Another story commission, an interracial clash in Outer London
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In the leafy suburbs of outer London, where the veneer of tranquility conceals simmering rivalries and green eyed jealousies, there lived two fiercely independent and recently mothered women - Emily O'Reilly and Pooja Kapoor.
As neighbors, the two had never seen eye-to-eye from the start. The trimming of the hedges, where the automobiles were to be parked on the street, how they were dressed, what decorations they used, where they nursed their babes - all of it had led to begrudging confrontations and neighborly spats.
That was before their men had exited their lives, unable to contain the fiery women. Of course, neither were prepared for what was to occur next. Perhaps if they had, they might’ve stayed to enjoy the show…
Their physical forms were shaped by their post-pregnancy stages. Long locks of hair flowed down their bodies, tracing the contours of their shapely figures. Their bosoms had grown fuller in size and milk flowed within. It was an experience both women shared and knew had exhausted their rivals just as it had to them.
Emily was a brilliant Irish woman, known for her fiery red hair and sharp wit. She had an undeniable and scandalous charm that flew through the neighborhood like a gale. Life hadn’t been fair to her, having been just abandoned by her Irish lover. However, her spirit was as unbroken as a wild stallion racing across the cliffs of Moher. Naturally, this meant her Irish temper was always readied and on the offensive.
Similarly, Pooja Kapoor was another character in the neighborhood. An exotic beauty, belonging to the richly diverse cultural tapestry of British-Indians, she too was wounded - left holding her newborn by a reckless lover. Her deep-set black eyes hid stories of love lost and rose again, while her delicate Indian dresses she recently bore amidst her post-pregnancy added a sense of mystery to her persona.
It was no surprise that the two women never got along from the start. And to this day, as they clutched their babes to their breasts, they still couldn’t find commonality.
On one sunny afternoon, O'Reilly passed Kapoor while she was gardening, and couldn't resist starting off the usual spat.
“Careful, Pooj, you wouldn’t want to break a nail. I’m surprised you’re even out here, considering your lover ought to be the one doing that for you. Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. He left you, didn’t he?”
“Shouldn't you be picking potatoes rather than meddling in everyone's business, Emily?" Pooja stated with snide as she picked herself off the grass, “It’s funny that you speak of being jilted but I don’t see that man of yours around, anymore, either.”
Emily’s smirk turned into a scowl. Removing her babe clutching to her chest, the redhead placed him on his stroller near the porch where he was parallel with Pooja’s infant, who was also resting on a portable crib nearby.
“Ah, walking away, now?” Kapoor smiled to herself, as she knew she had struck a nerve, “You know, you’re usually as pale as a cow. But the shade of red on your face certainly matches your Irish head of hair. It’s quite pitiful, really.”
“At least, I’m not curry colored, darling. It’s quite likely your Rahul left you for a white woman,” Emily grinned, toothily, “Of course, not to fret, my dear Pooja. Perhaps if you continue to let your garden grow out like it currently is, it’ll begin to resemble the Indian jungle and you’ll soon find another lover.”
The Indian woman’s fists began to clench, causing her to nod with a smile on her face, “There’s that bloody Irish charm that’s simply so famous around here.”
The air vibrated with the sharpness of their exchanged words. Both women stared at one another. And then, they clashed.
There was a split-second pause as they faced off; two mothers, newly forged in the fire of childbirth, with secondhand, rage-fueled adrenaline pumping through their veins. As if an unsaid signal passed between them, they both lunged at each other in a swirl of anger with an explosion mirroring their emotionally charged states.
Emily reached out first, her unmanicured hands clawing at the air before latching onto Pooja’s deep henna colored kurta, pulling harshly as the crackle of ripping fabric filled the air.
Pooja, not one to stand idle, retaliated immediately with a sharp open palm smack that echoed off the quiet suburban street. Her hand connected with Emily’s pale but reddened cheek, turning it an even darker shade of red.
Emily howled in response, reaching out once again. This time, her objective was not Pooja’s traditional attire but rather her lustrous black hair. She yanked so hard that Pooja's head was immediately jerked backward and a guttural cry escaped her lips. But Pooja was swift, her agile fingers snaking out to grip and tug at Emily’s fiery red curls in retaliation. Amidst the cacophony of tearing, yelling and crying, Emily’s green dress was torn further, her lacy cream-coloured brassiere slipping into view.
Pooja retaliated in kind with a jerk of her hand, almost tearing Emily's green dress completely apart.
The shock jolted Emily backward, her large breasts tumbling free as the brassiere gave way under the sudden force. The surge of humiliation propelled Emily backwards before her Irish temper took over her sense of shock and shame, revitalizing her with renewed ferocity.
Kapoor found herself on the defensive as she backed, screaming as her kurta was torn apart and downward at the neckline, bringing about her braless boobs.
