Ewa vs. The Better Woman on FCF
The Better Woman‘s Preamble:
So this chat-log came about when Ewa messaged me out of the blue. Before that message, she and I had never spoken before. And though we hadn’t connected before that moment, we did have a connection. Namely, that she and I were both being… hmm… enjoyed as a love interest by the same girl.
At first, it seemed like she wanted to scare me off, but the more and more we talked, the more it became a contest of who could out-write the other. Not in this chat-log, but in a series of back and forth, overly dramatic, intensely verbose threats of what we would do to each other were we to fight. That conversation, as orgasmically wonderful as it was, led us to this chat-log. One, which, played off of our mutual lover. A lover who basically disappeared after Ewa and I locked up.
Still though, Rose served as a launching point for a friendship that I will always cherish, and the chat-log that I am super excited to share with all of you.
Also, a little P.S. As we continued writing this story over a period of about a week, it became clear to me that Ewa was really the prize I wanted. And so, the ending makes a little bit of a shift in that direction.
I hope you all enjoy so very, very muchly!
Jennifer – The Better Woman
It all started by a pool, where tempers flared, egos were threatened, and the fires of jealousy were stoked. From there it moved to an elevator, then a hotel room, and then a place for just us two. Even now, I can’t even wrap my head around it; any of it. How Rose and I went from rivals to friends — enemies to lovers. But we did, and on the other side of that transformation, Rose, the girl with the pretty name told me that I was her only one, that apart from me, her friends had all left or forgotten her. I felt so strongly for her, that I began to feel guilty for those friends I had, and for those girls that I met and fought in seedy motel rooms, and in random places around town.
Such guilt, as I look back on it now, was silly. As like most pretty girls, with eyes like hers, Rose was spinning a yarn — telling a tale. And all the while, she was back, fooling around with the girl she had spoken about at near every meeting. Ewa. Ewwwwaaaa. Even saying name makes me want to vomit. She was the best. The best writer. The best fighter. A goddess straddling the world, and apparently my Rose.
I wouldn’t have known about her reemergence, or never-gone nature, had Rose not told her about me. For when she did, Ewa hunted me down and messaged me, pretending that she had just noticed me on a forum we frequent. But when she felt comfortable, and I mentioned my dear, sweet Rose, she told me. She and Rose had spent the day together. And Rose had mentioned my name, and told Ewa how talented I was. How I loved the former, and how she, in turn, loved me. From Ewa and I to be locked together in a catty back-and-forth, threatening each other, promising each others destruction like two villains from a comic book or B movie. And now I’m here. Standing outside her, YOUR doorway. Taking a deep, nervous breath, before I finally knock, and wait for the moment when you and I will try to rip each other apart.
“Fucking…. Two… timing… BITCH…” I hiss the words, each one leaving my heart with a heated exhale, venting my anger, rage, frustration, as my fingers strangle the silver-lined frame where I have the picture of me and her. It was last year, almost to the day. At a Halloween party. Cheek-to-cheek, smiles from ear-to-ear, in her Bowser-costume, next to my Mario. Such was us, our relationship. Sharp tongue and toothed, fighting non-stop like our lives depended on it. But at the end, when the anger settled. When I was done being mad about seeing her flirt with this girl or that one at parties and clubs, when she was done sipping me the Koolaide, we just embraced… Hugged, loved and fucked like the world is coming to an end… Such was us… She was the Gannon to my Link…. The Joker to my Batman…. She was the Rose to Ewa…..
And that’s why, when finally the jig was up, when I heard it… from her lips… In the midst of passion….. The name that I spotted on her phone screen before she hurringly picked it up and rushed to the bathroom. The one I heard she whisper in the ear of some of her friends…. It came in the form of a… moan….. In the worst place possible… Our sweat-stained,wrinkled sheets, as I filled my fingers with her lush breasts, and gyrated atop her like an expert belly dancer… “Ohhh… Jennniifffeerrr….” I froze… I was… devastated… But I did not stop… I hated myself… But I did NOT fucking stop…… I could never stop, I had to finish… But that night, when we spooned, my cheeks were wet with my tears… And my heart brewing with rage….
I had to find out. I had to see. And surprisingly, it wasn’t hard. EVERYONE knew who Jennifer was. I was the only blinded fool. She really pulled the hoodie up and over my head. She left me in the dark, and when I made the contact, I was almost sobbing, seeing the sweet words, the inviting nature, the alluring personality. Everything I strived to be. But…. I knew there was more…. It wasn’t long, before the name was dropped. Hers. And then, the lips peeled to reveal the fings. The claws unseathed, and our true natures took over. There was no doubt about it. You thought you had as much claim to her, as I did. And you were not scared to fight over her. But what else would I expect from a girl that could win Rose’s heart. We didn’t agree to meet over the weekend. Next day. Or in the morning. The moment we ended the chat, I got up and rushed into the shower, you were already on your way. I finished it, and got out, my body dripping wet. And after emptying my wardrobe on the bed, I had already picked my outfit. I wanted to look at my best. I knew whatever I put on, would be ruined before long, but I didn’t care. I wanted to BURN your heart, to see what she had. Black thigh highs rolled up my long, slender legs. Black heels followed. A lacey, see-through thong covered my Brazilian waxed kitty. A black, leather, bad-girl skirt hugged mmy hipps, and upper thighs, not even reaching my stockings. A pink lacey bra, and a red tanktop hugged my frame. I spent 10 minutes on my makeup, and before long I hear the knocks on the door. My body tenses, and I rise up, slowly walking up to the door. My heart pounding in my chest. I slowly open it, and there… you are…. FUCK…..
When you open the door, I see exactly who and what you are. Dressed like a slut. Your skin bulging out of every gap of nylon, lace, and leather. Heels, even, tall ones that glimmered in the light that passed into the house before me. Whereas I? I came to fight, not entice – for battle and not bliss. And so I wear a blue and white striped t-shirt, a pair of beige short shorts, and a pair of 3 dollar flip flops. To me, it tells every bit of the tale. I want Rose. Need her. Love her with every fiber of my being. And I came here to beat you. To win, and not feel my girl slip through my fingers because I wore something constricting and distracting, like everything vacuum sealed to your body.
I would tell you of those thoughts, or how mad I am, but my ability to communicate disappears, leaving my body in the form of tears that slip from my eyes. Not tears of sadness, but pain. Not regret, but anger. I have never, in my albeit short life felt so strongly about anything. I love rose, more than I can remember that word ever meaning. Hate you, more than I can even fathom. And want to end you, and every threat you pose, so much that I can’t even control my emotions. And so unable to tell you, or tell you to let me in, I step forward uninvited, pushing my shoulder into yours as I pass into your home. Ready. Desperate. And beyond my limit to process.
The door opens, and then, time freezes. I see you. And my body shudders in nothing but fury. You’re not dressed to impress. A giant middle finger to the time I spent preparing for this. You’re dressed so simply, and yet, you look as hot as they come. And it pisses me off. That look in your pretty brown eyes. The solemn hate, and vow, as I see them trickle, and tears begin to roll down. You say nothing, and I say nothing for a few moments, before my lips curl up cruelly, and to my OWN shock, the words slip out “Oh, did you come straight from cleaning your last apartment? Good. Maybe I’ll let you tidy up the place after I’m done thrashing you around, slut.” — Woah Ewa… Crossed the line there… WAY past the line… But to my own surprise, there is no remorse, no regret… I actually ENJOYED saying the hateful words….
You don’t respond, instead you just PUSH in, and our shoulders bump.. “Ugghh!!” I grunt, as you force your way in, my 5’4″ 118lbs 36F body twisting, my eyes narrowing in hate, watching you drive your way in. “Fucking BITCH!!” I hiss and I want to THROW myself at your back, with all my being… But I turn to slam the door shut, and for whatever reason, I turn the lock, every freaking lock on the door, even sliding the chain in place to hole us in there. In my mind, I see you screaming and trying to run for the door. Trying to escape my wrath, only to bump into the locks, and struggle to open them before I reach you and drag you back to hell. My lips curl cruelly at the thought, as I spin ready to charge you, but fuck, you’re fast, and you’ve already made it into the living room. I feel my body tense, my fingers curling into claws. Click-Clack. Click-Clack. My heels tap on the tiles, eyes narrowed, as I slowly approach you, my chest rising and falling, until we are standing two feet apart. Well? What are you waiting for Ewa? SLAP HER! CLAW HER EYES OUT! FUCK THE BITCH UP! But for some reason, I just stand there, nearly paralyzed, locked in this heated staredown… Feeling my rage boil up inside of me, building up, like a volcano, ready to BLOW.
