The journey was punctuated by the occasional growl of thunder and the constant spattering of summer rain as city gave way to country and as promised the roads became more morass than viable route. Nonetheless both horses and carriages laboured on as alone within each woman contemplated the battle to come, each luxuriating in the now vicious rivalry that smouldered beneath civilised veneers.
It was a long hour but ultimately Margaret was aware of her coach stopping. She leant out of the window to see that Hoxham had pulled his own vehicle to and that they were on a quiet tree shrouded road. The rain had stopped although water dripped from branches and green leaves. As Hoxham opened the door to the Lady Thompson's carriage Margaret's driver moved round the side and opened her door, lowering three steps to the muddy road. Margaret stared down at the boggy puddles beneath the cart but cared little about a bit of filth and descended, her high boot splashing into the brown muck spattering the base of her skirt.
Jayne stared across to Lady Farningham and then turned her attention back to Hoxham feeling the mud about her own shapely ankles, 'Drive back to Halstead. Tell the other driver to return with you in three hours time, the business betwixt myself and Miss Farningham should be long done by then.'
'Very well m'lady.' Hoxham immediately squelched back to his seat as the redhead called across to the brunette, 'Instruct your driver to follow my man he well direct him as to what to do next.' Margaret was slightly unsure of this but compelled by the fact they had come this far assented and carried out the instruction. As her carriage began to move off she noticed that the redhead was pulling herself from the roadside to a fenced gate beyond which were the empty outbuildings of the farm which was to be the scene of their duel. Normally a woman of society would be fearfully dubious of coming to such a locale unaccompanied but such concerns were subdued by the simple reason for their being here. As the coaches moved round the corner she picked her own way towards her rival who waited on a more solid pathway.
'It is much easier to walk here,' explained Jayne as her eyes peered down at Margaret's mud clogged shoes and spattered crinolines, her own being similarly daubed.
'Yes I can see that,' and the two again stared eye to eye in silence.
'And so alone at last my dear.' It was Jayne who broke the silence.
'Indeed.' a weighty pause, 'So let us get down to business.'
'Of course,' Jayne nodded after another pause, 'after all I see no further reason for delaying our 'meet' my dear.' And with a rustle of her petticoats and skirts she moved off.
The two elegantly dressed women looked much out of place as they picked their way between farm buildings heading towards a ramshackle barn that dominated the site neither saying a word although Margaret's trepidation began to grow with each unfamiliar step she took.
Silently Jayne drew the bar of the barn door back and with a hard push and the squeak of rusted hinges pushed it open. They stood framed in the entrance, peering inside at the cavernous space. The smell of damp wood, must and old hay filed their nostrils, moisture dribbling from high beams formed puddles on the earthen floor.
'I hope you like,' smiled Jayne as she moved in, her heart beating faster as she peered into the gloom and refamiliarised herself with the location, 'Just like you have your 'room' this is MY little spot for certain select catfights,' she spun on her heel back at Margaret who still stood in the doorway. 'There is no trickery here, it is not my desire to disorientate you, when we fight I want this to be a battle of equals.'
'Oh don't worry,' Margaret moved into the room muddy heels splashing in a puddle as she walked past her foe taking in the scene herself, 'I am not disoriented in the slightest. In fact I am ITCHING to fight,' she turned back to Jayne who returned with a mean red lipped smile.
'Oh and so am I,' the low serious voice she had used in the church echoed in the gloomy interior as she paced away briefly and pulled the door closed, leaning against it and staring at Margaret illuminated by shafts of wet sunlight that shone through holes in the roof.
'Well then you little shebitch, the sooner we so do the better!' Margaret pulled her purple bonnet from her head and let her brown hair cascade about her made up face. Jayne had never seen it down before and had to acknowledge it's lustre and fine condition but as she slowly let her own fiery mane fall she delighted in the fact that it would not be long before her fingers were at it and there was plenty to grip onto. 'Yes you little hussy Margaret!' she hissed back as she then began to draw the fingers free of their gloves a slow, deliberate action each finger withdrawn one at a time a move that was mirrored by Margaret.
