[sinclairfan]

Setting:  Raintree County, SE Indiana, near the Kentucky border

Dramatis Personae
Krista, a 20 -year old daughter of a Democratic family, newly ascendant as the beneficiaries of Postmaster patronage from the 1844 election of President Polk
Bonnie, a 19-year old daughter of a Whig family, displaced from their Postmaster responsibilities by the surprise defeat of Henry Clay

The two women are exchanging records, keys, and podtal lockboxes in advance of the March 4 inauguration of President-Elect Polk.

They are in an empty postal sorting room.

K:  Hello.  I'm Krista.  I hope we can conduct our business as civilly as possible. 

B:  Bonnie.  [sneering]  A pleasure, I'm sure.  We ... are .... the gentler sex.  Or so they say, right?

K:  I've not heard that.  But then again, I've spent the past few years at Transylvania College .... in Kentucky ....

B:  I'm fully aware of where Transylvania College is .... you needn't brag to me about your modern education.....

K:  I didn't realize I was bragging ... may I ask .... are you educated yourself?

B:  I'll have you know .... I'm studying law with the Raintree County judge.

K:  Who's bragging now?

B:  I was merely responding to your query.

K:  Our conversation has begun on a .... combative .... foot. 

B:  Does that .... bother .... you?

K:  On the contrary .... you seem to quite enjoy it.

B:  The conversation?   Or the ... combat?

K:  Perhaps before this meeting is over .... we will know.

B:  Perhaps.  Shall we proceed with the meeting, then?

K:  Yes .... Let's.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

As Bonnie and Krista worked in silence at the long wooden table, placing keys in lock boxes and hand-checking paper postal ledgers, they were secretly excited by how explicit their brief introductory sentence had been on the topic if female combat.

It had been a little over a year since Bonnie had had a run-in at a horse barn with a bully older girl from at a horse auction.  Bonnie had returned home upset and reported the incident to her aunt.  Ever sensitive to affronts to the politically-connected family, the aunt had demanded to Bonnie:  "Put on a dress and let down your hair--we're taking a coach to that girl's mother house to demand satisfaction, with fists, between you and that barbaric girl."  As Bonnie got dressed and let her long blonde hair down, she replayed the conversation over and over in her head.

Had she heard correctly?  Was she about to fistfight another girl?  With her aunt watching?  Why in a dress?  Why with hair down?  Wouldn't her hair be even more of a target for her opponent's claws?  Growing up, when tensions boiled over between girls, hairpulling was the inevitable result.  Bonnie had wondered, what happened between girls whose disputes escalated beyond hairpulling?  Did they fight like men, with fists?  Didn't it hurt a girl's hand to strike another woman's face with a fist?  How was it possible to perform the next morning's farm chores?  Bonnie's apprehensions grew as the coach approached her enemy's large farmhouse.

Bonnie watched from the coach as her aunt banged on the door and demanded to see the rival girl's mother, to negotiate terms.  The girl's mother claimed her daughter wasn't home, but Bonnie could see her rival peaking out from an upstairs bedroom window.  Who was afraid for the fight to happen?  The girl?  Or the mother?  Had the bully girl's impetuous behavior gotten into fights before?  Were the trying to avoid a bad outcome?

The aunt walked back to the coach madder than a hornet.  "She claims she wants to fight, but that the house's men will be on from the fields in fifteen minutes and will be expecting dinner.  No fight today, Bonnie."  Bonnie's heart sank.  Her curiosity of what it was like to be in a girlfight had been cruelly piqued.  But now it would be unrequited.

Masturbating in bed that night, Bonnie had resolved that the next time an opportunity for a girlfight happened, she would not be similarly disappointed.

Was today that day?

Was Krista that woman?

*****************************

Krista, similarly, was having difficult concentrating on the work at hand, unable to suppress thoughts of the contentious conversation with her political opponent.

At Transylvania, Krista had read in translation the work of the Italian Renaissance poet Ariosto.  His epic poem, "Orlando Furioso" had an episode of a duel between two women knights disguised as men (one was named Marfisa; Krista could not recall presently the name of the other).  The fight had started with weapons, but quickly degenerated to hand-to-hand combat, which caused each woman duellist to instantly recognize the female identity of the other.

Because men fight with weapons.  Both physical:  swords, guns, cannons.  And constructs:  ballots, laws, courts (that bitch Bonnie is reading law?  how un-womanly; how uncouth).

But women fight with hands.

