The Milk War: Round Two by DCDave
Part One: The Confessions
Andrea slunk through the front door of her Gaithersburg duplex, Wade cradled in her arms, his cries a relentless dagger in her chest. The late afternoon light spilled through the blinds, illuminating Kyle sprawled on the couch, scrolling his phone—an IT exec off early for once. He glanced up, brow furrowing at her disheveled state: red nursing bra shredded, gray leggings stained with milk, blonde hair a sweaty mess. Her 32Gs sagged, raw and empty, a humiliating testament to her defeat.
“What the hell happened to you?” Kyle asked, sitting up, his voice sharp with concern and confusion.
Andrea’s throat tightened, her cheeks burning as she set Wade in his bouncer. She crossed her arms over her chest, wincing at the tenderness. “I… I got into it with Emmy,” she muttered, eyes darting away. “A fight. Over… everything. The parking spot, the babies, the milk.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she swallowed hard. “She… she drained me, Kyle. I don’t have anything left for Wade.”
Kyle’s jaw dropped, phone slipping to the cushion. “Drained you? What the fuck does that mean?” His eyes narrowed, scanning her torn clothes, the faint red welts on her skin. “You’re saying she—what, squeezed you dry? Like some kind of… milk brawl?”
Andrea nodded, humiliated, her fists clenching as Wade’s wails intensified. She scooped him up, pressing him to her breast, but he turned his head, refusing to latch, his cries growing shrill. “He won’t take it,” she whispered, tears pricking her eyes. “She took it all, and now he’s feeding from her. I had to watch that smug bitch nurse my son.” Rage flared through her shame, her voice rising. “She laughed at me, Kyle. Said I’d need formula. I want to rip her apart.”
Kyle stood, pacing, his face a mix of disbelief and anger. “This is insane. You’re telling me she beat you up and stole your milk? And Wade’s eating from her now?” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “Jesus, Andrea. How’d you let her win?”
The question stung worse than Emmy’s hands, and Andrea’s glare could’ve melted steel. “Let her? She’s a fucking animal. I fought back—I drained her too, but she… she had more. She pinned me, and—” She choked on the memory, the primal thrill of their struggle warring with her defeat. “I hate her so much.”
Kyle stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping as he caught the hurt in her eyes. “Shit, babe, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softening. “I’m sorry—that was a dick thing to say. You didn’t let her do anything. She’s a lunatic, and you’re tougher than that.” He cupped her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks. “You’re pissed, I get it. Use that. You were a goddamn terror in college—those wrestling matches you dominated? Break her, Andrea. Not with fists—sexually. Make her beg.”
Andrea blinked, her breath hitching, Wade still fussing in her arms. “Sexually?” she echoed, uncertainty creeping in. “Kyle, what if I lose again? She’s… she’s strong. She had me pinned, leaking, helpless. I can’t go through that twice.”
He grinned, leaning in, his voice low and coaxing. “You won’t lose. You’ve got moves she can’t handle—those thighs, that grip? You pinned girls twice your size back then. Imagine her squirming under you, cumming first, crying your name. You’re not just a mom—you’re a fucking queen. She’s got nothing on you when you’re fired up.” His hands slid to her shoulders, squeezing. “You can take her, babe. I know it.”
Her eyes flickered, doubt giving way to a spark of fire. “You think so?” she murmured, shifting Wade closer. She pressed him to her breast again, and this time, maybe spurred by her rising adrenaline, he latched, sucking weakly at first, then stronger. A trickle of milk—faint, but there—flowed, and relief washed over her, mingling with a sudden, fierce arousal. “Oh, God, he’s eating,” she gasped, her free hand gripping Kyle’s arm. “I’ve still got something. I could… I could grind her down, Kyle. Make her scream. I’d love that—watching her break under me.”
Kyle’s grin widened, his eyes dark with pride and lust. “That’s my girl. She won’t know what hit her.”
