do you, tossing your meaty right thigh up, the white sticky flesh slapping into my sides, your bare pussy jamming like the suction pad of an octopus, pushing into my hip bone and you roll me to my back, with your body arriving on top….

But much like you, I’m also planning a step ahead…. Shrieking, pulling sharper on your head to the left, thrusting my hip up, and bridging with my right leg, we flop over and I roll on top, but it does not stop there….. Again, and again, and again, we grunt and roll, maintaining the speed of the fall, but it’s not the laws of physics that are keeping us going with the barrel roll, it’s our intensity, kicking legs, bridging hips, and vicious yanks on the other’s hair…..

We keep on battling, rolling into the base of the wall, you’re on top of me, but I stretch my left leg, pushing my sweaty foot into the shelves holding the priceless Mono Vinyls, kicking hard, and sending us rolling to the right.

Grunting, our tits compressed, our chins resting on the other’s shoulders. Fighting desperately, battling for control, for position, for dominance.

Finally… I’m not taking it with a word…

Finally… I’m FIGHTING for it…..

Finally, I found her….. My perfect bitch…. My Jennifer….

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It was hard and awkward. Stuttery and resistance-broken. Our struggle to take the other down. Our efforts to end the long war of attrition we waged on our feet. But when we finally find ourselves drug over the cliff “together”, as you say, it is easy. Each of us clinging to the other, both in a need to possess and maintain our struggle, but also to place. Not just ourselves, but each other.

Our fight both as we fall and as we land one of contrary wills. I want to top you. To crawl atop you like a tigress, as I look down into your beautiful hazel eyes as the first seeds of fear begin to grow within you.

But as bad as I want that — and as much as I would trade to have it at the very moment we land, you desire the same. And in our mutual wanting, we deny.

Ripping that moment from each other’s hands as we trade top and then bottom. Bottom and then top. Rolling together, with hands still buried deep in each others hair. Not stopping until we reach the wall and the … ugh … something I don’t even recognize in my lustful haze of desire and obsession with besting you.

Off that something you press, and we begin to roll back the other way. Our thighs clinching together and separating as we kick in equal parts desperation and tactic.

Your lips pressed to my ear and mine pressed to yours. We as a pair once again offering sounds. Offering whimpers and grunts to each other. Some hard and panicked. Some delicate and haunting.

And somewhere in that symphony of sound and chorus of clash I respond. Not to our offerings but to what you said. Eons late though it is.

“Together….” The sound of it. That single word that shudders and shakes at it leaves my lips. A single thought that I whisper to you in the very depths of our struggle is nothing and yet everything. Simple and yet more complex than anything I have ever said or will say again.

And as it leaves and lingers, from tongue to tangle, drifting into your ear, I bite the same. Clamping my teeth down on your lobe, as we roll.

But that attack, once again made of teeth and torture, I do not deliver alone. No. For with it, I let go of your once styled hair, and reach instead between us. Wanting to wrap my fingers around your breasts. Leading with my bright red nails, as I dig them in on either side of our bulging chests.

I will take them. I will gouge them. And if you don’t stop me, I will rip them off your chest.

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I’ve never been denied…. And yet…. Right now…. I’m praying that you do not stop this… That you do not flop to your back, spreading your legs, begging me to take you any way I want…

I want this pain..

This struggle…

The immaculately erratic thrusts of your hips and thumps of your thighs against my crotch, the sharp yaks on my hair, that are loosening my muscles and stealing yelps out of me, and the feeling of your body slithering over mine, grinding on me, bound by sweat, and nothing else, spreading across my form like warm butter over toast…..

From wall, to wall, we roll and struggle, not losing a beat, not cooperating, the exact opposite… We’re sparring… Using the other’s momentum like our minds are counting the milliseconds each is spending on top, tallying a score in a war so evenly battled…..

Each praying for the other to tire first, to weaken her grip, but on our backs, we thrust like power bottoms, and on top, we waver like leaves in a hurricane, collapsing to our sides to initiate another roll…. Breathing and panting, you repeat my word, then, you chomp on my ear….

“AIIIEEEEHHH!!” I shriek in pain… The first bite, was practice for you….. This one…. you’ve found your ground… You chomp… On my ear shell, denting it into your teeth, and I spasm above you, the rolling paused, as your focus turns to the bite, and the follow up savagery, your fingers spreading over my tits, clawing, sinking your fingertips into my sweaty orbs, and you claw hard…

“RRAARRRRGHHHH!!” I roar in pain, my head force turned to the right, as you bite cruelly, and this time, slowly, VERY slowly we roll over, and you put me on my back….. With authority…. Our bodies halting, tangled up….. Your right leg curled around my hip, nestled under the arch of the small of my back…. And mine is tossed over your hip….

I hisss in pain….. Hating that you made me scream….. But loving that you made me scream… A dichotomy that sears my mind and senses….

But I know that I have awakened a monster inside of you…. I’ve awakened the REAL… Jennifer….. And now… We will burn… together…… I relax my fingers on your hair….. Tensing up…. First… I need to stop screaming….. Despite the pain… Despite the agony… Good…. Five seconds without a whimper…. And you PUSH and CLAW and BITE harder…

You want the siren’s song…. But…. Let’s hear yours…… I can’t bite with my head turned that way…..But I can claw…. And on the floor, I have twenty claws to use, not ten…. My legs, both of them bend down, sliding along the marble soft flesh of your left thigh, and I find the vulnerable exposed back of your knee cap…..

My toes curled, I push them into the socket, poking at the bundle of nerves and veins and tendons… Sending my tiny soldiers in with no battle plan. Just prodding and raking and scratching; the only purpose; cause mayhem…. burn down the camp……

My arms, both of them sliding down your back, I feel over your large, curvy, plump latina buttocks……. My left claw sinking into the right one, twisting, kneading the same way you are mauling my breast….. Pulling it outwards, widening the gap of your crack, while my right hand, slides into your crack… Reaching, feeling for the base of your plushy, wet, velvety sex… Feeling the flesh, that is unlike any other,,,, And between my thumb and index fingers, I trap a tiny bit of your left labia between my nails, and PINCH it hard……


It was foreplay. Our own version of a nuzzle of noses and pecking of lips, our previous battle of pressing of bodies and pulling of hair. One you let me sink into gently. One you guided me through carefully, even if at the time it felt like war.

Now I see.

Now I understand.

Every moment of this … this … struggle is you training me. Is you begging me, not with words but with your own unmatched power of seduction. You are always in control. You are always the mistress.

The power is given to you freely and easily. Your dominance established and lessers broken before you have had even a second’s worth of challenge.

And though at first it entertained you, watching others kneel, you have grown bored with it. And though I gave way to that same power that resides inside of you, you mean to use me. To drag me into being stronger. Better.

Not for my own purposes but for yours. Aware of that truth, somewhere in my mind, It does not slow me or stop me — make me smile or speak.

You wish me to be your pain, and I will be. You want me to be the obstacle betwixt you and your desire for dominance, and I will be it. Not with the intention of giving way, but with the goal — the NEED to stop you and break you. To repel you from the gates and chase you down.

For as we struggle there on the floor I grow and mature with every second spent and nail dug in. From minion to monster. From “please, mistress” to “plead for me, your mistress.”

Not only because you want it, but because I do. You having shown me the light and having given me a taste of this. Of struggle and conflict. Of catfighting and so much more.

A more that comes as the dagger-sharp nails tipping your every limb drive into me. Your toenails into my legs and thighs, whilst those on your hands drive into my ass cheek and then beyond.

