Skip to toolbar

Ewa vs. The Better Woman: The Rose War – Part 2

Ewa vs. The Better Woman on FCF

The Better Woman‘s Preamble:

AaaAAAaaaalright, so remember how Ewa was the prize? Well, that turned out to be WAY true, and we were the closest of gal-pals. BUT! We wanted to tell a sexfight tale and figured returning to our fight for Rose made the most sense as a backdrop.

Now, the tale was originally going to be a multi-orgasm battle, more a marathon than a sprint, but after I came first in the tale, Ewa had real life crop up, and she could not return to the tale. So, to post it here, I altered my first round orgasm as story ending. I still think the story works, but if it seems a little short, it’s because it was originally supposed to be a much longer tale. Regardless, you’ll love it.

Jennifer – The Better Woman

I’m nice. I’m loving. I’m caring. I’m sweet. I’m cute. I’m NOT a bitch. That’s why, after our last fight, I didn’t punish you. I didn’t humiliate you. I didn’t rub my victory in your face, or demand you never see Rose again with your wrists pinned to the bed, and my snarling face an inch from yours. NO! I WAS SOFT! I WAS LOVING! I WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME AND FOR ME TO LOVE YOU! But what happened? You had to be a fucking bitch. You had to continue to try and make it a contest. CONTINUED to try and make me look bad in front of Rose. You spilled your disgusting, sludgy, green kale shake on my favorite dress. You wore the lowest cut tops you could, making it clear to both myself, but more importantly Rose that you had bigger tits. You-you constantly bumped your body into mine, with just enough force to make me stumble in my heels — shoes you know I’m not great at wearing. Why!? WHY, bitch? I wanted to know! I NEEDED to know. Did you want to fight again? Did you want me out of Rose’s life, just like before…? I practiced the questions in my head for hours. Days. Weeks! Until finally, I texted you — our first since we arranged our fight.

I was going to be so biting. Cutting. So logical in my dismantling of you and your shittiness. Paragraph after paragraph of finely tuned arguments and accusations. But when I picked up my phone, and put my fingers to keyboard, all I found within myself to say was:

[Jennifer: “Bitch, what is your f*cking problem!?”]

Quickly you responded with your nonsense. Your denials. As if I didn’t notice you comparing yourself to me every time we went out with Rose. As if I didn’t see you wait until I would step away to take selfies with her. AS IF I didn’t notice you whisper to her about me whenever you could. But I wasn’t falling for any of it. Not after I was so generous to you. Not after I let you back in, after having you perfectly placed to be thrown out.

[Jennifer: “Yeah, well … guess what, Slut-wa … we’re done. I’m done…. Done dealing with your jealous, trifling ways. Done trying to make you, Rose, and me a thing. Done letting you live without remembering that when came down to us. To Me. And. You. I beat you. And now, I’m going to do it again that is if you have the guts to even show. If you do…? My place. Tonight….”]


I really don’t fucking know what was she thinking. Is she that clouded? Truly, can someone be so freaking smart, yet jaded at the same time? Did she forget how we even met? The tension, the hype, the hours crying at night when Rose confessed to each of us that she was ‘seeing’ another woman. The heartache it brought, and the agony of deciding that we still wanted her. Bad enough to come face to face, and settle it. If she did, I sure haven’t. But I guess walking out of a fight the victress makes it easier to be gracious and forgiving. There are no sore winners afterall, only sore losers. And I know that I was one.

And even though you could have done more, I don’t know if I would have rather you smacked my face until I passed out, or did what you’ve done, leaning in, and kissing the tears off my cheeks and telling me ‘its ok, that I ALLOWED to see Rose’. Fuck that. I’m not anyone’s beta, anyone’s bitch, least of all you. But I was too tired, too weak, too beat with your knee cap grinding on my sore clit to fight back. I just nodded and sobbed, and had no choice but to bury my face into your shoulder, because you wouldn’t even let me turn around and shove it in the pillow, letting it soak in my tears and sweat. No. You still HAD to hold me, to make me feel how much control you had, and how little choice was left for me.

Yeah, right Jennifer, that’s a PERFECT friendship right there!

The following weeks and months were not any easier nor better. I could sense it in Rose’s eyes. The change was subtle, but not invisible, not UNFELT. She still kissed me, touched me, and fucked me. But it was all different. None of it was the same. I could see the way she looked at you in contrast. You were her main show. She saw you as my better. Clearly. And I’m not going to be the Robin to anyone’s Batman. I could have walked away, but that would have stung for the rest of my life. And I still… I still loved her… So it all came out in those childish, immature, subtle josts. ‘Accidentally’ spilling my water on your brand new iPhoneX. Shoving my best assets in her, and YOUR face in the lowest cut dresses I could find. I couldn’t hide my laugh when you tripped and fell down on your amazing round ass…
But I guess even YOU had your limit. And it came in the form of that text this morning. I wasn’t even up fully when I saw the first one, so I tapped on my screen, half asleep, still pretending to be sweet and deny any accusations of foul play:

[Me: “Huh? What’s wrong babe? Did you get the wrong contact again?”]

My head groggy, I IMMEDIATELY regretted giving you a way out, but then the next text came, and the one after, and within minutes I was fully awake. Adrenaline and Bile are far more potent than Java…. I fired back. Insults, accusations, fingers were pointed, and middle fingers were extended in Emoji’s. ‌ Then as you sent the last one, about BEATING ME and challenging me again I paused, I almost threw my phone across the room then I tapped rapidly:

[Me: You know what, cunt…. I never thought you’d ask again. You’re fucking ON. And this time, we’re going to record it. I’ll bring my camera, and you have yours set up. Because after I BEAT YOUR FUCKING FAT ASS, I want to watch it over and over while fucking Rose for the rest of our lives!]


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 always judge people with broken cell phone screens. Ewe, get a new one. You had insurance, right…? Doesn’t that hurt your finger…? But not a blink after I send my response…

[Jennifer: “Get your flat, white girl ass over here, right fucking NOW, bitch!’]

