At the "Le Amazzoni" farm, an idyllic place nestled among green hills and horses, the young Nora, 27 years old, blonde like a field of wheat, and with muscles sculpted from years of lifting hay bales, was busy fixing a fence. She wore her short "bohemian worker" jeans shorts and ankle boots, the unofficial uniform of free women slightly annoyed by the patriarchy. Women from all social classes, nobles, feminists, lesbians, divorcees, and curious young girls, gathered here for weekends and summer vacations.
Nora, the director of this place where people chat, play, connect with nature, take cooking classes, ride horses, and make new acquaintances, was focused on tightening the bolts of the horse pen's fence with the serene air of someone who loves that place.
But something was about to happen. Suddenly, Rosalind the Widow appeared on the horizon. Yes, widow with a capital V. 43 years old, dressed entirely in black as if she were going to a funeral every day, and with the look of someone who has already buried at least three husbands (or aspiring ones). Rosalind has a lean physique, tall and austere, moves jerkily, and always holds a black purse in her hands.
"You!" exclaimed Rosalind with a tone between judgmental and melodramatic like a telenovela from the '80s. "You are a slut."
Nora turned slowly, one eyebrow raised, without stopping to tighten the bolt. "Oh, good morning to you too, Rosalind," she replied calmly. "Did you take your calming drops this morning?"
"Y-you! Bitch" screamed the widow, puffing up and approaching.
The tension rose like whipped cream. The Widow, approaching Nora, swung her inseparable purse, an improvised weapon made of 2 kilos of leather and resentment, and hit Nora square in the face. STUMMMMPPPPP. A goose let out a "quack" in dismay.
Nora wobbled, surprised, while Rosalind looked at her with a satisfied expression. Nora shook her head and launched herself at the Widow with the grace of an Olympic gymnast and the fury of a bartender at the end of her shift. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. And so the fight began. Not just any fight, but a psychological battle, a symbolic combat between the energy of youth and the resentment of experience.
Those screams attracted the attention of several clients of the farm who gathered around the pen where a fierce fight was taking place.
Cinthya, 18 years old, with a ponytail, long legs, doe-like innocent eyes, and a little pink dress from a '50s catalog, watched everything as if she were attending the Wimbledon final, but with more hair pulled and less decorum. Sitting on the pen's fence, Mary, 54 years old, sophisticated with the wisdom of an uncomfortable aunt and the elegance of a Persian cat, commented with a theater critic's tone. "Look, Cinthya. The Widow is like a Dostoevsky novel: dark, complex, and full of low blows."
Cinthya, red-faced, watched in astonishment. "Yes, Mrs. Mary. But Nora is like a Marvel movie. Punching, screaming, and no subtext."
Mary laughed, her typical giggle of someone who has seen things you young people couldn't imagine. "Strength is boring, dear. Cunning is art. And the Widow? She is a curator of chaos."
Slaps, purse hits, punches, and bites, the return of animal instinct, of the female warrior archetype, they would have said in a Jungian psychology seminar. The two contenders were now clutching each other's hair, with Nora in trouble because she couldn't grab Rosalind's hair tied in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Rosalind, on the other hand, used every opportunity to pinch Nora, slap her, and pull her hair, making her nervous with sighs OHHHHH, screams "Bitch," and sighs SHHHHHHH.
Anna, one of the farm's guests, shouted: "Come on, Nora! Show her who's in charge here!"
Luisa, another young woman, added: "Ohhhh Rosalind, you're a scoundrel."
Shouts of encouragement and challenge mixed with the sound of slaps and bites, creating a controlled but intense chaos. Nora, despite her strength, began to yield under Rosalind's assault. Every pinch, scratch, slap, and hair pull seemed to weaken her more and more. While Rosalind, experienced and fierce, fought dirty and almost scientifically, unlike Nora who was furious.
Cinthya, more and more excited and surprised, looked at Mary for a moment, then focused again on the fight.
Mary, with a malicious smile: "Rosalind is a master in the art of female combat. Brute force does not always win."
Rosalind, with a satisfied smile, continued her assault. She pinched Nora on the breast, making her scream in pain. Then, with a quick movement, she pulled Nora's hair, making her fall to her knees. Finally, with a series of blows given with her purse, Rosalind ended the fight.
The women around exploded in a sigh and OHHHHHHHHHH with Cinthya and Mary in the front row.
Mary, with a satisfied smile, added: "Ah ahaahhh these girls…. Well, that's what I call a real show."
Nora, still on the ground, looked at Rosalind with respect.
Rosalind, with a big smile, looked at her opponent, then, composing herself, turned away under the gaze of the other women, panting, disheveled, but victorious. Nora, on the ground, watched her with a mix of rage and respect. And whispered, "I can't stand you."
