[Super Deadly Ham Attack]

Everything was great for the first day after publishing my most recent book. It had been extra easy to write - everything else I’d published was made up, but this book was 99% real, the tale of a very nasty catfight I’d had with my ex-best friend right before I’d moved across the country to go to college. All I’d had to do was change the names and modernize it a bit, turn the Walkman into an iPod, My Sharona into Shake It Off, that kind of thing. My memory was a little hazy - we’d fought when I was 18 and I was 38 now - but it turned out pretty well, and with a nice professionally drawn cover I thought it was going to move a few copies at least.

What I hadn’t counted on was the woman I’d had that fight with finding out about it. Becky - her real name, I’d changed it to Nicole in the book - had sent me a Facebook invite a few years back, and although we’d never actually talked, I’d read up on her with interest one rainy afternoon. She appeared to be doing fine - still in California, married with three kids and a dog, and art director on some cartoon show I didn’t watch.

I assume she read up on me too. I was living in Boston, also married, although my wife and I had zero kids and two black cats. Looking back now, this must have been when Becky found out about my writing hobby. Blissfully unaware that I was being crept on, I took the true story of the friendship-ending catfight I’d had with Becky, changed the names, and published it as Beach House Brawl BFF Beatdown.

Less than a day after publishing the book and posting the giveaway announcement on my Patreon, she called me up. Not having connected the dots yet, I answered, and we started getting caught up. We hadn’t talked for twenty years, and it was a surreal few minutes, but I found myself enjoying talking to her again, at least until Becky got down to the reason she’d called:

“So, Ash - or should I call you Samantha? You know, I read an interesting book yesterday. It’s about two girls in California, a popular blonde and her nerdy Asian friend, and they stop being friends for a stupid reason, and they get into a catfight - does this sound familiar?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I blurted. I’ve always been a bad liar, and Becky saw right through this.
“Yeah, right,” she snorted. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“Yes!” I yelled. “That’s exactly what I thought! The book only sold like 60 copies! How did you even find out about it?”
“I’m on your Patreon.”
“What?”
“You didn’t think I’d want to keep up with what you’re doing? Cute cats, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I sighed. “Uh, and your dog is cute. And kids.”
“Thank you. Now, what are we going to do about this book?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m kind of mad you aired all our dirty laundry, even if it’s just for sixty people!”
“But I changed the names-”
“Oh, like that makes any difference! And don’t get me started on how you had a fight with my sister and mom, too! And on top of that, I think I owe you a rematch after all this time!”
“Fine, so what do you want to do?”
“Well, do you want to come out here, or me go out there?”
“Errrrrrrrr, I travel for business, so I can come out there-”

Before I knew what I was really agreeing to, I had a date set in two weeks to fly out to Burbank for a 20 years in the making rematch with Becky. Since I was the guest, my opponent would take care of everything else, from picking the venue to booking me a hotel room she insisted on paying for.

It was surprisingly easy to lie to my wife about where I was going. I took a few days off work, then thought about trying to get some training in - the fight with Becky hadn’t been my last catfight, but it had been quite a few years now. In the end I decided there wasn’t really enough time to bother, and two nervous weeks later I landed in California, got checked into my room, and got a Lyft to the address Becky had given me.

I don’t know what I expected, but the place I ended up at was an expensive private gym. I checked in at the front desk and was shown into a long, narrow room in the back with thick black mats on the floor and walls, as well as an out of the way mini-fridge filled with water and Gatorade.  Becky came in as I was examining the Gatorade and I stood up quickly, nervous and slightly embarrassed.

“Hi, Ashley.”
“Hi, Becky.”

It was a little surreal seeing her again in person. Growing up our friendship had been so intense it felt like we’d be sisters from other misters forever, but by now we’d been out of each other’s lives for longer than we’d been in it, and I almost felt like I was looking at a ghost.

Becky was still five six, but now on the heavier side of average, having filled out quite a bit in motherhood. The extra weight looked good on her, I thought - she was a few pounds overweight, but she carried it well, nice big tits, round ass and thicc thighs.

She still had light blue eyes, wavy, sandy blonde hair, currently in a high ponytail, and tan skin for a white lady. Her heart shaped face had, like her body, filled out a bit, once again for the better, I thought.

As for me, I was still five seven and just as slim as I’d been at 18 (I still remember the first girl I had the guts to ask out calling me scrawny). I’d stopped coloring my hair, leaving it straight ink black, long in the back with sideswept bangs in front.