Across the duplex wall, Paul stepped into his living room, dropping his med gear bag as the scent of sour milk hit him. The space was a warzone—couch cushions askew, coffee table skewed, milk stains pooling on the hardwood. Emmy lounged on the recliner, Henry suckling contentedly at her 36DDs, her black nursing tank still damp, shorts clinging to her thick thighs. Her thick brunette mane was wild, her smirk radiant.
“Christ, Em, what happened here?” Paul asked, eyes wide, a grin tugging at his lips despite the mess.
Emmy shifted Henry to her other breast, her brown eyes gleaming. “Had a little showdown with Andrea,” she said, her voice low and smug. “Beat her ass in a milk fight. Drained her dry—literally. She’s got nothing left for that brat of hers. Even fed Wade myself, just to twist the knife.” She laughed, a rich, throaty sound, her nipples hardening at the memory. “God, Paul, it was hot. Pinning her down, squeezing those tits empty, feeling her squirm under me—it was power, pure and sexual. I owned her.”
Paul’s grin widened, his pants tightening as he stepped behind her, hands settling on her shoulders. He rubbed her neck, fingers kneading the taut muscles, then slid one hand to the back of her head, massaging her scalp through that thick mane. “You’re kidding. You milked her out? That’s… damn, Em,” he said, voice thick with admiration. “Sounds like you got off on it.”
“Fuck yes, I did,” she purred, leaning into his touch, her body humming. “Her begging, those tears—she was mine, Paul. Every squeeze, every spray, I felt it right here.” She grabbed his free hand, guiding it down to her crotch, pressing his fingers against the damp heat of her shorts. “Feel that? I’m soaked just thinking about it. Dominating her was better than sex.”
Paul groaned, his fingers flexing against her, his other hand tightening in her hair. “Jesus, Em. You’re a beast.” He leaned closer, voice dropping to a sly murmur. “Imagine grinding on her ‘til she breaks—rubbing that heat all over her. That power’d be ten times hotter, right?”
Emmy’s breath caught, her thighs clenching around his hand. “Oh, God, yeah,” she whispered, eyes flashing. “Humping her ‘til she cums, helpless under me? I’d lose my mind. She’d hate how much she loves it.” She rocked against his fingers, smirking. “I’d do it right now if she walked in.”
Paul chuckled, pulling his hand back to grab his phone. “Hold that thought,” he said, typing a quick text to Kyle: “Em’s riled up from yesterday. You free to talk? Back fence, 10 mins?”
Kyle’s reply buzzed back fast: “Andrea’s pissed too. Yeah, let’s meet. Got an idea.”
Paul pocketed the phone, grinning at Emmy. “Kyle’s in. We’re scheming something. You’re gonna love it.”
Emmy’s smirk widened, her hand brushing her own thigh. “Better be good.”
Minutes later, Kyle texted again: “Thinking rematch. Different stakes. Sexier. You in?”
Paul fired back: “Hell yes. Details at the fence. Bring your A-game.”
The men set their plan in motion, the air between the duplexes crackling with anticipation as they headed for their rendezvous, leaving their wives simmering with newfound heat.
Part Two: The Husbands’ Deal
The sun dipped low over Gaithersburg that same day, painting the sky a fiery red above what had once been a sprawling potato farm, now a tidy suburban enclave of duplexes and manicured lawns. At sunset, Kyle and Paul met at the back fence separating their yards, the air thick with the day’s lingering heat and the buzz of their wives’ feud. Kyle leaned against the wooden slats, arms crossed, his jaw tight with irritation over Andrea’s loss. Paul stood opposite, hands in his pockets, a smug glint in his eye, still riding the high of Emmy’s triumph. The living room behind Paul bore the scars of the milk war—milk stains and chaos—but he and Emmy were on cloud nine. Kyle, less thrilled, simmered with a mix of annoyance and restless energy.
“So,” Kyle started, voice clipped, shifting his weight as a familiar ache built in his groin, “your wife turned mine into a damn milk fountain today. Andrea’s a wreck—says Emmy drained her dry and fed Wade like a fucking trophy. I had to buy formula, Paul. Formula.”