At the application of all and every I do not whimper, as we have, or groan, but cry out as I pull back your ear. The pain of it, I cannot describe, and though it almost blinds me. And though it almost makes me roll onto my back, to focus on nothing other than surviving it, I … I….

Enjoy it.

Not the pain itself, but where and who it comes from. This struggle. This battle. And a woman I aim to writhe with until we can writhe no more.

Pleasure, in some off-kilter sense, though your claws digging into my river-wet sex brings me, it makes me jealous. Like a child whose best friend has the toy they want. I wish I had you, as you have me. That I too was digging my claws into your cunt.

That from distinction we could be mirrored, to test who could endure more. But I can’t make such a move or attempt. It would take too long and I know I can waste no more time than I already have with my cry.

No, instead I have no choice but to lean up, and focus every effort to tear at your breasts. To drag my nails from out to inner, and find your precious nipples. I need them. Not soon or eventually, but RIGHT NOW. I need to hurt you. I need to make you lose focus.

Just as I do above you, my eyes closing and teeth biting my lip so that I do not scream. Your fingers still possessing and prying at my sex.

Your nails on every limb still digging into me.

My position atop you held only by your allowance. My every thought spent not on maintaining above you, but carving small peelings of skin from your gorgeous breasts.


“… How can someone so sweet, be so cruel….” I remember the crackled, shaken words that slipped through Edith’s lips….. The 70 year old, silver haired socialite’….. My first client, ever… She whimpered them, with a sick twisted sense of satisfaction, as she hung upside down on my giant torture wheel mounted to the wall of my dungeon. Back then, I was still not sure… I didn’t know if I wanted this, or if I would be good at this… But staring at her upside down eyes… Her tears rolling upwards, along her forehead and into her hairline, joining the small puddle of sweat and cum that the silver tresses were pooled in……. Her words told me what I needed to know… That indeed, I was doing this… right… VERY right….

But at this moment, as I stare at your pretty face…. Twisted in pain, and watch your head arch back, roaring in pain like a lioness…. Your body thrashing right and left, our pelvic bones GRINDING… RIGHT… then LEFT….. Our clits flickering each other like we’re campers looking to start a fire using only our nubs……

And the words blaze through my mind… But this time, not in Edith’s voice… But in my own…. Staring at the ferocious beauty above me….. The way you scream from the pussy torment, and yet, grimace and box your shoulders…. Straighten your arms… Your triceps bulging….. And your weight… PUSHING… down into me…. GRINDING… MAULING… CLAWING…..

“AAAAIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHH!!” I shriek in absolute pain….. I PINCH harder at your pussy… I drag my nails harder on your left butt cheek… But…. You just… keep… CLAWING… CRUSHING… STABBING…. My head shaking right and left…

“No… No… No.. NO. NOOOOOOOO!!!!!” The last one, is uttered like a savage wolf howl, my head thrusting up, my neck craned towards you, screaming, spittle flying from my lips, as I meet the FURY in your eyes from my own…. And in afit of rage, I relent my ineffective assault…..

My arms coming back and I grab at your wrist, twisting hard, like a teen giving another an Indian burn, rubbing hard at your wrist, but the more I do it, the more I help your wrists turn and your nails tear at my tits….. I yelp and my head falls back down… Groaning… You… Want…. them…. FUCK…. That face…. That trance of violence that you’ve dipped into….. I have never seen it’s likes before… and I… LOVE it… yes…. My perfect valkyrie… YES….

My eyes glance down and I see it, the red shade slowly growing around your nail tips…… The crater points of impact, turning to stab wounds, and miniature cuts are forming where your claws are wedged… Tiny…. But enough of them to sting and stop me from wearing a bra for weeks….. Not that I did anyways……

I grunt, and shoot my arms up…. Snarling in rage, my thumb nails, they stab into the little fatty underside of your jaw…. The part outlined by the triangular jaw bone….. My other nails, they spread out evenly across your cheeks…. Four in each….. Index nails just besides your nose….. Pinkies right inside your ears….

And I… GRIN… Staring at you… Savagely… Challengingly… And I begin to squeeze my hands slowly shut… My thumbs pushing harder in, while the other eight nails… Begin to drag and carrrveee their way down your cheeks……. Let our wills clash… Let our bodies smash on the rock of battle…. Let our fury replace the blood in our veins…..

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Never have I felt it. Never have dreamed it. The way I feel at this moment. The dichotomy that overwhelms me in every sense I know I have, and some I did not know existed.

I am bewildered, in two ways and on two fronts.

First, that as you inflict upon me pain, digging your nails into my pussy. Pulling it. Pinching it. Prying it from side to side. I … I … even in my suffering, with my face etched in agony, I want you. But that phrase does not convey what I mean or what I feel.

Yes, I want you in a sexual way. Our clits grazing and mounds meeting and mashing at odd intervals. Each causing a spark to fire off in our brain. This is sex! This is sex! Our minds try to convince us. And though it could be, that. And though I would have taken as much before we started this war. Now, I want this and only this. Grazes and all. Misfiring directives and twisted desires. Hate and lust. Pride and passion. My body pressed against yours as we fight to subdue the other.

Wanting though I am, what I mean to say, when use the phrase “I want you.”, is to give myself over to the pain. To your torture. To lay my head down on your incredible breasts, and let you pinch at me. Claw at me. Giving you my weakness. Sharing with you my most intimate anguish. You have me. You’re hurting me. And though I whimper and wail, I love it … and you.

But such a desire, lingering and sneaking through my mind, is but a flicker compared to the flame. A spark compared to the inferno that blazes in me as much as it does you.

I will share my weakness with you. My delicate sobbing and quivering pleas for more pain and punishment. But not yeet. Not until you earn it. Not until you have beaten me. Not until I have given in to you. And though I present those as a when, I have no intention of ever letting you do so.

Because there is nothing in the world I want more than to overcome you. Than to best you at your own game, in your own lair. And when finally I have drawn a submission from you, toy with you. Play with you. The sweet little prey you lured to your nest becoming the hunter and the victor.

My every goal in life, a husband, kids, college, and career abandoned. All I want is to hear you simper as I did for you. To see your eyes, which had been filled with unquestioned confidence and unrepentant self-worth to give way to me.

For you to give me a new name, Jennifer having become what I was before. Only to then make you scream out my new one in pleas for both pleasure and pain — for peace and in passion.

But such dreams must wait, both yours and mine. For before I can take you or you me, we must see which of us deserves. And right now, things seem grim. My eyes shedding tears from your clawing at my ass and sex. My limps kept open as I set loose hopping screams and intermittent yelps.

Sounds you pull from me until I am sure I can take no more. Until I can feel myself about to collapse off of you in a heap. But I am not alone in suffering. For I can hear you, even over the near-deafening pounding of my own racing heart.

You are in pain too. And though you are, I am close. I know it. I feel it. God…. I can’t take another second of this! Just…. Just….

As the thought enters my mind, of what life might be like if I were to just give, you abandon. Moving your hands from my lower half to my upper one. Driving your nails into my face and chin — cheeks and ears.

It is release and yet ravage — serenity and suffering. And though it does free me from the immediate grip of certain defeat, as your fingers dig in and drag down, I cannot focus. Cannot force myself to maintain. And so, with an unintentional anchoring of my clit pressing into yours, I roll.

You using our same sensitive brace to come with me and mount me. Sex pressed to sex. Lower lips smearing against lower lips. And though we move, exchanging top for bottom, you do not let go.

Even as blood drips from your wounded tits onto mine. Even as I squirm and writhe beneath you. Groaning loud as my hands move to your wrists and try to pry. A defensive attempt I take as I buck wildly beneath you, firing my hips up, and in the process my own kitty into yours.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH, BIIIIIIITTTTCCCHHHHH!!” I scream through my tears as I continue to slam myself upward and pull. Hoping I can dislodge you, or perhaps even distract you enough to let me pull your hands free from my face and the damage they do.