I can see you speaking, your lips moving, and the glare in your eyes, waiting and daring me to answer or retort with some petty insult, but I can’t hear you. Instead, my ears are filled with only the sound of my near deafening heartbeat, one that pounds like a hammer on an empty anvil. She was done with you! And now, just when she and I have found each other, you crawl back in like some kind of disease infected rodent. Well, in the cruelty of all of this, that disease you brought with you I have caught. And that disease is hatred. Malice. Loathing. I was so very happy, for a moment. Finally Rose’s girl, for a blink. And then here you are. Back from whatever fake-boob factory you found yourself spawned in. And that is exactly where I am going to send you back to. A thought that brings a wicked, hate-bent smirk to my lips, even as tears continue to fall. Then you turn and begin to lock the door, one latch after another. Good. Seal yourself in her with me. Because neither of us are leaving until this is settled. Until one of us has proven who loves Rose more.
It is for that proving that I head to what I image to be your living room, and the space you seem to have cleared out for our battle. Once there, I hear you coming, your heels making such a racket that for the first time since I entered I can hear over the loud din of my heart, which seems to slow and calm. I turn, and there you are. I see short, flickers within your eyes. Like a great fire preparing to set loose, before it is snuffed by some extinguisher unseen. And so, as such flames flare, and then ebb, and my tears having dried, I step forward, and bring myself as close to you as possible without contact. “I….” My mouth opens, and I start to tell you … something … anything…. But I have no words for you. Nothing will stop the coming of the storm. We cannot talk our way out of this moment, or each others way. And so, I reach back and slap you, hard across the cheek. Glaring at you, and daring you to fight back.
I stand there, staring. You have stopped crying, your cheeks are still wet, but the well has dried, for now. But then something…. snaps inside of me.. I don’t know what, but I feel it first, like lava burning behind my eyes.. Oh no.. fuck… My tearducts catching the fever, and I try to blink to stop it, but then it just goes, two streams of tears run down my own cheeks. I clench my teeth hard, my lips peeling, to reveal the two rows of pearly whites, that I have promised to taste your flesh before this night is over. I will take my revenge, my pound of flesh. I will rip your fucking heart out if I have to. And I see you glare at me, as the emotion reaches a new height, both weeping from nothing but the pure frustration. My body tensing, when you suddenly move, taking a step closer, our chest shy only from touching each other. But we’re way too far into the others comfort zone. Way too close, so dangerously so. I can smell your scent. Neither bothered with perfume. No, I can smell… YOU…. Your own unique, intoxicating, overpowering BITCH SCENT. The one that filled her nostrils every time we groped and writhed between the sheets. Everytime you made her moan out your name. Everytime you made her gush for you. Fucking… BITCH… No more…. You are DONE….
I see your lips open, and a little, ear-shy stutter comes out. Just a little, whiney, girl’ish ‘I….’ And then you pause, your eyes suddenly zone out, staring at me, no, THROUGH me… Almost like you can see through my skull then… I see the motion, coming from my peripheral vision, like a great Eagle swooping down on an unsuspecting prey to take it between its talons. The light is blocked and then I feel it. I feel it in my BONE before I can even hear the SMACKKK. “AWWWHHH!!” My head snaps to the side, my hair flies, wrapping around my face like steel tresses. “Uhhhh..” My palm presses on my cheek.. HOT HOT HOT!! Fuck… I bite my bottom lip in pain, slowly turning to face you, my eyes wide, staring at you in nothing but… HATRED… If you were made of wax, you would have melted by now… But no… You’re made of flesh… and blood… and skin… and hair…. All ingredients that I have the perfect tools to ruin… spill….. shred…. and tear…. And with a low GROWL rising from my throat, I bend my knees slightly, lowering my body then I THRUST it forwards, trying to drive my breasts into the underside of yours, for a full body-on-body BUMP, as my left arm slides up and around the back of your head, going to the silky tresses at the back there, just covering the nape of your neck, to pull hard DOWN… My right arm, going outwards, fingers spreading, and coming crashing down in a hard, wild SLAP to your exposed left cheek. “BIIIITTCHHH!!!!! YOU ARE DONE FORRR!!”
“SHUT UP I FUCKING HATE YOU!” My words come without alliterated punctuation, just a jumble of passion and hate. Emotions spat as you charge into me. Your massive breasts pressing up, and under mine, pushing me into a shared rise and then angle. Your fingers tighten around my hair, and tug, hurting me, and pulling me closer to you. As all that happens a hand of your splashes across my cheek, and the sound set loose from it echoes through your empty house. I should be scared of the contact. Afraid of the beginning of such a war. Nervous that not only might I lose, but that I might never be the same physically again. But I have never wanted anything more. Never felt that something was so right. We were meant to fight. To hurt each other. To go to war. Here. Now. In your living room. Set on an inescapable path by Rose. Put at odds by a woman who swore she loved only us.
Her lies, her deceit, my own innocence, should be the focus of my rage, but instead I pin it all on you. You did this. You came between us. You are the one who left me in tears when the truth was revealed. And not only did you revel in it. You spent not a second considering leaving her. It is those acts for which I punish you, when I grab back at your hair, and twist in mid-air, looking to drag you down to the ground and mount you. Just as I told Rose I would before I got in my car. Just as I promised, when she and I reached orgasm together imagining this moment, and this fight.
I lunge, I lunge like a Cheetah pouncing on her prey. And the moment our bodies make contact, I don’t think I have ever felt this kind of emotion before. The perfect mixture of sickness, of feeling you… YOUR body… Your tight, hot, lithe body against mine…. Mixed with the raw, pure PLEASURE of hearing you scream, as my palm and fingers strike your cheek and tug your hair. I pull violently back, hearing you shriek. You stumble, and I gamble on pushing you back with my assault. For the momentum to take us back, to the wall, where I can slam your skull into it until it splatters in my hands. But no. Those powerful, toned, thick thighs of yours, aided by the fact that you wore flat flip-flops come to the air. And in this kind of embrace, flat beats heel. You regain your balance almost immediately, your body tensing, pushing back, first slowing me down, then bringing us to a halt, as I feel your arms, both of them toss around my body.
“THE FUCK I CARE WHAT YOU FEEL, YOU WOMAN-STEALING WHOOOOREEE!!” I roar right into your face, my right hand, coming down off your cheek, to grab at your left shoulder, feeling the flesh, the skin, the muscle, a moment before you PULL down on my hair. “AIIIEEHHH!” I cry out, my head jerked back, neck almost whiplashed backwards.
“FUUUUCKKK!!!” My eyes shut, and I feel you pulling hard, your chest suddenly pushing DOWN on mine, and you try to bend me over, to take me to the floor.. .”Nggghhhhh… Fuck… YOU…” I hiss through my clenched teeth. My eyes squinted, staring at the ceiling lights. I curl my right hand, and I dig my nails into your bare, tanned shoulder, pushing my claws into the skin, and I… DRAGGG them down…. raking my nails from shoulder to elbow…. My body tensing… Fighting your pull, waiting for that moment for your left arm to weaken, to push my body UP and into you, while kicking the tip of my left heel against your right shin.
My intentions and yours meet like the shore and the sea, crashing together in force. Your tits pressing against mine. Our mouths only inches apart as you yell at me about being a woman-stealer, a comment I cannot ignore. “YOUUUU BITCH! YOU’RE TRYING T-TOO STEALLLLLL HER FROM MEEEEEEE! Grrrrr!!! SHE LEFT YOU!” The words come out broken by effort, and stuttered by loathing. But even in that mess, I find myself fighting not just you, but a feeling I never expected. Being turned on by you. Even now. Even after what you have done. I have to admit, every picture Rose showed me was jealousy-inducing, but in person, and having you this close. It’s an entirely different thing. An entirely different view. One that I hate to like, and try to ignore, by doubling my efforts of yanking at your hair. And pushing back into you. Hoping that effort, and infliction will remind me that you are my enemy, as if your claws digging into my skin isn’t sufficient.
But those battles aside, we find ourselves caught, trying to control the others body, and dictate the terms of this engagement. But when those opposing desires fail, and we reach impasse, moving not down as I want, or back as you do. When such occurs, we settle in, and set to wounding each others bodies. You, in between a torrent of curses and screams, dragging your nails across my light skin, and a heel down my shin. “I try to resist making a sound, and letting you know how badly your attacks hurt, but I fail. “Aaaggghhhhh” I let loose from deep within, a guttural lament, followed by a series of plaintive whimpers. Ones that I’m sure you enjoy, just as I plant my feet, flex my thick Latina thighs, and then drive a knee forward, aiming it right for your gut.
The struggle begins… And FUCK… What a struggle.. From the get-go, you have me bent over…. As humiliating as it may sound, you DO… have me… BENT…. My flexible body, with years of yoga, figure skating, and ballet, allowing me to arch backwards, almost like a C-shape, my knees bent, struggling to remain upwards…. But yours hands do not relent, and despite your petite stature, you are… freakishly strong…. You bark your words at me, all the while, your breasts GRIND at mine, the weird angle you have my body at, has strangely aligned our breasts, and through my top and yours, we can both feel each others… excitement… the hard nipples, tented through the fabric, PUSHING into you, to declare how… aroused I am…. Inappropriately so… by this contact… By this struggle…. I scratch your arm… I kick at your shin… But alas, nothing… works…. Your body is tensed up… Coiled like one giant muscle….. With a purpose…..
