[sinclairfan]

After a week of looking over my shoulder, and sensing Beth was nearby (most especially on a trip to the grocery store--I'm positive she was stalking me in the aisles), I went to Saturday evening Vigil Mass --and Beth sat right behind us. 

Her scent was her usual cologne, but was laid on much thicker.  Her clothes were very formal--a skirt to just below the knees, high heels, a corduroy blazer over a shiny, white silk skirt.

Clothes no woman would ever fight in.  Her offer to fight me in the Church parking lot after Mass was empty and insincere.

Did she really intend to fight me at all?  Or was she trying to bait me to assault her, so I'd have trouble from the law.

Or ..... was she giving me .... and Phil .... a preview of our life if Phil left Beth?  A life of us being constantly stalked and harrassed by Beth.

The homily is long.  I take out my cellphone and text Beth, who's sitting right behind me.

> Seems like it would be hard to fight in that outfit, bitch.

> Seems like an opportune time for you to jump me then, sweetie.

> "Jump" you?  Is that what you'd tell the cops happened?

> How would YOU tell them you know me?  From screwing my husband?

> You and I both know we're not fighting in a church parking lot.  Cut the crap, Beth.

> I know no such thing.  I'm feeling quick frisky right now.

The homily ends.  My husband nudges me to put away my phone.

I turn around and look Beth in the eye.  She returns my stare with s blank sociopath stare.

I'm feeling frisky myself.

I silently mouth out a word to her for her eyes to lip-read:

> Bitch

> Slut.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

After Mass, my husband and I are in our car, driving to our usual Saturday evening steak dinner, after which we'll have our usual Saturday evening-into-Sunday morning sex.

I'm actually looking forward to it, since I'm horny as fuck from my Church run-in with Beth.

My husband is pissy, tho.  I ask him why.  He answers:

> Did you really think that was appropriate?

> Did I think WHAT was appropriate?? [I honestly don't know what he's talking about.  So now I'm pissy, too.]

> Texting during the homily, Sherry?  Really??

> [Oh, shit.  Did he notice that?]  Oh.  Umm..... it was someone from work with a work question.

> On a Saturday afternoon??

> Yes, [I lie], it's a busy time of year.

> Ok, fine, it was someone from work.  But was it a work question?  Or a sex question?

> [Oh, shit.]  Excuse me???  A sex question from someone at work?

> Sherry.  Lately in bed, you've been talkng in your sleep.  You've been saying the name 'Beth'.

> [I have?  Holy crap.]  So what are you saying??? I'm having a work affair with some at work named Beth???  [Now I'm super-pissy.]

> Or a crush at least.  If it's not true, show me your phone.

> [Holy fuck.  I should have deleted the text bitchfight with Beth.]  Ummmm, .... we don't show each other our phones.  We're not middle schoolers.

My husband knows he's caught me in a lie.  He's wrong about what the lie is.  But I'm busted.

And we both know it.

And it ruins our dinner.

And we don't have Saturday Night sex.

Beth has ruined my Saturday Night with my husband.  And I get no satisfaction for my horniness.

Fuck you, Beth.  You'll pay for this.

I text her Sunday night.

> Pull that Mass bullshit with me next Saturday, and I WILL FUCK YOU UP, sweetie.  I'm not joking.

> I look forward to it, bitch.

> So do I.  cxnt.

To be continued...

[sinclairfan]

Tuesday at work, Beth calls my cellphone.  We skip the hello-how-are-you pleastantries.

> Why are calling meat work?

> Phil told me all the managers at work are at an offsite tomorrow.  I was hoping you could take a day off and join me as a guest at my spa.

> Why would I want to do that?

> It's complicated.

>I need more than that to spend a vacation day, [lowering my voice] bitch.

> They have private spa's there.  I was hoping we could get naked and compare bodies. 

> Why?

> I'm enjoying the sexual competition with you, tramp.

> [I'm suspicious Beth is trying to deceive my husband that I'm having a f-f affair.  Otherwise I'd just tell her to swap nude selfies with me.]  You'll send me directions?