I… I lost… By all means…. This…. This is what it feels like??? This is the risk that having such joyride, the adrenaline rush I have been lusting after for the last one third of my life, since I chose leather and spandex for a uniform; whips and riding crops for my tool…..

THIS is what finding what I wanted entails…. Careful what you wished for Ewa… You wanted a nemesis….. And… you found her…. And in this lock up of pain and wills, for the first time in my life… I withdraw….. I retreat, abandoning my grip on your ass and pussy, and relenting it to go for the lower hanging fruit… To change pace and take revenge on you, without giving you the chance to mull in the sweetness of what you have achieved….. I ROAR at your face, and drag my claws down… And you yelp… Your body lifts, pushing harder on my tits and I SCREAM back; “RARAAAAAAAAARRRGGHH!!! WHOOOOORREEE!!” Spittle flying from my lips before you use my chest like a bouncing board and FLING your body to the side…

But…. whether you forgot, or hoped I let you go; our leg are tangled…. Coiled… Like two pairs of mating pythons…. And I do not let go of my grip…. I roll atop of you, our hips pressed, our lower abs kissing, and our navels, turned into two tiny ponds filled with sweat brush and make out… My clit and yours find each other…. And…. My Gawd….. is that a clit, or a cock?? It’s… so hard…. SO… big….

Pushing and grinding and fencing with mine, as I return the favor… Stretching my arms, putting my weight… on your FACE… Raking and clawing and slowly tearing at your skin, as my tits hover over yours…. Hard nipples flickering… Brushing… Taunting… Tiny driplets of crimson falling on your creamy bust….. I wonder if you can feel them… The gentle soft tapping of my red rain falling on your chest…. Rain that your talons caused, in your primal prayer dance of the claws… I clench my teeth and PUSH harder… Trapping your head down… Your pretty expression is of shock…. Disbelief….

Did you… Did you not think that we’d go there…

That I would… CHANGE you…. Forever… Did you think the only marks you’d get are love bites and hickies…. And some palm prints on your curvy, impossibly juicy bottom??

No… You are mine…. NO… You WILL be mine…. I have to… earn you…. To… tame you… to.. MARK you….. And I do it, mercilessly dragging my claws down your cheeks, in pursuit of giving you a reminder of me that you will see every morning when you’re putting your face on…..

A reminder of your terrible, glorious, absolute mistress; before you go on worship me, or fight me, if I need a release….. But then as my lips curl in a wicked grin, lost in my daydreams of what color collar befits your neck, and how short the leash should be… You.. THRUST your hip up…. I GASP as your clit stabs into mine…. HARD…. I grimace…. and stare at you… Clenching my teeth, but you do it… AGAIN… AND AGAIN… AND AGAINNNN!!! “UUNNGHHH… NNGGGHHH… GRRRRHHHHHHH!!!! AWWWWWWWHHH!!!” I gasp from the repeated slams…. They are…. painful…. yet…. I don’t want to EVER be tribbed any other way again….. Each causing me to shift, to bridge up a little…

Your hands suddenly PULLING mine off your face, and losing my leverage, I collapse forwards, and my clawed tits SLAP down on yours… “AWWWHHH!!” I yelp, each one of the 10 cuts singing at once…. Our arms battling at our sides in an unfair fight… You have me by the wrists, and my claws are closing at thin air… You rock, right and left… You want me off you…. And I struggle with you…. I deny… I fight…. Your hips firing up, slamming, and I begin to counter it… Rolling my ass up in the air and I fire down…

Yelping, we scream and like two Cobras we snap our teeth at the other’s faces…. You get my chin, my left jaw, my nose tip… I get your bottom lip….. Your right brow…. Your left cheek…… Screaming and fighting like two banshees, warring with everything we got, as I realize suddenly what you’ve lead us to…. an orgasm… TWO of them… Both approaching rapidly…. Both threatenning with moments of dullness and silence, a free shot for the other to do whatever she wants…. And it won’t be kind… it won’t be loving…. It won’t be serene…. Oh, my glorious Valkyrie…. Come on.. MAKE me cum….. If you can…..


A double-edged I have chosen in my madness. A blade with no handle, I have reached for in my moment of desperation. You are atop me and dragging. Mounting me and clawing. And to escape you and your viciousness, I choose to thrust into you. Half in hope that I might send you off of me and half that I might excite enough to distract.

But I did not see it. Did not anticipate it, though I should have. With every firing up of hips and meeting of clits I too receive the same volley of sexual diversion. Each feeling like a hammerstrike from Thor’s hammer. Sending not just shocks but lightning bolts through my entire body.

But it is not just the contact that makes each meeting so majestic and meaningful. No, for that would be to forget the most important element. To overlook the most crucial key to the sensations I feel.

You. Us. We. Whatever name you claim for yourself and whatever name you shall name me.

We are, with each collision of cunts becoming something more. Something else. And the taste of that change and the thrill of eventually being more to you than the timid girl you lured to your living room could not be a stronger. It is intoxicant and toxin — strong black coffee and the cure.

I could get lost in it. Sink into it like quicksand. Give myself over to the soul-rending desire I have for you and us.

And as the threat of as much encircles and takes aim, your claws finally pull back from my face. After what seems like an eternity of screaming and crying. Pain and patheticness, blood forming in thin valleys on my face before they drip down together and apart. Leaving me marked by my mistress and branded by my pain.

A pain that lingers in my mind, though it fades with every thrust we continue to share. Droplets of blood that continue to travel down cheeks and chins, though we press and push our sexs together again and again.

The bottom of our tummies sealing and peeling, as our hands moves to our sides. My fingers wrapped around your wrists as your fingers claw fruitlessly at the air. Our belly buttons cupping, the pools of blood and sweat therein mixing and spilling, before we separate them by force and then in our rocking, bring them back together.
Infinite battles though there at that moment. My legs and yours straining to hold on — fighting to keep us bound. Our arms at our sides fighting to maintain or retract — keep at bay or return to the clawing they had once done. Our clits, strangers before this day, meeting and hardening for each other. As they never have for another, as they never will for the same.

But still, even amongst all those struggling bits, there comes a moment. A moment where we are stuck. You lingering above me, neither of us with hands with which to attack or legs with which can freely kick.

I can see it in your eyes, you cannot stand it. You cannot take it. Not attacking. Not hurting me. And I understand it, because I feel the same. And so we bite. You leaning down as I lean up, snapping at each other. Latching our teeth onto each other’s faces. Yours unmarked and mine streaked with crimson.

But as we bite at each other, our tribbing continues, and as it does we each approach it. The cliff. The void of sexual oblivion.

Want it though I do. So bad I can taste it. Wanting to release with you like animals, here in this hateful embrace. I slow. My thrusts and our meetings. My revolving hips and slapping thighs. And as I do, and as I look deep into your eyes, I speak to explain. Even as I continue to slowly drag my sex against yours. “Not yet….”

As the words leap from lips to ears, I suddenly release and drive. Let go and skewer. Driving my nails into your face, just as yours had mine. Not wasting a second before I begin to drag them. Giving you no warning or chance to intervene.

My nails peeling up flesh and calling up the red oil beneath as I continue to slowly fuck you from beneath. Equalling our devastation. Evening our scars.


Trapped atop of you….. Stranded atop the mountain in the most scenic cabin in the world, among a storm…. I’m there… at the summit…. I’m above you, mounting you… And yet…. I’m your prisoner, as much as you are mine….