Ever since reading Ariosto, Krista had wanted to put this new knowledge into practical use.  She wanted to fight another woman hand to hand.  She masturbated ceaselessly to the thought of being in an actual hand to hand fight.

Was Bonnie that woman?

Was to day that day?
*************************

Krista undid her hair.

Bonnie noticed, and did the same.

Both women realized they were going to fight after their postal work was done.

***************************

Their pussies were drenched.

To be continued........

[sinclairfan]

Kirsta and Bonnie were each surprised at the length and thickness of each others' blonde hair once their hairpins had been released.  They found themselves looking up from their Postmaster clerical task to survey the contours of each others' blonde mane--how it was parted down the middle, the tint of blondeness, the natural waviness each had in different variations.

Each wanted to pull on the others' hair.  The could hold no tongue no longer.  But rather than stating the true jealous feelings of their hearts, the began sniping at the topic that had brought them together in the room this morning.

Their party differences in the recent election.

B:  Your family will benefit.... financially .... from the National Road which was the creation of Senator Clay.

K:  I disagree.  The PEOPLE will benefit.  As the did for the glorious decade of the great Andrew Jackson and Mr Van Buren.

B:  [Bonnie had never yet met a woman so prepared to defend political positions.  How did a woman as smart as Krista possess such a wise mind  .... and a sharp tongue?]  You sharp tongue must have determined your un-married status.  No husband would long tolerate such an un-Biblical bride.

K:  [Did she just go there?  thought a flabbergasted Krista to herself.  The two most un-polite topics for public conversation:  suitors, and religion.  She hardly knew which to address firstly.]  Excuse me?  Such un-ladylike delicateness.  But since you ask.  I have suitors both in Raintree County, AND at school in Kentucky.  Quite superior in quantity ... AND quality .... to yours. 

B:  [This bitch protests too much about bragging about her Transylvania education--she reflexively brings it up at every opportunity.]  A judge of lady-like virtues .... who brags about her suitors.  I shall punch that disputatious mouth with my fists.  [Bonnie surprises herself at verbalizing her deepest secret thoughts.]

K:  [Krista's adrenaline pulses at the mention of the word fist.  Finally a hand-to-hand fighting opportunity.  She stands up across the table from Bonnie.]  I see no one here stopping you from using your fist on me.  I shall gladly take up your testing of my seriousness.

B: [Bonnie briefly considers de-escalating the surpringly personal dispute, but cannot stand the body language of the braggart Krista looming dominatly above her, like an alpha stud horse in a pen lording it over the mares.  She stands.  On the table separates the two women.]  I shall gladly take you down a peg.

K:  If we start, I will not stop until we finish.

B:  Those terms are acceptable to me.  In fact, I welcome them.

The women look to Krista's left and Bonnie's right--a long empty wood floor over twenty feet square.

Plenty of room to fight.

They stride over to the empty floor.

Neither can believe they are about to have their first fight.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Although neither woman had yet had the opportunity to unleash physical violence on a rival, neither were strangers to the escalation beyond words of physical disputes.

The political (and moral and philosophical) Godfather of Krista's Deomcratic family was Old Hickory himself, Andrew Jackson, still allive-and-kicking in his late 70s at the Hermitage in Tennessee, venerated in retirement by a steady stream of visitors.  Jackson had duelled with several political and personal enemies in his youth, and hated Bonnie's family's hero, Senator Clay, with a passion.

Additionally, 1840s Southeast Indiana was only a generation removed from the French-and-Indian frontier Vincennes culture, where nighttime kidnappings were a semi-regular occurrence, and pioneers went to bed with a loaded shotgun under their pillow. 

Bonnie's aunt, who had brought Bonnie in a dress to fistfight a bullying classmate, was a product of this frontier culture, and fighting to defend honor or to make a social point was second nature.

It was inevitable both Krista would need to get a first fight experience under their belt.  Might as well do it right here .... right now.... against each other.

B:  I'll mark you up with stripes so that your Transylvania suitors will see your marked-up bosom when you freely show it to them.

K:  Then I shall do the same to your face--since your bosom is so rarely seen.

B:  The first man to see my bosom will be my husband on my wedding night.  And I will be proud to explain any strips you leave in my face.  I'll explain it came the day I gave a thrashing to a Jackson Democrat wench. 

K: [Krista steps into Bonnie's face.]  Did you just call me a wench?  If so .... I demand you retract it.

