#fem fight

As you fought with her, she tore cruelly at your pantyhose. And yet now, in the most intoxicating revenge, you use the hole she left to defeat her – placing your sex over both her mouth and nose, every gasp made by her effective only at sucking herself deeper and deeper into your smother . And as you smirk, and her hands cling faintly to your thighs, your rival drifts off to sleep – your moment of victory and chance to truly humiliate her not far behind.

Does she know how angry you are?
What you intend to do to her?
How much you hate her?

As you look into her eyes, you can’t tell….

As you look into her eyes, you don’t care….

www.FoxyCombat.com

Last time they were together, they fought about sweet tea, this time, they fought about nothing – or more accurately, because they wanted to. And though they would never admit it, to each other, or anyone else, they have found that something about fighting with the other turns them on. The feeling of denim sliding against denim; the way the other whimpers softly when struck; the smell of their perfumes and hair products mixing as they wrestle body against body; the sound of the other’s heavy breathing as she tries to escape from a well-applied hold; the way that battles are their dirty little secret; and the thought of what their husbands would do if they ever came to know.

It is for all of those reasons that they have met on the stair to their apartments, and for all those reasons that they fought, dragging each other up, until as they reached the top, they suddenly separated, fixed their hair, and as they walked into to greet their husbands, pretended like nothing ever happened – each counting the seconds until the next time they find themselves alone.

www.KittyFights.com

wrestling-rivals:

It was the blonde’s first match, one she had prepared for and thought about for months. At first, all went well, and she quickly found herself straddling the face of her opponent, in a perfectly executed school girl pin – excited beyond belief that she was well on her way to a quick and decisive victory. But suddenly, as overconfidence set in, and the excitement within her churned, her opponent, a wily veteran of the ring and mat, did something unexpected. Something the newcomer did not know how to reverse or resist. Namely using her tongue and mouth – to latch on and attack with distraction, the brunette thereby draining all of her blonde opponent’s focus, leaving her lost in lust and imbalanced by impurity, as her moans echoed through the nearly empty gym. Those weaknesses no sooner surfaced, than they were seized upon, as the bottom grappler became top, the brown-haired wrestler quickly mounting and strangling a submission out of the crying novice beneath her. It was then the blonde who was forced to use her own tongue to please, much to her own anger, frustration, and gut-wrenching regret.

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A single comment about who makes better sweet tea, made in the kitchen as their husbands watched football, led these to southern belles to sneak out back screen door, and settle things in the old fashioned way.

And though they fight for honor and pride, neither willing to back down from the other, they must hurry, as to not miss their husbands’ calls for more beer.

www.KittyFights.com

Neither rival must tightly wrap their legs around those of their enemy’s, using calf and thigh muscles to grip and hold on to one another. For they each want this, more than either can say or admit. Needing to feel their tits press into their foe’s, and their stomach flatten against stomach. And though they may push and pull, rolling this way and that, locked together their bodies will stay, not because they cannot escape, but because they do not want to. They have found their heaven - their bliss, and it is in combat, and close-contact with the woman who plagues their every thought, and haunts their every dream.

It can take only one comment, or a single side-eyed glance, to forever put two women who work together at odds. From the very occurrence of it, tainting every sound made, every word uttered, every action taken, in the mind of the other. Each sitting. Thinking. Hating. Until they resolve it. Until they settle it. When the doors lock, and the supervisors no longer supervise. There they tear and torment one another – pulling hair, and ripping blouses – not just on one night, but on many, on any they can, until one rival can take no more – until one rival quits in tears, their cheeks flush with the red-stains of shame.

Glare for glare, nose to nose, chest to chest Karina was with Marlies, when together they arrived at the beach. She had claimed to be her better, her equal, her rival – and in truth she was, until the fighting began. Until body pressed against body, and muscle strained against muscle. Then, in an instant, all was revealed. All was clear. She was no rival. No threat. Merely a girl pretending to be a woman – a girl who will now set her tongue to clit, or wish she had, when the torture begins.

www.FoxyCombat.com

Into her ear you whisper, telling her everything you’re going to do to her.
All the pain you shall inflict.
How you will grind her body beneath yours, and use your every muscle in your goal of torture.
How you will twist her nipples without mercy, and claw at her clit till it bleeds.