… I toss, no — I throw — no, I HURL my phone across the room, hearing it shatter against the accent-red wall in my living room. God, I fucking hate you. You and your stupid, gigantic tits. Your beautiful face, that makes you look like some kind of 50’s movie starlet. Your–your impossibly thick skinny thighs, and irritatingly obvious thigh gap. I hate it. All of it. I loved my entire life without having to–to compete with anyone! I was the pretty one. The sexy one. The one who got what she wanted. And since the first moment I met Rose, all I have heard about is YOU. How you were her best friend. Her mentor. Her lover. Her EVERYTHING. But then you disappeared, she told me. And it was in that lie of an absence that she fell for me, or maybe that I fell for her.

And just when it was just she and I, there you came. Messaging me. Threatening me. Challenging me. A challenge I accepted. A challenge I bested! But here we are again…. I think to myself as I quickly move about my apartment, picking up dirty laundry, and arranging things. Not even sure what I have agreed to, or how we’ll settle an already settled conflict. One that was supposed to be a brutal, bloody, destructive meeting of two claw-baring, biting, snarling, feral animals — but instead ended in my favor when I let my softer tendencies take control. God, I regret that now. I would take it back in an instant if I could. My idiocy for believing that we could have been more than enemies. My–foolishness for thinking that we didn’t have to kill each other to prove who wanted Rose more. But those mistakes can’t be fixed now. Those errors can’t be righted.

No, all I can do is be ready when you get here. Ready to beat you … again. Ready to prove that I am the better woman between us. The alpha to your beta. The ruler of both my body and yours. And so, with my cleaning done I run to my bedroom, make the bed, and then pick out my hottest, sexiest black lingerie. With thigh highs that perfectly frame my gorgeously thick thighs. Silk panties that make my ass pop. And a black, see-through bra that show off my mouth-watering tits, size irregardless. In that ensemble I pose in front of my full body mirror. Pirouetting one leg and then the other. Waiting for my doorbell to ring. For my rival to arrive. For the moment when we can finally stop the passive, and just move right on to aggressive.

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 following weeks and months were not any easier nor better. I could sense it in Rose’s eyes. The change was subtle, but not invisible, not UNFELT. She still kissed me, touched me, and fucked me. But it was all different. None of it was the same. I could see the way she looked at you in contrast. You were her main show. She saw you as my better. Clearly. And I’m not going to be the Robin to anyone’s Batman. I could have walked away, but that would have stung for the rest of my life. And I still… I still loved her… So it all came out in those childish, immature, subtle josts. ‘Accidentally’ spilling my water on your brand new iPhoneX. Shoving my best assets in her, and YOUR face in the lowest cut dresses I could find. I couldn’t hide my laugh when you tripped and fell down on your amazing round ass…
But I guess even YOU had your limit. And it came in the form of that text this morning. I wasn’t even up fully when I saw the first one, so I tapped on my screen, half asleep, still pretending to be sweet and deny any accusations of foul play:

[Me: “Huh? What’s wrong babe? Did you get the wrong contact again?”]

My head groggy, I IMMEDIATELY regretted giving you a way out, but then the next text came, and the one after, and within minutes I was fully awake. Adrenaline and Bile are far more potent than Java…. I fired back. Insults, accusations, fingers were pointed, and middle fingers were extended in Emoji’s. ‌ Then as you sent the last one, about BEATING ME and challenging me again I paused, I almost threw my phone across the room then I tapped rapidly:

[Me: You know what, cunt…. I never thought you’d ask again. You’re fucking ON. And this time, we’re going to record it. I’ll bring my camera, and you have yours set up. Because after I BEAT YOUR FUCKING FAT ASS, I want to watch it over and over while fucking Rose for the rest of our lives!]


At least she told you about me. At least you had a heads up, that I existed. At least you had time to prepare mentally, that someone like me was around, stomping somewhere in that world. I… I never had that luxury…. Completely and utterly blindsided by her LIE, I was stunned. I was taken out of balance. Perhaps that’s the only reason I could tolerate defeat. That I kept telling myself I was still out of balance, disoriented. That the 48 hours beforehand composed of long bawling out episodes, intermittent by short sobbing breaks was the reason. The lack of sleep. The absolute pain in my heart. That this is why I faltered and lost to you.

Such was the LIE I told myself, to tolerate looking at myself in the mirror since that day….
But no more.. No.. fucking… MORE….

I stood in my own bedroom. A massive pile of almost every bit of lingerie creating a little mountain on the sheets. While I posed and turned, staring at myself in the full-sized mirror. Casting judgemental looks at my own body. The one I never doubted, never saw a flaw in, all until the day we met. All until I stared at your flawless Girl-Next-Door looks, the large doe eyes, the soft lips and your immaculate skin. Your perky breasts that just flipped mine off and simply stated ‘so what, size doesn’t matter’, and that large, round ass of yours that cackled loudly proclaiming ‘except for here.’ I fucking hated how you made me doubt myself just by existing in the same space as me. And how you proved that day, that your body can take mine on, and out.

And with a long sigh, I cast one last glance at my 5’4″ 118lbs body. The black thigh high fishnets. The black and orange corsette with the built-in garter hooked up to my stockings. The black thong, that I know will be among the first things to GO when we lock the door. I toss my hair over y shoulder, and mildly satisfied that this is the best I’ve gotten. The lingerie I bought for Valentine’s day with rose, and yet, here I am, wearing it for the FIRST TIME, with violent sex in mind instead of soft lovemaking. With YOU instead of her. I grab a long trenchcoat and wrap it around me, I tie the belt, and with a stomping march, I leave my place, and get in an uber. I won’t have the legs to drive after this. So this is definitely the right call. And 20 minutes later, I get off in front of your place, and with a pounding in my heart, I hammer hard on your door with my clenched fist. I can’t slow down. I can’t give myself a moment to pause and reflect. It has to be this way.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


So many times women have knocked at my door. Girlfriends coming over for a night of Grey’s Anatomy. Challengers I met on FCF coming to see whose confidence was real and whose was false. And though I have been ready for each one of them. Anticipated each one of them. Been waiting for each one of them with bated breath. I have NEVER felt like this. NEVER been more ready to just destroy them when they arrived. I don’t even want to talk to you. Don’t even want to look at you. You make me fucking ill. Just the thought of your fake smile, perfect teeth, and masterfully-applied makeup. UGH!