B:  Make me retract it .... wench.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Krista and Bonnie were nose to nose, and she appeared to be an inch or two taller than her rival, although it was clear this was just because her heeled riding boots were somewhat higher than her enemy's.  Both women knew this would be a double-edged sword if the women decided to begin to fight in their boots, as Krista would be able to punch down at Bonnie, but her balance would also be more precarious if the two women clinched.  Both women's brains were calculating the pro's and con's of fighting fully booted, or fighting bare-footed.  Candidly, that was the only reason the two were not already brawling.  Their hate for each other was cemented.

Krista's and Bonnie's breasts were pressed together, and Krista felt the inadequacy of her clearly smaller chest.  At Transylvania, she had seen some of her fellow dorm-mates topless in the showers, and almost all had larger bosoms than her.  She had also engaged in playful bourbon-fueled show-me-yours-and-I'll-show-you-mine games with suitors, who were inevitably incapable of hiding their disappointment at the modesty of her chest.  The game then inevitably proceeded to between her legs, where the outcome was more fulfilling to the male, who appreciated her large labia and full bush.

Bonnie, too, noted her own much fuller and developed rack, and pressed hard on Krista's chest with her own.

> Tiny tits.

to be continued

[sinclairfan]

Despite the modestness of early Victorian Indiana women's wear, Bonnie was not unenlightened about the above-averageness of her bust.  Her aunt had shown her how to secure from nearby Cincinnati the limited range of plus-size bra's available on the frontier, and how to wash and dry them delicately so as to ensure a long life span, and minimize the need for frequent, inconvenient replacement orders from upstream the Ohio River.

Bonnie was wearing one of those precious bras now.  She was praying to the Blessed Virgin that it wouldn't get destroyed in her impending brawl with Krista.  A long braless ride back home wiyh be uncomfortable.

Why did frontier life need to be so hard on women?

She knew she was larger down there from her peers from summers of topless swimming in a nearby, secret trysting place--a half-pond/ half-swamp where unmarried 20-somethings would go to swim.  And look for trouble with each other.

The boys would go to smoke or fight for money.

The girls would go to get noticed by the boys.

Bonnie had once been tricked into visiting, and had subsequently avoided it.  Until her breasts started growing in size, and she sought to compare herself to other young women.  Furtive glances confirmed to herself that she was larger than them.  And it made them jealous.  And she loved it.

To compensate, the other girls would give themselves to the boys behind the bushes.

But that just increased the shame of the smaller girls.

And the glee of Bonnie.  She felt pride in her large breasts.  And in lording it over the other girls.

She was lording it over Krista now.  And both knew it.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Bonnie's "Tiny tits" insult immediately removed the two women adversaries' attention from the slippery riding boots to their chests.  Both continued jamming their chests into each other, and escalated until their booth started to slip and slide in the hardwood postal sorting room floor.  In order to keep from losing balance and falling, they grabbed onto each others' linen dresses at the shoulders, accidentally pinching flesh as the did so.

> You Clay-loving bitch, keep your bitch paws off of me.

> I shall do nothing of the sort, Jackson wench.  I intend to thrash you and send you home on a stretcher.

> I'm 5 times the Amazon you are, assuming you even know what one is, you un-educated simpleton.

> Pffft, 'simpleton', you Jackson supporters are all the same, dripping with contempt for the Common Man you claim to champion.

> The only Common Man you will ever know, Bonnie, is the sex-crazed country drunk who marries you for those oversized cow utters.  Uou should be grateful I don't rip them off right here.

> I dare you to try.  Let me make it easy for you wench.  [Fearing imminent danger to her expensive bra, Bonnie pulls down her dress, and carefully undoes her bra, setting it down carefully on the table where the 2 women had angrily conducted Postmadter business.  Bonnie is now topless, in only panties and riding boots.]  Set your hands on them, bitch.  If you dare.  So I can thrash your face.

> Your idle threats don't scare me, Clay Whore.  [Krista reaches out and begins mauling Bonnie's breasts, more aggressively than any woman expected.  Krista's soft hand surprise Bonnie.]

> Such soft hands.  You've never performed farm chores your entire life.  I should have expected nothing less from a Jackson wench.

> When does my thrashing start, Clay Whore?

> Presently.

Bonnie closes her fist and strikes Krista hard on the face.

To be continued...

[sinclairfan]

Just as Bonnie was erotically aroused by the feel of Krista's hands on her bosom, so was Krista aroused the the feel of Bonnie's hand on her face. 