But it is only when you tell her that no submission will be accepted, and no surrender will be heeded, that she begins to sob in terror, your hand still wrapped around her throat.

www.DTWrestling.com

Whose eyes are lying? Whose confidence is false? When the dust settles, and submissions have been screamed, which of you will truly be able to call yourself the better woman.

If it wasn’t for your mother winning a catfight over your father with the neighbor, you may never have been born.

An effective resistance to an attack can only last as long as one can concentrate on maintaining it, and nothing breaks focus quite like a bite. For a bite is not just painful, but often unexpected, as most women, even enemies, avoid crossing such a violent line, as a bite from one, leads to a bite from their rival, and then reprisal, again and again.

Some catfights, in which such a line is crossed, even devolve into battles, where each opponent’s sole purpose is to use their teeth to tear at their rival’s most sensitive of places – forgetting tactic and tussle – hold and submission, instead focusing solely on vengeance for those bites their enemy has inflicted. But as legs wrap around legs, and hands and fingers lock together, women are often left with only one defense to their opponent’s mouth, their own. Leaving rivals’ teeth to clash against one another, and jaws to seal shut in mutual confinement, so that both might to trap and restrain the last remaining weapon left to the woman with whom they war.

From there, a battle between rivals can goes one of three ways: first the engaged enemies may remain stuck together, locked in a viscous, and at times bloody stalemate for hours. Second, the mutual bite may be broken, freeing both women to resume their biting attacks. Or third, rather than continue to do what may possibly be permanent damage to one another, women may turn bites to kisses – leaning on tongues and not teeth, as each seeks to deescalate a war neither can afford to win, lose, or even survive.

www.CatfightCity.com

She tried to escape from your grasp, to pry your pinched fingers from her nose, and your sealed palm from her gasping mouth, but you did not let her. Even when her eyes began to well with tears, you held on – wrapping your leg around hers so she could not turn, and pushing your chest against hers so she could not roll. Now she sleeps – delicate, vulnerable, defenseless. Should you wake her, and start your fight anew? Leave and assume your feud is truly over? Or wraps your arms and body around her again, this time to satisfy your own carnal desires.

Some holds you do not escape from.

When sisters watch Batman vs Superman one too many times, they decide to settle the feud themselves.

Are you worth it? Will you stay with the winner? What’s to stop you from continuing to see them both? Questions that Celeste does not ask, as she wraps her tightening fingers around her rival’s throat.

There is often a moment before a fight where rivals take stock of their opponent. Their physique, their stance, the size of their bust, and the look in their eyes. It is the latter that is the most telling. Are they confident? Overconfident? Nervous? Afraid? Or perhaps a glistening mix of all…. But even when such can be seen in an opponent’s eyes, one can never know exactly what is being conveyed by their own.

After years of marriage, Tom’s wife Sharon had finally convinced him to reveal his deepest fantasy, her wrestling another, younger woman. The telling of such a secret cost her a promise, that no matter what his fetish may have been, she would help him live it.  Armed with such an agreement, the excited and impatient husband scoured message boards and forums – chat rooms and social media pages, searching with a quickened pace for an opponent for his fit blonde wife. As he searched, she trained, watching every video in her husband’s collection, learning moves and methods, not wanting to be bested by another woman in front of her husband.

Finally the night came, and Rebecka arrived. She was everything Tom had pictured in his fantasies, and no less excited than he for her chance to take on  his wife in a night of casual and sexy bikini wrestling. However, despite her engagement in the activity, and his wife’s training, all came to an end very quickly. The brunette, meaning only to hold onto the squirming, and over-excited blonde, had locked in a sleeper hold, with an assisting leg scissor around the abdomen. The move was simple, sensual, and only half-heatedly applied, and yet, it combined with Sharon’s own nervousness, awkward attempts at escape, and unwillingness to so quickly ask for mercy, resulted in Tom’s wife passing out cold in her opponent’s arms.

Rebecka immediately released the hold, and helped lean Sharon back against the bottom of the couch. The young woman was embarrassed and regretful, but at the same time delighted, not just at her own dominance, but also at the way Tom looked at her, and not his wife, even though the latter was struggling for breath, and with every passing second losing consciousness. Despite the brevity of the match, Rebecka gathered her things and left quickly, making sure to leave her number with Tom, giving no reason, instead leaving the invention of one up to him. Rematch? Affair? The choice was his, and the night: hers.