But even with all of that being true, when you pound on my door, I almost go blind with rage and dizzy with emotion. How can I even make it to the door, let alone open it in this state…? How can I even feel like this, when we haven’t even begun yet. How will I make it through whatever battle comes when I already have near-infinite amounts of adrenaline running through my body unchecked. Before those questions have even run through my mind, let alone being answered, I storm. My feet pounding, even on my soft, carpeted floor. My heart doing no less, as it hammers like a jack in my chest. My blood boiling as I seethe. My eyes narrowed and hateful, setting lose daggers as my hand comes to the handle. My lips open and ready to curse at you, and tell you what a bitch you are and what I intend to do to you as soon as the door opens.

Such a plans goes awry immediately, however, for as soon as the handle turns, and door swings, my left hand shoots out, and grabs a handful of your hair, dragging you into my apartment. Our eyes locked and etched in the fire of hades as I pull you into me. Glaring at you, with our noses not centimeters apart. Before you have had a chance to respond or counter my brazen engagement, I snarl at you with words. “Never again, bitch….” I say without context before releasing your hair, and with a petulant shove, push you a foot away from me. Giving you time and space to lose your ugly cover.


I pound hard on your desk. I don’t fucking care if your neighbors hear. In fact, I fucking HOPE to give you a scandal. To get you kicked out, not only from Rose’s bed and OUR lives, but out of your fucking apartment. How sweet is that? Having gone through a premature move myself, I know how you would curse every day you’ve known me packing and unpacking every box, dealing with movers breaking your stuff and countless Uber trips to transport your valuables. But as the door open and my lips curl to utter one of the many, many prepared taunts I had rehearsed in my mind on the way here….

“Oh there you are, and I thought you’d be halfway down the fire esca—-AARRGHHH!!”
I yelp, my eyes going wide in shock, and… FEAR!! I see the fire in your eyes, the rage, the animosity and violence, and my heart just plummets…. No… Not another catfight…. But my head is just yanked forwards HARD, dipped down, as I squeel in pain and stagger forwards, bumping into you and feeling the burns in my scalp; “WHAT THE.. FUCKKK NOOOOO!!” I whine in a girl’ish manner, as you twist me in and thrust me into your living room.

My 3″ heels stumble over your rug, and I’m GLAD your floors are not bare or hard wood, or I would have slipped and fell down, to a VERY bad start. But I spin, and whip my head back, my eyes squinted in a mixture of anger and horror. But trying to keep myself from getting paralyzed. The trauma and fear of our last fight has NOT faded. And while it’s EASY to act bitchy with Rose around, while it’s easy to tell myself that it was a fluke, that I could kick your ass ANYTIME. Now that we’re glaring at the other. Now that I’ve felt once more the violent power of your arm, got a harsh reminder of how QUICK you are, and how volatile and crazy, I can feel my heart sink…. I… I am not ready for this….

But as you slam the door shut, I see you turn the lock, and my hands come up, ready to defend myself. But you don’t rush me again, you just stand there, staring at me. And I blink, my heart pounding. There is no followup attack. Nothing, and I clench my teeth. Mother… fucker!!!
My anger begin to bubble inside my chest and veins… Glaring at you, as I reach down, and I pull my trenchcoat’s belt. I flick the buttons and I shrug it down, dropping it and revealing my lingerie. My Valentine’s suit that I bought for a VERY different person and occasion. My hands go to my hips, glaring at you. “So bitch…. Here I fucking am…” I sneer, as we continue to glare, and I suddenly see it in your eyes… The same kind of look…
Jealousy… Anger… Lust.. and… fear…

You too, do not want another catfight. Even you, with odds on your side, are too SANE to do it again…. And we just glare… I then see it… There, hanging just inches off your own heel…. And I walk forwards towards you, slowly… Not to alert you, but instead of pushing my body to you… I bend down, and I pick it up… One of your cotton panties….. That you must have forgotten to pick up when you rush cleaned the place…. I bring it up in my hand… It’s… so soft… A bit wet… And it’s CLEARLY not fresh out of the washing machine… I bring it up and I… Toss it… at your face… Letting it hit your nose, lips, and drop down tumbling down your heaving breasts….

“Sloppy… Filthy… Pig…. Look at you.. Look how you live, you disgusting Slob….”


Literally every fiber in my being wants to fight you. Hurt you. Cause you so much pain that you wilt beneath me, and beg me to stop. I can see it in my mind. Your precious fucking lips, forming not insults but pleas. Your eyes wet with tears. Your body shaking beneath me as I punish you as I SHOULD have done after our first fight. But then it happens. It hits me. Like a bolt of lightning, one that strikes as soon as I pull your body to mine. One that travels down my arm and through my body. Fear. Intense, animalistic, terror. I hate you to the very depths of my soul, now more than EVER, but I cant … we can’t … Not again….

It took me weeks to recover from our fight. Weeks of bed rest and calling in sick. Everyone I knew asking how I became bruised, clawed, and unable to sit straight or walk right. And what answer could I have given them? That I fought naked some Polish girl to win the heart of my lover…? A lover they didn’t even know…? It sounds as ridiculous now as it would have been then. And so I lied. Over and over again. Skiing accident. ATV crash. Car wreck. ANYTHING I could think of to avoid telling them the truth, and every one of those lies brought the truth back home. Putting it in the center of my mind and life. That despite the moments of softness. That despite my generous decision not to humiliate you. You hurt me. Not just my heart by competing for Rose’s love, but my body. You left it damaged. Broken. WOUNDED, even in victory.

It is that painful admission, and a fear of it all happening again, that makes me release your hair and push you back. It is then and there that I have to reanalyze. Rethink. Why did I bring you here, to my apartment, to my HOME, if not to fight you. If not to break you again, this time to revel in the consequences. But before I have even a clue, I see it in your eyes. In your movements. In the way you are looking at me. In the way you looked when I grabbed you. In your words of panic. You aren’t here to fight like that either. To fight like cats, scratching and clawing at each other until one of us bleeds. Until one of us gives in to the pain. No…. You have something VERY different in mind. Something that brings a smirk to my face as you slowly, cautiously walk towards me…. A smirk you immediately steal when you again insult me and throw my own, admittedly wet panties at my face.