'Good, I was wondering when the time for small talk would be at an end,' Margaret's purposefully dropped her gloves to the floor and placed her hands to her hips and then moved forwards, muddied feet kicking water as she went, 'I have been waiting for so long to tell you what I truly think of you, you arrogant red headed whore.' her stomach was turning somersaults as she fixed eyes with the approaching Miss Thompson, lengthy fingers pressed against the tight belt that gave her body shape.
Jayne's skirts rustled as her own feet splashed as she drew closer hands at her own hips, 'Oh my dear Miss Farningham, if anyone needs to consider humility it's you, you brazen little bitch, after all this meeting is all down to YOUR machinations, YOUR desire to prove who is the better bicthfighter. I am just humouring your petty minded and misguided thoughts.' and with that she dropped both her black gloves at her foes feet between them both. Margaret smiled, appreciating the irony of the gesture lightly splashing muddy water over the black velvet with her boot; 'By that you are saying you are the better catfighter, is that it bitch?'
'Not 'think' slut..KNOW I am the better catfighter!'
'Nothing more than a cheap painted faced tart, that's all,' there was added venom to these gutter words coming from well spoken mouths.
'And you should know all about painted faces, seeing how deeply it is caked on yours- is that to hide the wrinkles you old whore?' Jayne giggled girlishly although there was nothing girlish about the anger in her voice.
'Unlike you, you red-haired pig' Margaret was possessed by anger now, all that had been bottled up began to flow forth and Jayne's verbal assault suggested similar from her, 'I don't need make up to hide my blemishes. Look at you,' staring up and down, face absolutely contemptuous, 'You call yourself a woman, I warrant that corset is nearly bursting at the seams keeping your unsightly fat in...and then you imagine yourself the best..ptoooh' she literally spat on the floor, surprising herself at her gesture, usually such exchanges were handled in a far more civil way than this but time had led to the mutual hate which was clear in the vicious and spiteful words being exchanged in the barn.
'You dirty brown mopped whore.' Miss Thompson's face showed real disgust, 'We'll see just who is hiding the most fat when I rip your corset free from your vile body.'
'Oh please do try you fucking red-haired witch.'
'That is precisely why we are here you stupid slut. You...you...you....cxnt'
The word rang out loud in the air, seeming to hang there for a silent moment and then Margaret was moving those last few steps towards her opponent, purple nailed fingers pressed hard at her hips, 'Oh cxnt am I well that is rich when one considers the cxntish whore that you are.'
'Fucking cxnt that's all that you are, a fucking cxnt.' Jayne advanced equally purposefully her own red nails flashing.
'Whore! I'm going to tear you bald'
'Little cxnt, I'll scratch you and your slutty dress to pieces!'
'Bitch!'
'Whore!'
'Slut!'
'cxnt!'
'Trollop!'
'Slag!'
'cxnt!'
The two were talking over one another drawn up face to face panting heavily in their tight corsets. They paused briefly for a blink of an eye and then Margaret launched forward at exactly the same time as Jayne did.
'Oh you whore...'
'Fight me bitch!'
Voices yelled over each other as Jayne seized Margaret's brown locks and Margaret's hand slapped Jayne's rouged cheek. The redhead winced as the crack echoed through the barn but this did not deter her reaching hands one bit and long red nailed fingers coiled about long luxuriant hair, tugging it from the roots. Margaret yelled feeling her head being jerked forwards and instantly raised her own hands to clamp her fingers onto the fiery mane that danced in front of her in light and shadow, the two tugging hard as they planted their booted feet on the damp packed earth.
'How do you like the slap whore?' snarled Margaret through clenched teeth seeing how it had left a faint red mark on her foes made up skin.
'Uhh....a mere trifle. I do hope that is not the best you can do you slut otherwise I will be so disappointed once I have pulled this lank mop out..whore,' Jayne hissed back.