As the two infants sat in calm serenity, their glazed eyes stared upwards at the massive bosoms spilling out freely before them, filled with milk as they swayed in full motion. Their innocent eyes yearned with desire to fill their lips with these mammaries, already innate within them, especially as both women’s nipples pressed against the other to create a bulging bosomy form for all to witness.
Clawing at their tits, both women maneuvered as they twisted and turned.
As they violently grappled standing upright, each jostling for an upper hand they toppled over together, their bodies fell onto the lush grass of the shared front lawn. They began writing like animals.
Hands splayed out, gripping onto tufts of grass as leverage. Kick, pull, grasp, slap - again and again and again. Hair spread out on the ground, autumn and midnight-black tangling together on the green grass. It was a fierce display of sheer determination, strength, and femininity all at once.
Amidst the chaos, Pooja struck out with another stinging slap to Emily's face, the red marks across her cheek standing out in contrast against the bright hue of her pale skin. In response, Emily angrily lashed out with her knuckles and sent her Indian opponent sprawling to the ground.
Pooja tumbled backwards and rolled with a muffled shriek, mouthful of grass and dirt in her mouth as shock replaced her fury. Her arm instinctively went towards her breasts as they spilled out so openly.
Emily gathered herself quickly and adjusted her dress, glancing down at Pooja as she stared upwards. The Irishwoman’s green eyes were filled with a smoldering defiance before she closed the gap and pulled the shrieking Indian woman’s thick hair.
"Next time you try that, you'll be kissing my feet, Kapoor," Emily warned with a defiant lift of her chin, as she tugged her opponent around, “We Irish lasses know a thing or two about getting into a tiffy.”
Pooja attempted to free herself, reaching upwards at her opponent’s tattered dress and clawing.
Their tug of war was soon interrupted by the sound of murmurs and curious eyes. Suddenly, the two women had noticed turned heads from down the street and around the corner. The rivalry between the two wasn’t unheard of around the neighborhood but to see their naked glory out in the open as they brawled? Even that was unexpected.
And even that became too much for the two combatants.
Both women were suddenly conscious of their revealing state of dress and the bare bosoms which swayed in the breeze. Belatedly, they covered up and went back to gather their infants as they sauntered back towards their homes…..but not before they made eye contact with one another.
“This isn’t over,” Emily declared, wiping dust off of her, as she stared at her Indian neighbor, “I swear on me ma, Kapoor.”
“Oh, this is far from over,” Pooja smirked with defiance, “You had better brace yourself.”
“Or what? Kapoor, the whore? What are you going to do?” The last syllables of Emily’s voice trailed off with an Irish twang, almost in a sense of rhythmic mockery.
“You, me,” Pooja declared, “We will meet in private and settle this. My house.”
“No, we’ll meet at my house! I’ll finish you there and whoever loses has to pack up and leave.”
Her mouth was agape. Pooja was not ready for that declaration. She knew she could not afford to do such a thing, not after her man had left her. But for whatever reason, perhaps it was pride, she stomped her heel on the ground and shouted, “Fine! But whoever loses has to leave naked!”
“Oh, lassy, that’ll be you,” Emily taunted, “That’ll be you! Too bad no one will want to see your bum and your tits after I’m through with you!”
Not wanting to respond, Kapoor shut her door with a slam.
“That bitch!”
As the curious eyes retreated behind curtains, the two mothers quickly gathered themselves, promising to settle their differences, once and for all. As such, the sleepy suburbs of outer London would have to wait for round two.
Eventually, the day of their duel did arrive.
Under the overcast skies, a tense quiet had settled over Emily O’Reilly’s house. Pooja Kapoor approached as a breeze carried leaves behind her, her figure clad in a pastel blouse decorated with dainty flowers that clung to her generous curves and snug shorts that complimented her outfit while being comfortable enough to move in.
Kapoor’s deep-set eyes were guarded and hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, for fear of being recognized after her recent spat. She approached warily as she held her child close to her bosom. She was entering enemy territory, the Irish lioness' den, afterall. And she felt every bit of caution, even paranoia over the thought that her Irish rival might have planned an ambush in some way.
A whirlwind of emotions fluttered within Pooja's heart - anticipation, anxiety, and a tinge of fear. But she tucked these feelings away behind her stern, stoic demeanor, choosing instead to focus on her instincts as a proud mother and a woman who had something to prove.
Emily, on the other hand, had prepared accordingly for her guest. Her household was orderly and she was comfortably dressed in denim shorts and a simple linen blouse that accentuated the creaminess of her fair Irish skin. Contrary to Kapoor's thoughts, Emily had no intention of taking her foe by surprise or in an underhanded fashion. She was eager to prove her superiority by fighting fairly, at least, for now.