> That was easier than I thought.  Did you let Phil in your pants that easy, slut?

> Shut up before I change my mind, Beth.

> See you tomorrow.  Bitch.

> I can't wait.

> Me neither.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

On Wednesday morning, I meet Beth in the lounge/waiting room of her snooty spa.  I've heard rumors that the application fee here is thru the roof.  What a bitch that she spends her weekdays in the Steam Room, while I slave away in an office job.

The injustice of it all just galls me to no end.

I had originally thought Beth would have me meet her in the parking lot.  With all of her big talk about fighting in the Church parking lot, I thought that would be an unwise idea--that an unplanned fighg might break out between us right there.  So we met in the foyer.

The staff had me fill out some paperwork to get a Day Pass.  The girl at the desk asked me how I knew Beth.  I said, "I'm close with her husband.  Very close."  She laughed nervously.

Beth and I went to the locker room, got into towels, and were led to the Sauna.  As soon as the door closed, she took her towel off.  She thought I would be intimidated by her Perfect-10 body and her 38D boobs, but I responded in kind and revealed a body every bit as youthful-looking.

If Phil was going to choose between us, he would need to use some other basis than our bodies.  Because in that area, Beth and I were a "push".

We sat on benches on the opposite ends of the sauna.

> So, you finally have me alone, Beth.  What do you want to ask me?

> Do you think if you take Phil from me, I'm just gonna lay back and take it, Sherry?

> [For the first time, we're talking to each other by our names, not 'bitch' and 'slut'.  Our standing up for ourselves has induced a veneer of mutual respect.]  Do you think if you stalk us like a psycho, I'm just gonna lay back?

> I can't attend Saturday Night Mass?

> You can't sit somewhere else there?

> I like sitting by you.  I keep my enemies close.

Beth has started fingering herself.

She and I have one thing in common--we both find our cat-and-mouse erotic.

We stop talking and watch each other fingering ourselves deeper and deeper.

I'd heard of Mutual Masturbation before and always found it kinda .... boring.

Until today.

Beth and I cum at the same time, watching each other masturbate.

And then we do it again.

We put our towels on and leave in silence.

The girl at the front desk takes my ID badge.

"When you say you know her husband .... do you mean, intimately"?.

"I do.  How'd you know?".

"I can tell when two women ate frenemies ... not real friends."

Smart girl.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

That Wednesday night, as I was getting ready for bed, Beth texted me:

<> Interesting seeing your nude form in the Sauna this afternoon, bitch.

<> [Is she being a wise ass?  Sounds like it.]  Interesting how?, Beth.  Always enjoy being enlightened by you, know-it-all.

<> Interesting because:  I would have thought someone trying to trade up in husbands would have a more 'Killer Bod'.  Yours was 'Meh'.

<> [It was as good as yours.]  Your husband thinks it was 'Killer'.  He fucked it.

<> He was disappointed in it, sweetie.

<> He did NOT tell you that.

<> How would you know, hun?

<> Because he still flirts at work.

<> He likes attention.  So what, Sherry.

<> If I make him pick between youband me, he'll pick me.

<> Doubt it.  [She's not gonna get away not mentioning the elephant-in-the-room:  that she and I masturbated in front of each other.]  And anyways, why'd you masturbate with me there?

> I was fantasizing about kicking your ass in the parking lot.  Why'd you run?

> I didn't run.  Why didn't you just come at my in the Sauna?

> Next time I will.

> Bull shit, liar.

> Fuck you, bitch.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

All day Thursday, I worked the phones with the front desk girl at Beth's Spa and made arrangements to, without Beth knowing it, "observe" Beth's massage therapist giving Beth a nude body-on-body massage Friday morning, and then making arrangements with the massage therapist to get Beth all "warmed up", and then to leave me alone with Beth in the massage room.  All without Beth knowing.  Until I chose to tell her.

Friday morning came.  I parked my car discreetly in the parking lot, hoping it would be in a spot Beth wouldn't notice it.

The threrapist got nude with me, and I stood in the back of the mood-lit room, while Beth removed her towel.  The therapist began, lathering Beth up with oils, and explaining the she'd do the first 20 minutes, and her trusted apprentice (c'est moi!) would finish up.