Being on top means very little, when the one you are fighting is putting her body, her beauty, her very soul and essence on the line….. Enrico’s prey turned a predator…. A fighting, tearing, slashing bitch, that is fighting in a way designed to tell me, that she wants to walk out of here changed…. a different woman… scarred…. it’s almost like you don’t want anyone from your previous life to recognize you….

Perhaps… you never intend to leave…. And if so, I’d be the happiest mistress in the world…. To find someone… Who would give me what I desire….. In a way I never thought possible…..

Our teeth open new wounds on the other’s faces. Bites intermittent with raspy gasps for air. Moans escaping our lips, as the fencing, the thrashing, the stabbing of clits continues. It’s madness, chaos, and yet, there is design behind it…. Intensity….

My sweaty smaller buttocks rise in the air, they hover, my nerve endings trying to feel what I can not see…. The change in the air, the heat radiating from your sex, the shifting and shuffling sound of your buttocks brushing the rug….. Then, I strike down… Like lightning crashing down atop a tree, splitting it in a blaze of embers and sparks…..

Only to be met by your own retaliation…. Your curvier, thicker buttocks, shifting, dancing right and left…. Feigning up, tapping lightly at my hips, your clit gently dabbing at mine, like a boxer sending a light jab to test defenses and locate the soft target, before recoiling and firing like a well-oiled piston, sending shockwaves through my core….

An orgasmic overload of my neurons and nerves, that carries over to those gasped breaks in the biting….. And not a moment, do your sweaty, soft, thick calves unhook from around mine. We’re bound together. By violence. By lust. By rage….. I’m drawing closer, and I know that you are too……I lean in, and you lean up, our foreheads press, the biting seizing, even my arms stop shaking like a bound butterfly by our sides… You keep the grip on them… SMACK SMACK SMACK My lips part, and a thin line of saliva drools down to your lip, I see your bitten bottom lip parting and your tongue lapping it, then….

“Not yet….” You gasp it out… Staring into my yes, and I blink….. Who… are… you?? What…. is this… bitch… In a split second the roles are reversed…. I’m your slave, and you’re my domme… You’re the one telling me orders….. You’re the one commanding me…. Much like I do my chained up slaves down there…. I force them to hold their cum…. I watch them whimper and plug their pussies and dick holes with their fingers, their cheeks turning red and their eyes pleading…..

They know if they disobey, the treats end…. And here… It’s you.. it’s YOU who is telling me what to do…. I stare in shock, and I bite my own bottom lip….. I don’t have a response… I’ve… never… had to hold back….. Not like this….. Not because I”m told to… And the thought, the sensation, the FEELING that I am not allowed to gush makes the climax even more urgent and appealing… And while

I’m lost in the eternity of confusion, that took only a moment, your fingers release my wrists and cup my cheeks…. And you curl them… Nails biting in…

Your claws RAKING… DRAGGING… PEELING.. You are…> MARKING me back…. You are…. CHANGING… me…. Literally, and figuratively… “AAAARRRRGHHHH!!!” The sensation is just too shocking… Too jarring…. I scream and slap my hands on the carpet and push up, trying to pull back, but as my hips lift up, I am intercepted by a surface to air missile, tipped by the most dangerous of warheads… your clit… It drills into mine, pinning it to my hip bone and I yelp as you twist your hips and roll us over…

I scream as I sink my nails into your arms… Digging them under your shouders and into your tensed biceps… You carve… and I carve… I SCREAAAM… And you… PURRR…. Grinding into me, rocking your hips, denying me the orgasm and yet…. doing EVERYTHING to push me towards it…. You are…. in control…. And I… HATE it…. and LOVE it…. Your curvy body gyrating, tribbing and fucking, while your claws cut, and slash and bloody….

I know I must hold on… I have to…. stop it… But the snowball rolled down the mountaintop a long time ago…. Through the storm clouds and heavy fog…. It rumbles… It rolls, collecting mass and size… Turning into an enormous boulder of white pleasure, that is crushing everything in it’s way…

“Ah-hhh—hhh—hhuuuuuiiiieeeeeeeee!!!” I squeal, my nails biting deeper into your arms, my body tensing, and I feel the hot fire shooting down my abs….. Lava flowing through the artery on the left side of my abs, down to my crotch, and I suddenly SPASM and… GUSH…. Sending a flood of my shiny, creamy cum against your thighs, your sex, the carpet like a broken sprinkler…


Since I first grabbed your hair and pulled your body against mine, we have not separated. Binding ourselves together in that moment and every other. As if we feared being pulled apart. As if our lives depended on our flesh pressing and bodies being one.

In that closeness and in the fires we had already lit in each others souls before we had even touched, we pushed each other. Not just physically but deeper and deeper into an embrace of both malice and passion — competition and desire.

Biting at each other and clawing at each other, all as our sexs taxed us. Stealing contacts and caresses — crashes and convergence. And though such meetings started in accident, and continued in subconscious drags, I made them intentional. Weaponizing them against each of us. Not because they mean nothing to me, but because I knew they would mean all.

And now we suffer in that decision. Each of us forcing our sexs to battle, as our hands and arms are kept out of play. But there is a limit to such engagements, one that comes for us like the reaper. An orgasm that builds within both of us, threatening to throw us both off the cliff and into the sea. Into the fires of our lusts so that we may burn to a cinder at the other’s feet.

But I fear it. Cuming together or even apart. I have to be more to you than a once. Than a flash. I am your forever rival, and I will prove it. Your perfect check, you have to believe. And so rather than chasing it, the red dragon of release. I tell you and slow. And before you can argue, dig my nails into your face.

As I do and drag, and as you scream and shake, I roll us. Mounting you as you had me. My nails continuing their bloody journey down your face — marking you, as you marked me. Branding you as mine, until the wounds heal and I can give you more.

And though I hurt you, deeply, cruelly, still, as a consequence of our continued pressing of clits. And a thrusting of hips I cannot stop, but only slow, you cum. Beneath me and for me. Shaking and quivering. As what feels like a molten-hot gush of liquids oozes from your sex onto and into my own.

Just the thought of it. The feel of it. The smell of it and us drives me as close to orgasm as a girl can go. But I fight it. Pulling back just far enough from you, and closing my eyes to not look upon the face of my writhing mistress in orgasm. My hands dropping from your face to the sides of your head.

Until it passes. Your cataclysm and my nearness to my own.

It is only then, when I am clear of it, that I take my moment. A moment I earned to take it — what I want. Doing so my leaning my body down, pressing and flattening my breasts against yours. Our hard nipples meeting and bending for each other as I slowly, delicately, bend my neck. And then, when we could be no closer, kiss your lips.

Moving my tongue from my mouth into yours. Searching for its counterpart. For the tongue that once spoke commands and issued orders. They two meeting and lashing against one another gently. Stroking each other softly. Not in a wild, hateful kiss. Or one that speaks to my dominance. But instead one lovers might share.

One I pull back from, with heavy breaths, before leaning once again. Past your face with my own, and with my lips pressed to the same ear I once bit, whisper. “Remember this. Remember us….”

I say it because I want it. Fore you to never forget me. Who pushed you over the edge. Who pulled a win, minor and incomplete as it is from a woman who never loses. Who forced you to orgasm through violence and passion — malice and lust.

But then, with that reminder given, and as you remain beneath me, I suddenly seize with my hands. Grabbing two handfuls of your luscious hair, and dragging your face between my unwounded breasts as I break our grapevining of legs, and move into a straddle — my thighs coming to a rest on either side of your abdomen.

Groggy though you are I know you’re coming. And when you do I want you winded and breathless — tired and at my mercy.