Her baby was lying peacefully in the crib within eyesight from the designated combat zone, the sitting room that she had cleared off ahead of time. Much like Pooja, Emily clung onto her motherly instincts, feeling like a lioness ready to defend her home. The thought of pouncing upon an invader fueled her fiery Irish temper, causing her to smirk as she gazed at her opponent.
Emerald eyes met obsidian ones as silent tension passed between them. It was the calm before the storm and pandemonium was about to be released.
As Emily paced herself inside the sitting room, the heat began to rise. Pooja gently laid her child on the sofa, stretching her arms and not even once taking her sight off her red haired rival.
Then, the two circled one another.
“Well now, shall we begin?”
“I already am ready and I’m not going to back down.”
“Of course not. You’re about to get fucked. After all, you are Kapoor, the whore.”
“Emily Rottencrotch. Don’t think I don’t know why your man would leave you.”
The two sneered at one another before launching forth with piercing shouts.
The silence shattered as Emily and Pooja clashed, their bodies mirroring one another. Their hands clamped onto the opposite arms and shoulders as they twisted and turned, locked in a brutal dance. The scuffle sent their toned legs shifting as they screeched and yelped.
“You Paki whore!”
“Worthless Irish cxnt!”
As the two began reaching for one another’s hair, they traded slaps in the process like two ships in deadlock, launching their artillery at one another.
Nonetheless, Emily had always been the one to seize the initiative, throwing her Indian rival off balance as she lowered her body. Seizing Pooja’s momentary disorientation, Emily’s fingers tightened into a fist and she delivered a hard punch to Pooja's belly.
“Ohhh!”
The Indian woman tried to back off but could not. Instead, Emily simply responded by snatching a thick handful of Pooja’s black hair and tugging her along, causing her Indian neighbor to shriek before slamming into the wood flooring beneath them.
“Get off me!” Pooja denied weakly as she screamed.
But Emily ignored her plea.
“Ye should’ve thought about that before ye started arguing with me,” Emily taunted as she grunted in exertion in her attempt to pin her rival down. The Irishwoman straddled her rival and pressed her thighs against Pooja’s smaller body.
With Pooja temporarily powerless under her, Emily reared her fist and delivered a swift punch to Pooja’s cheek before aiming at her ribs, giving the Indian a chance to think in between each pause. Not giving her any chance to retaliate, Emily swiftly followed it up with a shot to her left breast and then, her right.
“Ugh!”
Fueled by pent-up anger and frustration, Emily swiftly tossed her hair out of her face as she glowered downward at the writhing woman beneath her, “Bite this, Paki bitch! You really thought you had a chance?”
But Emily's gloating only seemed to ignite a burning defiance deep within Pooja. She wasn’t going to let herself lose. She wasn’t going to allow herself be womanhandled again.
“Get…OFF!” Pooja spat with fervor as she wrapped her legs around Emily's waist and reversed their positions.
Emily found herself back first on the already off-balance floor, groaning as Pooja furiously clawed at Emily's top, causing stray buttons to go flying around the room. Emily’s full bosoms spilled into view as her opponent dug her knee into Emily's abdomen, extracting a grunt from the ginger woman as she flailed beneath Pooja's wrath.
The Indian woman pulled and tugged at her opponent’s breasts, seeking to tear them apart, but it merely caused Emily to recoil and aggressively shift in response.
Still, despite her lost grip, Pooja pounded her closed fist onto Emily's chest before clawing once more at her enemy’s blouse and bosom, cruel intentions evident behind her aggressive demeanor.
“What, now? I thought this was your house? How do you like being womanhandled in your own den?” Pooja growled.
In retaliation, a flustered Emily managed to swing at her opponent. But it had no impact as it merely grazed the Indian woman’s shoulder.
“Ahhhh!”
Still, Emily felt a sense of retaliation as she felt Pooja close in deeper onto her breasts, intent on fully latching onto her. Naturally, it was the Irish woman’s only opportunity and she took it.
In a literal tit-for-tat, Emily’s hands also began to reach for her opponent’s bosom. Then, she squeezed.
“Aiiiiie!”
And Emily squeezed even more before making a ripping motion and tearing apart her hated rival’s blouse, causing their brown boobs to spill out of their flowery attire.
“Your tits look like they could use a makeover!” Emily stated as she tore into her opponent’s dark colored nipples, “Guessin’ those dark Desi nipples only became that way because they don’t use cows in India. They use their women for cows instead and that makes them turn dark, aye?”
“Ohhh!”
The pain was horrific and it caused Pooja to recoil and twist and turn on the floor.
Nonetheless, an infuriated Pooja responded in kind by latching onto her opponent's tits and turning them like knobs with her fingers.
“Ughhh!”
In an attempt to subvert the pain, the two women began rolling back and forth on the ground before slamming up against the kitchen table and causing a vase to fall on the floor and crack apart on top of them.
With dirt and dust on them, the two women separated and backed up, slowly rising once more as they clung onto their nipples with soothing fingers.