Rosalind turned and replied with a smirk: "Neither can I."
Cinthya was stunned. "Mary... it was a terrifying fight. But also, I don't know… exciting?"
Mary placed a hand on her shoulder. "My dear, sometimes you need a brawl to understand who you are. But never, and I mean never, fight with a woman like Rosalind. It's like challenging a vengeful ghost."
The girl, her face still red, slowly nodded, trying to absorb all the information. Mary, satisfied with having shared her wisdom, gave her a pat on the face and walked away, leaving the young girl to reflect on what had happened.
THE NEXT DAY.
Mary's house is a welcoming and charming refuge, a mix between an old villa's living room and a secret boudoir. The walls are painted a warm cream color, decorated with period paintings depicting hunting scenes and rural landscapes. A large gilded mirror hangs above the fireplace, reflecting the soft light filtering through the cream velvet curtains. The floor is covered by a Persian rug, whose vivid colors contrast with the sobriety of the furniture.
Mary is seated on a cobalt blue velvet sofa, her legs elegantly crossed. She wears a jeans skirt that highlights her round curves, a plaid shirt, light stockings, gray hair, and a bright red lipstick that makes her malicious smile stand out. Her hair, teased and perfectly styled, frames her face with a touch of vintage glamour. Her gaze is calm and sure, but there's a spark of amusement in her eyes as she watches Cinthya enter the room.
Cinthya, with her light blue floral dress and her hair tied in two braids, enters timidly, her eyes wide and her heart pounding. Her cheeks are already flushed with emotion, and her gaze meets Mary's with a mix of admiration and reverential awe.
"Hi, Cinthya," says Mary with a warm smile. "I'm glad you came. How are you?"
Cinthya nods, sitting timidly on the sofa next to Mary. "Mary. What I saw... it was incredible. The widow and the blonde... how they fought. I thought about it all night… it was exciting and my legs were shaking… I don't know what…."
Mary smiles, placing a hand on Cinthya's knee. "Oh dear, says Mary laughing… I know this feeling… it happened to me too when I saw my first catfight years ago…."
Cinthya nods, her eyes shining with excitement, listening to Mary's words attentively.
Mary, smiling maliciously, looks at Cinthya and invites the girl to follow her to the center of the large room.
Cinthya, surprised, has a moment of bewilderment. "Come on... I want to show you something!" says the woman to the girl.
Now the two are face to face. Mary can feel Cinthya's heart beating fast, suddenly grabs one of the girl's braids with her hands and quickly rolls it between her fingers and pulls... A grimace of pain appears on Cinthya's face who lets out a hiss shhhhhhhhhh.
If you roll the hair between your fingers when you grab it, it hurts more… says Mary
The girl listens attentively, her emotions are a whirlwind of excitement and nervousness, but there's also a subtle current of pleasure in feeling Mary's hands guiding her.
"Now, try you," says Mary, with a malicious smile. "Don't be afraid. You have to be decisive."
"But I... Mrs...." Timidly, Cinthya is indecisive. "Come on... don't be afraid" answers the woman.
Cinthya, with her heart pounding, grabs a lock of Mary's hair and pulls. Mary grabs Cinthya's wrist. "Good, but you have to be faster in rolling the hair between your fingers."
You have to look into your opponent's eyes only then can you understand what she intends to do. And suddenly with a quick move she spins Cinthya's wrist forcing her to let go of her hair.
Mary comes closer, her warm breath on Cinthya's face. "Now, I'll show you another technique. It's a bit painful, but very effective."
Mary starts showing her other techniques, guiding her with patience and confidence. Each movement is accompanied by a calm and sure comment, and Cinthya listens attentively, trying to put into practice every advice. The room is enveloped in a sensual and exciting atmosphere, where every touch and every glance are charged with meaning. The girl listens attentively, trying to put into practice every advice. Her emotions are a whirlwind of excitement and nervousness.
Now Mary grabs Cinthya by the hips and pushes her to the ground... the girl falls sitting on the large rug, legs spread, quickly tries to get up, but Mary with unexpected speed bends over her, opening her mouth with her right hand blocks Cinthya's right ankle and with her left the knee then bites into Cinthya's calf who has a jerk, closes her eyes for a moment Ahiiiiii...shhhhhhhhhh screams the girl. Mary releases her grip and looks at Cinthya red-faced hopping and massaging the calf bitten by the woman who laughs and licks her lips watching the scene. Cinthya, now with her heart pounding, wants to return the bite to Mary and grabbing the woman's hand opens her mouth and with a sound seco CIIIIOOOMMMMP bites. Mary has a grimace of pain and a surprised expression, then bursts into laughter when Cinthya releases her grip. Mary smiles, her voice has a warm and malicious sound. "Good, but you have to be faster. And you have to make sure the opponent can't stop you in any way." massaging her hand.