Paul laughed, a short, smug bark, adjusting his stance as his own erection stirred, masked by the fence. “Yeah, Emmy told me. Said it was the hottest thing she’s ever done—pinned Andrea down, milked her out, total domination. She’s still buzzing, man. Your wife fought hard, though, I’ll give her that.”
Kyle’s eyes narrowed, his cock throbbing against his jeans. “Not hard enough. I’m pissed she lost, and now we’re scrambling. She’s got fire, though—she’s itching to even the score.” He paced a step, the friction making him wince, then stopped, a spark igniting. “They need a rematch. Not some brawl, though. Something… sexier. Let ‘em fight like women.”
Paul’s eyebrow arched, his grin spreading as his pants tented painfully. “Like women, huh? I’m listening. What’s the play?” He shifted, trying to ease the pressure, but his dick pulsed harder.
Kyle leaned closer, voice dropping, his erection now a rigid outline he couldn’t ignore. “A sexfight. No fists, no milk—just them, going at it, seeing who breaks. Count forced orgasms. One hour. Whoever’s got fewer wins—means they’re tougher, stay in control. Tie goes to dildos ‘til one cums first.” He adjusted himself subtly, the fence hiding his hand as it brushed his bulge.
Paul’s grin turned wicked, his own cock straining so hard he throbbed with each heartbeat. “Holy shit, Kyle, you sick bastard—I’m in. Emmy’d eat that up. She’s already hot from grinding Andrea down today. Imagine her riding your wife ‘til she’s a puddle.” He paced a step, then stopped, the ache unbearable. “Fuck it,” he muttered, unzipping and freeing his rigid length, gripping it loosely as he kept talking. “I’d kill to see Emmy make Andrea scream.”
Kyle smirked, catching the motion in his peripheral vision, and followed suit, unzipping to let his cock spring free, pulsing in his hand. The fence still shielded them, but the air crackled with their mutual arousal. “Same here, flipped,” he said, stroking lightly. “Andrea’s got stamina—those college wrestling moves? She’ll pin Emmy, grind her ‘til she’s begging. Rules, though—we gotta nail ‘em down.”
The banter stretched, their voices rough, hands working their cocks as they hashed it out. “Time?” Paul asked, his grip tightening, a bead of precum glistening at his tip. “Next Saturday, 8 p.m. My place—bigger living room.”
“Clothing?” Kyle countered, thumb circling his tip, precum drooling down his shaft. “Lingerie only. Red for Andrea, black for Emmy. No panties, no bras—full access.”
“Toys?” Paul grinned, stroking faster, his cock slick now. “Dildos for the tiebreaker. Lube’s optional—let ‘em sweat it out.”
“Rules?” Kyle paced again, his cock bouncing, voice thick as precum dripped onto the grass. “No punching—just hands, mouths, bodies. Pinning, fingering, grinding—whatever gets the orgasm. First to tap out loses if it’s close.”
Paul nodded, his breath hitching, precum oozing as he pictured Emmy dominating. “Emmy’s thighs’ll crush her. She’ll have Andrea cumming in ten minutes flat—flooding the floor.”
“Bullshit,” Kyle shot back, gripping himself harder, his shaft glistening with anticipation. “Andrea’s legs’ll lock Emmy down, make her squirt like a fire hose. She’ll hate how much she loves it.” He smirked, then raised the stakes. “You’re so damn sure Emmy’s got this—why not bet big? Losing wife sucks the winner’s husband off, right there in front of her man. I’d love to fuck Andrea’s mouth after she wins, watch you squirm.”
Paul laughed, a raw, filthy sound, his hand pumping as he leaned forward, peering over the fence. “You’re on, prick. Look at this—” He tilted his hips, showing off his thick, veined cock, rigid and drooling precum, his mind racing with images of Emmy’s victory and Andrea’s lips around him. “Emmy’s gonna win, and I’ll shove this down your wife’s throat—feed her some cream to go with that milk. She’ll gag on it while you watch.”