This was, at last, the womanly hand-to-hand combat she had pined for since reading Ariosto Canto XXVII and Spenser Book V at Transylvania.  Two spiteful, hateful women lashing out at each other with hands and fists. 

Krista formed a backhand and lashed out at Bonnie, smacking her rival hard in the cheek.  Bonnie opened her own fist in response and retaliated with a hard box on the ear.  Krista's head felt stinging and ringing.  She thought back to summer skinny-dipping in the Vincennes River, of nude boys climbing on top of her, kissing her face, and feeling her protruding vagina lips.  The boys always slapped her behind, mumbling nonsense about Venus and Helen.  She couldn't tell if they liked her, or if they were again disappointed by her undersized chest.

Bonnie was excited to be thrashing her Jackson Democrat rival, throwing her first actual punches in an actual girlfight.  She could hardly contain the erotic excitement growing in her hardening breasts.  She yearned to masturbate her soaking pussy to get erotic relief.  She slid out of her panties, her last remaining clothic article now but for her boots.

She kicked her enemy Krista hard in the shins with those boots.

> You bitch, I'll kill you.

> Do it, and you'll be hanging within a week above the Vincennes River.

> How?  Who will know what I've done?

Both women suddenly sense their alone-ness.

It arouses them sexually.  Even moreso than they're aroused already.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

After getting struck full force in the face, Krista thought back to summer afternoons in the Vincennes River swamp area.  Usually boys, but sometines girls, would challenge Krista to "waterfight" in the swamp.  The two combatants would go back and forth, tossing each other in the water, letting out sexual tension in one of the few ways allowed by Victorian-Great Awakening Midwest society.

After "waterfighting" with another girl, Krista would always find herself masturbating that night in bed to the thought of fighting that same girl, but on land.

Now she was actually fighting another blonde, the Whig-supporting Bonnie.  She had taken Bonnie's best shot head-on, and was none the worse for wear.  Almost like a waterfight tackle.

What if two women exchanged blows back and forth two score times and were still standing.  What if their hatred for each other multiplied, and yet both were willing to exchange some more?

> Weak bitch.

> Slut whore.

> God-less wench.

> Stop using that word.

> Make me stop using it.

> I intend to.  By knocking out your teeth.

> You are incapable of doing anything of the kind.

> Underestimate me.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Krista closed her fist, and landed repeated blows on Bonnie's face.  Just as in "waterfights" with other girls, growing up in the Raintree County swamp and lake, Krista recalled tackling other girls full force, and getting tackled full force, and the fight still continuing, so she similarly now found that Bonnie and herself continued to strike full force even after inflicting, and absorbing, direct punches to their faces.  To be sure, their faces were showing welts, similar to what would develop after a farm equipment accident or a fall from a horse. 

But this was not like a fight at the lake between Raintree County boys, or, say, between male farmhands, where a single blow to the jaw would send one of the men face-first spread-eagle onto the ground.  No, after exchanging over 20 punches each, Krista and Bonnie were both defiantly standing, angrily punching each other.

Bonnie, too, was recalling a summer lakeside "waterfight" of her own.  A girl who perceived Bonnie as a romantic rival had lured Bonnie into what she expected would be a juvenile, playful waterfight.  The other boys and girls watched and cheered on the girls for the first 30 seconds of the fights, but then got distracted in other surrounding naked flirtatious activities, leaving Bonnie and her rival to splash in privacy.  At which point the nature of the skirmish turned on a dime from playful to vicious.  Under the cover of the lake's murky waters, Bonnie's rival became pinching and tugging at Bonnie's exposed bare breasts.  The pain was unpleasant, and Bonnie at first attributed the violence to accidental exuberance by her riled-up opponent.  After a half-minute of pinching however, Bonnie panicked and realized she was under attack from a motivated enemy.  Her only choice was retaliation, which she pursued by digging her claws into her opponent's naked loins.  Her opponent screeched in protest, which encouraged Bonnie to press her attack even deeper.  Bonnie and the girl's school chums assumed Bonnie and the girl were playfully wrestling, but the fight had actually turned deadly serious.

Bonnie loved it, or the excitment of it, and masturbated to it furiously later that night.

And, similarly, this morning (or, was it mid-day yet?  this fight with Krista had been going on for awhile now), Bonnie now needed to defend with offense.  Krista blows to her face were painful and humiliating.  And infuriating.