Pooja stared for a moment, almost hesitating, before she shot her fist. Emily grunted as she blocked the strike, still feeling some pain from the recoil as she reeled backwards against the table.
Shaking her head and dipping under another blow, Emily met Pooja's punch with one of her own, knocking the Indian woman back.
And then, she pounced right back on top of her.
“You think you can enter my home and win?” Emily hissed as she rained down slaps, "I’m going to finish you, you curry colored whore!"
But Pooja was nowhere near ready to admit defeat— instead she merely glared daggers up at Emily as she resisted, her ever reaching arms blocking her head from being struck. The Indian woman’s eyes matched her Irish opponent’s wide eyed gaze, her body steeling itself further for what was yet to come.
This wasn’t just a catfight. It was war!
Emily lashed out with an Irish temper as Pooja retaliated with Indian tenacity, their bodies rocking back and forth in a well-matched struggle.
“Ayeeee!”
Wild hands reached out, in an almost primal fashion, tugging at fiery locks and raven strands as both women attempted to gain control over one another. It was almost like a tug of war as Emily flung Pooja's head to the side before aiming a slap directly at the darker woman's cheek.
“Ugghh!”
The British-Indian woman cried out as she jerked her head back instinctively. But rather than cower away, Pooja shot a seething glare at Emily before lashing out with a well-placed open palm to Emily’s shoulder, slapping at her before her fingernails instinctively activated and tore downwards.
“Augh!” Emily retaliated with a loud yelp. Her hands reflexively clenched onto her opponent's hair, gritting her teeth and angling her face towards Pooja's flailing form.
Nonetheless, the catfight took on another level altogether as they neared the kitchen sink, engaging in another round of breast mauling. It was an unexpected challenge that neither of them had prepared for but were unrelenting in their undertaking.
“I’m gonna milk ya dry. I’m gonna stuff ya in that fridge!”
“No, you aren’t, you slag! I’m gonna rip your tits off!”
Emboldened by their threats, the two curved their torsos towards each other and pushed forth with their palms and pulled their opposite’s tits for a duel of supremacy, screaming all the way as they did so.
As they slammed against the counter top, causing pots and pans to fall to the floor and the faucet sensor to splash water against them, the two inevitably slammed their bosoms against the other.
Brown orbs met white orbs and morphed into half-spheres, dueling for supremacy as their bosomy valleys clenched against one another.
As they squirmed and struggled, their nipples became erect and made contact against their rival’s. Momentum thrust one pair against another and then back, as they pressed together in rhythmic harmony - slamming back and forth. Engaged in such a manner to destroy the other’s milk production capabilities, it soon began to detract from their original plan to brawl raw.
Pooja grunted as her brown bosoms collided with Emily's paler ones, their nipples brushing over each other in a tantalizing sensation as they poked and prodded around. She could feel Emily's hardened peaks pressing into her own aroused buds, sending shivers down her spine.
Emily growled in response, the sensation of flesh against flesh causing her to brace tighter against her opponent and apply more pressure with her body. It was enough to cause Pooja’s eyes to tear and she, nonetheless, groaned in reciprocal effort atop her Irish neighbor.
“Ayeeee!”
“Ooooh!”
To combat the pain, Pooja took hold of Emily's bouncing tits and slammed them together as if she was cracking eggs, pushing them closer before pulling them apart so quickly that it caused Emily to gasp and recoil.
Emily gritted her teeth in retaliation, but managed to keep her wits about her and her grip on Pooja as she yanked down on the Indian woman's torn blouse with one swift motion, causing the bosom to further lose the amorphous advantage with it as it began slightly sagging without the support.
“You stupid Paki slag!” Emily seethed.
Pooja whimpered whilst spitting out her response, “You pale fire crotch freak!”
Twisting to a special rhythm, they swung and fought with ferocity as they fell to their knees. It was sensual combat and both women knew it. With their breasts bouncing wildly and their nipples arguing with one another, it forced them to forget about their fists and instead opt for renewed tactics as they latched onto their hair and arms to gain leverage.
Clawing and scratching at each other, both were desperate to emerge the victor and they weren’t going to stop until the other had totally surrendered.
It was simply a clash of culture between Irish and Indian, neighbor versus neighbor, mother against mother, tit to tit.
In a hauntingly beautiful synchronization of movement, Emily and Pooja both raised themselves off the floor and latched onto the other’s clothing as they stomped around in struggle. Their breasts mashed and slammed against their counterparts, causing the two to gasp for air like swimmers struggling to stay afloat. The sunlight had cast an ethereal glow upon their flesh, causing their shadows to twirl as they moved in bosomy combat.
As Pooja slammed her boobs into Emily’s, flattening them, she found herself slapped across the face. The sound of Emily’s slap reverberated throughout the house, causing Pooja to yelp as they disengaged from their titfight.
“Ouch!”