Kyle leaned over too, his own cock long and pulsing, precum streaming as he stroked, daydreaming of Emmy’s mouth stretched around him after Andrea’s triumph. “Keep dreaming, asshole. Andrea’s taking this—check this out.” He jerked himself, smirking, his tip slick and dripping. “Your wife’s gonna choke on my load, swallowing every drop while Emmy cries. I’ll paint her face with baby batter, and you’ll eat it up.” Their eyes locked over the fence, each man stroking shamelessly, their cocks glistening in the fading light as they stared, crude fantasies spilling out.
“Emmy’s meaty ass’ll grind Andrea into mush,” Paul grunted, his rhythm faltering, precum pooling at his feet as he imagined Andrea’s defeat, her lips parting for him. “She’ll cum so hard she’ll cry, then suck me dry.”
“Andrea’s toned thighs’ll squeeze Emmy ‘til she pops,” Kyle growled, his strokes matching Paul’s, precum dripping as he pictured Emmy’s surrender, her mouth hot and desperate around his cock. “She’ll be a whimpering mess, slurping my cream while you jack off to it.”
They stood there, panting, cocks in hand, the red sky bleeding into dusk as their banter wound down. “Saturday, 8 p.m.,” Paul said, tucking himself back in, still half-hard, his mind locked on Andrea’s forced submission. “We’ll meet as couples—lay it all out.”
“Deal,” Kyle agreed, zipping up, his erection lingering, fantasies of Emmy’s defeat fueling him. “Our wives are gonna tear each other apart—and one of ‘em’s getting a mouthful.”
They parted with a nod, turning back to their homes, the promise of Saturday night throbbing in their minds—and their cocks—each drooling with the certainty their wife would win and the other’s would kneel.
Part Three: The Wives Agree
That evening, the duplexes buzzed with a raw, electric energy. Andrea sat on the couch beside Kyle, her confidence surging after Wade’s feeding stoked her fire. She had something to prove—her loss to Emmy was a wound she’d claw open and salt with vengeance. Her blonde hair was pulled back, her blue eyes blazing, a red satin chemise already picked out in her mind. The idea of sexually dominating Emmy pulsed through her, a primal itch she couldn’t wait to scratch. Across the wall, Emmy sprawled on their bed next to Paul, her power vibrating off her like a live wire after her milk-fueled victory. Her thick brunette mane framed a smirk, her brown eyes glinting with predatory glee, a black lace teddy imagined as her armor. Both women radiated a sexual charge, their bodies primed for war.
Kyle kicked off the pitch, his voice rough with arousal as he slid a hand up Andrea’s thigh. “So, Paul and I hashed it out. Saturday, 8 p.m., their place. You versus Emmy, one hour—no breaks, just unrelenting wife-on-wife fucking. Lingerie only—red for you, black for her. Forced orgasms decide it: fewer means you win, you’re the queen who holds out. Tie goes to dildos ‘til one of you cracks.” His cock strained against his pants, his breath hitching as he pictured it. “I want you to ruin her, babe. Make her cum ‘til she’s begging.”
Andrea’s lips parted, her chest heaving as heat flooded her. “An hour of that?” she murmured, her hand finding his bulge, stroking through the fabric. “I’ll grind her into the floor, Kyle. She won’t last ten minutes—I’ll pin her, work her clit ‘til she’s screaming. I’ve got tricks from college—she’ll cum so hard she’ll forget her own name.” Her confidence swelled, but she paused, biting her lip. “Gotta keep myself in check, though. Can’t let her get me off. I’ll focus—breathe deep, flex my thighs, ride her without losing it.”
Kyle groaned, his erection throbbing under her touch. “You’ll outlast her. Force her to cum against her will—over and over. She’ll be too busy shaking to fight back.”
Andrea grinned, her arousal matching his, her fingers tightening. “Oh, I’ll drown her in it. String her out ‘til she’s a whimpering mess, cumming non-stop. She’ll be useless—too wrecked to even touch me. I’ve got this.”