So, she pulled Krista's dishevelled dress the remainder of the way down, exposing Krista's soaking pussy lips.

And dug her left hand in, claws exposed, just as she had done at the summertime "waterfight" with her rival.

And elicited the same familiar screech as she had that bygone summer day.

Good, it was working.

> I hate you, bitch.

> I'll thrash you, whore.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Although both women had strong hands toughened by a youthful upbringing on the Indiana frontier (Bonnie more than Krista, although Krista was certainly no wallflower--her Transylvania enrollment was more an aspirational leap to escape the frontier than a symptom that she had already done so), their knuckles were feeling the effect of landing 10 minutes of direct blows on each others' bony foreheads, jaws, and cheekbones.  As the adrenaline rush from their commencing a no-rules brawl dissapated, each felt agonizing sharp pains coursing through their fingers and joints.  Both felt a need to rest and assess, lest a badly-timed broken bone gave herself an unrecoverable disadvantage in their primal contest.

Simultaneously and almost on cue, each women leapt at each others' unkempt thick blonde hair, tearing and ripping chunks from the very roots, dropping it onto the postal office sorting floor, then returning to the source for more follical victims.

Youthful, summertime, lakeside "waterfights" seldom devolved into catty hairpulling.  Water-soaked hair made even the most generously endowed opponents hair an uninviting target once it had been dunked into and coated with the lake's slimy, muddy waters.  It became slick and almost impossible to grip, so attempting to control an opponent by her hair in a "waterfight" was a futile effort.

Not so a hairpulling battle on dry land.  Both women were immediately mutually successful in dragging her enemy's entire body to the ground, and Krista and Bonnie were now naked (except for their riding boots) and tangled on the ground, now afraid to release their grip on each others' hair.  Their sweaty bodies were in full contact with each other.  They realized how humid and hot it was inside the postal sorting building, the mid-day sun heating it to discomfort.

They began kicking anywhere they could with their riding boots.

> I intend to kick your teeth out, Clay whore.

> I intend to smash your nose so Transylvania suitors will turn to stone from your Medusa visage.

> Your learning is superficial and dime-store, Clay whore.

> More genuine than your fake Jackson bona fide's.

> Your study of law and Latin has muddled your mind, Bonnie.

> [Why did she call me by my first name?]  Surrender before I injure you permanently, Krista.  Make no mistake, I have no compunction doing so .... Krista.

> Nor are there any limits on the hate I harbor for you.   I'll maim you if you force me to .... Bonnie.

Whether it was the competiveness and excitement of the girlfight,
the danger of the aloneness,
the escalation of the threats,
the stakes of the fight,
the hot-house environment,
the full-body rubbing,
or the use of Christian names,
which was raising the sexual arousal of both women, none of us will ever know.

But both women stopped speaking.  So as not to betray their pre-orgasm voices.

Both were mortified that they were about to cum in front of their enemy.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Krista partially mounted Bonnie on the postal sorting floor, and had a flashback to a summertime "waterfight" where she had wrestled a male opponent onto the shallow lake shoreline and had rubbed her aroused loins onto his erect cock.  She enjoyed the sensation, and would have continued mounting him, but they were interrupted by their companions that day.  Krista took that memory to a Transylvania bedroom show-me-yours-and-I'll-show-you-mine game, where help with homework became a playful wrestling/mounting game, which failed to proceed as Krista would have preferred only when her extensive hair between our legs became an object of observation for the boy.

And .... when he sensed that the game was no longer playful, but passionate.

First children in Raintree County in the 1840s often arrived just seven months after the wedding day.  "I guess they just couldn't wait," was the knowing observation of the village elders.  But Krista's experience was the opposite--that boys at the summer lakeside, and in Transylvanian dorm rooms, had an almost Job-ian patience, never wanted to proceed the playful waterfight wrestling or the dorm room looking and light touching.

The girl waterfights were the opposite.  And girl waterfight which lasted past the original bear-hug jostling inevitably proceeded to grabbing and clutching the most intimate body parts.  A watrrfight with a girl descended from playful to painful, and girls with grudges always ended up pairing up with each other by the lake.  And if the match moved onto the shallow shoreline, each girl always tries to assert a mounting dominance over the other.

Krista and Bonnie were on the ground now for the first time in their fight, and each was attempting to mount the other, pulling hair and locking legs in a desperate attempt for at least temporary dominance. 