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What’s this smell?? Why… is it so familiar….. Oh right…. it’s me….. It’s my cum… It smells… a bit different than usual…. Thicker…. Heavier… Richer…. It’s a subtle difference, like Whole Milk in your coffee after getting used to Almond or Half and Half for the last 20 or so years….

But… I can sense it….. I can detect the difference, and just as I lay there, pondering… Bemusing to the many, and subtle things you are changing about me….. Down to the my aroma……. But why wouldn’t you? For years, my orgasms were fleeting, rare…. They were a product of my own fingers or toys, after getting disappointed by cocks and tongues….. They were just sad excuses for a release…

But…. Oh Jennifer…. Oh my Jennifer…. You are…. truly… Something…

I did not see it, when you stood there, like a shy doe wondering where is the hunk who dragged you here….. Shy and trying to cover up the perfection your baggy top hid, while your skin tight jeans exposed….

There you are… Perched over me…. Catching your breath…. Panting…. Silently bleeding over me…. Grinding your chest against my mauled tits, and brushing your cut cheeks into mine… Smearing our red together… It stings…. But you savor it… You love it….. And I can feel your hips rolling up in the air, as you give yourself the moment to cool down… I reach up with my arms, trying to wedge my fingers from the front or behind…. To get you off, but your hands intercept, grab my wrists and you shove them down.

I struggle, but I’m weak, and you know it… Damn it!! I showed my cards, and now, you know how weak I am….. Then…. As the heavy moments pass, you lower your body, a bit higher, your clit pushed into my lower abs…. And I don’t know if it’s a mercy towards mine, or if you are trying to avoid the contact…… You lean down and… kiss me…..

My eyes flutter, then shut, and softly I melt with you in the kiss… Gawd… You taste….. like honey, with a hint of sea water…. The coppery salt from the residue of our blood etching our teeth mixing, but we lap our tongues, cleaning it off as we kiss softly and lovingly… Then, you break the kiss and stare at me…

“”Remember this. Remember us…..” You say the words in a whisper, it can barely be heard…. And I stare at you…. Of course I will remember… How can I ever forget wha—“UUURRGGHHH!!” I gasp in shock as I realize that you were not talking about the kiss, the orgasm, or the fight… You were talking about…

THIS…. The sharp tug on my hair, the slither of your wet pussy along my abs, leaving a trail of your viscous, translucent gel along my skin… And the wedge of my nose into your ample cleavage… Forced between your breasts… I scream but it’s muffled, you drop your weight down, pushing in, grinding into me…

I buck and bridge, but your center of gravity has shifted higher… And while my hips thrust up, my chest and shoulders are pinned down, and that’s where you lay…

I growl as I taste sweat and smell Jennifer….. But there is no air… No oxygen… You have played it perfectly…. Drawn me out…. Gave me the moment of peace that was meant for you, to recover and plot.. And now, you’re attacking my oxygen reserves… You want to make sure I never recover, to remain weak…. drowsy…. And soft as putty for your hands…..

A trick I apply to my clients all the time… Asphyxiation is Euphoria’s cousin….. And you…. a nerdy girl who have no experience in any of this, are just going by instinct… And yours are sharper than the Lance of Longinus… My hands slap on your arms, I rake down, drawing more trails down your muscle… But your clench only tightens… I slap at your back… I smack for your head….

But… nothing is working… Each swing is a passing moment that my lungs are starved for sustenance….. I grimace and reach down, my hands slipping on your hips…. You sense it and PUSH your hips further down… But my breasts’s size come into play…. You can’t seal the space completely…. And I manage to wiggle my left hand down…

Feeling my way… The tensed chord of muscle on the inside of your thigh… I wrap my claws around it and PINCH hard… Clawing straight into the muscle…. My right hand, reaching further, ignoring the twin target on your left leg… I reach in… Until I find it… I feel it… The throbbing, swollen tip of YOUR spear…. The clit that ravaged and beaten mine….. And even with my face forced into your chest, I grin… I want this… I want to…. punish it…..

For what it did… For winning the first duel… First of MANY…. But…. It will get rewarded, loved, caressed, kissed and licked… sometimes… But now… Now it needs to be…. punished…. And using my index, middle, and thumb nails, I pinch into the sides of the clit, digging my nails slooowwwwwly in, and giving the whole thing a little TWIST….

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I am joyous, though blood red lines mar my face. Self-pleased in the most gleeful of ways, though my body hurts. I’ve done it. Not beaten you and made you submit. Not broken your will or defeated your fiery soul. But shown you I am worth training. Worth wanting. Worth obsessing over, as I already obsess over you.

For I drug it from you. An orgasm. A spray off warm essence that still coats my inner thighs and sex in the most distracting and incredible of ways. And though I revel in it, my momentary and partial victory and the beautiful kiss we shared in your weakness, I know there is more.

More struggle. More war. And I want it. I need it. I want it to last forever, and never end, even though the end is what we are striving for. Opposing as those desires are, I still reach and pull you into my breasts. Planning, in my still forming catfight understanding, to smother you. And keep you weak so that I can fight you with an advantage.

And there I keep you. Trying to lean up and over your incredible set of jealousy inspiring tits, so that I can keep mine in your face. Keep your cheeks pressed to the inside of either and your mouth and nose pressed tightly to the valley beneath.

New as I am to this sport — to this hobby of pain and carnal calling, I am able to keep you. To steal your breath, even as you start to recover and squirm. Even as you try to push me away and free yourself.

God the feeling of you struggling against me, not at this moment as an equal, but as a victim drives me wild. Drives me insane with a yet satisfied lust. If we were lovers or friends, I would beg you to trade it with me. One of us holding the other in some cruel weakening hold as the other suffered and fought feebly to escape, only to switch and do the same in reverse.

But we are enemies. Rivals. Competitors, at least on this battlefield. And so I keep you. Held tightly. Struggling to breathe between my modest breasts. Each of them reaching almost to your shoulders as I try to drain you of your strength.

Then I feel it, however. Not in specific, but barely. You moving. Your body your arms. Between us and down. I should have, but I fail to guess your plan. Your goal. Until I feel it.

“Ooooohhhh godddddd, nnnooooooo….” In an instant I tense and freeze. Still clinging to you, but barely. Your lips and nose no doubt drawing breath as I suffer in your grasp.

Your fingers prying at my clit. A clit you take and punish. For its audacity to meet and match yours — for its insolence in making its presence known.

And though I should attack you somehow, and in someway. Escaping through offense, I don’t. Instead, unable to deal with the pain or the pressure, I drop back from my straddle, and back-against-floor between your spread legs. My hands moving to your attacking hand, not to pull it away but to grab it. Knowing any sudden rips or tears I might make to remove your digits would hurt even more.

Bereft of such an opening, my fingers on both hands wrap around left. They, in their grip pleading with it. Release me. Let me go. Though you should have no intention of doing so. Though I would keep the pressure on if our roles were switched.

And while my hands hold yours as you torture, I whimper and moan out in pain. Trying to blink past the anguish and think how I might continue. How I might escape. If I can only endure the pain.