“Uugghhh…. YOU….. NEVER… HAD HER….. TO START.. WITH… YOU’RE JUST…. A BOOTY CALL!!!” I screech at you.. My words, seeming enraging you, and you pull back, giving yourself that space, just enough to drive your powerful right knee straight into my abs…
“OOOOMMMPPPHHH!!!” My eyes burst open, gasping, spittle flying from my lips, shooting straight up, then splattering down, over the bridge of your nose, your lips, and your cleavage…. My knees buckling and I come crashing down before you…. Gasping in pain as you pull on my hair…. I grimace in pain… Unable to catch my next breath…. Partially from the pain in my abs, but also from the fact that right now, your tanktop is pressing against my lips, and my nose are wedging into the crevice between your breasts…. And with my next breath comes… a DEEP… inhalation of your.. SCENT… Magnified by the sweat rolling down between your breasts… And it does nothing but piss me off…. My right hand, now at your left elbow, opens up, then I CLOSE it, grabbing and sinking my nails on the inside of your left elbow…. Digging my nails into the vulnerable and exposed nerves, tendons, muscles, and veins…. Digging in HARD, to break your grip on me…. While my left hand, no longer able to hold on your hair, pulls back, and I fire a wild, angry PUNCH, driving my fist as hard as I can into that powerful knot of your left Quads muscles!
Somehow I find the room. Somehow I pull our bodies just far enough to deliver my thick thigh, right into your stomach. I half expect you to ignore it in the madness of our tight, violent embrace, but instead it lands, and I feel it devastate you. Causing you to slide down my body, pulling your breasts, and erect nipples from their formerly lodged position in my chest. Hard nipples! You bi…. I curse you in my mind, trying to forget my own shameful excitement, but then I feel it. My own nipples are as hard as small pebbles. I would be mad at myself, for letting such feeling occur, even with all the rage and hatred coursing through me, but then you open your pretty little lips, and yell at me: “JUST…. A BOOTY CALL!!!!”
Without thinking, wanting to silence you right then, and FOREVER, I pull your face between my shirt-covered tits, even as spit drips down the – even as you begin your assault from below. Digging your nails into my elbow, causing me to scream out in pain. Punching at my quads. Causing me to yelp, and fall forward, putting all of my weight into my smother, holding you tighter than I have ever held anything, or anyone. “FUCK YOU! SHE LOVES ME!” I scream drunk on hatred, even as tears begin to fall from my eyes again. That can’t be true. I’m more than that to Rose. I know I am….. I have to be….. She wouldn’t…. She said….
Such doubts creep into my mind, and I look my focus on anything other than smothering you, weeping just above you, my liquid anguish falling into your now messy hair. And it is then, at that moment that I start to doubt her. Doubt us. An opportunity, I am sure you will not miss.
You have me down, on my knees… And I fucking HATE it… And I hate YOU for bringing me down this way. But even then, I fight. I fight HARD, because I’m fighting for… her. My mind, my pride, my heart, all joining forces in REFUSING to believe that you’re anything, but a passing fling. A joyride that she sinned in getting on, and that I would forgive her for, to move forwards. But first, first I have to take the ride, and derail it. To go off the tracks and tumble down, until one of us hits rock bottom. It’s that free-falling sensation into that dark pit, that makes my claws sink, and my fist hammer into your thigh, time and again, until your leg gives and you fall forwards INTO me… “HUNNNGGHHHH!!!!”
I grunt as your body crashes into mine, taking me to my back. My legs, folded upon themselves, my own heels digging into my barely covered buttocks. Your weight resting on me, your hips, pressing into my now exposed abs, your breasts, smaller than mine, yes, but still as large and full enough to engulf my entire face. The fabric of your skanky top drenched, adding to the smothering, choking sensation as you press down on me. Holding me down by the hair. Your body shifting, trying to ground me down. And FUCK me. A part of me just slips to imagine being her, face buried into your breasts, kissing, licking, nibbling. And like a spark, a wildfire lights up in my head.
My right hand coming up, reaching high over my head, my palm open, I send it in a hard SMACK…. SMACK… SMACK… Driving my palm straight on your FACE. Not aiming for a cheek or another, but rather the middle, towards your eyebrows. Your Nose. Your pouty, sexy, fully lips. Trying to slap your face hard and water your eyes. My left hand, reaching around you, to the neckline of your tanktop, wrapping my fingers around it, then twisting my wrist, rolling, wrapping the fabric around my entire fist, I start to jerk RIGHT. LEFT. Shadowboxing the air behind you to tug, pull, tear and rip your top, or take you off me.
I should feel in control. I’m atop you, straddling you, and my shirt-covered breast do their best to wipe your irritatingly well-done makeup off your pretty face. But all of that comes as the last few gasps of momentum peter out, and I find myself frozen with a vicious, painful doubt. I picture Rose, texting us both at the same time. Telling me she has to go, when really she is on her way to you. Imagine her hiding her phone from you, just as you come to sit in her lap. Create in my mind scenarios where I am just her toy, and you-you are the woman she truly loves. Such thoughts, fears, and sudden realizations cause my stomach to churn frightfully, and my spine to run a chill.
But I am not allowed long to exist in that languishing state. For you counter quickly, slapping me across the face hard. The blow causes me to collapse on top of you, rushing to pull my hand from the back of your head, and to my flushed, stinging cheek. But you are not through. No, you have just begun, and thereafter wrap your fist in my blue and white striped shirt, and punch until it is bound tightly. Once done, you pull, push, and tear it up and over my head, ripping it as it travels.
From that force, I fall from atop you, and find myself thrown to the floor next to you. Stunned by pain, doubt, and a heart-rending sadness. One that keeps me from rushing to re-engage or counter. Leaving you to take to offense, and for me to simply endure it.
On the floor, we thrash. Like two wailing harpies, tangling together in the most hideous, desperate, and heart-broken battle that we’ve ever been into. We’re no strangers to fighting, if I didn’t know that already about you, I would have figured it out already. But I don’t remember the last time I fought someone I…. HATED… so much… Over something I cared about with all my heart. My lips are smeared with the taste of your boobsweat and my lipstick. My makeup runny, smearing over my cheeks and up to my eyebrows. Your body rocking, grinding me down. So hatefully. So fucking hatefully. You’re off on a quest, to prove that you are the better woman. The one who deserves Rose… The one who wants her more, and willing to go to further lengths just to keep her.
I scream, muffled cries in your chest. My right hand flying, swinging, crashing into your face, cheek, forehead, nose, lips, I can’t even tell, I just swing swing and swing. Despair and lack of air taking it’s toll, and with it, fear grabs a hold with me. And with fear, dark thoughts, horrid visuals, of you and Rose. Laughing, of you spooning her, whispering into her ears, all the things you would do to me. How you would simply crush me, if I found out. Assuring her, that she has nothing to fear. That the fool sleeping back at home, would dare not say a peep, or else. I see your hand slipping down her taut abs, between her thighs, your fingers rubbing, stroking, inserting into her, her moans rising, listening to the crescendo of your threats, your narration of the violence you would bring upon me….
And just like that, a hard, final slap, a tug, a tearing sound, and I see the light again. I GASP for air, like a drowning sailor, finally breaking the water line, and taking her first breath in minutes. My left hand, still tangled in your top, that hangs torn now just over your breasts, your heaving, sweaty breasts, and forcing me to turn with you, side by side, groaning on the floor, my eyes staring at you, my eyes narrowed. “Fuckerrr… cough cough I gasp and groan…. and with all I got I THROW my body at you, my right hand moving up around your throat, fingers wrapping, tightening, as my left hand jerks back to me, trying to not only rip your top off completely to free my grip, but also use the counter pull to tighten the choke hold on your neck for those few extra seconds, just as my legs spread, slipping to either side of you, my uplifted skirt giving way for the lacey thong of mine, wet, drenched, SOAKED, pressing down on your exposed abs. Kissing that belly button of yours.
The visions still flash before my eyes, and all I can hear are your words. “Booty call”, repeated ad nauseum and on loop in my mind. Until suddenly, I picture that moment in the hotel room. “Rose is such a pretty name”. The first moment of softness between she and I. Between myself, and my love. Then through my doubt a vision of her cuts, her soft, loving eyes looking down on me: “I’m yours”. Then suddenly I wake from my indecision, doubt, and abject dismay. It’s worth it. She is worth it. No matter what I am to her. No matter what you claim to be in her life. Rose is worth it. And with that unspoken commitment, the clouds in my sky seem to part, and I feel invigorated again! Ready to fight the world, and you! No matter the consequence or odds!