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Krista and Bonnie sat on the butts, faced each other, opened their legs to each other, and tilted backwards, supporting themselved with their arms.  They rocked back and forth, in a position and motion they had seen girl-girl summertime waterfighters pursue onshore in Raintree County, quite different from the prone position, mounted or side-by-side, assumed by boy-girl waterfight "opponents". 

Bonnie recalled another summertime memory--the afternoon a romantic rival came to the lake looking for Bonnie to challenge her to a waterfight--or to humiliate her for not accepting the challenge.  There was no rural Hoosier taboo lower than not accepting a challenge to fight from a similarly-sized opponent. 

Bonnie had accepted the challenge once her opponent called her out by name.

Bonnie and Krista now called out each other.

Krista.

Bonnie.

Krista.

Bonnie.

Fight me, Krista.

All while staring at each other, masturbating their own erect breasts.

And cumming while scissoring with each other.

oooommmmmmm   aaaaaaa
mmmmmyyeesssss   ssssaaaaaa

Let's finish fighting.

Let's keep doing this first.

Yes, let's.  This feels good.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

The mood between Bonnie and Krista abruptly shifts from anger to arousal to satiation to anger (again), as each feels duped by the other for engaging in the act they have just shared on the postal sorting room floor.  Bonnie lashes out first.

> Jackson hypocrite.  No wonder you've chosen none of your suitors--you harbor sinful desires for women.

> How dare you speak to me of desire for women--the lowest, drunkest Transylvania rake ne'er begged for carresses from me like you did from me just now.

> I beg for nothing from you, Jackson wench.

> Nor shall you receive it anyways, Clay Whore!

> Your protests are empty, Krista.  I felt your desire for my embrace, the passion of your kisses. 

> Those kisses were based on posturing and trickery, Bonnie.

The women noticed they have returned to calling each other by their Christian names, the classic summertime waterfight "calling out" method when a confrontation will turn physical.  And for which Hoosier frontier rules all no face-saving backing down.

The women realize the carresses are over and they are returning to fighting.

Krista's "posturing" word lingers in the air.  The women each hope that their physical threats are not interpreted as posturing.  They are deadly serious.  Their hate for each other is genuine.

And now they have another causus belli--another greivance for each others' existence.

Each sees the other as a temptress to sin.  A grave offense in the Great Awakening 1840s Midwest.

> I hate you, Krista.

> I hate you, Bonnie.

The women resume a hairpulling catball, tearing out hair in handfulls.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

As Bonnie rolled on the floor with Krista, kissing and carressing having been banished from the room and replaced with clutching and grabbing, Bonnie was surprised to find her sexual arousal not abating in the least.

On the contrary, she found it reasserting its hold on her body.  Her body sought sexual release as hungrily as it had as minutes ago when Krista was kissing Bonnie on the mouth, neck and breasts.

In fact, her desire was even more possessive of her thoughts and urges.

Bonnie thought back to the summertime waterfight (by name:  "You!!!!  Bonnie!!!") call-out from the stranger girl with whom she shared a mutual flirtation with a boy.  Her first feelings in that confrontation, both before and after it became physical, was of fear and trepidation.  And her face and torso  surely felt the wrath of the jealous rival's slaps and punches.

But throught that skirmish, Bonnie also felt overwhelming arousal.  At first, she thought, it had been stirred up by the memory of the boy over whose attention the two girls were competing.  She had masturbated all night after that fight to the thought of flirting and dancing with the boy.

But, now, Bonnie wondered ..... what if her arousal that afternoon with the rival girl was from the fight .... not the boy.

What if her arousal this day with Krista wasn't from kissing Krista, but was from .... fighting her.

What if Bonnie's ability, to reach climax for the first time from other than her own touch and thoughts, was due to the more violent nature of this fight.  For this fight wasn't a waterfight, where water and sand cushioned every fall.  This was a violent fight on a hardwood floor.

Naked, except for riding boots.

Bonnie remembered the riding points.  But Krista must have remembered first.

Since Krista mule-kicked Bonnie in her back with the hard heels of the riding boots.  Bonnie felt excruciating pain.

And even more intense pleasure.  Surprising pleasure.  Sexual pleasure.

> You can't kick any harder than that, Krista?

> Show me how YOU kick, Bonnie.

Bonnie sits back and lashes out with a hard heel-kick to Krista's belly.

Krista must be a poker player.  For she hids two feelings wiyh wash over her.
Pain.
And pleasure.  Sexual pleasure.

Both women are close to orgasm.

To be continued....