Not once in their albeit short lives had either woman doubted their own sexual strength or supremacy. Nor had they ever had cause to fear that somehow, and in some way, they were any less than perfect in that regard.
Such confidence comes from the fact that since they were young, men had fawned and folded at their feet – dancing and performing on the girls’ gleefully held marionette strings. But such history means little now, as each moves toward the other with legs spread, thighs overlaid, and clits bared to one another.
For now, in this quiet, Sonoma spa sanctuary, the two shall engage each other, not to see which man wants them or what the same is willing to do to earn them, but instead what they can do to each other, and which of the two can resist … delay … and inflict.
It is a fear of this new kind of test, and new sort of metric, which grips them both, and causes them to pause – to hover before each other, as each prepares to match body to body, clit to clit, and un-pierced ego to un-pierced ego.
In the end, however, regardless of whether it is brunette or redhead who forces an orgasm from their rival, neither will have re-earned their once unquestioned confidence, but instead only discovered that they have bested one woman, and have near infinite challengers left to go.