Owww! My poor tits! I slump against the wall. You stand in front of me grinning and talking big, your fingers on the waistband of your panties. You think you’ve beaten me but you’ve made three fundamental mistakes: first, you seem to think I’m some kind of queen bitch catfighter, second, you think I’m finished (close but no cigar) and third, you’ve left me standing while you start to lower your panties. Have you learned nothing in the last few minutes?
My fists flash again. A right hook slams into your jaw, a straight left flattens your right breast, a straight right slams into your solar plexus, knocking the wind out of you and a left catches you on the temple.
You stagger backwards. your panties around your knees, until you crash into the door. Now it’s you with your back against the door. I pin you there, my left forearm across your throat, while my knees slams into your now naked pussy – once, twice, three times!
Another straight right slams into your solar plexus and I knee you again in the pussy for good measure before standing to one side and watching you collapse to your hands and knees.
I’m no catfighter - just asked Jan or Terri or Mitzi. I’ve lost far more catfights than I’ve won. I made my reputation in the ring as a boxer and a wrestler and that’s how I’ll finish you, bitch.
I kick you in the belly and you roll over onto your back. I stomp on your pussy and your belly until you lie still. Satisfied you have passed out, I kneel on your shoulders, pushing my arse and pussy into your face.
I try to savour the moment of victory. Normally I would find this highly erotic and stimulating but I’m like an injured wild animal right now. I’m in pain all over and, despite your obvious charms, you do nothing for me.
I wait for a moment until I feel you regaining consciousness. As you start to squirm and groan, I reach down, stick my fingers into your pussy and claw at the sensitive flesh.
You scream out in agony and then start sobbing. I get to my feet, bend down and grab your hair, pulling your face close to mine. You blink back your tears as I scream at you:
“GET UP! GET YOUR STUFF AND GET OUT OF MY FUCKIUNG SHOP! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOUR FUCKING FACE AGAIN.”
With that I pull you up, open the storeroom door, grab your dress and bag and physically throw you out of the storeroom and out of the shop into the parking lot.
I slam the door closed behind you, go to the desk, pick up my phone and call Terri. When she answers, I burst into tears and collapse to the floor.