As they drop down. Slide down from my nose, to my mouth, and then land on my perfectly presented tits, I barely resist the urge to pounce. Barely contain my own, still intensely volatile anger. Doing so only because the terms need to be set. The rules of this new battle. “Ewa, fuck you….” I responde, needed desperately to cleanse my brimming rage. “You know, and I know, you aren’t here to talk about my housekeeping. You’re here, because you are tired of competing with me. Tired of ME competing with YOU….” With miraculous restraint, I am able to calmly speak, even as we glare at each other.

“So I say, we bring it to and end. I SAY, we have one last competition. Not with claws, and teeth. But with bodies. With WILLS. Mine vs. yours. Me vs. you. A contest to see which of us is really worthy of Rose. Who will be sexier for her. Who will be hotter for her. Who can turn her on, and make her melt in our grasp…. If that little Polish brain can’t process what I’m saying, I can dumb it down for you….”


There we are. Standing chest to chest, nose to nose. You’re a bit taller. A bit heavier. But that’s not what’s scaring me. What’s intimidating me. I know how tough I am, and not once in my life have I hesitated to throw myself at bitches twice my size. But you. You’re fucking different. It’s not your size that scares me, but my first hand knowledge of what you can do. How long a fight with you can last, with your ridiculous endurance. How STUBBORN you are. How you matched every pull of your hair with one back at mine. How you made sure not a single SLAP or SPANK not be returned back with one as loud and stinging, second later. How you refused to lay under me, without taking the top position seconds later. How you did not let go of my hair, my flesh, my skin, or uncoil our legs without having some form of LINKING between us as we tumbled through the living room, down the hallway, to the bedroom floor, then the bed itself.

No. It’s not a physical fear. It’s a primal, urgent, bitter one. That makes my eyes well with tears of frustration right now, that have little to do with the stinging pain in my scalp from your sharp hairpull.

“… Bitch…” I hiss with all the bitterness in my heart. The complete loss of thought and lack of any form of plan or plot against you. The frustration that I truly, know no tactic or strategy to beat you with.

I fling the panties, in an insult. a taunt, that sounds now WAY more childish that it did in my head. And you just glare at me. And begin to speak. My brain screams at me; ‘SHUT HER UP! INTERRUPT HER! CUT HER OFF!’ But I can’t. I just stand there, mesmerized, listening to you, lay the groundwork for us. You’re telling me precisely what I wanted, and never figured it out until this moment. You lay the strategy, the only path forwards. You’re right. It shouldn’t be about who is tougher, stronger, cattier, or who can put the other in hospital bed the longest, or make her sob in her bath tubs more, or take more days off work. No. It’s about who is truly…..




I find myself glaring, then taking a step towards you, one step that finally causes our mismatched breasts, at least in size, meet up with a soft kiss. The see through bra, against the corsette. I can no longer sense anything but your own fucking scent. No perfume. I wore none. I’m only wearing my essence, and you yours.

“Thank God this is not an IQ contest either then, Jennifer…… Or I would have ran circles around you, CUNT. But yeah. I know EXACTLY what you are saying, whore.” And then suddenly, you feel it, my breasts pressing… MORE… into yours. I’m practically leaning into you. My arms straight down. You might not notice it at first, but you could probably hear it, or feel it. My fingers pushing into my own thong’s waist, and sliding it down. Just enough, it goes down my slender thighs. Not as thick as your own. But you know what they are capable of.

And as the panties slip past the gentle muscled curves of my quads and hamstring, it just drops down to the floor. And I step out of it, one heel at a time, my stockings brushing with yours. Baring myself, voluntarily. My chest slides off yours, and I step back. One step at a time, so you can see me, you can really SEE me. Not that you haven’t before. In failed threesomes and even that night we tore each other’s clothes off. You see it, my smooth, waxed kitty. With the tender glisten to it. Already wet. Already hot. Already eager, and WANTING at this, at you.


My eyes move from yours down to your lips as you speak. Speaking to me of an IQ test, again trying to bait me with insults that are frankly below us. Below this. Below a rivalry that has only had one, and now two flashpoints, but is as hot as any I have ever experienced. But even as you chide, I can feel you leaning into me. Challenging me with your fucking tits. Tits I hate so GODDAMN MUCH THEY MAKE ME WANT TO SCREAM. Yes, because of jealousy. Yes, because they’re bigger than mine. Yes, because if I didn’t hate you. Loath you. Want to best you and remove you from my life, I’d want to touch. To suck. To play with. And despite that truth, that your tits drive me insane as they press into me, I have to focus. Have to ignore them. This isn’t a titfight. This isn’t a test of strength. It’s about turning each other on. About sex, plain and simple. But are you ready for that…?

Are you ready to forego your anger — your disgust — your hate, and kiss me…? Finger me…? Fuck me, not to make my pussy burn and ache but to explode with an orgasm that will steal my world from me…? No…. I don’t see it. I don’t feel it…. Even as you take one step back and then another. Even as you slide your sexy black panties down your thighs. Even as they pass from there to your calves and then to my floor…. No, during all of that I can sense it. Your blistering confidence hides a lack. Not of sex. Not of fighting. But of combining those two in the way we are about to.

With that perceived weakness in my mind, and without taking my own already wet panties off in some misguided attempt at fairplay, I act. By taking one large step forward, and pressing myself to the left side of your body. Pinning your shoulder between my still bra-covered breasts, and wrapping my left arm around your back until I can take a firm hold of your right hip. Only to then, with my right hand, reach down between your thighs, and immediately take a firm hold of your kitty. My thumb pinching down on the very end of your mound, and my middle finger presses into your clit. God you are so wet. So turned on, even by the issuance of this challenge and our re-kindled hatred for one another, but no more than I.