Such grand proclamations are made by my heart, just as I scream out into your room, your thighs wrapped around my waist. “Oh gooooodddd. Uuuggghhhh” I groan out, as the intense pressure sets in, and your own, womanly juices begin to drip not only down my stomach, but into my belly button. Before I can react, or counter, you tug your hand back, and pull my shirt fully off me, exposing my naked tits. I catch, for only a blink, your eyes move from our shared, mutual glare to my rock-hard nipples and my breasts which you have no so far seen. I take advantage, or try to, and like a worm or a snake, writhe forward, trying to move your leg scissors from around my abdomen to instead my hips. Almost simultaneously, I reach out both hands for your top, then with a hard clench, and a deep claw I retract my arms quickly, wanting to rip it from your body, just as you had done to mine.
Then, as my two gambits fly, I spit in your face, hoping to catch you in the eye, and distract you, just long enough for one or both to work. Not ladylike. Not polite. But where we’ve been, where we are, and where we’re headed, ALL bets are off….
Groans, grunts, growls. All those sounds, must have started with ‘G’ for a reason. Their “G”utteral nature perhaps? Or to denote how ugly and animal-like they are. But that’s all is heard now. Between our labored breaths. Burning lungs, makeup-caked faces and anguish filled hearts. We fight on. Your superior position, the one that you earned, not stole, by still and strength, suddenly crumbling under your feet, sending you plummeting. By nothing besides will-power, I fight, and am rewarded by that thud of your body on your side, a quick roll, and I am on top, legs around your waist, squeezing, my thighs clamped tightly on your sides, and my own kitty, betraying me. I can feel it. The thick, slowly, honey-like stream of my nectar. Seeping down the inside of my upper thighs, sliding down, and to your exposed, taut, sexy abs. The crevices of your perfectly defined midriff, sending them to pool into your tummy.
I know it, I feel it, and I’m enraged. Is it you that’s turning me on? That’s causing my sex to betray me? Is it the heat of the moment, the intensity of this battle? Or is it my lust and thoughts after Rose? — Oh gawd, please let it be the last. I grit on my teeth, as I rip your top and swing the torn fragments at your face; “BIIITCHHH!!!” I screech, staring at your perfect, perky breasts, heaving on your chest, nipples hard, almost taunting… mocking… me. My teeth clench in rage, squeezing on my thighs. “I will END you… Fucker….” I hiss, my hands coming up, balling into fists, raising your head up, trying to send that haymaker into your face, but as I do, your head jolts up and you SPIT up… Right into my eyes….. “ACKKK!!! CUUNNTTT!!” I scream…
My eyes burn from the spit, too much mascara and ruined eyeshadow running in, your spit sending back, causing them to BURN. Like a fucking Cobra, trying to blind its rival, you spit at me and my fingers loosen, gasping and you BUCK up sending me off you and crashing to my side, just as your hands JERK on my top and… RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPP!!! I feel the fabric tightening around my shoulders, pulling, the top not made for this rough treatment as it tears off, sending my supple breasts bouncing free as I CRASH on my left side on the floor, moaning in pain. Legs still around you, but no longer squeezing, just… holing on to you…
It all happens in a blur, but then again our entire fight has. Your eyes, which sparkle, and awe, even now, when they are wet from emotion, and darkened by makeup not fit for the task, I attack with a perfectly aimed spit. I had hoped only to distract you, but instead, that vile and venomous expulsion of saliva stops you from delivering a devastating blow, one that made me flinch and whimper in fear of it landing. But it didn’t, and instead you found staggered, as much as one can while straddling a rival, and in that state I latched onto your chest. Yanking off your top, and evening the score.
Like you I find myself stunned at the first sight of your breasts. They are beautiful, and glorious, and everything I have ever wanted mine to be. If this were any other moment, or scenario, I would find myself drawn to them, and my bottom lip bit at the idea of sucking on them. Such thoughts, and unspoken admissions should have given you a chance to fight back, but you are still blinded by my venom. So much so, that you tumble off of me and to my side, your thighs only loosely hanging from my abdomen. I should escape. Roll away. Try to mount you, as you did me. But I am compelled. Pulled. Motivated beyond and without reason to reach out and drag you by the hair back into a clutch with me. There, between us, our nude breasts meet and mash, our hard nipples finding their way to each other, despite the disparity in size. As such occurs, I wiggle and kick, until I have freed myself from your legs, only to bind myself to them again, by interlocking my own with yours. With all of us then engaged, I lean in, and press my forehead to yours, my nose to yours, and then curse at you. “Rose is mine, cunt!
I cry out in frustration. I’m blinded. My eyes BURN. Did she fucking spit acid into them? What is that!! I almost freak out, my palms rubbing my eyes, my elbows out, pointed at you, trying to vainly defend myself from an attack in my vulnearbe spot. But you don’t attack, instead, you just focus on RIPPING my top off. You tug, twist and tear until I’m as bare from the waist up as you are. My skirt hiked up over my waist, my thong fully exposed, my heels, long gone and falledn off my feet, as the stockings on my thigh show both wear and tear, rolled down my sweat-soaked legs, with rips and ladders running down them… All the while, I whimper as I shudder, waiting for the vicious attack. A part of me almost already ready to mourn what Rose and I had… Rose… MY rose…. When it suddenly strike me. It was here, on this floor, on this freaking carpet, where our bodies hit the floor on our first night. I had a black eye… Her lips were busted, after our violent fight in the alley. But as we burst through the door of my apartment, we were not thinking of fighting anymore. We were undressing each other, kissing, moaning, my tongue licking the blood off her chin as we tumbled to this very carpet, moaning and making out.
But this… This could not be anymore different. This is… HATE… Feline.. Feminie hatred in its purest form….. I wipe the spittle off my eyes, but as I finally do, I feel the strong TUG on my hair… “AHHH!!” I yelp as you PULL me closer, and our breast meet with a wet, fleshy SMACK. My nipples and yours, both so grown, so full, thrust in the others flesh. Our bodies curling, uncurling, and I feel your legs coiled around my own. Foreheads bump, and I hear your words… “Rose is mine” — Rose is mine — Rose IS mine — ROSEE ISS MINNNEEE!! The words, abrupt, territorial, desperate, full of anguish as they come…
“No…” I hiss…. My eyes flaring open, your spit still stretching between my long lashes, my arms, sliding AROUND your body, almost in a bearhug, but instead of closing the grip, my fingers slip UP into your hair and I pull BACK hard, then PUSH it in, letting our foreheads BUMP even harder… CRACKKK!! I moan in pain, and I feel the tiny trickle of blood forming on my forehead as I hiss; “She is… MINE…” I snarl as I shake your head wildly, screaming, PULLING you tighter, with arms and legs, our breast, mashing together… The orbs flattened, the flesh OOZING outwards, as we writhe and fight, then suddenly start to tumble, and roll around, in a hissing, cussing tangle, like two pythons wrapped around the other in a death clench.
Not a moment has passed, where some part of our bodies have not been connected. Some piece of flesh not pressed to yours. It was to be expected, in a war like this one. A side effect of a brutal war of attrition, fought by two women hopelessly in love with the same soul. But when you fell from me, and we separated, I wanted you back. To feel your body against mine. To bring our every inch into the battle again. I cannot explain why now, or even if I had a thousand years to think on it — but I could not help myself, or resist. But then you reach back for me, and pull me tight, and I can’t control a whimper of excitement as it escapes my lips. One that, pitches down and then disappears into my throat as we slide our bodies into a perfect, writhing, union.
Within seconds of such glorious, hate-fueled contact, I feel it on my thigh: wetness, again, dripping from you. God, it’s so dirty. I want to find it disgusting. To let it fuel my rage. But, to my surprise, I feel the same juices dripping from between my own red hot sex – juices which collect on the leg I have trapped. What is wrong with us! I think to myself, fighting the urge to thrust myself onto your thigh. Fighting the urge to give my body what it wants, for whatever reason it wants it.
Such a resistance I maintain, even as you drag me by the hair forward and slam your forehead into mine. “Owe!” I yelp, as a crack rings out between. “No” you say, before you drag us into a roll. Our bodies turning over and over again. I’d say it makes me dizzy, but I focus on your eyes. Your hateful eyes. Glaring at them. Telling you the depth of my anger, just as you tell me the same. “You don’t love here….” I mutter, as we turn, clinging to you tightly, all as I tug your hair harder and harder.