“Find the place okay?” Becky started. “Obviously, I guess. Nobody will interrupt us here. We’re going to fight until one of us gives up, and whoever wins can do whatever they want to the loser. All right?”
“Yeah.” What, was I going to say no and fly home?
“And we need a safe word. Granola.”
“Fine,” I agreed with a small grin - this was the same one I’d used with her mom in the book.
“And we’ll go naked. I don’t want to get my clothes or underwear messed up. Any questions? Are you ready?”
“Ready.””

We both stripped down in silence, then came face to face, taking each other in.

“You look good,” I told her.
“Thanks. You, too.”
“Yeah, well. I never did get those tits I wanted,” I cupped my small boobs self-consciously.
“Oh, boo hoo. You want to trade those for my stretch marks?”
“Stretch marks?” I peered at her body, just barely able to make some old ones on her lower belly out now that I was looking carefully. “Who cares?”

Becky just shook her head, raising her hands in front of her face. I copied her stance and we squared off.

My heart was racing as we circled. It was totally different from our last fight. Twenty years ago we’d been going at each other in the backseat of her family car, under a blanket, squeezing each other’s pussies as hard as we could, trying to outlast the other.

This time Becky opened the match with a stinging slap, hitting my face so hard my head snapped around. With a growl I returned the favor, giving her my own best hit, which spun my opponent halfway around. Snarling, Becky grabbed my hair with her left hand and delivered another slap to my face. I copied her grip, each of us with our left hand locked in the other’s hair, furiously slapping our opponent’s face.

Becky’s cheeks started turning an angry red, and I could feel my own matching, the furious slap of Becky’s hand smacking into them hurting so much I barked in pain at each impact.

For a few moments we just focused on slapping each other, stumbling around the room, grunting and crying out in pain at each hit. Eventually Becky had enough, leaving off the slaps, instead slamming her fist into my unprepared belly.

I gagged, the strength leaving my body, having to lean forward and rest my head on my opponent’s shoulder as I tried to catch my breath and not throw up. Becky pushed me off, and I fell backwards, landing hard on my back.

Before I could get up Becky was sitting on my stomach. She pinned my wrists to the floor, riding out a weak escape attempt as I tried to buck her off. It was no use - I was still reeling from her attack and could barely move.

“I got you, Ash,” Becky told me as she stared down at me. I took a deep breath and tried again to buck her off, but she was right - no matter how hard I pushed up off the floor, she didn’t budge.
“Fine,” I admitted. “You got me. Now what?”

My opponent’s answer was to move up a little bit and lean down, her hanging breasts coming closer and closer to my face.

“Becky, don’t you dare!” I squealed. “Do not-”
She did, trapping me in a titsmother. I bucked up against her frantically, just wasting air as I still couldn’t move her. With my face trapped in the soft darkness of her cleavage, there was no air to take in, my struggling turning frantic as I choked between her breasts. It seemed after all that, my fight with Becky was going to last less than five minutes and end with me passing out between her tits - I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t move her off.

But just when I thought I was doomed, Becky leaned up, smirking down at me as I sucked down air as quickly as I could.

“You’re doing great, Ash,” she grinned. I didn’t respond, too busy panting underneath her. “It’s not really much fun if I beat you already, so how about this? I’ll let you up, if you kiss my tits first.” She turned her torso left and right for emphasis, taunting me as her hanging boobs swung in front of my face.

Well, I didn’t have any other choice. I leaned up and took her left nipple between my lips, hearing her sigh happily. I tried to lift my right hand up to attend to her other breast, but she kept it pinned. I’d just have to use my mouth, and I was determined to wield this weapon to the hilt, switching breasts, licking, sucking, teasing, nibbling.

“All right, that’s enough,” Becky decided after a few minutes, slowly climbing off me. I stood up and we faced off. I actually thought I wasn’t in a bad spot - I’d managed to catch my breath working on my opponent’s tits, and her rock-hard nipples and flushed face suggested she might be a little distracted.

Still, I’d have to be careful - I had no idea what she might make me do in exchange for her letting me up again. That was a thought I pushed to the back of my mind, trying to focus on my opponent, who was coming at me with her palms out, hands high, looking like she wanted a test of strength. There was no way I was going to fall for this - I may have had a slight height advantage, but I had no doubt she was stronger than me.

“C’mon, Ash, you’re not scared of me, are you?” Becky tried as she came at me. I just shook my head and stepped back. My opponent closed her fists, bringing them in front of her face in a boxer’s stance and came on.

Were we going back to slapping? I’d lost that part of the fight when Becky had surprised me with a gut punch, and now I was resolved to try it on her. I lead with my right hand, faking a high slap. Becky’s hands lifted, leaving her midsection exposed, and I came in behind my left, aiming it square at her belly button.