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You’re learning. You’re adapting. You’re improving. You’re… surpassing…. The thought of how rapidly you are evolving…. From a shy wallflower…. To a wanton bitch who grabbed my hair, yanked me in with a “MORE!” demand from her lips…. To a close matched naked, breast smacking, hair ripping duel on our feet… To a furious rolling fight on the floor… Your progress is terrifingly clear….. From losing to winning to conquering to dominating…. You are above me…

In a sight that could end my career, bankrupt me, and send all my clients flocking to this alabaster skinned, curvy latina, who is now the one in charge… The one whose thighs are slick with my cum…. The one with more skin under her nail beds than I have of hers under mine….. The one who is smothering me, in a cruel, cut-throat, chillingly cold and effective tactic, meant to ensure that the fight does not end…

But it does not give me a chance…. To keep me fighting an uphill battle…. Something that I would do… And right now, I’m desperate to expose you too….. The taste of your saliva still on my tongue, not getting washed despite the sweat rolling down the crevice between your tits, that I’m forced to suckle on with each desperate, failing attempt to breathe…… But as you go, so do I….. And it’s time to get… ferocious… To remind you… That I’m not here to fight… I’m here to… dish pain… and receive it…. This is not about what I desire at the moment… And that is tapping gently on your hips, signaling you enough, and staring at your eyes, begging you for a chance to slide my head between your thighs, and help you off the orgasm that you desperately want…

No… That would make me a sane, functional, normal woman… And I’m not….. I’m furthest away from it… And now, that I’ve finally found a partner who can take it, and dish it back… One that I know will not break… Will not turn tail and flee…. i am not.. going… to… hold… back….. I go for your right thigh, clamping at the muscle, and… your clit… I PINCH it hard, and you scream… Your head rolls back… Howling… The smother holds… So I PINCH harder… Your arms tremble… but the smother holds…. So I TWIST and TUG to your left…

The smother breaks, but your chest remains pressed down, pinning my head to the floor… I grimace and TWIST counter clockwise and TUG downwards…. Stretching…. You slap at the floor and push up… You rear back and I spread my legs, you fall right in the gap, your shoulders blanked by my feet, as mine are flanked by yours now… Your buttocks grinding into mine…. And your thighs crossed over my hips…… But first… there is air… Air that I GASP for, like a drowning victim saved by some ex machina…..

I suck on my breath and push up on my left elbow, but I still hold your clit… Your hands grabbing my hand…. Almost begging, waiting for the opportunity for me to relax it so you can pry it away… I’m still groggy… From the violent orgasm… And the subsequent lack of air….. I will need a bit longer to fully shake it off… So… I need to keep you… HURTING…. for a while longer…..

My legs curl up and I slide my heels over your ribs… Feeling the gentle sexy ripples of them.. And at first, I just… rub my soft heels down your ribs, purring delightfully… Watching your screaming, tearing, clawed face…. Before curling my toes…. and STABBING my toe nails into the bulging undersides of your tits…. I hiss, it feels like I am driving my sharp toenails into a set of pillows….

Not the cheap memory foam type….. Firm…. With great neck support…. Gawd, I will have so many good night’s resting my head on them and sleeping to the morning after ravaging each other every other way…

But now… I want them…. hurt…. I want them cut… I want you to feel the pain I feel in my breasts as I PUSHHHHHH my toes in, pushing, my heel moving up along with the ripples of your ribs like securing ratchet, lifting your tits up, stretching the under skin, as my toe nails attack and stab directly inwards….

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Once more I am ravaged. Once more I am beset. By pain. By your fingers, wrenching my pussy and clit. Hard left then cruelly right. Up as if to tear them off, and then down as if to stretch them.

And at that painful touch I wilt and relent. Not only releasing my smother but rising up, leaning back, and then collapsing off of you. Our ass cheeks meeting between us, as we lay, bottom to bottom. Your hand gripping and ripping at my kitten as mine wait to pry yours away.

But the moment they wait for does not come. As you keep pulling, keep pinching, making sure that any attempt to remove your fingers will result in my own nail-brought destruction.

Worse it all gets, as you lift your heads and with toe-nails as sharp as stilettos, you attack. Driving your 10 little weapons into the underside of my breasts. You are so clever. So inventive. And I have years of learning to do because I am your match.

Not the time to learn however, I do the only thing I can think of. That being to release my grip on your pussy-mauling hand, to free my hands. And then, to grab your left foot, and then with a sudden yank and lean forward, to bring it into my mouth and bite down hard. Not on past your toes, but at the very center of their middle knuckle.

And though before I was unsure how to bite. How much pressure to apply. Where to stop to keep you from being angry at me or fleeing. Now, I know the force exactly. And that force I apply. Biting so hard that I feel my teeth cut through your outer layer of flesh.

Perhaps before I would have released and waited for your reaction, but now — knowing you and what we have set ourselves to, I gnaw. Not hard enough to sever, but instead just enough to make you scream.

But before you can, and just as my teeth have sunk in, I plant my feet and bridge. Bridge and then walk, almost like a crab. Dragging myself forward before dropping down.

A move than must confuse, until I lift and extend my legs. One moving to your nose to pinch it shut, while the other lowers soul-first over your lips. My own attempt at combative brilliance. A smother! Awkward and makeshift as it is.

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You scream… You fucking scream and I love it….. I smirk… I don’t taunt… I don’t bitch at you… I don’t belittle you as I do my slaves and subjects… Because this is not what it’s about… We haven’t belittled the other once since we began….

We’ve barely said anything, in the countless minutes of our immense catty struggle….. Of this vicious, sensual, primal combat….. You called me bitch once, and I called you a whore once… But I don’t consider those to be insults…. I am a bitch…. your bitch… and you’re MY whore….. And right now…. As I struggle to collect my breath, twisting your clit….

Puncturing the swelling undersides of your perky tits…. Watching them stretch upwards to their limits, swell… Compress and look like they are inside four push-up bras that you decided to wear at once……..

I lick my lips… My breath returning… My oxygen replenished… Almost…. If we were characters in fighting games, I know that my health bar and yours are damaged significantly….. Maybe around the 50 or 60% mark…. And if there was a stamina bar, mine was almost depleted, but now, it’s almost back to full….. I…. can… do… this…..

I smile, as our buttocks grind… The base of our slits brushing, kissing, and I can feel my cum dewing your flesh… Another reminder that I’m the one who gushed… But I am not ashamed of it….. I embrace being your bitch…. And right now, I wish I had the luxury of easing the pain to rub and grind you to make YOU cum back….

I twist harder on your clit, forgetting the most important rule of fighting physiology… Diminishing returns… Numbness… Our brains ability to shut down certain nerve ends to protect itself….. It’s the same mechanic that allows us to stop feeling our clothes seconds after putting them on, or we would have gone mad from the intense sensation…..

And now, the constant, steady abuse to your clit has the same effect…. And I see your head lifting… Your teeth clenching… The fire.. That fire that should replace the Olympic torch flame, if they truly want to avoid having it getting extinguished a hundred times every trip it takes…..

You reach and grab my left foot, and my eyes go wide.. I want to YELP ‘NO’… But I won’t… I made the error… I made the mistake, and now, I pay….. “AIIIEEEHHHH!!!!” I scream as your teeth bite into my toes….

I feel the savage pain… You’re… unleashed… You’re biting EXACTLY enough to tear through the flesh, to cut and bloody my toes… But not enough to break the tender joints…. I scream as you claw into my ankle…. My right hand releasing your clit and I fall back, my hands slipping into my own hair, shaking my hair, YANKING my own tresses out, trying to dull the absolute savage pain with my own…

But it’s not working… OH GAWD it’s not worki…. And in that moment, your feet push into the floor, lifting up…. Pinned on your shoulder blades, you crab walk… I see your risen pussy, dripping MY cum back on my belly, your clenched, round juicy buttocks…..

Then… You SLAMMM your ass down, hammering it on my sex… I GRUNT in pain, jolting, as your legs come up and with the expertise of someone who can write a love letter wielding the pen between her toes, or win a foot-job cock-milking contest anywhere in the world, you trap my nostrils shut between your right big toe and the next one, while SLAPPING your left foot on my mouth, smothering me… “GGRRAAAAHHH!!!”