Next door, Paul had Emmy pinned playfully on the bed, his hands kneading her shoulders as he laid out the terms. “Kyle’s on board—Saturday, 8 p.m., here. You and Andrea, one hour of pure, uninterrupted fucking. Black teddy for you, red for her. Count the orgasms—fewer wins, proves you’re tougher. Tie means dildos ‘til someone breaks.” His cock tented his jeans, his voice thick with lust. “I want you to break her, Em. Turn her into your bitch.”
Emmy laughed, a low, sultry sound, her thighs pressing together as heat surged through her. “An hour of that? Fuck, Paul, I’ll make her my cum-soaked whore.” She rolled her hips, her hand brushing his crotch. “I’ll grind her clit raw—slow circles, then fast, ‘til she’s bucking and begging. To keep from cumming? I’ll lock my core, focus on her—every twitch, every moan. She won’t get me off, but I’ll have her exploding in minutes.”
Paul’s breath hitched, his erection pulsing as he gripped her harder. “Force it out of her—make her cum against her will. Chain ‘em together ‘til she’s a puddle.”
Emmy’s eyes flashed, her arousal spiking. “Oh, I’ll chain ‘em alright. She’ll be cumming so much she can’t fight back—just a quivering mess, soaking the floor. I want her wrecked, Paul—sobbing my name, too busy climaxing to even try me.”
The discussions deepened, the husbands’ arousal palpable, their wives catching fire beside them. “How’ll you do it?” Kyle asked, voice ragged, his hand slipping under Andrea’s shirt as she stroked him faster. “Make her cum, I mean.”
Andrea smirked, her breath hot against his ear. “Pin her wrists, straddle her hips—grind my thigh right into her clit ‘til she’s thrashing. Then fingers—deep, relentless. She’ll hate how fast she breaks.” Her own arousal soaked her leggings, matching his desperation.
Paul, meanwhile, rubbed Emmy’s neck, his cock aching as she jerked him through his pants. “Your plan, Em?” he growled.
“Leg-lock her,” Emmy purred, her grip tightening. “Ride her pussy ‘til she’s screaming, then tease her nipples—pinch ‘til she pops. She’ll cum so hard she’ll black out.” Her shorts were damp, her energy feral.
The dildo talk stretched out, raw and detailed. Paul grinned, pulling Emmy closer. “Tiebreaker’s toys. We’ve got that Bad Dragon—eight inches, thick as hell, with those ridges. You love that freaky shit—imagine spearing Andrea with it.”
Emmy laughed, wicked and loud. “Oh, fuck yes. That thing’s a beast—purple, knobby, stretches me stupid. I’ll ram it into her, twist it ‘til she’s howling. She won’t know what hit her—our wild sex toy game’s next level.” Her hand sped up on Paul, her arousal dripping.
Kyle raised an eyebrow, his cock twitching as Andrea worked him. “We’re no novices,” he said, voice tight. “Andrea’s got a beefy fake cock—seven inches, girthy, veined. Tell ‘em, babe.”
Andrea’s eyes glinted, her strokes deliberate. “I’ll stretch her wide with it—force her clit out from the pressure, no hiding. She’ll cum from the stretch alone, screaming as I pound her.” She didn’t know Emmy’s Bad Dragon dwarfed her toy, a plaything next to that monstrous ridge-fest.
Paul smirked, imagining Andrea’s shock. “Em’s dragon’ll split her wider. Game over.”
Kyle countered, “Andrea’s beef’ll break Emmy first. Done deal.”
The men grabbed their phones, texting clarifications as their wives fueled their frenzy. Paul to Kyle: “Black teddy, red chemise, confirmed. 8 p.m. Saturday. Hair-pulling’s fine, no biting. Dildos ready?”
Kyle replied: “Yep, toys locked. One hour, no mercy. Loser sucks the winner’s man—right there. Agreed?”
Paul: “Fuck yes. Emmy’s ready to ruin her.”
Kyle: “Andrea’s gonna own her. Set.”
The women nodded, their confidence peaking. Andrea squeezed Kyle, whispering, “I’m in—I’ll fuck her senseless,” her voice thick with need. Emmy gripped Paul, smirking, “Let’s do it—I’ll make her my slut,” her body trembling with want.
