To recap briefly, Sara, whom I had fucked once and then arranged to fight my wife Marcy at the beach house because Marcy had been so aroused by watching Dana and Holly fight there that she had fucked me on the spot and hardly stopped fucking me since, had turned out to be an outstanding catfighter and in the space of five minutes, looking incredibly hot while doing it, had beaten Marcy down hard and torn up one of her tits by sadistically twisting her spike heel into it, and then refused to let me throw in the towel to save Marcy, a refusal backed up by the enforcer guy she’s brought along and his gun.
Whew. Well, Part Two always starts with a momentum shift, right?
Marcy screamed in rage and punched Sara in the pussy with every ounce of strength she could summon. The shock of the impact rippled up Sara’s belly. Her bare breasts went up and out as her spine arched and her head snapped back. Her knees buckled. Marcy lunged up, caught two handfuls of her pinned-up hair, and came down with her, so that the combined weight of them both slammed Sara’s face into the floor.
Marcy was on her in an instant, straddling her. Sara’s arms were pinned under my wife’s legs. Marcy’s thighs framed Sara’s breasts, squeezing them together.
“Fucking arrogant whore bitch! You fucked my husband? You call me fucking pathetic and say I must be a bad fuck?” Marcy’s fury was white-hot. She punched Sara in the face literally with each word she spat. Sara’s heels drummed on the floor during the barrage. Her head snapped left and right as Marcy alternated fists. Twenty-one fucking undefensed punches in the face.
Sara choked on the blood that filled her mouth, spraying it on Marcy’s belly when she coughed. Both her lips were shredded. Her nose was broken. A cut in her right brow dripped blood into her eye and down her cheek. A cut - no, a fucking gash - across her left cheekbone streamed blood down into her ear. Her honey-brown hair had come undone, now fanned out on the floor around her head.
Marcy held Sara’s face, checked that her eyes were clear enough to see what Marcy wanted her to see. She held her crimson-lacquered fingernails up, curled into claws.
“No ...” Sara wailed.
“Oh, yes, bitch,” Marcy said.
She stabbed her thumbs into Sara’s engorged nipples. She sank her fingers into the bulging outer curves of her tits. And then she clenched her hands.
Sara screamed. She bucked and twisted. She bridged, her head flung back like she was the subject of an exorcism. Marcy rode her.
Then Marcy let go with her right hand. Her left still dragged Sara’s right breast. She shook it. Stretched it out from Sara’s chest as far as she could. She twisted her torso, reached behind her. She put her right hand on Sara’s belly button, and slowly slid it down and into her white lace panties.
Marcy spit in Sara’s face. “You fucked my husband,” she said again, and tightened her claw in Sara’s pussy.
I’ve known Marcy for ten years. I’ve been her lover for eight, her husband for five. I knew she was strong, and tough, and determined. For the last three months, since the brawl between Dana and Holly, I’ve known she had a deep-seated kink for fighting. And now I knew she was capable of savage cruelty, at least against a woman who had fucked her man and then taunted her about it. Jesus christ did this make me hard!
Marcy finally let go. Her entire time astride Sara was probably two minutes, but in that two minutes she had utterly destroyed her. Marcy’s arms hung limp at her sides. She tilted her head back and dragged in a deep gasp of air.
“Ask her if she’s had enough,” Marcy said to me without looking at me.
“Baby, you’ve beaten her,” I said. “You - “
“Not until she says it,” Marcy interrupted. “Not until this fucking bitch herself says that she does not want to fight me any more because she knows I am the fucking better woman.”
I stood up. “Sara. Say you’ve had enough.”
“That I am the fucking better woman,” Marcy said.
Sara stared up at her. Her words were a little slurred by her battered mouth, but clear enough.
“I will never fucking say that. I will never submit to you.”
Damn.
Sara’s long, white-stockinged leg whipped up, her foot curling around Marcy’s neck and hooking under her chin. She wrenched it back down, arching Marcy’s spine. Marcy’s head was nearly to the floor - something had to give, and what gave was her dominant position atop her opponent. She twisted off of Sara, rolling away.
Sara rose up. She spat a mouthful of blood at Marcy and . . . smiled. I thought again of an exorcism. How the fuck could she take that kind of punishment and not quit? What was she, some kind of fucking terminator?
David spoke from the chorus. “S and M. She likes pain, I’m telling you. The more you hurt her, the more she wants. She won’t quit on her own. You have to fucking put her down. If you can. The sadist part of her is pretty fucking strong too.”
I looked at Marcy and for the first time I saw fear in her dark eyes. Sara saw it too, and her smile widened to a bloody grin. “Well put, David,” she said. She lunged at Marcy.