I let my pinch linger for just a moment before I start to massage your most sensitive of triggers. All as I lean in, and whisper with a voice dripping with sensuality and emphasized desire in your ear. “Looks like you lost your panties, slut….” Even hearing them, my own words makes me smirk with confidence, knowing that had someone done the same to me, I would melt in their hands. But before I wait to see if such will be your reaction, I lean in even further and begin to gently kiss down your neck.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


Time for fucking talk is over. The challenge was uttered. The gauntlet was laid. The gloves… errr—- the panties, at least mine is off….. I back away from you, glaring at you. I see the intense, deep, wild glare you give me. You’re not intimidated, not by a mile. You just glare at me, and I part my lips, wanting to egg you to take your own thong off; “What are you wai—-UUURRGHHH!!” I gasp as you RUSH me. You don’t pounce, and I’ve fucking SEEN you pouncing, like a wildcat, with her claws out. You don’t, you just charge and with utter quick motion slide to my left side, your breast framing my left arm and trapping it, my hand pinned to my left hip between it and your crotch. “FUCKING CUNT!” I screech and try to wiggle, but your left hand wraps around my farther hip and HOLDS me tightly.

The right, slips down and I GASP, my eyes going wide, and if I was not already in my 4″ heels I would have tip toed, as your fingers press and sroke my sex. All of it. Your middle and thumb stretching, rubbing my clit and the ase of my sex, as I groan in shock. I try to dance away, but you HOLD on to me tightly. Grabbing me and rubbing me further, harder, faster. Your fingers pressing on my clit and dragging along my slit… “nnnghhhh!!”

You can sense the weakness and shock, as you lean in, taunting and pressing your lips to my neck. FUCK!! I twist, I shudder and try to squirm away… But… Ugghhh.. to what avail.. You are grabbing me firmly, and with that hold on my pussy, I have no way to fight out… My right hand moves down, going for your wrist, trying to pull at your hand, but a fight in this close proximity to my sex won’t work well. You will accidentally scratch or scape my labia, and end up hurting me MORE… “FUCK!” I yelp again, stumbling back towards our kitchen counter, feeling it against my bare ass…..

I breathe hard. tilting my head.. No.. I need to.. uggh.. focus… My pussy is getting warmer, WETTER… And I twist my trapped left hand until my palm is facing your own crotch… still thong covered, and I just begin to… rub… my palm over it…. massaging it in a small circle… nothing TOO effective, but it’s at least a distraction, paying you back a fraction… My right hand coming up and grabbing your head by the hair tightly, i YANK sharply, pulling your pretty brown hair down, turning my face, as I try to control your head, and I lean down, lassshhhinnggg my tongue across your lips… licking them, before pressing my lips on yours, giving you an intense kiss that I try to make as dominant as I can!

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


RIGHT where I want you. Behind. Reacting. Off-balance. At that moment, with my left hand keeping you from fully turning, my right hand setting to work, moving up and down, left and right over your trigger, as I listen, look and FEEL for even the slightest reaction. Wanting to know what pleases you. What makes you whimper. What makes you shake. What makes you shiver. As I knew you would, given the fight you showed in our — well — fight, you move your hand to my still-worn panties, and as best you can from your angle try to rub me. I feel it, more than I would have imagined through the silk and given your lack of room from which to launch such an attack. But I can’t let you know that. Can’t let you know that I feel anything. Not when I can break your psyche now — your will now, by showing you that I am a goddess of sex, and lust and you are, or SHOULD be, my worshiper.

As moments pass, with my middle fingers sliding over your clit, moving further down into your moist valley with every venture, you can’t help but react. And when you do, I press harder, deeper, and longer. Even as your own palm rubbing begins to take effect, causing me to let out the smallest little whimpers, sounds I try to hide from you. But just as I make that attempt, you grab a handful of my beautiful brown hair, and pull my head to the side. Then, like a fucking snake you lash your exposed tongue against my lips. Lips I try to keep closed. Try to deny you, until you do it. Until you kiss me.

I have had so many sexfights. So many challengers, including Rose, our painfully mutual love interest. And despite my numerous victories I have had one, steady weakness. A kiss. It affects me so, even from women I do not know, or even those I hate. Even when it comes from YOU. A fact that I hate, but am forced to deal with, as your lips press to mine, and within an instant I soften. My grips on you weakening. My middle finger lifting, and almost retracting. My mind spinning with so many feelings, half of them dark and the other half a swirl of lust and desire. Knowing that my reaction has betrayed me, and shown you something I needed you not to know, I suddenly, release you and try to push you away from me. Hoping that you might assign my reaction to something other than what it was. Something other than a weakness for kissing.

But even with that hope, I find your grip on my hair tight, and with it you keep me from escaping. Pulling me back to you, and my body into yours. There our eyes meet, as our mismatched chests press. Hard nipples felt even through our bras. The wet spot on my panties, and a no more dry tip of your valley meeting as I avert my eyes.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


“uuuhhh!!! UUuuuggggggghhh!! FUUUUCKKK!!” I squirm and yelp, my ass trapped against the kitchen counter. The perfect anvil for your tapping, hammering, artisan fingers to work my clit and slit. “No no no NOOOO!! GET OFF MEEEE!” I yelp and shudder, my hand pushing, tugging, trying to stop you, but it’s only making it worse. Your wrist intensifies and your fingers latch more, rubbing and poking and prodding. And for nearly a minute, I am trapped like this. Come on knees, don’t get weak. Don’t… falter….. FUCK… My eyes shut, turning my head away, from your kisses, but you get what youwant… But when I grab for your hair, when you pull you in, and our lips meet. I feel that sudden intensity. The way your fingers prod, and your thumb GRINNNDSS into my labia… and then… it comes off!

Your hand pulls off and away from me, and in that instant, everything changes. Our dynamic and leverage. You begin to pull away, and I turn to you, my right hand reaching around and SMACKING your curvy, buttock, giving it a hard spank. I hold it, mostly to stop you from slipping away as we slide and push, jockeying for position against the marble of the kitchen’s counter. At least youfucking cleared it off.

My breasts grinding, rubbing against yours. It’s not just size, but the heavy patterning of my corsette, rubbing through the thin layer of see-through mesh of your bra…. Adding to your nipples irritation, rubbing it. You keep struggling, but my right hand slides between your cheeks and dips down, reaching around, and I start to rub and finger the base of your sex from behind… The kiss breaking, you gasp and I snarl out “What’s fucking WRONG, Jenn? And here I thought you were all about breaking and entering!”