"You Paki bitch!"
In a fluid motion, Pooja lunged for Emily, her fingers sliding beneath the fabric of Emily's blouse to scrape across her shoulder blades. Out of pure instinct, the Irish woman sank her teeth into Pooja's forearm, drawing a sharp wail, as her fingers found her opponent’s hair.
Pooja slammed her soft body against Emily’s, pushing Emily further back but not easing the pain as Emily’s teeth simply found Pooja’s nipples, instead.
Emily's grip on her hair loosened as Pooja struck out with a hit to Emily’s bosoms, using her knee to try and free herself from the torment.
“Eeeyahhh!!” Emily cried, writhing in pain.
Pooja had no intention of waiting for her opponent to recover. Using her elastic orbs of milk to her advantage, Pooja latched onto Emily’s wrists and used them as leverage to slam her breasts repeatedly against her opponent’s bosom.
“Irish cow! I’ll send you back to that farm of yours!”
As they shrieked and thrashed on the ground, their partially torn clothing tore to shreds around their bodies. Tugging at their respective rival’s bras and blouses, the two found release from the pain in bringing about the destruction of their enemy’s modesty.
As the chains of their attire fell apart, the two women took the opportunity to pause, panting and glaring at one another in the silence.
The remnants of their torn clothing remained tightly clutched in their hands. Their glistening bosoms heaved in tandem with the rhythm of their labored breaths.
In an act of mutual defiance, they both tossed one another’s captured scraps at the floor before looking back at one another. In unison, both women began angrily tearing at their own torn attire, shedding the pieces of clothing before flinging it off their bodies in dramatic arches.
With renewed vigor and newfound freedom, they circled one another. The once hostile ground now solidified under them as they stood bare naked before each other, ready to take on the next round of their catfight. Their fearless gazes never left their faces.
Then, in unison, the two women lunged at each other. Pooja fervently clung onto Emily’s hair and cruelly twisted the cherry locks into knots, eliciting a wail from the redhead.
In response, Emily swung her arm across, managing to drag her nails down Pooja's chest, leaving angry red welts on the Indian woman's dark skin.
Pooja screamed out, in horror. She repaid the favor by violently clawing her opponent’s thighs with her free hand while slamming her face against the wall.
THUD!
Their locked bodies thrashing and twisting, stirring up a storm of raw energy and visceral power as they fell to the floor once more.
Pooja reciprocated by violently clawing at Emily’s bosom, her fingers gnashing onto her sensitive bits before leaving behind long streaks of red lines.
Trying to shift her opponent away, Emily reached for her opponent’s thick strands of hair. Yet, each hand that darted to rip through hair was met with a counter slap or scratch.
“Fucking slag!”
“Oh, shut up, Irish cxnt!”
Despite Emily’s elbow solidly making contact with her jaw, the Indian woman’s sharp bite to her shoulder only caused the redhead to wince in pain.
“Ooowww! You'll pay for that, you bitch!” Emily growled, her eyes narrowing as she freed herself before lunging at Pooja’s thighs and tugged.
Wincing in surprise, Pooja squirmed as Emily unsuspectingly yanked her legs apart and began clawing at the Indian woman’s pussy.
“Ooooh!”
Ignoring the burning welts across her chest, Pooja pushed back with fervency as she attempted to resist Emily’s fervent fingers.
“Say it! Say Indian women are inferior, Pooja!” Emily taunted her Indian opponent, as she savagely twisted and clawed at her vag. The redhead was feeling the thrum of her ancient Celtic heritage as her wrists furiously seized Pooja’s dark curly pubes, “Come on, say it!”
“Never! Yoooowww!”
“Then, it looks like I’m just not twisting hard enough!”
The red haired Irish lass’s claws dug in as she put pressure on her opponent’s groin, lifting her up off the floor and shouldering her against the wall in an effort to pin her down.
“How do you like that? I bet your Indian men can’t even pleasure you half as well as these fingers can.”
In an effort to free herself, Pooja screamed as she swung her spread legs wildly, attempting to wrap them around Emily’s torso. She had seen her ex perform it with his friends before. Squeezing her opponent’s body and putting intense pressure so that she could relieve the sharp burning pain in her crotch.
“Agh! No good Paki bitch! How dare you?”
Naturally, the more Emily tightened her grip, the more she inadvertently caused Pooja’s body to tighten up and squeeze her.
It was enough to cause Emily to release her hold, allowing Pooja to breath and release her legs. But it was not over.
Emily fiercely retaliated by slamming Pooja’s body onto the floor, locking her arms around the Indian woman’s breast, and sinking her fingers into the firm mounds with a roar. As she groped and grappled, she wanted nothing more than to drag her opponent upwards off the floor by her troublesome bosom.
Pooja attempted to return the favor and squeeze her opponent’s dangling breasts but from her position, it was difficult to get a proper grip.