I grimace… You’re going for my breath again… Fucking bitch… Fucking BITCH… FUCKING JENNIFER… AMAZING JENNIFER….

I feel your ass GRINDING harder on my sex…. Rolling your latina hips like no other girl can, my clit jabbed upwards into your crack…. And you clench your cheeks, capturing it, grinding and tugging on it….. Pleasuring it while taunting, hurting, mauling, and chewing me…. I grimace in pain and bring my right foot up, sliding it over my left, feeling with my toes….

I find your teeth… I find your upper lip…. I WEDGE my toes between them… Growling…. Pushing my toes as I STAB my toe nails into your upper gums…. Clawing and raking at it with my toe nails…. While my hands, go for your left foot, the one covering my face, and I pull it up, holding your toes with my left hand, and your calf with my other, I turn my head, feeling your toe nails raking and scratching at my nose and cheek, I open my mouth, and snap my teeth at your left Achilles tendon…


The pendulum has swung back and forth, back and forth. And as I bite you and you wrench at my pussy, I feel that the pendulum has broken off and come crashing down upon us. Our battle in such a state of chaos that we each are left to use our feet. You to gouge and stab at my breasts before I intervened, and me to drag myself towards you, drop down upon you, and then use my own to try and smother you.

The attempt is not only brazen, but dangerous. Moving my feet so close to your face, and more importantly mouth. Especially since I am actively instructing you on how one might take advantage of such proximity.

My teeth biting down and sliding. Piercing in and dragging. Each clench of jaw meant to hurt you as badly as I can without doing any permanent damage. Damage I can’t soothe away with enough time and bubble bath and wine.

And in those efforts I earn your screams and a surrender of your horrificly painful grip upon my nearly numb sex. Your hands shooting up to your own hair so that you can, in some dark way, celebrate my ingenuity. Your head rocking from one side to the other as you pull at your own hair. I have you. You’re breaking. You’re wilting, just as I did.

But overconfidence is the poison victors sip. And I too drink the kool-aid, believing my own momentary success will last. That is until your remaining free and stabby foot comes forward and at me. Your toe-nails digging through my lips, prying them apart as their dagger-sharp cores find gum and gash.

Not a moment do I have to panic at such a maneuver or the taste of my own blood. For just as you stab in with your toes, you free your mouth from my pressing and smother soul and toes, and then bite. LAtching your own teeth onto my achilles.

Just like I you will bite and hold. Dig in and not let go. And so in absolute desperation I kick at you as I release my own bite. And though every strike of leg and foot misses, they cause you to let your teeth loosen and your head to pull away.

And though each of us retreats in our own way, we scramble back. Not to our feet, but our knees. Bumping, stumbling, and crawling over each other in the process, before we make it.

Make it, and sink our fingers deep into each other’s hair. The two of us wild and rage-filled. Our lips letting loose small drips of bite-built drool as we clash once again. Pressing forehead to forehead, and meeting glare for glare as our mixed brunette hair cloaks our eyes and face. Leaving us alone in a darkness of our own.

“Give in to me….” I growl at you, as I pull not only myself but we together to a shakey stand.

One that we linger in. Whipping each other from one side to another. Back and forth, fighting to control the other’s body with our own. But as such endeavors fail, I begin to move backwards — pulling you by our grips on each other’s hair.

Moving us deeper into the room and then through the door Enrico left and you entered through.

I have no idea where I am going, or where I am taking you too, but still I take you. Wanting to escape the room where we met. The room where I was nothing more to you than a possible rival and into your home — into your life.

A trip both real and metaphorical that ends as I trip, and we spin. We two warrior women of wanton waylay crashing through another heavy door in the hall. One that spits us out separate and apart on a cool, marble floor of what looks to be a massive, lower-floor full bathroom.

Hours though I could spend examining its perfectly giant bathtub, one already filled with warm waters and floating rose petals. Or the stone-tiled shower with 4 different showerheads.

As we crash down, you into the wall of the tub and me into the sturdy cabinets behind me, all I can think about it getting back to you. To re-engaging in our battle, here in this new arena.


I call it Eve’s Embrace….. A name concocted with slight nod to my namesake; the mother of all humanity who I was named after….. One not too different to ours right now, one that involves grunts and screams. One that draws tears, blood, but often cum…. And one where I’m not the one screaming at all….. 0

It involves a strapped down ‘client’…. With me laying the way you are right now… If it’s a guy, I angle myself to have them inside of me… And if it’s a gal, I wear a strappy and lay the way I am, with the ribbed, scented and oiled leather inside of them….

We’d grind, rub, fuck…. Whether it’s my tight pussy or powerful hips jackhammering the strappon is just one part… The other, is me taking their feet to my teeth…. Biting, nibbling, and ripping…. Some come timid, so I take a feather to their soles….. Tickling between their toes… Whatever brand of venom they desire, so long it drives them to tears, while I lift and smack down on them, or thump and drill inside them…

And despite the pain and start contrasts, my mind is back to it… Once more, you are showing me… You are revealing to me how THEY felt… For the first time… I feel… normal… Mortal…. You’re stripped me from my deity status….. Hung it cautiously at the door…. And are showing me the pain, the emotion, the intensity normal people do… And for that, I want to thank you…. I want to shred you apart….. We trade savage bites… My toes bleeding, and so is your Achilles, until you kick hard with your free leg, smacking it into my jaw… I YELP and draw my right foot back and kick you in the chin….

We start thumping and stomping hard. SCREAMING and roaring until we part away… We roll, we recoil, then we lunge… SLAMMING together, tit to wounded tit, belly to belly, and hip to hip… We go back for the other’s hair… And oh dear… Did my follicles miss your torment…

We SHAKE and YANK.. SCreaming… Slowly shaking and grinding, teetering… Ecah trying to tackle the other down to the ground… Where we belong… Where we have the support to wrap our legs together… But we stubbornly refuse to be taken down…

Instead… We rise…. I can barely step on my left foot, and you can barely stand on your left… And we stumble, swinging, and you scream at me to give in to you….

“NEVER!!!” I roar into your face, shrieking and I PUSH into you, and you don’t resist, you YANK me in and we go flying through the door, into the giant foyer… Our feet slipping on the cold, smooth Italian marble… Swinging the other around.. You try to tackle me by the hair, and it almost works, had you swing towards my weakened leg….

But I brace myself, and JERK your head back, our bodies sliding, our nipples rubbing over the cuts and bruises… We pull our chests apart and then SLAM them together, to a mutual GRUNT of pain… Swinging me back, we slam into a door, to my giant ‘guest bathroom’…. When you hold balls, not parties, when you have guests in the dozens, sometimes hundreds, you need bathrooms like these, and this is just one of 6 on this floor…..

We spin and swing the other apart.. I slam into the tub, you the cabinet… And we lay there panting…. I stare at you.. Breathing hard….. Growling… HISSING….. Teeth clenched and fingers massaging my sore scalp….. You push up, rising, and I move slowly, my left foot leaving a small smudge of blood on the black and white checkered tiles….

You rush at me and I duck down, I evade your raised arms and dive under your left arm, sliding my arms around you and I slither behind you…. I SLAP my tits into your back, and stretch my arms, each one of my hands reaching for the opposite elbow, clutching as I SQUEEZE hard, trying to reverse bearhug you and I SCREECH in strain, spinning us and sending us crashing down to our knees just by the tub….

I grimace and PUSH hard, pressing your chest to the edge of the filled tub…. My chin sliding over your left shoulder…..