She assured Beth I gave Happy Endings.

The therapist rolled all over Beth gor 20 minutes.  I could and smell that Beth was aroused and soaking wet.

I was, as well.

At minute 21, the therapist left the room, telling Beth and me to "have at each other, ladies."

I craved to touch Beth's sweaty flesh with my lotioned hands.  I wondered if my moans were betraying my identity.  Beth was face-down:  she couldn't see me.

I rubbed Beth all over her body, above, at, and below the belt.

I rubbed my erect tits on her back.

I was turned on the most I've ever been.  Beth was moaning, but spoke.

> You remind me of a woman I might be fighting tomorrow.

> [I disguise my voice.]  A fight?  A catfight?

> A total catfight.  No rules.

> Over money, then?

> Sort of.  Over my husband's money.

> Not over HIM?

> See doesn't want him, the bitch.  [WTF??  Why does she assume that?]  She wants to take his money from ME.

> I find it sexy when women fight.

> I find it sexy to be in a fight.

> Who'll win the fight??

> I will.  But only after hurting her terribly.

> [I decide to end this charade.]  I think SHE'll win.

> I've said little about her.  How do you know?

> Because I'm HER.  [Beth turns her head.]  Helllo, Beth.

> I should have known, Sherry.  Do I still get my Happy Ending.

> On two conditions.

> What are they, bitch?

> One--give ME a Happy Ending back.

> And two?

> Two--make sure our catfight happens tomorrow.  Church parking lot.

> Fine.

I rub Beth off to orgasm, then she returns the favor.

It takes less than 2 minutes for each of us to climax.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Saturday afternoon, as I dress for Mass, I decide what clothes I want to fight Beth in. 

Beth has been dressing progressively nicer for Mass.  Not that I typically dress casual for Mass, but she's been really over the top.  Expensive, silky blouses, ruffled skirts, heels.  Much nicer than I typically dress for work, that's for sure.

I pick out the nicest clothes I can think of that I'm sure I won't need to squeeze into, and I start to dress.  But then I notice I'm sweaty and grimy from cleaning and doing laundry this morning.  The two times I was "with" Beth this week, I was clean and scented, and so was she.

I don't want her to smell good while I don't.

I get in the shower.  Touching my body reminds me of the full body massage when our bodies were touching.  I hope she noticed how tight me skin was.  Neither of us have stretch marks--we never had kids.  I wonder if she and Phil ever miscarried.  Or wanted kids.

I'll have to ask Phil that when he and I marry.

I sit down in the hot shower, and point the removable showerhead at my aroused pussy.  I go back and forth in my head, thinking of:

> my future wedding, and honeymoon, with Phil, and

> fighting Beth in 3 hours.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

At 4:15pm on Saturday, when my husband and I would start thinking about getting ready for the Vigil Mass, our doorbell rings.  I'm upstairs drying my hair, and my husband answers.

> "SHERRY!!!  SHERRY!!!! It's that woman from Church!!! She offering to drive you.  She's telling me to drive myself, and she'll bring you."

> [Fine.  Get the hell out, tool.]  Ok, honey.  Let her in and tell her I'll be down in a few!!!!

> Ok, bye honey.

> [OMG  OMG  OMG .... Beth is in my fucking living room??  I run to the window facing the driveway.  Pfffft, figures ..... an expensive oversized SUV.  What a spoiled bitch Beth is.  I can hear her snooping around my kitchen.]  Beth???  Do you need a drink ??

>  I'll help myself.  I see your glasses and your decanter.  [Figures--my tool husband didn't offer her a drink.]  Bourbon, I presume?

> Whiskey, yes.  Do you need a mixer?

> I drink straight when I'm about to fight.

> [Fuck you, drunk tramp.  You drink straight 24/7.]  Not that I object, but .... I thought we were fighting AFTER church.  [We're still shouting from different floors of the house.]

> I'm no theologian, but I hardly think that's appropriate, Sherry.  Do YOU???