My body suddenly turning, not to pin you to the counter, but cupping your butt, and pulling on your hair, leveraging myself and pushing and with a little bit of struggle I drop you on it, but I don’t climb up, I don’t pounce, I just slither between your flailing thighs, my left hand PUSHING on your abs, to keep you down, as my face dips down, and I start to kiss your covered, wet thong… My fingers prodding, rubbing, prodding and with a sharp TUG, ripping it down, as my tongue begins to work it’s magic on your swollen labia.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig-2.png


Like a pendulum, momentum was mine and then yours. As our very first kiss, triggered my deepest of weaknesses. A weakness which, due to the age of our current struggle, I have no counter to. No matching achilles to attack. No button that I might push to reset our engagement or even get away. Instead, as you pull me back in. And your heavy breasts weigh down on my. Almost choking me, both literally and figuratively, with their beauty, size, and corset-born presentation. But worse your lips find their way to mind again, and I have nothing. My eyes closing and mind whirling as you take full control. Reaching around me, then under my beautiful cheeks, only to come back up between my thighs. There, you begin to rub me, and I can’t help but moan. My hands moving to your shoulders to try and push you away.

But like an octopus of sexual ownership, you are all over me, not letting me have a moment to recover or reset. Instead, you only break out kiss to taunt me. Pointing out my sudden state of dismay. As I respond with a breathless: “Shut up, bitch….” You move your hands to my healthy Latina ass and lift me to the kitchen counter at my back. There, before I can get back down, or find even a moment’s respite, you drop to a crouch and align your beautiful face with my sex. I want to act. To do something. ANYTHING to end this moment of full Ewa control, but instead, as you threaten, looking up at me with hungry lioness eyes, I freeze. I — I — let you. Putting forth not even a modicum of resistance as you press your lips to my wet panties, and begin to kiss them softly.

Finally, at such an act I raise my hands and look to send them at your face to keep you at bay. But sensing a growing fire within me you rip down my panties, and dive in. Dive deep. And go to work on my molten hot labia. Such an attack leaves my hands to land on your head, in your hair, but instead of pulling or pushing, they simply — gently, come down to a rest. Not just uselessly, but traitorously, as they begin to guide you to just the right spots.

How could this have happened!? Within minutes I have gone from huntress to prey. Not only prey, but willing, lustful prey. GOD! I hate it! I hate you! I hate myself! And yet still, even with all that hate I can do nothing. Nothing but let my head fall back, and hair cascade down my back. My eyes shutting. My lips parting. And my vocal chords releasing as clear a sign of enjoyment as is possible. Moans. Whimpers. And even curses, as my legs lift, and in a sign of such horrific submission, softly come to rest on your shoulders. “Shit…. Fuck…. Ewa….”

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


We’re here to fucking fight. I am. But it’s nothing like last time. It’s not a series of brutal attacks, grappling, and attempts to fucking almost literally dismember and maim the other. But this is different. Neither of us want that. Because we both FEAR going through that again. No. This is a very different battle. A very different war. This is woman to woman. Testing and using our entire arsenals against one another. Sexual heavy artillery to prove who is the one worthy of her. Of Rose. to put it once and for all behind us. My body pushes into yours, and I wrest you down on the counter. You squirm and yelp. You tell me to shut up, which is SLUT TALK for ‘Oh you fucking got me!’ — I suddenly feel encouraged and empowered. My left hand pushing down on your abs, that feel like steel cords, your Latina ass so large and round, it’s propping your kitty towards my face, and I go to down on it.

You wiggle, moan to each touch. And when I finally rip your panties down, your symphony gets louder and intensifies. Your curvy thick things move up all of a sudden and I feel them against my ears, I panic for a moment. Would she go for a head crusher? But instead, they just rest on my shoulders, and I PUSH My head down. I purse my lips and SPIT hard on your pussy… Real… HARD… And not once, not twice, but THRICE. Letting you feel the contempt I have for your amazing, your perfect, your rival sex.

My mouth opening, and I line up my nose with your clit, poking on it, my tongue slashing up and down along your slit, I lick up, and then use the back to swipe down. Fast furious motions, my right hand fingers pressed between your cheeks, Spread between them. My thumb poking at the tiny bit of skin between your rosebud and the base of your sex…. I hear your moans…. But I don’t stop. They only make me intensify, pushing and rubbing and stroking, my tongue darting up between your labia. They are tightened, your kegels clenched. I poke again, and again, wiggling and slowly forcing them apart…

You squirm and moan, your abs knot but I GRIND down on them…. Your hips buck, and my tongue finally DIPS into your crevice… And with that, a small gush of your honey, and a puff of your scent leaks out…. My tongue curls up and begins to dart in and out through the ransacked gates. Like a sexual marauder, determined to pillage your sacred city. My thumb moves up, and slowly curls, pushing inside of you too, keeping your slit wedged open… And pursing my lips I.. SPIT… a fourth time.. this time INSIDE of you…. My eyes wide, my cheeks smeared in your thigh sweat…. I moan and slide my mouth up, and wrap my lips around your clit… I suckle, lick, and poke on it. It’s fully unsheathed… And I want it bigger and harder…. My fingers shifting up, and I fill the void my tongue left with TWO fingers, my middle and forefinger, poking and rubbing and stroking your insides…. Moaning as I fuck and suck you feverishly.


There is a moment when you know. When you can FEEL it. You’re done. You want it. You NEED it. You can’t resist even a second longer, not that you are ready to orgasm, but that you are ready to give in to your opponent, and let her drag you there. No kicking. No screaming. Just submission. Just allowance. And as sick as it makes me — as much as I hate you — that moment has arrived. Or did arrive like a bolt of soul-crushing lightening, that is … until you spit on me.

When you do — when you let loose your projectile of hatred into my pussy, my head lifts back forward, and eyes harden in anger. Then you do it again, and my entire body stiffens as my mind, for a moment, forgets all about what you’re doing, or how amazing you are at it. I go to move, to get you the fuck off of me, and rejoin our sexual battle of wills with all the force and vigor I had when we began. But before I can turn thought to action, your fingers and tongues return to me in force, and again, I writhe in your grasp. Almost squirming on the counter. My resistance again softening, as you pour your every ounce of energy into pleasing me, and tearing an orgasm from my body. With that as chain, you again drag me towards sexual oblivion. Again pull me to defeat. But then again you spit, not on me, but inside of me! Only to bury yourself in me again, moaning to please me, even though I could not be more adverse to that cause. An aversion you feel as I flex my kegels, trying to eject you from my sex.