Terms set, the men couldn’t hold back. Kyle slid Andrea’s leggings down, plunging into her soaked heat, exploding in seconds with a guttural groan. Paul lifted Emmy’s shorts, thrusting deep, his release hitting fast as he growled her name. Both couples collapsed, breathless, the promise of Saturday night sealed in sweat and cum, their wives locked in for war.
Part Four: The Sexfight
Saturday night cloaked Paul and Emmy’s Gaithersburg duplex in a haze of lust and tension. The clock struck 8 p.m., the living room stripped bare—couch shoved back, coffee table gone, a thick rug sprawled as the battleground. The red sunset had melted into a deep, sultry black outside, amplifying the primal heat within. Kyle and Paul perched on opposite ends of the couch, cocks twitching in their jeans, their eyes darting awkwardly between their wives and each other. One would watch his wife kneel, sucking the other’s dick, and their women stood exposed, lingerie barely veiling their raw desire.
Andrea faced Emmy in the center, 5’7” and 160 pounds of toned defiance, her red satin chemise a gossamer shield. The fabric hugged her 32Gs, nipples stiff and dark, her pussy lips plump and visible beneath, her sculpted thighs and tight ass quivering. Emmy, 5’6” and 150 pounds, radiated victorious power in her black lace teddy, the plunging neckline framing her 36DDs, nipples bold and jutting. The lace parted at her crotch, baring her thick bush and slick folds, her meaty ass and thighs trembling with readiness. Both women’s skin shimmered with nervous sweat, their breaths shallow, their clits pulsing.
Kyle cleared his throat, shifting, his erection straining. “Uh, so… we all set? One hour, forced orgasms—fewer wins. Tie’s toys. Loser’s… uh, terms after.” His eyes flicked to Paul, then Andrea’s bare pussy, a flush creeping up.
Paul nodded, his cock tenting, grin tight. “Yeah, all good. You two… look ready.” He swallowed, gaze lingering on Emmy’s ass, then Andrea’s thighs, awkward lust clashing with pride. “Let’s just… get to it.”
The women stepped closer, the rug soft under bare feet, their sexual charge electric but edged with nerves. Andrea’s voice wavered, low. “Guess this is it, huh? No holding back.” Her gray eyes met Emmy’s, fingers flexing, arousal and anxiety churning.
Emmy tilted her head, mane swinging, smirk slow and commanding. “Damn right, honey,” she purred, seizing control. “No holding back—just me milking that pussy dry like I did your tits. You’ll cum so hard you’ll forget how to stand.” She stepped in, 36DDs brushing Andrea’s 32Gs, her bare pussy inches away. “I owned you once—I’ll do it again.”
Andrea bristled, nerves igniting into defiance, nipples hardening. “Keep dreaming, bitch. I’ll grind you into a puddle—force you to cum ‘til you’re begging.” Her thighs tensed, pussy slick, voice heating. “You won’t milk shit—I’ll have you screaming my name.”
Emmy laughed, throaty and bold, hands on hips, ass jiggling. “Big talk, Barbie. I’ll have you soaking this rug in ten minutes—your pussy’s mine.” Her brown eyes glinted, clit twitching, confidence blazing.
Andrea smirked, closing the gap, breaths mingling. “We’ll see who’s drained, cow. I’ll chain your orgasms ‘til you’re too wrecked to fight.” Her pussy throbbed, arousal drowning nerves, body aching to dominate.
Paul clapped once, voice hoarse. “Enough talk. One hour. Fewer orgasms wins. Tie goes to toys. Go.”
The women lunged, bodies slamming with a wet, meaty slap. Andrea seized Emmy’s wrists, twisting them up as she shoved her back, breasts crushing, nipples scraping. “You’re mine, bitch,” she hissed, thigh jamming between Emmy’s legs, grinding against her exposed pussy. Emmy gasped, lace teasing her clit, but hooked a leg behind Andrea’s, shoving her sideways. They crashed to the rug, Emmy atop, thick thighs clamping Andrea’s hips.