I have it all in mind. Everything, every memory, whisper, every touch. Every date and fight. Every time we made the other laugh, and cry. flash in front of my eyes. Whirl around, spinning along with the living room, as I clutch on to you. To my rival. My nemesis. My LOVE rival, and roll, roll, roll around, back and forth, from one end to the room, to the other. Not stopping until our bodies BUMP into the foot of the sofa. Off to hit the book case, sending a couple of thick volumes CRASHING on us. I yelp, as the hard leather-bound edge of one slams down on the left side of my ribs, left open and vulnerable with my arms up and around this fucking BITCH. “AWWWW!!” I wince in pain, but we twist and roll again. I feel you turning your body, trying to put more pressure on my side. Like a fucking shark, smelling blood in the water, you would grind your foot in the bruise and twist if you could.
We roll and hit the coffee table, that I moved to one end, and I hear the glass spill, the wine glass I left there, that I sipped off, but never finished toppling, and I glance up, seeing the ruby-red liquid spreading on the glass, racing towards the edge, and with my grip on your hair, I grunt and turn your head, twisting it, and I let the red wine DRIP right into your eyes, hissing; “Payback… is… a BITCH….” Growling, hearing you CRY, blinded by the wine, but you return the favor YANKING on my hair and sending us tumbling down to the middle of the room….. Groaning, our bodies coiled, breasts mashed. I can feel the soppiness on my thong. On your shorts….. And yet, it doesn’t feel right.. It doesn’t feel… complete…. “GRRAHHH Bitch… STop… STop…. STOOOOPHHHH!!” I scream,b ut not in defeat, not in weakness, not the cry of someone who has had enough!!
Shaking your head, I feel your body tensing, glaring into the others eyes, my mascara burnt ones, and your wine stinged ones…. “Take… it off… FUcking… Take it ALL off bitch… If you dare….. Strip fucking down…. And let’s finish this… Like it’s MEANT to be finish….. If you fucking DARE!!!”
Since joining FCF, I have had so many fights, matches, clashes (as Rose and I call them). Some have been soft and playful, others hurtful and bitchy, but none of them, and nowhere on the spectrum on which they have occurred, have I had a fight, like this. For in all the rest I am fighting for fun, or bragging rights — pride or pleasure. But here. Now. With you, Ewa, my rival for Rose’s attention, we battle. Brutally. Beautifully. For love. For hate. For a mixture of both. We have shed tears, and smiled as we have seen the other do the same. We have struggled to silence and shame the woman who dares question our claim. The ferocity of it has shaken me to the very core. But I am not ready to quit or surrender. Not to you. Not on Rose. Not EVER! And so when you challenge me to strip nude, and meet you in the bedroom: I am game.
I don’t know your purpose or your plan, but I don’t care. Because as I pull one of tattered clothing off me, and then move to the next, I do so not to entice you. Not to seduce you. But to prepare myself for a battle. Woman-to-woman. Body-to-body. One that will require everything of both of us. With no room for cover or humility. No room for vanity or modesty. From this moment on, as I wait for you, there are no rules. No limits. No taboos. I will cross every, and betray every ideal to beat you. To have Rose. And so will you. It is that certainty that makes my heart beat fast, and my breath catch, even after a break since last we held ourselves together in a rolling ball of hate.
I scream the words out loud. I yell them so hard, I’m surprised you didn’t go deaf out right. But the challenge is received and…. accepted!! Your legs loosen around mine, and I reciprocate, then our hands go fro grabbing hair and flesh to pushing and shoving the other away. I roll a couple of times until hit the coffee table. I just want to crawl underneath it. To curl up in a ball and pass out until the weekend, so I can sleep some more… and it’s a fucking MONDAY!!! But instead, I slap my palms to the floor. Your pretty, precious silky hairs still loosly wrapped around my fingers, and I push up to all fours. Panting, I look at you. Like a starving dog looking for more. Wanting more. My lips shape, sweat dripping from my chin, exposed nipple, glaring at you with a mixture of rage and fatigue….
I watch you strip down. Giving me… THAT… look. The one that mirrors not only my frustration, but my determination. You’re not quitting. What a perfect fucking BITCH. I blink the tears away and start to remove my attire, or heck, what’s fucking LEFT of it… And it’s not much…. I tug, peel, and then start to outright yank and rip the shreds off, until I’m completely naked…. My body covered in nothing but sweat, my tears, and the bruises and battle scars that are only starting to add up. I rise up to my feet. Breathing hard. I glare at you. Looking at how perfect you look naked, and it makes me HATE you more… This.. THIS is the body Rose has been cheating on me with… No wonder… But I will fucking break it… I will ruin it… I will scar you emotionally so bad, you will not dare to touch her again….
I stumble towards you, and I see you raise your guard up, but I snap my right hand and grab your left wrist; “Come on BITCH.. This way…” And I yank on you hard, dragging you with me, down the hallway. Our bodies bumping together, shoulders rubbing. Hitting the walls, bouncing to hit one another, sending her into the other wall as I yank on your arm, and drag you, slamming my hand on the bedroom door, I yank you in, and with all my might I swing my body, trying to toss you towards the bed.
Neither of us are fresh or clean, not like we were when I arrived. After we both took long, hot showers, trying to wash the anger off our bodies, and the feeling of betrayal from our souls. No, our now naked bodies glisten with sweat. Our thighs, hips, arms, and shoulders wear the navy emblems of bruising, and the telltale red scrapes of each others nails. It is on the latter point my eyes catch, and stick, as you drag me down the hallway like a turned on college frat boy. I see it, and it taunts me, even as we wobble, unsteady, from muscles swimming in lactic acid, and minds still spinning from roll after roll on your floor. Your skin. It is perfect. Touched by the sun, and shaped like a goddess. How could I have expected Rose to resist you? How could I ask her to forget a lover that looks … like you? Could I even, were I in her shoes? Can I, myself, as we prepare to lock bodies again, this time on your bed without anything holding our soft skin apart?
The answer to all and every is I can’t, no, or never, and it shames me. And so I must act — must do something to make you less. Less than perfect. Less than this vixen you have every right to be called. Commit I then do, as I follow, flexing my fingers, and feeling the tips of my claws. I will ruin your body physically. I will tattoo your body with claw marks. Rend flesh as deeply as I can. And leave your every inch not only scarred, but your skin too sensitive to be touched. By me, by Rose, or ANYONE you draw to your bed with your siren call. But just as I smirk, happy with my plan and decision, you throw me, and I fly towards your bed, off balance, and vulnerable.
My mind races. It’s hard to think It’s fucking hard to focus, or devise a plan. I’ve…. never… felt like this before, not fighting any other girl. I’m not one of the best for being the biggest bitch in the fight, often enough, I’m the smaller one. But I’ve always persevered because of how methodical I am. Because I could keep calm under the pressure, while my opponents broke under pressure, unable to take what I’m throwing their way, while I had the pain tolerance and focus to rain hell at them with a non-stop barrage of attacks, taunts, abuse, and mental games until they just… snapped. But right now, i can’t… I can’t fucking focus.. I’m barely stopping myself from hyper ventilating. The stakes have never been higher for me. And I’ve never fought a bitch so… so damn perfect… Not only as a fighter, but as a woman… And that fact feels like icy cold fingers, strangling my throat, choking me, and hindering my ability to think rationally.
But the time for rationality is long, LONG past now. As we stumble into the bedroom, my eyes fall on the tall floor mirror, that we pass through, and my eyes fixate on your body. Your creamy-clear skin. Unblemished complexion. Your toned body. Your round fully buttocks, your slender waist, and your perky breasts. Despite it all, you look so… appealing and desirable… And I fucking… HATE you for it…. If you leave looking like this, no matter what, you will seduce her again… and again… It’s not fair to anyone… Not even my Rose… No… she’s just the victim… It’s all on YOU… Being the seductress that you are… And I have the remedy for this illness, called Jennifer… And my claws will administer it… Bit by bit…. I sneer, and spin, throwing you towards the bed, you stumble, your arms wobbling as you try to stop yourself from falling… But I don’t… fucking… wait… This is not a time for honor and faceoffs… This is the time for MAYHEM… For CHEATING…. For being DIRTIER THAN DIRTY!!!
I rush at you, throwing my body at yours from behind, and I slap my sweaty chest into your back, my naked kitty into your round, perfect ass with a loud smacking sound… My arms, wrapping around you, fingers spreading, and this time, I lead with my claws… My nails, manicured nice and round, but still sharp, easily find those high-hanging melons of yours, and I sink.. IN… Fingers spread as they could before they close, trying to crush as much of your breasts in my hands as I can, while PUSHING my weight into your back, trying to take us down into the bed… You face first, and me laying across your back…
Every moment of this battle, save for those spent preparing, we have hurt each other. Face-to-face. Each of us inflicting pain simultaneously. Who can take it? Who can dish it? Who wants her — wants ROSE more? Such is what I expected as you drug me to your bedroom, as I devised my plan, as I pictured my claws ripping chasms in your beautifully tanned skin. But from that moment on, that second of distraction, all of it has gone wrong. For your toss to the bed, did not lead us to locking together again, nose-to-nose, and wrapping our legs around each others like boa constrictors. No, for instead of turning, as I should have, or you waiting, as I expected, you threw me down, face-first. Then, before I could do anything other than let loose a plaintiff oomph, you dove atop me, and sealed your body to mine. Using your irritatingly perfect breasts to pin my upper body down, and your wide hips to do the same with my lower half.