> [Bring it, bitch.]  Then bring it, Beth.  Inside or outside?

> How about that old tool shed in the backyard?

> How do you know what my backyard looks like, bitch?

> Is that a yes?

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

As I finally came downstairs to confront Beth, moving gingerly in my heels and nylons, I detected her strong scent before even seeing her.  It was the same scent she had been wearing to Mass the past three weeks, just stronger.  I had to confess tho, that I had splashed more of my own perfume on than on a typical Saturday night.  I had put some down the cleavage of my chest, and it was wafting up into my nose.  The blending of her scent and mine was erotic to me, just as the blending of our bodies would be in a few minutes.

When I came downstairs, Beth was sifting thru the drawers of my kitchen.

> Why do you need to be in there, bitch?

> Just curious what kind of kitchen you run.

> Beth, you cxnt, at least I run my own kitchen--I don't hire help.

> Perhaps Phil has become accustomed to a kitchen run by professional help.  How will you keep him satisfied .... after the honeymoon phase of your affair is over? 

> [I've been walking closer to Beth.
We're feet away now.]  He'll know that the household he and I have is ours.  He'll have a sense of ownership for a change.  It will be .... liberating .... for him.  [I'm right at Beth's back now.  My face is in her blonde hair, which is freshly washed and smells good.  I reach around her with my left arm and grab her left wrist, which is in my drawer.]  Now stop fishing thru my stuff ....  bitch.

> Stop flirting with my husband .... slut.

> [My crotch is rubbing, thru our silk skirts, onto Beth's firm butt.  I'm as aroused as can be.]  Drop my stuff .... or I'lk MAKE you .... sweetie.

> I'd like to see you try, .... honey.

> [I sink my face fully into the back of Beth's hair.]  You smell so good.

> So do you.

I'm now fully dry humping Beth from behind, both of us standing.  My clit is erect and pointed at Beth.  I hope she can feel it thru our skirts.

We begin rocking rhythmically.

> Don't stop, bitch.

> I won't, slut ..... I can't.

I kiss Beth's neck.  I hear her starting to cum.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

After Beth and I came, we were in no mood to fight.  Or, at least, I wasn't .... and Beth didn't make any move to come at me.  She and I didn't speak to each other beyond hissing threats and insults.  Even "wanna fight?" was beyond our ability to communicate.

My husband was at church, presumably waiting for me.  Beth knew this.  Were we really driving to church now?  To receive Holy Communion?  Weren't we in a state of mortal sin?  Was what we just did together mortal sin?

Was hating each other like we do mortal sin?

I smell Beth's sweat on my hands, on my clothes.  Will people in church be able to smell it?  Saturday Evening Vigil Mass is well-attended.  All the couples doing what my husband and I do--Mass, dinner, our once-a-week Saturday Night fucking, commencing once the SNL skits turn not-funny.

Which, my husband and I actually do again that Saturday Night.  He tells me it's a turn-on to him that Beth is obviously crushing on me.  He doesn't consider it cheating if she keeps following me.

He has no clue what's actually going with.  With Beth.  With Phil.

I decide not to enlighten him.  Yet.

Next Sunday morning, I wake up early to pee.

I text Beth.

> Enough bullshit.  Let's fight.  Today.

> If it's in that tool shed of yours, then yes.

> Fine.  What clothes?

> You pick.

> Office clothes.  4pm.

> Good choice, and yes.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

When I was in my 20s, I used to volunteer at my Catholic parish every Sunday afternoon from 1 to 4 to count the Sunday offering.  A group of three guys would count and tally the bills.  But Sunday Church offerings in the 1990s still included generous contributions of coins, and someone needed to count those, create piles of pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters, and roll them into cardboard wrappers so that the bank would take them in that night's drop.  I was reminded about all the beautiful Milwaukee cathedrals on the city skyline growing up, and the stories, not entirely exaggerated, about them being built by the spare change of that city's 19th century German, Czech, and Ukrainian immigrants.  Step by patient step, penny by patient penny, I could see and touch even the smallest penny becoming a mighty edifice.