“Fuck you,” Emmy snarled, ripping Andrea’s chemise. The satin shredded, baring those 32Gs, and she clamped her hands on them, thumbs flicking nipples. Andrea bucked, a jolt ripping through, but twisted, flipping Emmy onto her back. She straddled her waist, yanking the teddy down to free those 36DDs, fingers kneading viciously. Emmy’s head thrashed, nipples stiffening, a wet spot blooming on her lace.
Five minutes in, the rug glistened with sweat. Andrea pinned Emmy face-down, straddling her ass, hand snaking under to pump two fingers deep. “Scream it, cow!” she spat, thumb grinding Emmy’s clit. Emmy bucked, her first orgasm crashing—hot, wet, soaking Andrea’s hand. “Fuck!” she wailed, thighs trembling, but twisted free, lunging to straddle Andrea’s chest. Her fingers tore Andrea’s satin fully, exposing her pussy, and she ground down, clit to clit.
Andrea’s breath hitched, Emmy’s thighs pinning her, friction sparking her clit. She came—hard, a gush staining the rug, groan raw. “No—shit!” she cried, shoving Emmy off, pouncing to reclaim control. Score: 1-1.
The men groaned, Kyle’s hand brushing his bulge, Paul’s jeans twitching. “Keep going, Andrea!” Kyle rasped. Paul grinned, “Chain ‘em, Em!”
The fight settled into a brutal rhythm, the score tied, and the women dug in with feral precision. Emmy tackled Andrea onto her back, locking their legs in a scissor grip, pussies slamming together. The wet slap-slap-slap of their labia filled the room, slick folds sucking at each other like starved mouths. Emmy bore down, hips rolling slow then fast, her thick bush grinding Andrea’s shaved mound. The slurp of their juices mingled, clits swollen and shameless, each woman clenching her core to stave off the mounting heat. Andrea’s fingers plunged into Emmy’s cxnt, a lewd squelch echoing as her still-tight walls gripped, slurping hungrily around the intrusion. Emmy moaned, her own hand diving into Andrea’s pussy, the sloppy sound of wet suction loud as she pumped, fingers curling to hit that spot.
“Gonna milk you dry again, slut,” Emmy taunted, her clit grinding harder, a shameless shift to maximize the friction, her thighs trembling with effort not to cum. Andrea’s breath hitched, the electric burn of her clit against Emmy’s sparking deep, her hips bucking instinctively to match the pace. “Fuck you—I’ll have you gushing first,” she snarled, fingers pistoning faster, the slurp-squelch obscene as Emmy’s pussy tried to devour her hand.
Their labia sucked and smacked, a desperate duel, juices dripping to the rug. Emmy’s control slipped first—she bore down too hard, clit grinding too fast, and her second orgasm ripped through. “Shit—fuck!” she wailed, her pussy spasming, a flood soaking Andrea’s thighs, her taunt dying in a shudder. Andrea smirked, breathless, “That’s it, cow—cum for me,” her fingers relentless, prolonging the quaking ruin.
But Emmy retaliated, flipping Andrea onto her stomach, straddling her from behind. She ground her sopping pussy into Andrea’s ass, fingers plunging back in with a wet shlurp, the tight grip of Andrea’s cxnt slurping around her digits. The squelching intensified as she pumped, thumb circling Andrea’s clit. Andrea clawed the rug, resisting, but Emmy shifted, labia grinding directly onto Andrea’s, the slap-suck the only sound beyond ragged breathing. “Cum, you bitch—give it up!” Emmy growled, bearing down. Andrea’s second hit, a scream tearing out, her pussy gushing, sucking at Emmy’s folds. “No—damn you!” she sobbed, Emmy taunting, “There’s my whore—drench it!”
Twenty minutes burned, tied at 2-2. The women glistened, hair matted, lingerie rags. Emmy pinned Andrea against the couch, tongue lashing her clit, fingers pumping with a wet schlick. Andrea’s third came fast, body convulsing, cum streaking Emmy’s face. “Fuck you!” she wailed, but tackled Emmy, grinding her thigh into her pussy ‘til Emmy’s third erupted, a shuddering mess. 3-3.