Quickly, I scramble and panic, trying to buck you off — trying to escape this moment of complete vulnerability. But just as those efforts fail, and you settle in, I feel your claws dig deep into my breasts. Then they twist, and turn — pinch and bite. As they do I scream, so loud your ears hurt. As that banshee-like utterance echoes through your home, I reach back, and grab two handfuls of your hair. My tugs on those locks are desperate and sharp — wild and wanton, but then they soften and weaken, as the pain sets in. As the pain of your attack starts to lessen my ability to focus on hurting you. With that phenomena taking hold, I turn my head, bury it in your comforter, and begin to whimper and scream in pain.
I don’t care how I fucking win this. Damn honor, damn rules, damn it if I don’t even fucking deserve it. All is fair in love and war, and we’re… AT WAR…. OVER LOVE… It doesn’t get more legit than this… And while I play my mental acrobatics trying to justify my actions… Trying to cloud my own panic and fears… That I just… NEED… to sink this low to take you out, I feel our bodies mesh and grind… You BUCK violently, sending your larger, curvier butt up in the air, lifting my hips with it, and causing that… delicious friction as your sweaty buttocks grind and rub across my kitty… I grimace, then I SHOUT in pain… Your fingers find my hair and you start to yank… To jerk… To TUG violently and I shut my eyes, feeling like you’re going to rip my scalp off….
But I just… clutch harder… I clench on your breast, I feel your flesh oozing between my fingers like putty.. Your cries going dull, you bury your face into my comforter, trying to deny me the pleasure of hearing them… “Nngghhh… Yes… CUNT… Fucking… SCREAM… You goddamned… pillow-biter…. I will… Tear you… apart…. AAHHH!” I cry as you jerk my head by the hair again… Wincing in pain… My breasts mushrooming against your shoulderblades… Nipples gouging into your bones… And there is no hiding it now…. The steady flow of my… nectar… slowing seeping down your buttocks… welling into your crack…. The excitement of the batlle… The thrill… The intense emotions… But most of all, that curvy bum of yours…. Grinding nd rubbing, lifting my body up each time you buck…. It’s… too distracting… I bite my bottom lip, trying to focus… But you lift me again and I gasp… Feeling a shudder in my kitty and you twist, FLOPPING us to the side… I yelp, shocked at the sudden turn, my right hand losing it’s grip on your sweaty right breast, and I can already feel you turning, rolling to face me… “Cunt!!” I yelp in frustration, pulling my right hand up in the air, and I swing it down, ready to SMACK you across your face the second you fully turn!
The thought that I am trapped frightens me — that I cannot get you off of me terrifies me — that you will slowly, painfully knead my tits until I have no choice but to cry out in submission, and hand to you my love: Rose. But somewhere in my wild efforts to escape, I found the answer — the key to you and your torment. As I feel you fall to my side, I try to decipher it. What have I found? How did I free myself, when all my physical efforts seemed to fall short? But my search comes to an end, and my analysis to a finale, as I feel it. Drops of your wetness between the cheeks of my round, Latina ass. It was excitement. Yours. The feeling of my ass, thrusting back into your sex, somehow, someway, robbed you of the focus to destroy me. Such a thought brings a wicked smile to my face, as I lock it away in my mind. I will remember it. Use it. Beat you with it, I hope. But for now….
Now, I turn, face you, and with all of my strength, dig my claws into your tits, as you did mine, and then I drag, making sure my nails catch on your fully hard nipples. I can feel the flesh come loose, and the trails of red I leave behind. God it makes me…. Before I can even admit to myself how excited I am, my eyes meet yours. I want to speak. To taunt you. To threaten you and promise you that Rose will be mine. But I can’t…. And so my mouth hangs, as I see the emotions in your eyes. The torment. The anger. The sadness. The conviction and will to win. But even if I cannot fight you with words, I will fight you in every other way. A reality I make manifest as I kick my legs up, and try to wrap them around your abdomen, one beneath you, and one wrapping around you.
You turn… You fucking turn, and my palm comes down, but even before it makes it’s journey, your claws shoot and I feel the nails jamming into the tops of my tanned breasts. my eyes go wide, and my arm flinches mid-air, never making contact, before a horrific… BURN… runs across my chest… It’s one of those… delayed pains… Just like when you get a paper cut, or when you cut yourself at the kitchen slicing veggies…. I feel your hands MOVE down my supple, larger Polish breasts, and across my nipples, and it’s only when they STOP moving that I feel it… Searing.. White… PAIN… And my head rocks back and I WAIL in agony…
“AAHHHHHHHHIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHH!!!” I scream so loud, I almost get myself dizzy, my body rocking, as I feel you shoot your legs, one tossing over me, the other, pressing and wiggling it’s way beneath me… I know what you’re plotting… Scissors… but fuck I’m in such pain I can’t even stop you….
My eyes water and I glance down to my chest, and I see them… The horrific, red welts running down my chest…. Lines of peeled skin running continuously, over the swell of my chest and to my nipples. And with teary eyes I see that grin in your eyes… That sadistic pleasure… And another glance to your own chest….. Carrying a different pattern… Instead of streaks, those five DEEP red dots pinpointing where my nails sunk…. “You… CUNT!!” I sneer at you, shuddering…. Feeling your body beginning to inch closer, to wrap around mine, and I bring my left hand up, palm flat out and I… SMACK it on your mouth… Part slap, palm slam… I try to grind your lips hard to your teeth… and press your head back… My right hand slipping up, pushing my nails just under your chin, I drag my nails, like an artist with a wide brush stroke, down the front of your neck, over your collar bone, and into that crevice between your breasts… Trying to scratch you from chin down to your cleavage!
Not claws, but powerful slaps rain down on my face, as I claw at your breasts. They land one after another, with the last feeling like a thunderbolt, that shakes my skull, and makes my jaw click on impact. Each forces me to let loose a whimper, as neither is blocked, or even slowed, my hands busy shredding your tits. I expect your hands to pull back to strike again, but one stays and claws down my chin, across my chest, and then down to my tits. There I feel the same damage that I do to you, a similarity made clear as each of us scream with the same tone and pitch. But as we rip each others upper bodies apart, my scissors slowly advance, moving at a measured pace, as I don’t want to alarm you into action. But even without speed, the efforts bring my bare pussy forward, and drag it up the tip of your own, and then your pubic mound. Like yours, my excitement betrays me, as I leave a trail of liquid in my wake.
In your eyes, even through the pain, I see you realize my plan, and so, quickly I lock my ankles behind your back, locking my sex in place, and my thighs around part of your abdomen, and part of your hips. The scissor is awkward, ill-fitted, and capable of almost no pressure, but still I have you. And you aren’t getting away from me….
The bed rocks violently, creaking with each jolt of our bodies. Each hard slap, and each time you shift closer to lock those scissors. The headboard swaying violently, tapping on the wall hard and loud. If you looked carefully, assuming you have a second to spare, you would see the two holes in the plaster formed by the headposts from the times this bed was rocked before. When Rose and I were in it. Hard when we are struggling, and harder when we are making love and fucking. But right now, there is no love in here. Just venom. Hate. And feline rage. You claw my breasts. You finish your first trail down and go for another. You’re trying to shred me. And it’s working. I wail in pain, grinding my palm on your mouth, trying to crush your lips to your teeth, my fingers crawling up, fingers spreading over your cheeks, and I start to dig the points of my nails into your pretty Latina features, when I feel your ankles lock and the… PRESSURE cramping up on my hip and side.. “AACKKK!!!”
For a moment I freeze… I even lack the ability to counter your attacks, as your nails scratch down… Viciously.. Cruelly…. I can’t help doing anything but… SHUDDER… Feeling you breaking the skin more, tiny red droplets of red bubbling through some points along the lines… As you draw my life essence… Your legs squeezing me hard, …. My right hand slaps down and I start to slap at your left thigh… Screaming in pain… I then begin to rake my nails along the side of your leg… Raking over and over along the same spot… Trying to weaken you… All the while, I can feel your warm, damp kitty brushing against mine… You’re getting off this.. You’re getting off my pain… I whimper.. in pain.. Sobbing…. My left hand spreading over your face again, and I close it… Four nails pushing into your right cheek, while my thumb digs into your left one…. Trying to squeeze your face in a claw-grip, using my palm to slowly flatten your nose…
I feel you shake between my legs, and I try, as best I can to pulse my legs and cause you to do it again. To force you to tell me how much pain I am causing you, with every whimper, and cry. To feel your body give into mine. I must be why I am so turned on, I tell myself. Just your pain. Just your suffering. And as soon as doubt begins to flood the cavern created by such a question, I feel your nails dig into my cheeks, deeply, and painfully. How will Rose even recognize me after this!? A question I ask, all while your hand press my lips into my teeth. At first the push is irritating, but then I can taste it: blood — your claw growing stronger and stronger, forcing my own teeth begin to cut into my lips. “BITCH!” I mutter through the pain and past your palm, as I lean forward, and bite the space between your thumb and index finger on your left hand. There I dig my teeth in, hoping that A, it will stop your clawing, and B. will cause you enough pain for me to further tighten my leg scissor.