Panting… I hiss; “Give… in… to me….” Repeating your words… Exactly… TAUNTING you… Letting you know… That you hold NO edge on me…. That I am… fighting…. To… win….

You grunt and push on the edge of the tub and send me falling to my back, your weight crashing on top, you lift your ass and SLAM it on my pussy, a square hit!! I grunt, my arms weaken and you twist, spinning and turning to face me, latching to my hair, We SHRIEK and toss our legs up around the other’s waists and legs, tangling up, and we start rolling again on the smooth tiles…. Hissing, grunting, trying to see who can rip MORE hair out by the roots….

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If you had told me yesterday that I needed to fight another woman for any reason, I would have laughed at you. I am a lover not a fighter. An overly sweet Latina, who goes with the flow, even when the current is against her.

But now.

Now as I sit in a clump against your bathroom cabinets, I want it so badly. To get back to you. To lock back up with you. To feel my breasts and yours pressed together. To feel our flesh stick together and peel apart. To let my sex and yours brush and bang. as we wage whatever battle we find ourself in.

I would braid my hair with yours if it would keep us from separating. Handcuff myself to you and keep us bound, if it wouldn’t make it harder to hurt you. It is new to me, the desire to fight. The need to wound. And yet I feel it more acutely than any other need I have felt in my life.

And as if pulled by that gravity, I rise and lunge at you. Your animalistic response of “Never” ringing in my ears as I try to take you into my arms and control. But that attempt you foil, as you duck and round, return and press. Not only your incredible and yet wounded breasts to my back, but your entire body to mind. Shoving not only me but us together down to our knees as you slam my chest against the already-run bath.

Its ostentatious white porcelain pressing into my breasts, and bending my nippls back as you bring your chin to a settle on my shoulder and next to my ear before you hiss. “Give… in… to me….”

God, when I hear it, your words I want to slap you. But … but I also want to kiss you again. I know you say it to mock me, but in so doing you give me what I want. You taunt because I have become what you needed. You fire back my demand, because I am prey no longer.

Why else would you feel the need to not only respond but mirror. Not only answer but add.

“NEVER!!!” I reply, roaring as you did, as I lift my hands to the edge of the tub and shove myself back. Sending us both to the floor, with you on your back and me above.

Not just in a heap, but with me in full control of my body. A body I lift and slam down on you. My ass crashing down on your upper thighs and mound. My sexy Latina crease meeting your lips and spreading them, allowing the slightest of captures. The slightest of clamping on your cum-stained clit.

A moment of contact I abandon, as in your momentary distraction, I spin atop you, mirroring our bodies nose-to-nose, breast-to-breast, and mound-for-mound.

But that’s when it happens. When our hands move to each others hair and our legs coil around each other as we begin to roll. But we’ve been here before, not on this cool marble floor, but rolling body to body. And I want new. I want different. And so as we move I pull back, not without you but with you. Pulling each of us into a stop and then up into a sit.

Our grips on each other’s hair tightening as we pull close. I, no longer confused or timid about what is happening between us, scoot forward, pressing my sweaty sex into yours as I snarl at you.

“You’re.…” I grunt out as I rip your head to one side.

“Going to….” I continue as you share the same pain with me.

“Cum again….” Saying more than I have at any point so far, I press forward with my taunt.

“For me, mistress….” Ugh, it feels so good to tell you. To challenge you. To dare you to fight me. Every word of it making me almost dizzy, a state worsened as I thrust my hips forward and up, dragging my sex up yours as we sit, yanking cruelly at each other’s hair.


“NEVER!!!” Your voice booms out like a cannon shot… Right into my face… Blasting my scratched, clawed cheeks and lips with your sweet, sweet breath….. Spittle doting my skin, lining up the scratches and bruises… And I GRIMACE in rage, as you shove hard back, and squirm out of my grip…

A fleeting moment of panic and chaos ensues… And it always is begotten by PAIN… Raw.. Harsh… Bitter pain…. The slam of your hips on mine…. The crunch of your perky clawed tits with mine… Scratches rubbing, furrows spreading… Neither of us giving the other’s body a chance to heal, or a wound to seal….. They are superficial… They are not animal gouges or blade slashings, but they still hurt like they were one…… And like always, the shock of pain is followed by that strange, erotic euphoria…..

When our nipples press, our clits butt heads, and our labia kiss….. The sweet sensations that make my body tremble….. We twist and roll on the smooth floor, and it’s a different sensation to the carpet we writhed on before… This one is smooth.. harsher.. with no give at all.. And INSTANTLY we both get the same idea, yanking and jerking on the other’s head, trying to bump and bash the back or side of her skull into the floor… Neck muscles tense, and we squeal, shriek in the other’s faces….

You GRIND your hips into mine every time you get on top, and I arch my body and SLAM my tits into yours…. Each trying to use any physical advantage or edge, as slight as it may be…… I get on top of you, and manage to give the back of your head a little ‘BUMP’ to the tiles, and a little ‘HA!’ of triumph leaves my lips…..

But as I do, you GROWL and YANK my head forwards, almost like you are pulling me in for a headbutt, but you yank your head to the side, and my forehead bumps into the hard tiles… I YELP in pain, shutting my eyes, hearing a similar ‘HA!’ leave your lips…

My Gawd… this… fucking… terrible… amazing…. relentless… never-say-die bitch….. I hate how much I love her….. And we just fucking met!! You yank me off me and as we get on top, you push your left thigh between mine harder and rear with your back, almost like you are trying to move away, but you TUG on my hair and I yelp as we go into a sitting sprawl…

My right thigh tossed over your left, and yours the same… Teeth clenched…. We glare tightly and you start to… HISS… your words JERKING my head right and left and with each one I YELP; “AHHH!! AIIEEEE!! AWWWWHHH! UURGGHHH!!!”

FUCK… Did she… call me… Mistress? My heart flutters, and if we were not in a fight, I would have fucking GUSHED right there… On the spot….. But I still MOAN loudly as you SLAM your pussy into mine, and don’t pull it away… You PUSH it… PRESS it… GRIND it…..

“I…. WILL…” I hiss, through clenched teeth, my chin tucked in…. My left leg stretching out wide, exposing myself, opening my sex, my toes pressing into the wall and a surge of pain erupts from the bite marks on them, but I don’t care…

I WANT that… I… NEED… that tether to pain, to disrupt the raw pleasure that will come… EVERY bit of pain… Every little ‘stop’ switch, brake pedal, lasso that I can swing around a tree to ground me for the upcoming storm…. My right leg bending, lifting your leg up higher, as my knee points to the ceiling…..

“MANY TIMES….” I growl, YANKING your head straight DOWN, forcing you to stare at the ceiling, and with your tits lifting, I PRESS my tits into yours, the claw marks at the front of my breast meeting those on the underside of yours, and I WINCE, GRINNDDING my sex back into yours, and slowly DRAGGG my nipples up, along your cuts and rakes, all the way until it PUSHES into the underside of your nipple….. Jerking your hair to the LEFT….

“BUT….. AFTER…. YOU…. CUM….. TEN TIMES….. FIRST…..” My head jolting forwards, and I wrap my lips around your bottom lip… Entrapping it, and giving it a soft bite… NOT a warring bite like before… A nibble, trapping it between my teeth, suckling on it like a juicy slice of tangerine on a hot summer’s day, suckling at the residue of blood and spit, my hips gyrating, grinding, rubbing, flicking at your clit… Facing you off in the contest YOU demanded…..

My left toes lifting and tapping at the wall every 5 seconds… every 10…. every 20… whenever needed to send a surge of pain every time I feel my floodgates ready to be breached….

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