Mary continues to show her other techniques, guiding her with patience and confidence. Each movement is accompanied by a calm and sure comment, and Cinthya listens attentively, trying to put into practice every advice. The room is enveloped in a sensual and exciting atmosphere, where every touch and every glance are charged with meaning. The two fight on the ground, every now and then they stop to let Mary explain.
At the end of the session, Cinthya is sweaty and out of breath, her braids are undone, her floral dress is wrinkled but her face is illuminated by a smile of satisfaction.
Mary smiles and hugs the girl, with a proud smile. "Ahhh these girls.... you were good you learned quickly." Cinthya nods, dazed look, legs trembling with emotion. Mary smiles, a warm and reassuring smile. "Good, dear. Now, we have to say goodbye I have to prepare for a dinner we'll see each other whenever you want to continue… Cinthya nods, determined. "I want to learn. Thanks…"
Cinthya returns to her room, her heart still pounding at the memory of what she experienced. The encounter with Mary left a deep mark on her, a mix of excitement, nervousness, and a subtle current of pleasure she had never felt before. The girl takes off her clothes, her sinuous body is reflected in the mirror. Her gaze lingers on the bite mark on her calf, she touches it with a hand, letting out a slight hiss of pain. The memory of Mary's bite gives her a shiver that runs down her back, a mix of suffering and desire.
Then Cinthya gets into bed, the cool sheets against her heated skin. The walls of her room, once so familiar, now seem to envelop her in a secret embrace, almost protecting her from the tumultuous emotions that course through her. Her eyes shine with a new light, a spark of curiosity and determination she had never seen before. She closes her eyes, trying to calm her panting breath, but the images of the day return to invade her mind.
Slowly, she slides her hands between her legs under the blanket, feeling the heat of her body. Her fingers explore cautiously, following the path traced by the emotions of the day. Each touch is a discovery, each sensation is amplified by the memory of Mary's words, her gestures, her malicious gaze. Her breath becomes deeper, more rhythmic, as she loses herself in memories and sensations.
Her body moves under the sheets, her legs slightly open to make room for her exploring hands. The fingers insinuate themselves between the delicate folds, finding the throbbing point of pleasure. Her mind is a whirlwind of images: Mary showing her fighting techniques, Mary guiding her with patience and confidence, Mary biting her, leaving an indelible mark on her skin. Each memory is a wave of excitement that sweeps her away, making her moan softly.
Her fingers move with more decision, following the rhythm of her heart. Pleasure grows, intensifies, until it becomes an uncontrollable spiral. Cinthya feels her body tense, every muscle on alert, every nerve on fire. Her lips open in a whisper, Mary's name escapes her in a breath, a silent invocation.
Orgasm sweeps her away with the force of a hurricane, leaving her panting and trembling. Her hands stop, but her body continues to vibrate, responding to every echo of pleasure. Cinthya opens her eyes, her gaze lost in the void, her mind still full of images and sensations.
She feels different, transformed. The day with Mary has opened in her a door to a new world, a world of intense and forbidden sensations. She knows she can't go back, that she will have to face this new awareness, this new strength she feels within herself. And as she falls asleep, wrapped in the warmth of the sheets and her thoughts, she knows that her path is only just beginning, that there are still many lessons to learn, many battles to fight, many secrets to discover. In her sleep, her face is serene, but her heart continues to beat strongly, ready to face the challenges that the future will bring. And as the night envelops the room, Cinthya dreams, dreams of Mary, dreams of power, dreams of seduction, dreams of the dance of a new life that is about to begin.
Two days later, Cinthya is invited by Mary to go horseback riding in the woods around the farm. Without a second thought, the girl accepts. "Well then, see you tomorrow morning at 9:30 at the stable I've rented two horses for us."
The day continues with Cinthya and Mary riding towards a hidden path in the woods. The sunlight filters through the leaves, creating games of light and shadow that seem to dance around them. The air is fresh and scented with pines, and the silence is broken only by the sound of the horses' hooves and the chirping of birds.
As they advance, Mary approaches Cinthya, her malicious gaze "You ride well… I bet you took riding lessons" she says with a sensual smile. Cinthya replies: "From 10 to 15 years old I went to a school near home." Suddenly, Mary lets out a yell YPPPPYYYEEEHHH and takes off at a gallop with her horse, immediately followed by Cinthya. After a long gallop, they reach a stream bordered by a wood. Mary stops her horse and dismounts. Cinthya does the same.
"Come, I'll show you a beautiful place" while tying her horse to a tree. Cinthya does the same and follows Mary.
Curiosity and excitement overwhelm her, and she lets herself be guided by Mary towards a clearing hidden in the heart of the woods. There, the sun filters through the foliage, creating a magical and intimate atmosphere.