'Rest assured..uhh...pig, the floor will be covered in red hair once this has finished...cxnt!' Margaret readjusted her grip to pull harder, hair made up features drawn back by the hard clenched fists balled tightly at the back of her scalp. The two groaned, skirts whipping and flailing about them as they moved their feet in a wild dance in order both to keep balance and to resist the pain of each tug, gasping half finished curses at one another, water splashing over boots and the hems of their crinolines as they whirled. Awkwardly Jayne tugged her left hand free, a satisfactory rip of brown hair which she shook from her slender fingers and the grimace on her enemy's face inspiring her to pull harder with her right hand. She drew her freed hand back trying to time the oncoming slap just right. The pain in Margaret’s scalp forced her to wince in agony as she felt her roots give a little of her beautiful mane and in such agony she slid her hands together to grab a sizeable handful of red hair, both hands pulling at it as if tugging at a rope or some such. She was thrilled to hear Jayne's sharp intake of breath as she yanked and stepped backwards, pulling so hard that opponent was pulled with her. The Lady Jayne's grip was loosened although she had another clutch of hair that forced Margaret to yell aloud but was off balance and her slap struck awkwardly at the whalebone of her foes dress and concealed corset. Her hands scrabbled but she could not regain her grip on the brown hair, locks of which were still falling from her fingers. Desperately she fastened onto the expensive purple velvet of her foe's dress. Margaret felt the fingers anchor on and the tension at her chest but knew that she was inflicting terrible damage on this red mane and thus resisted as she tugged harder, yanking and pulling with both hands.
'Oh you fucking slut,' snarled Jayne although her voice was somewhat obscured by the awkward angle her face was at, fastening nails onto material and instinctively going for breasts that were currently protected form her. Nonetheless she had purchase enough and planting her own heeled feet began to tear back, partly to regain her balance and equilibrium and partly to allow access to the Lady Farningham's breasts. This in many ways proved counterproductive as her resistance gave extra leverage for the brunette's savage hair pulling and she could feel her roots tearing with each jerk and tug. Nonetheless panting heavily she now gathered herself and kicked out a booted foot skirt flying as it connected with Margaret's leg. The brunette yelped and tugged back harder as Jayne pulled away. There was suddenly a tremendous rip both of hair and velvet as they stumbled wildly away from each other, water and mud splashing, purple buttons flying at angles across the barn.
Each looked at the trophy they had ripped, Jayne the purple material and buttons, Margaret the fistful of hair, disappointingly small in comparison to the great hank of fiery red she had initially seized. Jayne's eyes were drawn to her rival’s breasts rising and falling as she leaned forwards. They were still pressed tight in the decorative corset that her attack had exposed, pale and pushed up, though as suspected there was little difference in size to her own. Her scalp burned but she had more than enough hair to cover the no doubt noticeable bald spot that her foe had revealed.
'What a cheap tawdry dress you slut,' she panted still half bent over as she threw velvet to the floor.
'No taste at all you witch' gasped Margaret back, 'but at least Miss Thompson a dress can be replaced more easily than your lank tresses,' she smirked back, straightening up and holding the handful of red hair triumphantly upwards.
'BITCH!' yelled Jayne incensed by the sight of her torn hair and instantly she splashed forwards to meet her rival. Margaret was waiting for her, throwing the hair to one side as they both reached up and resumed attack on their locks. The two spun with frantic feminine groans, gasps and growls as they wrestled each other by the hair, bodies pressed as they found themselves impacting against a wall, shadow veiling them as they fought. They tugged hard as Margaret drew her hand back and then pressed it against her opponent's face pushing her back by the neck, lacquered nails digging in. Jayne suppressed another scream, muffled to an extent by the palm pressed against her mouth, smearing her expensive lipstick. Desperate to take back a more sizeable trophy of hair for herself she pulled at brown locks with both hands tugging her foe's head away from her whilst trying to gnaw at the open palm that pressed at her forehead and cheeks and flattened her nose. Margaret groaned with the strain as she felt her body moving forwards, her chest being pushed towards Jayne's. The redhead could feel the buttons of her black dress straining against the pressure of her corseted breasts but they held fast as locked together they battled voices, increasing steadily in pitch with each feminine groan. Jayne could feel hair giving, hear the pop as roots tore free from scalp, Margaret was trying to stifle her scream screwing her hand up against her foes face close enough for Jayne to sink her teeth in to the palm. It was not a deep bite but enough to send a shriek of surprised pain from Margaret's mouth and see her recoil her hand back a movement that was accompanied by final tug at her hair and Jayne stumbling away with a hank of brown locks in her grasp. The Lady Farningham was whip like in her reactions though and lashed out with her left hand torn from her rivals red hair grabbing at Jayne's arm. It did not take hold but she caught the black sleeve and nails dug into the velvet. There was a rip as the material gave way, built far more for elegance than the durability needed for catfight, tearing a seam that ran all the way down Jayne's right side partly exposing her decorative crimson and lace corset to the waist.