And then….something happened to Pooja.
Milk started spurting out from her nipples. It startled Emily, as droplets of milk splattered onto her face and caused her to reflexively recoil backwards.
Pooja was naturally caught off guard, partially wanting to cover her violated chest and partially embarrassed but also relieved as her opponent’s grip lessened.
And yet, this was exactly what Pooja needed. Naturally, her fingers also found her opponent’s nipples and they began tugging and twisting like a wrench against a set of nuts and bolts.
Emily howled. Irish milk started pouring from her nipples.
The two women, a bit shaken at what had just happened, suddenly began grabbing and squeezing in an attempt to milk the other woman dry while also inflicting pain to their highly sensitive nipples.
Violently squeezing each other's churning mammaries in a savage tit-for-tat ordeal, they could only scream out.
“Yooow!”
“Aiiegghh!”
Pooja let out a passionate shriek as Emily savagely tore at her bulbously compressed bosom, the redhead's emerald eyes burning with primal exhilaration as she tugged her opponent’s hardened nipples, causing the Indian to wince in torment.
“Is that milk I see? What’s the matter? I thought cows were supposed to be sacred in your culture?” Emily taunted, “And here I am, putting a savage like you in your place!”
Just as quickly, Pooja returned the favor with her fingers.
“Oi, fuck you, Irish whore! I’m surprised you don’t got potato milk pouring out of your boobs!”
Droplets of hot milk trickled down from Emily's nipples onto her flushed bare torso, wetting the valley in between her compressed tits. The painful sensitivity in her nipples was more than enough to release her grip and pull Pooja’s clawing hands from her chest.
Panicked, Emily resisted Pooja's vice-like grip and pulled free, running away in the direction of the hallway with Pooja in pursuit.
“Where are you going? We’re not finished here!”
Still disoriented and blinded by shock and humiliation, Emily slipped and caught herself against the floor, allowing Pooja to catch her. The Indian reached Emily from behind and began mercilessly squeezing the Irish woman's breasts once more.
Emily resisted and attempted to run by only found herself dragged back as Pooja pulled her red hair and spun her around.
SLAM!
Pooja shoved her brown bosom once more against Emily’s pale tits, flattening them while sending Emily into the wall. Tiny streams of milk poured from both nipples, as a result.
“It seems your Irish cow tits are no match for my Desi boobs!” Pooja retorted defiantly, as she cupped her own pair before licking them as drops of liquid poured out.
As Emily attempted to lift herself, Pooja shoved her bosom against her opponent’s chest once more.
Emily let out a shrill shriek as warm milk flowed freely from her throbbing teats, dripping generously onto the worn floorboards beneath them. As Pooja’s hands abused her body even further, Emily felt her control slipping.
“They’re so small! You know, you could learn a thing about messing with an Indian girl. Because us Indian gals are much bigger!” Pooja taunted as she twisted, before slamming her boobs once more against the red haired Irishwoman.
Rocked by the sensation of milk flowing from her nipples, Emily screamed out in pain. In a desperate move, she swung her elbow outwards, making contact with Pooja’s jaw.
“Ooof!” Pooja let out a whine, losing her positioning.
That instant was all that Emily needed.
In retaliation, Emily firmly clenched onto Pooja's thick strands of hair and yanked her forward. She gave another vicious tug before releasing the Indian woman, sending her sprawling onto the polished hallway floor.
Pooja quickly recovered as Emily moved in for another attack. She immediately raised her arms, blocking Emily's incoming slaps as they pelted down on her. Then, as Emily expended her energy, Pooja kicked out and sent the redhead backwards several steps.
Attempting to pick herself up, Pooja was dragged once more by her hair and struggling to fight back, she tugged at her opponent’s naked form, once more.
Locked in a frenzied embrace, the women strained against one another. Their hands dug into each other's wild locks, pulling and yanking with every bit of strength they had. Meanwhile, their free hands desperately tugged and squeezed at each other's breasts.
Slamming their exposed bodies together and slapping around, they began crashing against the both sides of the narrow hallway, causing framed portraits and vases to clatter and crash to the floor.
“You bitch! You slag! You whore!”
“No, you’re the whore! Worthless Irish tramp!”
Their titfight resumed amidst the shattered belongings and damaged pride. Sweat and milk trickled in droplets across their bodies as they continued their excruciating tussle.
Their nipples were hardened. Their faces colored red as they groaned even louder. Each slam rang through their bodies like a shockwave echoing their struggling bodies in the hallways.
The breast duel was proving to be unrelenting and exhausting.
Pooja's steely grip on Emily's reddened teats caused the Irishwoman to squirm and buck in an attempt to dislodge her tough rival while Emily’s fiery and teeth gritting attempts at retaliation only caused Pooja to wince as she felt the burning sensation in her chest.
The children lying nearby watched on with indifference as the two women fought like beasts, baring it all to capture victory.