Beth's and my hatred for each other was growing that same way, and Sunday afternoon seemed as good a time as any to put the spire and the bell on the cathedral we had been building for a decade. 

> My flirtatious work banter with her husband.
> Her cold-fish handshake with me when we met at work.
> My hotel room sex with her husband.
> Her stalking my husband and me at Saturday Vigil Masses.
> Her and I meeting in public places....
> ....and me massaging her ....
> ....and she and I hate-kissing ....
> ... then hate-fucking .....
> ..... then sex fighting.

The only unchecked box on the list was to catfight each other. 

Sunday at 4 seemed an appropriate time to do it.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Beth showed up a little before 4 and went straight to the backyard shed, waiting for me.  She was dressed in business wear, including very un-sensible heels.  I dug out tall heels of my own so that she would not complain later about being at a disadvantage during our fight.  I wanted her to feel the sting of losing a fair fight.

I was glad Beth had not come into my house.  Besides not liking her leaving her scent for my husband to notice later, I suspected if she came inside, shw and I would just start kisding and never get to the fight part.

I realized now that what she and I needed was what high school fight opponents sometimes need--an instigator girl or girls to push us together during our standoff to have the fists and fur start flying.

I walked outside and yelled out to Beth while walking towards her.

> I'm here, bitch.  No excuses this time.  We're fighting right now.

> Finally.  Fine by me.  Bitch.

I open the shed door.  I go in first, hold the door open for Beth, then close it and latch it behind both of us.

> Two bitches enter....

> ....one bitch leaves.

Beth and I come together in our heels and go for each others' hair.  Our faces are nose to nose, forehead to forehead.  I smell her heavy scent.  Should I have put on more perfume?  Who puts on makeup and perfume for a fight?

> You smell good.  Soft.

> You smell like a pig.  [Do I smell that bad?   Is it because I'm nervous for the fight?]  My husband will get tired of you in bed once the thrill of the affair is over.  He'll come crawling back to me.

> Oh?  Has that happened before bitch?

> [I must have struck a nerve.  Beth is hesitating before answering, weighing what marital secrets of her I already know versus those I can't possibly know.]  Let's just fight.

> Fine.  Let's kick the shit out of each other.

> Or I could just kick the shit out of you.  Then go in your house and steal your jewelry.

> Were you casing my house last time you were here, slut?

> Were you casing my husband at work all these years, whore.

> Yes .... and now I'm taking him.

> Over my dead body, Sherry.

> Fine by me, Beth.

I'm actually not posturing at the moment.

I could literally kill this bitch right now, that's how jealous I am of her.

Our heels kick up dust from the floor of the shed.

This is gonna be a brutal fight.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

By fighting in zipped and buttoned top, jackets, and pants, our body temperature rises wwre being trapped with our own bodies, and exhaustion ...  or at least serious muscle weakness .... were affecting us much more quickly than if we had been fighting in workout clothes.

Already, because of the way the last few weeks and days had gone down between us, Beth and I had entered today's battle with the determination of hellcats--any victory would have to be secured via a knockout, as a voluntary 'I give up' was unlikely to be passing thru our lips.

Now, just minutes into our fight came the additional complication that we had already lost the strength to land blows that would secure a knockout or submission.  Sensing that our punches were carrying the force of a baby hummingbird, we stopped throwing them, and instead resorted to suburban high school chickfight tactics.

-Hairpulling
-Face scratching
-Kicking
-Knees to the groin area
-Ear-twisting
-Finger-biting

Each of these defintely carried pain when applied.  So this fight, though lacking in skill, was raw and painful.

We each fell to our knees, gripping each other by the scalp.  Clumps of hair could be seen on the shed floor.

> You fucking bitch.

> I fucking hate you.

> I'm taking your fucking husband.

> I'm making sure neither of you can afford this house.

For the first time, I began to wonder if I was breaking my work wife arrangement with Beth's husband fo I could be with HIM .... or to screw over HER. 

It felt so good to be hitting Beth.  I wanted this fight to continue, even if it was futile.

> I want to hurt you, slut.

> Then hurt me, bitch.

To be continued....