I knew I’d gotten her good as I felt my fist sinking into her soft stomach. Becky leaned forward, having to hold on to me, gasping a loud, raspy “Oof!” right in my ear. I drew my arm back and pistoned a short right into what I hoped was the same spot.

This was too much for my opponent, who sank to her knees, slowly, her face making a long journey from my shoulder, down over my breast, then my stomach, until she came to rest with her forehead pressed against my crotch, arms crossed over her belly.

I reached down, grabbed Becky’s ponytail and yanked back, so she was looking up at me. I stared into her eyes as I drew my right hand back and gave her a thunderous slap, releasing her hair, the force knocking her over on her side.

Now what? A few options flashed through my mind, but the one I settled on was simple. I rolled Becky over onto her back, sat down on her stomach, and pinned her wrists to the floor, the exact same position as she’d gotten me trapped in. I didn’t have the equipment for a titsmother, but that wasn’t what I was after anyway. I smiled down at Becky as her eyelids fluttered open, in no hurry.

“Are we awake down there?” I asked sweetly. “Now I’ll let you up if - whoa!” I yelled as Becky bucked me off her with one powerful push up off the floor. I went off on her right side, landing hard on my right arm, rolling over onto my back.

Becky and I both got up to our knees, just outside of engagement range, fists high, closing slowly on each other.
“You interrupted me,” I accused my ex-best friend.
“I’m sorry,” she smirked. “What were you going to make me do before you let me up?”
“Kiss my tits.”
“Oh, Ash,” her smirk got even bigger. “You’re still copying me twenty years later.”
“Yeah, okay, Becky. You didn’t invent licking a woman’s nipples, all right?”
“Sure, Ash. Sure.”

My instinct was to lunge at her and wipe that smirk off her face. A thought: Could I make her think I was going to lunge at her and wipe that smirk off her face? I lunged at her, left hand high. She fell for it, reaching for my left wrist. My right hand shot out, smashing into her uncovered belly. Becky bent over my fist, and when I drew it back she collapsed to the mat on her chest, drooling and gasping.

Now what? A move called the camel clutch sprung into my mind. To set it up I sat down on Becky’s back, facing her head. I draped her arms back over my knees, then cupped my hands under her chin, ready to hurt her by pulling, wrenching her back and neck.

Although… her naked breasts were right there. All I had to do was move my hands down and I’d have two wonderful, warm handfuls. Maybe this was a better idea after all. I found her nipples, teasing them between my index fingers and thumbs.

“Enjoy it while you can, Ash,” Becky moaned. “I’m going to get you for this!”
“Uh huh,” I agreed, switching to roughly kneading her tits, savoring the lewd noises I was coaxing out of her. Rough treatment produced low, throaty moans, while a lighter teasing touch made more breathy panting.

This was turning me on as well, my hips gently moving to hump Becky’s back as I groped her breasts. Our moans and panting mixed, my excitement building until the thought occurred to me that, as fun as this was, I couldn’t exactly finish Becky off like this. And, as much fun as this was, finishing her off and riding her face was going to be even more fun.

I released Becky, thinking I could get off her just long enough to switch positions, but the moment I broke contact she rolled away and up to her feet. Of course, my modified hold hadn’t been hurting her, and I should have realized I’d given her a chance to catch her breath.

Well, no matter. We faced off and I tried to fool her again with another fake high slap followed by a low belly hit. As my hand shot towards her stomach I was already thinking about which way I wanted to make my opponent climax.

The first idea I had about how badly I’d messed up was Becky ducking under my right hand. The second was her own right hand crashing into my stomach in an explosion of pain. I stumbled back, hunched over, hands over my midsection, only to eat a following left uppercut, my opponent’s fist exploding under my chin, then I was falling backwards, the hard crash of my body into the mat, looking up at Becky staring down at me, head tilted.

“Fuck,” I moaned, one hand rubbing my aching chin, the other still over my throbbing stomach. Becky rolled me over onto my chest, and I didn’t resist, still in shock from her hits, a small part of my mind curious to see if she was going to put me in the same hold I’d just been lustily groping her in.

She didn’t, instead going around to my left side, grabbing my left wrist. I squealed as she pulled it up my back, a painful hammerlock that had me beating the floor with my free hand. After an agonizing second she eased off the pressure, the burning ache simmering down to a low throb.

I realized all this was just to keep me in place as the palm of her right hand smashed into my ass. I yelled into the mat, squirming enough that she cinched the hammerlock back up, only relaxing it when I laid still.