Instead of pulling, and perhaps out of sheer desperation, Emily turned Pooja’s weight against her as the Irishwoman decided not to continue tugging her opponent towards her but to instead push forward, causing Pooja to tumble backwards instead.
From there, she took advantage of the Indian woman slamming against the kitchen table and began clawing at her bosom while delivering slaps in between.
Pooja screamed out and tried to escape by pushing off. She only managed to release one of her opponent’s hands before stumbling against the floor once more, her round bottom facing the air and proving an opportune target for Emily.
Fueled by rage for being attacked in the groin earlier, Emily launched herself at Pooja. Her powerful body coiled like a spring as she aimed her leg straight for the shocked and surprised Pooja’s wide open groin. The Indian could only half-open her mouth as she watched the savage determination on Emily’s face, with swirls of flying red hair serving as the backdrop.
But with quick thinking, Pooja simply slid to the side. She hadn’t intended to but it just happened naturally as she shifted her round bottom away which, then, dragged the rest of her body to the side, causing her to dodge Emily's incoming attack.
Then, with a swift extension of her leg, she tripped Emily as she approached.
The impact was satisfyingly abrupt, the Indian woman taking palpable pleasure in hearing Emily's agonized grunt in response as she fell over, her own pale bottom in the air.
Pooja could only smirk as she was provided with the opportunity to do to her opponent what she wanted to do to her. Both women attempted to pick themselves up off the floor but Pooja was simply already ahead and just as Emily lifted herself off her knees, she felt a sickening thud in her groin once more as the Indian woman kicked her in between the legs from behind.
“Ooooh!”
Emily’s hands reflexively cupped her groin as she hunched over, pain shooting up from the intense kick she had just received.
Even before the full effect of the pain had a chance to settle in, Pooja rapidly closed in. Her strong brown thighs circled around Emily's waist, locking the gasping redhead in a scissor hold and turning her sideways and backwards until the two were face to face.
Subduing the struggling Irish woman, Pooja pressed Emily's face against her own chest.
"I'm going to introduce you to a real set of tits!" Pooja declared fiercely, as she blackened her adversary's vision with her heavy breasts.
Pooja's challenge seemed to infuriate Emily. But before she could offer any substantial retaliation, Pooja’s hands cruelly twisted Emily's tits once more before latching onto the Irishwoman’s hair.
With a final defiant tug, Pooja dragged Emily by her hair and head, forcing her to bend deeper into her bountiful chest. A victorious smirk spread across the Indian woman's face as she felt Emily gasping for air.
Beneath her, Emily clawed at the floor beneath them. The slap of skin on skin echoed in the room as her strikes weakly grazed across the Indian’s skin, most of them meeting thin air to begin with. Emily coughed, her pale skin staining a bright red but Pooja refused to withdraw.
"Mmmm...enjoying them much?" Pooja taunted, holding Emily's face tight between her full cleavage.
Then, with a shout summoning forth all of her Indian might, Pooja hoisted Emily off the floor with her iron grip. The Irish redhead’s legs were spread eagle and exposed as the full weight of her body pushed her downward deeper into Pooja’s holy Indian mountain peaks, buried deep within the valley of her cleavage. Her screams were muffled with futility.
Then, with a primal toss, Pooja hurled her opponent over her head and across the room. Emily's body arched precariously in mid-air before she settled onto the floor with a deafening thud. Her body followed in a pained motion, recoiling upwards.
Dazed and shocked, Emily looked more pathetic than ever as she blankly stared forward and gasped for air. Pooja capitalized on the brief moment of vulnerability and advanced upon Emily swiftly from behind.
SLAP!
With each slap Pooja landed, the sound of her smacking hands were punctuated by an accompanying word.
"NEVER," Pooja thundered, as her hand connected with Emily’s face, ‘NEEEV-"
A wild swing in mid-air as Emily took another brutal hit right to her cheekbone from behind.
“-EERRR,” Pooja’s thighs rippled erotically as she began to lift her leg in motion while Emily’s red hair swung in flying motion akin to a shampoo commercial.
The room spun as Emily's body recoiled back and forth, rocked from side to side. A splitting headache began to gnaw at her as she attempted to get up and counter only to fall down once more as she was tormented.
“-AGAIN-,” Pooja continued.
Emily was clutching herself and gasping for air, her vision blurred.
Then, piercing through the semi-conscious haze, a teary eyed Emily turned behind and barely saw Pooja raise her hand for one final slap.
SMACK!
"COME. HERE. AGAIN!"
With that, Pooja delivered the final blow with the precision and speed that even a professional boxer would be proud of.
Consumed by an explosive wave of pain, Emily's consciousness receded visibly as she slumped forward. Her body went limp, leaving her sprawled helplessly on the floor in a pathetic heap as her legs were spread apart and her boobs and face fell flat to the floor. And within that moment, Emily had finally succumbed to overwhelming defeat. Pooja had well and truly proved dominance over her Irish foe.