But then your right hand lands, and your fingers claw at my flexing, muscle-etched thigh. I whimper, and you can hear it, even through my bite. As you relish that sound, I remove my hands from your tits, and try to separate maneuvers with them. My right, I drive, claw-first into your soft tummy, and begin to dig deep, wanting to hurt you. And my left, I reach for your clawing hand’s wrist, looking to pull it from my thigh, to stop the pain. With all such movement and madness, I do not resist the urge, or even notice that my hips have started to drag my sex against your body, down, and then back up again. My body looking for anything that isn’t pain. Anything to salve my quickly multiplying wounds.
This rapidly escalating sensation of utter helplessness doesn’t slow down. Instead, it just ramps up, and rapidly so. You’re attacking with your legs, never letting go of my breasts, that look now like a checkers board from all the criss-crossing scratches on them. I desperately try to fight back, to ease your pressure, but instead, I feel your teeth biting the little webbing of skin between my thumb and index. I cry in pain and immediately pull my hand back, ceasing the bite; “AIIEEE!! YOU ANIMAL!!” I cringe in pain, but then it gets worse.. MUCH worse… You finally abandon my breasts, having done so much damage to them, any more would just be overkill at this point, and you jam your nails into my stomach… Like you’re trying to outright claw at my abs… I gasp in pain, my body hunching forwards…. Shuddering… And your left hand finds my right hand on your thigh, and you pull it up in the air….
I screech, feeling the five nails gouging into my stomach… I’m curled up, my body slowly, systematically getting crushed by your powerful thighs… Tears start to roll down my cheeks… All the while, I can feel your sex… rubbing… pressing, dragging… Taunting mine…. Both insulting, and arousing me…. Almost like you’re giving me a preview of what Rose would feel, minus the horrific mauling and clawing…. You’re waiting for it… For me to give up.. To surrender… But no… Fuck… NO… I love Rose way more than… this…. I can.. Uughh.. I can take it… My left hand, the one I can maneuver, slides down between our bodies, as if I’m going for your Abs-tormenting hand, but I ignore it, I slide my hand deeper… Slink it further…. My face nuzzled down just above your breasts, that sway and slap my chin with each power jolt of your thighs…. But I take it… It’s my last gambit… And it.. has… to work… And slipping my fingers between your sex and I, I curl them, pointing my nails at your sex, and as you push your body towards me another time, your kitty meets up the tips of my nails, instead of my soft vulva… and I PUSH hard, trying to press on your sex like a giant “Release” switch to open up your fucking thighs, and free myself…..
It’s coming! I know it! You have no choice! Give up! GIVE HER TO ME! My own voice echoes in my head as I go full out, trying to push you into defeat. My claws digging into your stomach, my thighs wrapped around your abdomen, and almost all of your offensive weapons have been withdrawn or pulled away, I have you. God it will feel so good when you surrender! When I know, for a fact, that of the two of us, I am the better wom–my internal and early gloating suddenly stops, as I feel your fingers slip past my velvet lips. For a moment, I hold out hope that you have given into lust, and plan on satisfying me, in order to earn your release. But…. No….
Instead your claw, digging your blood-covered nails into my sex, and all of me releases all of you. My thighs let loose, my hands pull back, and I roll onto my back like a turtle, all of my focus stolen away by the pain. A pain betrayed by a loud, blood-curdling scream that you tear from my lips. At that moment, I am at your mercy, with tears wetting my eyes and then rolling down my cheeks. I am not ready to submit, but at least for a few seconds, you are free to do what you will. Escape. Regroup. Breathe. Or top me, and take a chance at victory. A choice you are asked to make as my own juices flow down your fingers like a waterfall, telling you my every dark secret of exactly how much our battle has turned me on.
How is it… How is it that I’m… hurting this much… I feel broken…. Figuratively and literally… My waist crushed so much, my legs are just twitching in pain, out of control. The pain you’re applying to my kidneys… That paralyzing sensation of helplessness. That’s not ceasing, and only multiplying. The horrid agony in my chest… And with it, my abs… You’re tormenting me. You’re trying to thoroughly ruin me. Make me pay for every second I spent thinking of Rose… Every moment I took her away from. I sob… And for the first time ever, it flashes in my mind. That thought of… Surrendering…. Just… giving up… Survival coming to the surface. Survive Ewa, while you still can recover from this hurt… Before you get scarred for life.. Before this evil WITCH makes you too ugly for Rose…. Survive to fight another day….
But almost immediately… Something else SNAPS… A roaring cry… A caged, trapped, wounded lioness cornered. And that thought is extinguished. No… If I do, it’s all lost. If I give in to this…. horrible SHE-BEAST… I don’t even deserve Rose… We’re not fighting over the keys to a car, or a job that I can steal later. No, I love her… I truly… deeply… love her… And I won’t be worthy of her if I let you win… I whimper… And I go… lower than I have ever done. I sink my nails into your kitty, you cry, and your legs snap open. You release your grip and roll to your back. Crying, and sobbing. Your left hand slapping on my hand on your sex, and I tighten my grip. I shake your box harshly, rocking your hips side to side. Growling.. “Cunt… Fucking… CUNT… Is that… is that where you made her bury… her tongue… Huh.. Is this… where you… let her… fucking please you??” I feel your hand clawing at my wrist even more… I’m about to lose my grip… Still on my left side, facing your right side… Your left leg still trapped under my weight I lean in, and I press my face to the bulging, full side of your right breast, and I… bite…. A short, small, but hurtful enough bite… And feeling my grip on your sex slipping, I resort to the only thing I can think of to fortify it…. I… SLIP… two fingers inside of your sex, and curl them like a fish-hook inside of you, pressing my thumb on your engorged clit… The motion made possibly mostly thanks to the… wet… soppy mess.. that your sex has become!
Like standing inches from a supernova, as it lights up the night sky, it burns. So bad. So much. Like no other attack I have ever felt. That pain blinds me, and leaves me unable to even resist at first, only comply and shriek as you roll me over. But finally, as the pain paises from searing to throbbing, aching, and tearing, I find just enough to reach down with both hands and try to pry your hand away from my sex. The angle is terrible for me, and the agony so pure that I have almost no strength with which to devote to the pull. And yet still, despite all that disparity, our arms quake with effort, as I try to remove and you try to remain within me. For a moment I feel you slipping, as your single finger starts to come loose, and find itself drug out of my molten hot folds, until suddenly that progress stops. Suddenly, your fingers relatches. Not alone, but with help, as a second finger of yours enters and then digs into my pink walls. It is then that the burning starts again — the PAIN.
As it seizes me, I writhe beneath you, my left leg pinned under your clawed body, with small drops of blood falling into the crevice between my inner thigh and my brutalized sex. Oh my god! I can’t take the pain! I think to myself, as I prepare myself to surrender. My lips part, to tell you. To beg you to stop. To give you Rose and anything you want, just to be free of this torment. But as the first syllable sets to leave my lips, you bite down, hard, on my right breast. It should push me, to give in, to concede — but instead the combined pain of it all is too great, and I can’t think let alone speak. In such a cage of decimation and dismay, my screams of pain turn to deep, animalistic moans of agony. On instinct alone, by body takes over, and I reach out, grab the back of your neck with both hands, and pull your face from my nipple, mid-breath, and bury your mouth between my swollen and scarred tits. With you there, I roll back towards you, and then bring my right knee up as hard and as fast as I possibly can, looking to plunge my kneecap right into your clit. To stun you, and get your torturous fingering to end.
I grimace in total and complete intensity. I haven’t been any more focused in my life. My right hand is soaked… Between my sweat, yours, the tinge of blood, it’s a mess… But right now, it’s mostly, and dominantly your juices, still steadily streaming from your sex, and now I PLUNGE my fingers into the source. I clamp tighter. And I feel you rock and shudder. I groan, burying my face into the side of your breast. I bite, I hear your cries. You’re trying to say something. To mumble something through the cries but I can’t understand it. You’re probably cursing me, my family, and the womb that brought me to the world. You’re probably telling me how much I do not deserve her. but right now. is not the time. It’s the time to hurt you, until you stop moving. A sensation I thought I was achieving a moment ago. But now, you’re flapping violently like a fish out of the water. It’s hard to keep my grip, and now your claws slip around me, sink into the back of my neck. And I GASP in pain. Somehow, your nails find that bundle of nerves at the base of my skull, and my jaw gapes in a loud cry. Even my right hand stops clawing and pulls out of your sex, and my ears do not miss that… POP sound it makes….