“That’s good, Ash, be a good girl and don’t move,” Becky told me. I couldn’t see her hand, but braced myself as best I could knowing what was coming next. It was all I could do to choke down the scream as Becky spanked me, and the next hit was too much, a shriek of pain and humiliation bursting out of my mouth before I knew what was happening.

Somewhere in her life Becky had picked up a lot of expertise at spanking. Where I had seen what noises I could get out of her by groping her tits, Becky now repaid the favor, applying different amounts of force with different angles to differents parts of my butt and upper thighs, coaxing loud yelps and yells, low moans, and eventually a few gulping sobs as she beat my butt red and then kept going.

The sobs seemed to be what she was after the most: “C’mon, Ash, are you crying? I did this to my son when he crashed the car, and he didn’t cry!”
Fuck! No wonder she was so good at this. I didn’t respond and she gave me another one, a straight-on smack to my aching right cheek.

It was too much. I started crying, both sets of cheeks burning, my face with humiliated, helpless anger and my rear in the aftermath of her merciless assault. The fun I’d had earlier in the match seemed very far away now as Becky punished me.

Finally, she stopped, leaving me moaning into the mat, my poor, abused butt throbbing angrily. I could feel her hand hovering just over my ass, and when she started talking I could hear the smile: “Well, Ash, you had enough? You can just tell me you give up.”
“Fuck off,” I moaned.
“All right, have it your way.”

I braced myself for another smack, but instead she released me. Realizing she was changing positions and this was my chance, I shot forward, getting up to my feet and turning to face her. Becky raised her eyebrows at me, clearly thinking I was finished, and with a shrug she came at me, reaching for my shoulders.

She’d made a mistake, leaving herself unprotected, and paid for it as I darted in low, getting everything I could into a charging belly punch. Becky tried to drop her hands, way too late, my fist sinking deep into her soft tummy.

In my memory this moment moves in slow motion, and I can pick out specific details: Becky’s shocked face, eyes wide, her mouth open, a gob of spit in the act of being forced out; her belly, rippling around the invading impact of my closed fist; the loud, sweet smack of my knuckles crashing into her flesh.

Becky leaned against me, desperate, but I gave her a hard shove and she fell back, landing with a loud splat on the floor, arms and legs spread carelessly in defeat. Damn, she looked good laid out like that. The perfect way to finish her off came to me in a flash.

I got down on the floor myself, just in front of Becky, scooting forward, lifting her right leg up off the mat, draping it over my shoulder. I pushed forward the last inch, sighing happily as my crotch pressed against my opponent’s.

I started slow, gentle, our lower lips kissing tenderly, Becky moaning as our juices mixed. I could tell she was already aroused from what we’d done so far just to look at her face, her eyelids fluttering to half-open, cheeks flushed, panting, moaning as I became more aggressive, mashing our pussies together.

I thought about taunting Becky with the fact that her mother and I had done this during our own fight twenty years ago, but I was trying to make her cum, not gross her out, so I kept this to myself. That memory, unfortunately, only helped me along, and with regret I pushed it from my mind, instead summoning up the agenda of next week’s department meeting.

That worked a bit better. The thought of going over student’s varied learning styles damped down but couldn’t completely eliminate the warm, insistent pleasure spreading from my crotch as Becky and I ground our pussies together. I moved on to my last trump card: imagining myself getting into another argument with Professor Mehta about how to differentiate instruction styles.

That did it - well, that plus I was starting from zero after the painful spanking. Honestly, it wasn’t much of a contest at all. Becky had surrendered a commanding position to me, and although she was now doing her best to inflict pleasure by bucking her hips against mine, it was far too late. She was doomed, and we both knew it.

“Are you gonna cum?” I panted, going for the kill, aggressively tribbing her, savoring her moans, the look of helpless pleasure on her flushed face. “Huh? Are you gonna fucking cum, Becky? Are - hey!” I squealed as she simply moved back, breaking contact.

I tried to scoot forward to re-establish my tribbing attack, but she was already getting to her feet. I had a split second to decide if I was going to try and hold her down on the floor or stand up. I went with option one, darting forward and grabbing her shoulders, taking my unsuspecting opponent down to the floor on her back.

I ended up on her right side, I admit more through luck than careful planning finding myself in a commanding position. Becky was on her back as well, her right arm trapped under my legs. When I grabbed her left wrist with my own left hand, she was left totally helpless, only able to buck up uselessly off the floor.

I let her do this for a minute, both to make sure she couldn’t escape and to let her tire herself out a little bit. I had only my right hand, but that, I thought, would be enough to get her over the edge, to bring about her final submission. I went for the kill, my right hand reaching slowly for her crotch. Becky’s response to this was to close her legs.