After several minutes had passed, Emily woke up. Her body throbbing from the fight and her vision still blurred, she attempted to pick herself off the floor.
Suddenly, she heard Pooja’s voice from behind.
“Look what I found,” Pooja stated before revealing a large vibrating wand from Emily’s private collection, “Guessing you've been quite lonely without your man. Well, allow me to help, Emily.”
“W-wait, Pooja,” Emily weakly pleaded, her hands half heartedly attempting to shield her.
But Emily’s words were abruptly cut off as Pooja landed a brutal, open-palmed smack directly to her face which sent her body reeling to the side once more. Then, another powerful slap came in the form of Pooja’s warm groin being pressed against her lips and nose as the Indian woman mounted Emily’s face.
For a second, time seemed to slow down and the only thing Emily could see was Pooja’s dark, hairy mound in all its glory. Her body was still throbbing - succumbing to being headlocked in between Pooja’s powerful thighs.
As Pooja's fingers toyed with Emily's sensitive lower lips and with the wand’s vibrations at full blast joining them, Emily could only gulp as she choked in silence as Pooja began gyrating on her face.
"Eat it, whore," Pooja commanded harshly but all Emily managed to do was gasp and whimper beneath her. A tug of her groin by Pooja’s fingers was more than enough to make Emily change her mind, however.
Soon, Emily’s tongue began working away.
"Now, I do hope you’ve developed a taste for Indian cuisine," Pooja taunted.
With no other choice, Emily’s tongue ventured out, seeking Pooja's folds in hopes of finding some much-needed air. She flicked against the slick south and swallowed, praying for Pooja to show her mercy.
Pooja watched Emily with satisfaction, the pleasure inside her growing.
After some time, however, the Indian woman decided she’d had enough fun torturing Emily within the house. It was time to take their feud outdoors.
Moving quickly, she pulled up Emily by her hair and then dragged her near-unconscious body to the front door. The redhead was too exhausted to resist, allowing Pooja to easily toss Emily back to where their little duel had been decided upon earlier - back to Pooja’s garden that she had worked so hard to maintain.
As Emily’s pale body slumped on the soft green grass, Pooja followed behind her, pulling at Emily’s legs and positioning them around her waist. She intended to make Emily experience Pooja's superior Indian hips once again.
“Have you heard of the Kama Sutra, Emily? Yes, well you should know, all it takes is the right pressure to stimulate the sensitivity in your body. In this case, your inferior bosom and your whore pussy.”
The moment their groins touched, a wave of exasperation swept over Emily as Pooja began gyrating back and forth. A series of guttural grunts and groans emitting from the Irish woman’s throat as the feeling of Pooja’s warm flesh pressed against her own.
Meanwhile, Pooja’s hand raised and lowered, viciously scratching and squeezing Emily’s ruined and battered boobs. The skin was no longer pale; it was now a canvas of red handprints, nail scratches, and bite marks. Emily cried out in protest but the pain was now just a faint sensation deep in her mind.
“Oh, stop! Stop! Please, Pooja. I yield!”
“Silence, whore!”
Her pleas were brief. The continuous grinding of Pooja's hips against Emily’s and the torment inflicted upon her breasts were more than Emily’s body could handle. She knew that no amount of begging would ever satisfy Pooja today. She already knew that there was no escaping the wrath of this indomitable Indian goddess.
With that, Pooja triumphantly lifted Emily upwards and bent her over before she began squeezing all the last drops of milk from her battered boobs. Every ounce of milk within her now fell onto the earth, milking the Indian woman’s garden with the milk of fertility. Kapoor’s fingers delicately tracing and finding ever sensitive nerve in Emily’s bosom, squeezing the melons like they were fresh and ripe from her garden.
Then, Pooja tossed the loser to the side.
“Now, you have been emptied of your milk and have none to spare in your bosom. I have robbed you and your household. Now, march! March naked into the street so all can see your paddy white arse!”
“Please, Pooja. Please, don’t make me do this!”
SLAP!
“OWWW!”
“Did you not listen to me? I told you what would happen. And these are the terms you agreed to, are they not?”
“B-bu-but-eeeeye!”
SMACK!
“Move!”
As Emily began scurrying nervously towards the road, Pooja placed her neighbor’s stroller near the door.
“Your child will wait for you here. Now, march around the neighborhood!”
With a violent snap of Pooja’s fingers, a frightened and teary eyed Emily scampered off into the street, covering her bosom with one hand and alternating between her bottom and crotch with the other. Little did she know the streets would be filled today with crowds of agitators and hooligans of all kinds, many with their own nefarious intentions as they saw a pale and naked busty Irish lass walking about.
Of course, for Pooja, that was no longer her concern.