There was no time for taking stock though both women knew they had to press the other advantage against the other she bitch and as one they leapt at each other again throwing sleeve and brunette hair to the ground. Jayne's pale naked arm snaked up and again seized at Margaret's burning scalp the other seizing onto her dress pulling her into the room. The brunette's hand reached for redhead's neck, the other arm reaching across in the rent in her rivals dress to scratch at her back. Water splashed as they stumbled away from the wall teetering on heels that saw Margaret losing balance. A split second decision needed to be made struggle to stay up right or take this catwar to the floor. There seemed little decision and Margaret felt her stomach rise into her throat as she and her enemy coiled together hit the damp and hard earth floor. A further rip came from Jayne's dress, tearing now across her chest, buttons popping to the floor as her breasts still nestled in corset became visible. The two scrabbled as one, black and purple skirts and petticoats fanning out , high booted feet and stockinged legs kicking, one against the other. The two were on their sides but in frenzy with a noticeable groan Jayne lifted herself up and planted herself down again forcing her enemy onto her back. Margaret was not one to remain prone however and instantly kicked up, lifting her shoulders from the ground, feeling the water that splashed her pale skin. The two again fell to fighting on their sides, hands
grappling as legs coiled together. Each seemed to counter the other's move as they raved and hissed, scratching and grasping at the others hand, painted fingers locking and then pulling away from each other.
'You fucking trollop' gasped Jayne her dress splashed in water, mud spattering her pale, long naked arm.
'Maybe but I'm the better woman so what does that make you?'
'Oh we'll see how good you are you slattern!' Jayne snarled back batting fingers away once again as she tried to thrust her fingers to the front lace up midnight black corset that Margaret wore. Margaret paused for but an instant before deciding to match in kind, to take this bitch on at her own game. Her hands moved forwards and began to attack the more clearly exposed white laces of Jayne's tight red corset. In a curious change of tack now both concentrated on the fine lacework, slender fingers striving to undo the front of the tight whalebone, lower lips bitten as their energy became channelled to more subtle work,
'Oh let's see who's most woman shall we bitch,' Margaret snarled on her side, half leaning on her struggling arm, hardly aware that the tips of her tresses were settled in a mud puddle.
'Oh yes,' sneered Jayne sarcastically, 'there's obviously NO better way of determining who's the better woman than comparing our TITS you cxnt!' she snarled back, yet despite her viciously ironic tone she still worked at the black lace of her rival.
'No bitch I'm talking about scratching your tits you sow,' Margaret spat, the two of them twisting on their side as their fingers worked.
'And I'm talking of ruining yours you whore!'
And yet still the lace would not give, it was a battle of time in their minds, who would reveal whose womanhood first. With each tug the corset loosened and breasts spreads out, cleavage became less deep as skirts continued to swish and swirl, legs either kicking or squirming against each other stirring up a layer of filth from the mud puddle that they rested in.
A sudden final jerk as Margaret pulled herself half upright, tugging the long lace back, the corset was loosened enough and hurriedly she leaned forwards to try to prise free the treasured orbs within, pull them from the material. She could feel her own breath less restricted now though and it was obvious that Jayne was not far from doing similar to her. Her fingers scrabbled and Jayne momentarily drew her hands back to try to pull them away but clearly thinking better of it continued the final loosening of her enemy's corset. She gritted her teeth as she felt claws digging into her breasts although was well aware that her foe must be feeling the pressure of the whalebone biting into her hand
'Come on whore,' panted Margaret half getting to her knees, 'let's see your girls.' She smiled as she recalled the word that had been used by their servants when they fought.