Arriving under an oak tree, Mary invites the girl to sit. Next to her
"Here we can talk without fear of being overheard," says Mary, sitting next to her. "And we can do whatever we want."
Cinthya feels her breath become more labored, and her body responds to Mary's proximity with a wave of desire. Mary approaches, her warm breath on Cinthya's face. "Do you remember what I taught you yesterday?" she asks, her voice low and sensual.
Cinthya nods, her eyes fixed on Mary's. "Yes, Mary. I remember everything."
Mary smiles and comes even closer, her lips a few centimeters from Cinthya's, she brushes Cinthya's lips with a light and delicate kiss. Cinthya feels a wave of heat course through her body, and she responds to the kiss with a passion she didn't know she had. Their tongues intertwine, exploring and savoring every corner of each other's mouths.
Mary slides her hands along Cinthya's body, caressing every curve with excruciating slowness. Cinthya feels the desire grow within her, and she abandons herself completely to Mary's caresses. Her hands explore Mary's body, feeling the toned muscles under the soft skin.
Mary breaks the kiss for a moment, her eyes fixed on Cinthya's. "Do you want me to continue?" she asks, her voice charged with desire.
Cinthya nods, unable to speak. Mary smiles and slides her hands under Cinthya's shirt, caressing her naked skin. Her fingers find Cinthya's breasts, and she caresses them with delicacy, making her moan with pleasure. The girl arches her body sighing "Ooooh Mrs. Mary…"
Mary continues to explore Cinthya's body, sliding her hands under her jeans and caressing her thighs. Cinthya feels her desire grow stronger, and she surrenders completely to Mary's caresses. Her hands explore Mary's body, feeling every curve, every muscle. Mary unbuttons Cinthya's pants and slowly pulls them off, her eyes fixed on Cinthya's. Cinthya is excited and flushed. The woman moves between Cinthya's legs and begins to kiss and bite her thighs, making Cinthya tremble and arch her body. With her hands, Cinthya grabs Mary's head, wanting to hold her back but also wanting to feel the warmth of her mouth and cheeks between her legs. Mary now begins to lick and suck Cinthya's clitoris with delicacy. Cinthya feels a wave of pleasure course through her body, and she surrenders completely to Mary's kisses. Her hands cling to Mary's back, and her breath becomes more and more labored.
Mary continues to explore Cinthya's body, sliding her tongue inside her with delicacy and experience. Cinthya feels the pleasure grow stronger, and she surrenders completely. Her hands cling to Mary's back, and her breath becomes more and more labored.
Mary continues to lick inside Cinthya, bringing her closer and closer to orgasm. Cinthya feels the pleasure grow stronger, and she surrenders completely to the mature woman. "Let go, Cinthya," Mary whispers, her voice filled with desire. "I want to hear you come."
With these words, Cinthya feels the pleasure explode within her, overwhelming her with a wave of intense sensations. Her body tenses, and a moan of pleasure escapes her lips. Mary continues to lick and bite, prolonging her orgasm and making her enjoy every last wave of pleasure.
When the pleasure finally subsides, Cinthya collapses into Mary's arms, her breath ragged and her heart pounding. Mary holds her close, gently stroking her hair.
"That was incredible, Mary," Cinthya whispers, her voice filled with gratitude and desire. Mary smiles and kisses her gently. "You have a wonderful body…"
The two women remain embraced for a moment, enjoying the tranquility of the woods and the deep connection they have created. Then, reluctantly, they stand up and remount their horses, returning to the farm.
As they ride, Cinthya can't help but think about everything she has experienced. The day has been a journey of discovery and growth, an experience that will make her stronger, more confident, more of a woman. And as they approach the farm, she knows that her path is just beginning, that there are still many lessons to learn, many battles to fight, many secrets to discover.
As they approach the farm, Cinthya and Mary see Nora standing at the entrance, her gaze penetrating and her smile malicious. Nora is a mysterious and fascinating figure, a woman who knows the darkest secrets of the farm.
"Hi, girls," Nora says with a smile. "Did you have a good day?"
Mary smiles and nods. "Yes, Nora. It was an incredible day. And you, how are you?"
The woman replies, "I'm doing okay…"
Nora looks at Cinthya, her eyes shining with curiosity and malice. "And you, Cinthya? Did you enjoy the ride?"
Cinthya nods, feeling her heart pound. "It was... extraordinary, Nora."
Nora smiles and nods in approval. "Good, good. I'm glad to hear it. Remember, Cinthya: the farm is a place of discovery and growth. And you are destined for great things."
With these words, Nora walks away, leaving Cinthya and Mary alone. The two women look at each other, their gazes filled with promise and complicity.