“Fine, you want to do it the hard way?” I balled my right hand up into a fist and smashed it into her belly. She kept her legs closed, through another hit, but the third did the trick, her thighs opening as my fist hovered over her stomach. “There we go. Now keep those open.”

She did. The fight was over; Becky was mine. In no hurry, I finished her slowly, teasing her at first before slipping a finger in, two, pumping, feeling her trying to buck her hips against me, savoring her moans, her body shaking.

“You fucker,” she moaned.
“Feel good, Becky?”
“I really hate you, Ash.”
“Mm, I know. How about this?” My thumb found her clit and she leaned back with a sigh, any pretense of resisting gone.

“Ash, you’re going to make me cum,” she rasped after one more moment.
“I sure am, unless you say the safe word.” I gave her a minute, my fingers barely moving. She didn’t say it. I resumed fingering her, feeling her climax building through her body, watching intently as she reached the point of no return, her body shaking, eyes closed, mouth open in a scream of pleasure, howling at the ceiling.

I kept going, just to make sure she wasn’t faking. If she was, she deserved an Oscar as she lay on her back, sweaty, beaten. I felt a huge smile spreading across my face as I changed position, going face to face with her, my knees around her sides, leaning down and gently kissing her.

“Wake up,” I chirped. Becky’s eyes slowly opened for a second, then closed again as if I’d go away if she couldn’t see me. “Now, now,” I gave her cheek a light slap. “We’re not done yet. To the winner, the spoils. Right?”
“Fine,” Becky sulked. “What do you want me to do?”
“You know, Becky, for once I am going to steal an idea from you. It’s time for your spanking!”
“Come on!” she complained tiredly.
“Look, you spanked my butt raw first! Or do you want to go back to fighting?”
“No. Fine, I can take anything you can dish out!”
“We’ll see!”

I got up and had Becky get on all fours in front of me. I kneeled down, savoring the moment, drawing my arm back, delivering a stinging slap to her bare ass.

“Ouch!” Becky yelled. “Ash, you’re doing it wrong!”
“I’m what?” I barked, my hand drawn back for another spank.
“Cup your hand. Hitting with a flat palm causes too much pain.”
“Like this?” I cupped my hand and gave her another spank. I have to admit it did create a wonderful, low smack! Sound.

“Yes,” Becky moaned. “And switch where you’re hitting. There’s upper and lower left and right cheek, plus the upper thighs. Keep me guessing as - ooh!” she squealed as I got her low on her right cheek.

“You know what’s going to happen after this?” I lined up my next hit, to her right upper thigh, drawing the moment out, waiting for her to answer.
“What - aah!”
“You’re going to eat my pussy. How’s that make you feel?” No response. Fine - I’d just make her scream, this time hitting her left cheek.
“Okay! Okay! You won, Ash!”
“Oh, so you don’t want to get spanked any more?”
“No.”
“So you want to eat my pussy then.”
“Yes.”

I guess I’d proven my point, plus I really wanted to get my pussy licked. I backed up a little bit, sat down on the mat, and spread my legs.
“All right, I’m ready,” I called out. Becky turned, on her knees, and I waved her over with a smile. She started walking over on her knees, but I had one last humiliation: “No, crawl over here.”

Becky sighed but obeyed, crawling on her hands and knees, closer, closer, until I felt her warm breath on my pussy. I gasped as she began licking me, enjoying the fruits of my victory. I stared down at her, my beaten opponent’s blonde ponytail bobbing as she worked her tongue up my slit.

“Look at me,” I moaned. “Look at me when you eat me out.”
She obeyed, her light blue eyes staring up at me as her tongue wiggled maddeningly inside of me. I reached down, grabbing her ponytail just to have something to hang on to as she worked.

Soon it was too much. I leaned back, closed my eyes and went to heaven, my climax washing over me like an all-encompassing wave, overrunning everything, my fingers and toes digging into the mat, far away the feeling of my legs squeezing for a second on Becky’s head, one perfect golden second of release.

“Ooohh,” I sighed happily as I came down, staring up at the ceiling, eyes half open. “Ooh, wow. Thanks, Becky.”
“Yeah, all right,” she mumbled, wiping her mouth.
“I had fun,” I told her, sitting up, aiming a sunny smile at her. “Even if it’s going to be hard sitting down on the flight home.”
“Call it something to remember me by.”
“Sure,” I laughed. “Well, do you want to have another rematch in 20 years?” I breezed.
“Ha ha. Ash, I better not see this on your Patreon,” Becky growled. “Or that shitty little forum you post on!”
“No promises!” I smiled sweetly. (Hi, Becky!)