Jayne herself trying to get to her knees gasped back, 'Why of course my dear but only if I can see yours!' The redhead had not foully loosened the brunette's corset but there was enough room for her to thrust her fingers down and though the whalebone dug in to them she felt the satisfaction of prying nails touching soft pale breastflesh. Awkwardly, hands planted to one another's chests the two began to rise, eyes locked as they almost seemed to pull each other up,
'Not much in the way of tits have you m'lady,' snarled Jayne, ‘no wonder you need a fucking corset bitch!'
'Oh you are so fucking droll you whore, I have not even a handful here with your tits slut.'
Mud spattered their attire and dribbled from hair onto shoulders and down the front of dresses which still clung in many parts to their bodies. They stood astride the sizeable puddle they had fought in hands now dug in awkwardly in a stalemate, both adjusting and readjusting their grips, faces in silence, eyes staring as they sought new ways to twist and squeeze the other but truth be said the corsets were restricting any dramatic movements and indeed caused pain to both sets of attacking hands. They trod a circle round the puddle, slow and measured, attacking breasts and then Margaret suddenly pulled her hands free and drew away, drawing with a steady pace into he shadows of the barn once more. Relieved Jayne released her grip as both shook and massaged their wrists and hands turning to eye each other.
'This is no way for a woman to fight' Margaret hissed inspecting a cracked nail and mud spatters on her fingers, noting that she had trodden her bonnet into the dirt as she had moved away. 'Will you bear your tits or will I have to rip that corset from you?'
'Oh so you want to fight me tit to tit you whore?' Jayne gasped.
'No you slut I want to sink my nails into your 'girls'. Now come on,' her hands were scrabbling at her corset finishing the lace work pulling it open, enjoying the release in pressure at her sides as it drew back from her flat stomach and fully released her breasts, thrilling as she felt the cool damp air on them. Jayne had took her cue and simultaneously set about revealing her own pale pink nippled globes. Still in their dresses despite the torn fronts they faced off with corsets open at the font staring at each others breasts. Indeed as both had suspected they were pert, round, equal in every way but unlike the maids they had no desire to press them together, to ruin them with their nails was their sole intention.
As she saw Margaret staring at her beautiful pale breasts Jayne smiled enjoying the freedom to move, lowering herself down, 'Time for you to get dirty you unrefined whore Margaret,' her slender fingers on both hands scooping up fistfuls of damp mud that trickled over pale skin, coating lacquered nails. She savoured the thrilling sensation as she drew her hand back and let a gobbet of it fly. Margaret however was already kneeling herself to do similar and the muck instead spattered against her face. Lady Farningham winced for but a moment and then with a cry of 'dirty slut' and renewed vigour she propelled herself forward. One hand hurled a similar size projectile of wet mud which spattered Jayne's red hair as she scrabbled to scrape up more but the other squelched with the impact of her left hand grabbing at her foe's pallid, pert breast, smearing across its surface. Jayne felt the cold liquid and the sharp pain of nails digging in and herself instinctively thrust fresh handfuls of filth into the brunette's chest, digging nails in and kneading the filth.
'Oh you are a gutter cxnt aren't you,' growled Margaret as her other hand scrabbled up mud and slapped it onto Jayne's other breast the two half smearing and massaging the muck in, half scratching the soft breastflesh. 'Just as much as you are dockwhore'. There seemed an almost childish glee to their actions although their burning eyes demonstrated that this was no game as they plastered muck over breasts, cleavages, open corsets the remainder of dresses, up necks and onto faces all the time throwing hateful words at one another, voices and the splattering of mud echoing in the barn. Within minutes the two of then were partially daubed in a layer of clotted and smeared filth, resting on their knees, elegant skirts and crinoline awash in dirt. Margaret aimed a mud smeared slap at Jayne's face, a wet crack echoed as muck spattered from cheek and Jayne's red hair now smeared in many parts with grey filth swept back with the rocking of her head. A surprised look was visible on her mud coated face as she felt her cheek Margaret watching her as the redhead suddenly drew her hand back and aimed a wet slap to her rival's face. All of a sudden the rhythm and flavour of he catfight changed. the two raised their hands as if to go for one another and then Margaret drew hers back to slap again, Jayne raised hers but then seeing her rival's held back paused, her question was asked matter of factly, 'You want to slapfight whore?'