Forty minutes, exhaustion loomed, but fury held. Andrea straddled Emmy’s face, riding her tongue, her fourth ripping through—scream primal, soaking Emmy’s lips. “Take it, whore!” she snarled, but Emmy flipped her, fingers and tongue forcing Andrea’s fifth—a quivering flood. 5-3.
Kyle’s cock was out, stroking fast. “Fight back, Andrea!” Paul matched him, “Finish her, Em!”
Emmy surged, pinning Andrea face-down, thighs locking her hips, fingers pistoning Andrea’s sopping pussy with a relentless pace, thumb teasing her ass. Andrea’s sixth hit, a broken sob, gushing helplessly. “Stop—fuck!” she begged, but Emmy forced a seventh—Andrea’s body a cum-soaked wreck. 7-3.
Ten minutes left, Emmy aimed to bury her. She scissored Andrea, clit to clit, grinding with brutal rhythm, the slap-suck of their pussies deafening. Andrea’s eighth tore free, wails incoherent, cum puddling. “I—can’t—” she gasped, but Emmy’s fourth sneaked up, a shudder from Andrea’s weak graze. 8-4.
The buzzer sounded—hour up. Emmy rose, panting, victorious with four to Andrea’s eight. Andrea slumped, a quivering, cum-drenched mess, pride shattered. The men leapt up, cocks rigid, precum dripping.
Emmy smirked, “She’s done.” And Andrea was truly done, her strong body still quivering with sexual release.
Andrea crawled up, tears streaking, but Kyle nodded, resigned. “Loser’s terms,” he muttered, unzipping. Paul stepped forward, cock thick and veined, grinning as Emmy helped Andrea to her knees.
“Suck him, bitch,” Emmy taunted, her hand gripping Andrea’s hair, forcing her forward. Andrea’s lips parted, taking Paul in, her gag muffled as he thrust slow, savoring it. Emmy stroked Andrea’s face, fingers tracing her chin, “helping” her bob, her voice syrupy. “That’s it—suck my man good, loser.” Andrea hated it, eyes burning, but determination flared—she’d do it well, damn them. Her tongue swirled, lips tight, the slurp-slurp loud as she worked his shaft, her hands massaging his heavy balls, rolling them gently.
Paul groaned, holding back, his hands in her hair. “Fuck—good girl,” he rasped, thighs trembling. Andrea kept a slow pace, loudly gawking each time she bottomed out on Paul’s pubic bone, his stomach brushing her forehead. Andrea pulled off briefly, sucking each nut in turn, the pop wet and deliberate, then murmured, “Nice cock—thick,” her voice bitter but clear. Kyle’s face twisted, gutted, his heart breaking as his wife praised Paul, yet his own cock raged harder, stroking furiously.
Emmy grinned, sensing Paul’s edge, and crouched behind Andrea. Andrea, for her part, cooed, “And that pre-cum is delicious…and there’s so, so much of it!” Her mouth went back to work paying her stakes, and Emmy’s fingers teased Andrea’s soaked pussy, slapping her clit lightly—tap-tap. Andrea stiffened, her knees spreading, and an orgasm ripped through, sudden and humiliating. “GWAHK!” Andrea cried with a cock filling her mouth and throat, her body bucking just as Paul erupted. His first load hit, hot and thick, flooding her throat—gulp—then a second, choking her—gag—a third spilling past her lips, and a fourth, his balls emptying as she swallowed, cum dribbling her chin. Emmy laughed, victorious, her hands lifting to caress and knead Andrea’s breasts, adding milk to the jizz and sweat and tears on Andrea’s torso.
As he gathered his wits, Paul pulled Andrea up, her face a mask of shame and rage. “Next time,” she whispered, voice breaking, but Emmy smirked, “Bring more fight, loser.” Andrea scowled, and Paul swatted her round ass lightly as he sent the beaten, throatpied wife back to her husband.
The room stank of sex and defeat, the husbands spent, the wives locked in a feud far from over.