I’m trembling, shaking in pain as you turn and pull my face into your chest, i feel your breasts sliding across my cheeks. The sweat causing them to glide. The nipples grazing my skin, as I grimace and open my mouth, ready to bite again when…. Lighting strikes. And it comes in the form of your hard, pointed left knee crashing between my legs. I’ve never been hit this hard down there before. Mostly, it’s soft erratic smacks, muscled thighs crashing. The kind of pain you can shake off in seconds and fight back, thanks to our anatomy. But no. This is… different… This is a knee… smashing straight into my clit….. The bone crashing on the swollen, engorged head so hard, crushing it back against my hip bone, and my eyes widen, gasping, my teeth never closing on your skin, instead, a gasp leaves my lungs, my diaphragm clenching tightly and emptying my lungs into your skin, as my entire body shudders, my legs kicking, toes curling and scratching at my pillows. And I slink to my back, your body following, not giving me a moment’s respite… Your weight landing on me… My face buried into your chest bone… Cushioned… I feel your weight. I feel the… shocking… pain in my sex… So overwhelming… I can’t.. I can’t even scream… Because I have no air… I try to move my hands.. I see them swashing in my mind, lashing at your sides, at your head… But in reality… they are just… bunched around the sheets to my side…. In complete and total paralysis…. I’m done… Completely… and hopelessly beat….
Only now can I see again, having been blinded and blitzed by pain. Only now can my mind focus, and think of where I am, or where you are; the last few moments and maneuvers dictated by months of fights, a pain I will never forget, and a stronger desire than I can remember to escape it. But when that fog clears, and the clouds of confusion part, I find you beneath me. Your mouth buried in my tits. And your body only barely moving, as your arms flail, and wrap themselves without intention in your messied blankets. I could try to scramble to some new hold, but NO! I need this. I need to beat you. I have never felt a want this strong, or emotions this deep. So deep in fact that as I wrap my arms around the back of your neck, and bring you even tighter into my smother, I sob. Maybe, it’s over. Please, please let it be over. I chant softly in my mind, clinging to my breast smother as tightly as a child, or a last cup of water in the desert.
As I so hold, I widen my straddle of your gouge-marked abdomen, and use all my weight to press you into the bed. “Give up, Ewa….” I whisper to you, just loud enough for you to hear. “Please….” I say with a quivering and almost conciliatory voice, as I shake you, and squeeze you between my breasts as hard as I can muster. My eyelids failings to stay open, and literally every muscle in my body aching.
My brain and my body are at war. Some part inside of me, I do not know how, still wants to go on. Still wants to fight. Still believes I can win. But every muscle in my being, every fiber, is on strike. That blow, completely shut my body down. Heck, had it happened when I was still fresh, i would probably be out. But now, after all what we’ve done to each other… After all what… YOU… have have to me…. I can barely keep my eyes open… It takes all my will power to not pass out.. Despite the lack of air…
The crushing feeling of your body straddling me. Every pound of your body pushing me down. causing me to sink into the mattress. Your wet sex pressing into my clawed abs Your juices still seeping, still dripping… Slowly pooling into my belly button…
My legs are… lifeless… bent, motionless, my left one swaying slowly… trying to fan away the pain… the crushing agony in my kitty… but nothing can stop it…. It won’t fade… It’s that pain that’s keeping me from passing out…. I hear your words…. Even as you hug my head down… And press your sweaty chest into my face… I hear the words… Demanding me to give up… My lips move… I try to voice it.. I try to surrender…. But no voice leaves my throat… I don’t have it in me… I just want the pain to stop.. And you’ve hurt me so bad, I can’t even muster the words…. I try to move my right hand, but it’s limp… I left my left crawl on the sheets.. my fingers spider-crawling, towards your side, feeling up your warm skin… I let my hand… climb your flesh… just over the dip between the rise of your buttock and your side, and I just… tap… tap… tap… hoping you feel it, before my lungs collapse completely…
I feel you gently tap on my body, just above my ass, and when I do, I release you, and lift my chest from your face. Our incredible battle has ended, and I have won it, whether I deserved to or not. Somehow. Someway. Your will broke before mine did. It took us both plunging to the very depths of depravity, neither of us following any rules or limits. Each of us dirtied by the battle. Wounded and torn by it. Scarred to the depths. But did we expect less? When such hate was the cause? When love of another, set us at odds? When we each stood in the way of each others happiness? Even as those questions, and their answers are clear, I quickly climb off of you, even with fatigued and failing muscles. Then, softly, I stretch out your hands and legs on the bed, pulling each to one of the mattresses corners as you search for air and the return of a failing but never failed consciousness. Then, with equal care, and with a gentle touch, I pull up straps I had noticed hanging from each square of the frame, and secure them to your wrists and ankles.
With you so tied, nude, and still recovering, I climb back atop you, and straddle your stomach. Then, with a softness in my eyes you had not yet seen, I look down at you, as you blink away the confusion of a smother well applied. “Ewa…. I’ve realized something…. You love Rose. And as much as it pains me to say it, Rose, loves you.” As I let the words — the admissions wash over you, I smile. “And even though I beat you. Even though you submitted to me. Even though we tore each other apart, so badly that even I am afraid of what we would do to each other in a rematch, I know none of this, and nothing I could do, would stop you from wanting Rose, finding her, or even her going back to you….” As I continue to speak, I begin rubbing my hands on your stomach, and then up to your tits. Massaging them gently, caringly, making sure not to be too rough on your wounds. “Literally, all I can do, is make you love me too. It’s the only way I can stay with Rose. Near her. Without you cutting me out, or trying to.” It was nothing I expected to be thinking. Nothing I had planned. But something that I realized with how bravely you fought and the passion you showed me at every turn. A passion I look to share with you as I lean in, and softly kiss your dried lips, only to pull back a moment later to wait for your response.
I lay there… Whimpering.. tapping softly… i feel like I’m choking… Like I’m drowning under a seat of Latina sweat, and hot, warm flesh….. I am sobbing… Desperate… Am I dying?? Will you just lay down on me.. In total and complete control until I am breathing no more?? Panic is taking over… And the mere seconds between my tap until your body shifts feel like eternity…But as you finally lift up… I start to cough.. To gasp…. I try to roll to my side, to get in a fetal position… But I’m too fucking weak… My body just turns, to get the weight of my own breasts off my chest bone…. My lungs feel like they are not working, and I cough hard…. Gasping until a deep breath and hack leaves my chest…. I’ve never felt this way.. Never had anyone done this to me… Broke me so.. thoroughly…. I feel my warm tears running down my cheeks, and then… your fingers… Grabbing my wrists, my ankles… Dragging me… I whine and try to resist, but like a paper tigress soaked in water, my arms feel wet noodles… You tie me up, and all I manage between my wheezes is a weak “no… no….”…..
But you pit me down…. Laying spread-eagled on my own bed… Defeated atop my throne…. In my own turf by this total, absolute bitch… The woman who rivaled me in love… and war… The woman who proved she is just simply…. better than me…. I whimper as you straddle me…. The abuse about to start… I turn my head, biting my bottom lip… No more… I won’t beg any more… I won’t get any mercy anyways… but suddenly…. I hear your voice… soft…. warm… tender… Your touch on my skin, your fingers spreading, going up to my sore, mauled breasts… The cuts fresh, and you begin to knead them… you’re careful to not touch the claw marks…. You just massage, and even that much hurts, my eyes turn, listening to you…
In total… SHOCK…. My eyes glare at you… Is this a trick?? Is this some spell you’re putting on me…. I whimper, and I shake my head, softly saying…. “No… you’re wrong…. She loves… you….” I moan out… My tears streaming down my temples… feeling you gyrated atop of me… Grinding your kitty on my lower abs…. “She loves you, Jennifer….” I whisper the words out… Looking down… “I know she does… and it’s why… it’s why I wanted this… I want to fight you… To prove that I am more worthy… That I want her more.. That I deserve her more….” I sob, my eyes breaking, feeling your hair waterfalling on my face… “But here I am… I failed…. And now I know…. who is the better woman for her…” My words trail off, my chest shuddering with passion and emotion…. As you lean down and softly press your lips to mine… I moan out…. Feeling your kiss, then you talk about making me love you….
My eyes go wider… And I moan.. I blink a few times…. then my eyes shut… and my lips part… I feel your cracked, split lips.. I can taste your dried blood, as my tongue sloshes into your mouth… I moan… turning my head… My body tensing, as I buck up slowly, my hips lifting off the sheets, but too weak to lift your weight… as I kiss you back passionately…. “…. Make me love you….” I whisper softly between the kisses…. “… and see if you can love me back…”