'It is accepted within the rules of engagement is it not,' Margaret's white teeth and red lips still stood out against her pale muddied face as she held her hand firm.
'Ah, ever the duellist,' smirked Jayne lowering her hand
'Ever the cxnt,' responded Margaret and then let fly with another crack at Jayne's braced cheek. Lady Thompson winced again with the crack but knew that a slapfight would give her plenty of opportunity to eke out her revenge. It was a simple principal really, each woman slapped the other until one or the other gave way. It would not be the sole determinant of a duel of this nature but nonetheless was another way for one woman to battle and assert her dominance over another. With this principal in mind Jayne drew her hand back and felt the satisfaction of a wet slap upon her loser's cheek, 'Ever the mucky bitch!'
And so they went on exchanging wet slaps and hard blows in turn to the others cheek, faces reddening beneath make up and mud, hair becoming increasingly muddied but neither willing to give way despite the tears that began to well within both their eyes
CRACK- whore
CRACK- witch
CRACK- slut
CRACK- tart
Again and again the hands and the insults flew and again and again cracks rang out but neither gave and their arms were becoming increasingly tired. Margaret raised her hand for what must have been the twentieth time, her head ringing, cheek on fire beneath the cold muck, now leaning forward, slime and sweat dribbling down her cleavage. She looked across at her rival so close to her seeing a look of similar weariness other face but feeling the intense dislike burning in her stomach. A look passed between them as Margaret half lowered her hand before gulping 'Stalemate?'
Jayne did not reply merely nodded, pushed her filthy tresses back, almost solid lumps of muddy hair in parts as she stood. Margaret lowered her hand and pushed herself up, sliding her own filthy hair back over her shoulders aware that her dress was smeared in grime as she rubbed her aching jaw. The two began circling each other in their ruined attire, boots pressing the earth as they regained their senses from the intense slapping naked muddy breasts rising and falling, slender nipples pointing almost it seemed at one another. Again their eyes fell to each other's dirty breasts standing proud through the tatters of dress and corset. Jayne began to slide her arm out of her remaining sleeve, not caring as black material ripped letting the top half of her dress fall. She smiled as she saw Margate pause briefly and then herself began to rip her dress back further letting it fall. The pale skin that had escaped the earlier mudfight stood out in the greying light within the barn and each had the overwhelming desire to sully it, to completely humiliate the other in the grime, their passions had become completely primal now whatever clothes of civility they may have worn. Jayne's hissing tone and unrefined voice seemed to sum that up most concisely, 'I want to fight you in the filth you whore completely ruin you, smear that frail bitch's body and leave you in the mud for your man to pick up!'
'Oh so you like a mudfight bitch,' Margaret's voice was equally resentful, wild, shaking, 'Well I am more than happy to finish this in the slime you whore,' although the wet puddles in the room hardly seemed apt for the purpose.
'Then come on whore, step out of your dress, we'll fight in our underwear. There is an old mill pond behind this barn, the mix of summer heat and rain will have made it just right for us to conclude this'
'Fine..we will end this there you whore, woman to woman'. she began to loosen her skirts and step out of her dress.
'Woman to bitch!' Jayne began to work at her own skirt and crinolines.
'No,' Margaret paused her labours looking up at her rival, 'BITCH to BITCH' and with that began herself to remove her crinolines.
Not long after both stood facing off in their corsets with garter clips attached to luxurious silk stocking, knee high boots spattered in filth. their forms were a patchwork of grey mud and pale skin with specks of red and brunette hair visible the through the filth that plastered their heads, their dresses and crinoline discarded behind them. Each took the other in again remarking on their look, like ancient warrior queens, despite the filth that covered them, truly equals. Then with nothing more than a nod of her grimed head Jayne moved to the door, Margaret followed silently.