Through that resistance you push, and focus on my clit. Drawing it out, and coaxing it to join your case. Despite my growing hatred, anger, and ability to fight back, you continue, and like a lustful whore I can’t help but scream out in pleasure as I bend over at the waist, pushing through the resistance of your hand, only keeping upright by my hands which move from your hair to your shoulders. And though I reach such a place by your designs, I quickly turn my position to my own. As I use my hands to shove you, hard, not away but down. To the floor. To your back. I see your eyes in a flash as I step down from the counter.

The thought comes to me to cross our thighs, and trib you. But as soon as it does, I dismiss the idea, my body already too close to orgasm to dare take you on in such a mutual opportunity for pleasure. And so I instead dismount and then remount, moving from the admittedly dirty counter, into a straddle of your hips. Hips I keep pinned to the floor as I lay down atop you, pull one of your tits from your corset. Thereafter bringing my mouth to it, not in a bite this time but in a soft, tongue-swirling kiss of your rock-hard nipple. Looking to slow the pact of our battle down, needing time to recover from your masterful tonguing.


I have you… I fucking… DO… I know it… I can feel it in my soul, in my core… You… are… MINE…. I moan as I suck on your clit, my head moving up and down, bobbing softly…. treating it like a tiny cock, that I’m giving a BJ too… rubbing my lips around the sides, pulling it up, stretching it a bit, but NOT releasing before I push down… my tongue lightly tapping, rubbing on the tip… My fingers, rubbing your insides, turning, brushing, expertly seeking and trying to find your G-spots… All of them…. Using my left hand on your abs as my seismograph…. Detecting every tremor and shudder that goes through them to figure out how close I am to your secret buttons…. I find one… move to the next… and the next… Finding three so far, gathering data, info, intel on this bitch that will come in handy sooner or later….

But then, all of a sudden I feel your feet pushing on my shoulders and youSHOVE hard.. Not away, no, with a downwards motion, and not expecting it, I yelp and fall back, my lips releasing your clit with a POP, and my fingers yank out, soaked, a thick line of your honey stretching from them to your slit….

Your butt slips off the counter and you come CRASHING down on me.. I yelp and try to twist… Expecting you to CRUSH me under your knee or hammer your chest down, but you land much gentler than I thought, but youare pissed off and determined… You grab my left leg and pull it up in the air, and you slide your naked, wet sex alongthe inside of my pinned down left thigh.. “UUUGHHH FUCKER!! GET OFF ME!!!!” I yelp and protest, trying to push up but you SHOVE me down, sliding up and mashing your sex into mine.. “OH GAWWD!!!”
I moan as my body arches, and I shudder for a moment, twisting like a dancing snake to your invisible siren call…. You gyrate atop of me, tribbing me for few seconds, and I grit on my teeth, my hands sliding up into my own hair, my teeth clenched, and without saying it out loud, my EYES do, an unspoken “BRING IT” as I gyrate up, and grind my sex into your volatile, unstable one…. I see the way your eyes widen, and your lips part, even you know it’s not a good idea.

But you change plans, you drop down on me, my right leg wedged up over your left thigh, I curl it around your naked ass, and I feel you pushing at my left breast, popping it from the corsette then “OH GAWWDD!!” I moan even louder as you start to make out with my breast… With my nipple… SUcking on it and licking it like I did your clit… “FUUUUCKKK!!” I gasp as I moan and gyrate back…. Grinding, my right hand reaching for your hair, but not to grab, just to rub through it, massaging your scalp…. FUCK this amazing bitch….

My left hand moving down and I start to SPANK your right buttock.. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK!! Four times, then I grab the bright pink cheek and pull, spreading you a bit, and with my right leg coiled around your upper thigh and hip, I shift my hips and resume the grinding, the tribbing…. You have the upper position, but I can still finish you off from down here… And I’m going to prove it… My hand pulling on your buttock, spreading your ravaged sex for the last wave of assault… Determined to bring your city down.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 1129036_orig.png


Despite my best efforts, and aimed straddle of your abdomen, you adjust in only the slightest, and catch me like a spider. Using my own downward momentum to let me drop into your masterfully positioned legs. Crossing our thighs at an angle sure to allow you access, access that I should have avoided at all costs. For I am too close. Your tongue having done its work well. My clit still exposed. My labia still dripping with your saliva and yearning for more. And it is both of those, and so much more, that makes me shudder when you catch me. Gasp in shock and terror as your leg wraps around my hips. Let out a plaintiff, “nooo…”, as your hands reach my ass and drag my kitty forward into yours. Despite my mistake, and your master stroke of repositioning, I fight on. Continuing with my plan of pleasing you, by letting my lips and tongue attend to your now exposed nipple.

Despite that valiant attempt at pressing through, our every meeting of clits lands like a hammer on an anvil. And with each my body softens, mouth opens, and focus on our positioning fades. For the distance I had earned from my own excitement has been erased in an instant, and back with you I find myself, on the very precipice of passion. Pushing me closer and closer to the edge, even as I put all of my efforts into countering. Into fucking you so hard, dragging my clit so intensely against yours that I hope to catch up.

I can hear it, my progress. As you whimper, and moan. Sounds which get louder as my my head drifts slowly upward towards yours — no longer lavishing your nipple. No longer focused on anything other than surviving this onslaught. God I think of everything. ANYTHING I can to stop myself from climbing. Baseball. Men with hairy backs. Men in general, ewe. But soon, even those bellwether allies fail me, as you continue to fuck me. Continue to trib me. Each of your thrusts getting stronger, as my grow weaker. A transfusion of power that reaches its pinnacle, just as my face, has slid up your breasts and body until we rest cheek-to-cheek. Despite the warmth there shared, and the proximity of the face of the woman I hate more than any other person, I see not the final blow when it comes. Expect it not in the slightest, as you turn your head and pres your lips to mine in soft, sensual kiss. One that in a moment that feels not unlike a star going supernova, I explode atop you with a lustful scream that echoes through my apartment, 34th floor, and half the building. My body shaking. My eyes closing. My toes curling. And my hands making their way to your hair, only for a grip there upon to help me ride through my shameful, heartbreaking orgasm. On that ends with me in tears, as I roll off you to the side. My hands cupping my face, as I sob, having been defeated in an instant, by my most hated rival. Broken and forced to cum, and in so doing, having my love stolen from me. In a battle I never should have agreed to. To a woman I should have disposed of when I have the chance.


My lips purse shut. My hand shifting through your silky hair, rubbing your scalp. Moaning, lightly scratching, as I try to hold myself from… moaning… from exposing how fucking effective your assault is. Both bottomless, and now, I have one breast exposed. My fishnet clad leg around your hip holding you tightly, my left propped into the floor and I just… GRIND up… I can’t slam. I can’t smack. I can’t FUCK. Because your wider, curvier, sexier hips just press mine down, in this attempt to have me pinned and rob me from my focus, my resistance, my Rose.

But I won’t fucking let you.. I just fucking CAN’T!! I grimace and twist, thrashing, and flicking… I use my own clit to poke.. TO drag.. To brash.. And even as my nipple buds out against your tongue, that is so expertly swirling, slashing, rubbing and fencing it into throbbing bliss. I fight back. I don’t think of men or sports. No. I think of Rose. I think of her pretty, joyful face. Of her pouty lips. Of her gentle touch. And then I think of you. Of us on that bed. At the end of our fight. Of how you rode me like this. Of how you ground my battered, scratched, bruised body down. Of how you forced me to cum. And that. Look. You gave me. That look of arousal, victory, and lust. Of your words to me, that you would… ALLOW… me back in… Of how you gloated and rubbed it in, that I’m just a guest. I’m your fucking bitch, who you will craft her a golden framed puppy door door at the kitchen entrance, to come through, on all fours, whenever you please it.

And with that, I just grind. With that determination and focus, I fight you back. I trib you back, until I feel your mouth parting. You gasp. You moan, and I slide my hand down, cupping your neck, I don’t want you pulling back, I push your lips into my breast, I let your lipstick smear my supple flesh. And then you gasp, you shudder, and explode. “YESSS YESSSSSS!!” I gasp out as I shudder and thrash, then after I feel your cum streaming down on my pussy and thigh I release you, and you slide off me, falling to my right, laying on your side, and covering your face…

I just lay there for a minute. Panting. Breathing hard. I gulp. I try to calm down my heart. It’s racing at 200+ BPM. My thighs tremble, my nipples throb and my sex is just… spasming… wanting out like yours…. And maybe.. I will allow it. But first….

I slowly roll to my right side. Facing you, and with a soft PUSH on your shoulder, I roll you to your back. I lazily slide over you. Taking my time. A little smirk on my face, as I slide up, letting my soaked pussy leave a trail of YOUR cum across your soft, heaving abs. My clit, nestling into your navel. A perfect fit. My left hand moving up, and softly, brushing your brown hair off your face, my fingers pulling your hands off, so I can look you straight in your eyes.

“You… Lose… Jenn… How does it feel, hmm? How does it feel, losing the most important fuck fight of your life, against the better woman?” I purr, my voice soft, almost kind. Like a teacher berating a student. My fingertips gently brushing your hair back. It’s pure arrogance. Crushing condescendence. I want you to suffer. I want you to feel the humility of it all.

“Shall I call Rose and tell her, or do you want me to give you the phone, to do it yourself? I’m sure it’s going to be REAL emotional and embarrassing. So I will watch.” I purr in sadistic delight.


It all happened so fast. What? EVERYTHING! A text conversation turned to a challenge, turned to a fuck fight, and now my defeat? A defeat which leaves me here on the floor of my apartment, Rose and I’s apartment, sobbing…? God, how…? Why…? Fuck! My thoughts though many, match not my words, which do not come. No, instead I just cry. Sob, as you tell me I have lost. As you push to my back and climb onto me. Mounting me. I picture you crawling forward, and making me lick you in the ultimate humiliation. But instead, you stop, moving right to the point. The point of all of this. The point of our rivalry. The point of this fight. Rose.

Roooooossssseeeee. After this moment, I may never again say her name with crying. Without regretting.

Lost though I am in my state of abject sadness, I hear your every word spoken as you teasingly, and with a false softness, brush the hair out of my face.

God, I would fucking punch you if you didn’t deserve every moment of this. You beat me. You won. And as you gloat, cruelly — wickedly, I can do nothing else but regret risking my Rose once more.

Not because I had too…. Not because I had no other choice. But because you goaded me — because you clashed with me, again and again, in whatever way you could.

And as I spiral, deeper and deeper into despair, you lean over, reach out, and grab my phone. Then, with it in your grubby little hands, you dial. Calling her, the girl who had been mine until only moments before.

I hear her voice, sweet and beautiful as she answers. “Hey, sweets. What’s up?”

Then, as my heart stops and tears once again gush with tears, you drag your wet pussy up my body — up over my chest, and then, just as Rose asks again. “Babe…?” You bring a knee to either side of my head, and then let your kitty linger just above my mouth as you say it cruelly…. Softly in a whisper…. “Tell her….”?

For a moment it crosses my mind to resist….. To rebel against you and the deal we made…. But how can I…? You bested me…. Broke me…. Made me cum, when it was I who swore that I would make you.

And even if you hadn’t, there you are. Above me. Straddling. Your amazing and jealousy-inducing breasts hanging and framing your evil smile, as you look down on me.

And so I say it — and so I begin…. “Rose…. I-I lost you. Yo-you’re Ewa’s….” I hoped to hear Rose’s words. To hear her fight for me, though I can no longer fight for myself. But before she can even speak, you hang up the phone. Cutting me off from her, before reaching down, grabbing my hair, and dragging me mouth-first into your sopping wet cunt.

“Good girl….” You say confidently from above, as I weakly and pathetically try to resist your forceful drags of my tear-stained face against your victorious sex. “…now I am going to make you LOVE being my little sex slave, Jennifer. Mmmmmnnn….”

For More Sexy Chat Logs, Click Here!

Leave a Reply

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

Some of the images/videos seen on this site have been provided by,, All That's Jass, and Charlotte Blanche! If you haven't yet, check out the Free Catfights Forums! The links to all of the above can be found in the Links menu above!