[dcdave]

The Spoils of Victory
By DCDave

Marlene’s body still thrummed with the high of her triumph over Andrea, her bruises and welts badges of dominance. Three days after the fight in that stale Scottsdale house, she and Dave sprawled on their king-sized bed, the glow of a 65-inch TV casting shadows across their sweat-slicked skin. Dave’s iPhone, propped on a tripod during the brawl, had captured every brutal second, and now the raw footage played—Marlene’s fists smashing Andrea’s face, her knees grinding into her belly, the final humiliation of Dave’s cum streaking Andrea’s broken features. Marlene, naked, her 34Ds still tender, her thick thighs marked with purple splotches, leaned into Dave, her hand lazily stroking his hardening cock through his boxers. Her hazel eyes were glued to the screen, analyzing every move, her pussy already slick with the memory of her conquest.

“Fuck, look at that hook,” she murmured, voice husky, as the video showed her right fist cracking Andrea’s jaw, blood spraying. Dave groaned, his cock twitching under her grip, pre-cum dampening the fabric. “You flattened her, babe,” he rasped, his beefy IT-exec frame tensing. “But you could’ve twisted harder when you clawed her tits—really ripped into her.” Marlene nodded, her lips curling, her free hand tracing the c-section scar on her belly, a reminder of her own battles. “Yeah, I let her squirm too much,” she admitted, squeezing Dave’s shaft, her thumb smearing his pre-cum. “Should’ve pinned her arms sooner, kept her helpless.” The screen shifted to her knee slamming Andrea’s nose—crunch—and Marlene’s breath hitched, her clit pulsing. “How’s my form there?” she asked, sliding her hand into Dave’s boxers, pumping his rigid length, slick with his arousal.

Dave’s hips bucked, his voice rough. “Knee was perfect—shattered her. But your follow-up punch was slow. Telegraphed it. If she’d ducked, you’d have been open.” Marlene smirked, her grip tightening, jerking him faster as the video showed her straddling Andrea, pounding her face to pulp. “Noted,” she purred, her own arousal dripping down her thighs. “I’ll drill quicker combos.” She leaned over, spitting on Dave’s cock, her hand gliding smoother now, then sucked his tip briefly—slurp—before pulling back to watch herself spit Dave’s cum onto Andrea’s face. “God, I owned her,” she whispered, her pussy clenching, fingers slipping between her legs to rub her swollen clit. Dave groaned, “You’re a fucking goddess,” his cock throbbing, ready to burst.

Marlene paused the video, freezing on Andrea’s wrecked face, and turned to Dave, her eyes fierce. “I want to be untouchable next time,” she said, not saying if but when, her voice laced with hunger. “Set up the garage gym tomorrow. I’m adding elbow strikes, faster jabs, and I want to practice grappling—make sure no bitch slips out.” Dave nodded, his cock pulsing in her hand, and she resumed stroking, slow and deliberate, as the video looped back to her first punch. “You’ll crush anyone,” he panted, then gasped as she squeezed his balls, her nails grazing the sensitive skin. “Good,” she said, then climbed atop him, guiding his cock into her soaked pussy, riding him reverse cowgirl, her ass flexing as she fucked him to the rhythm of her own violence on screen. Dave came hard, roaring, his cum flooding her, and Marlene’s orgasm hit seconds later, her thighs quaking, her scream echoing as she pictured breaking Andrea again—or someone new.

The next morning, Marlene was in the garage, her CrossFit-honed body glistening under fluorescent lights. She wore only a sports bra and tight shorts, her 34Ds straining the fabric, nipples hard as she shadowboxed, sweat beading on her c-section scar. Dave had rigged a heavy bag, and she hammered it—thwack, thwack—her fists blurring, practicing the quick jabs he’d suggested. “Faster, babe,” Dave called, filming her on his phone, his cock already half-hard in his sweats. Marlene spun, throwing an elbow—crack—the bag swinging, then dropped to the mat, practicing a grapple hold, her thighs clamping an imaginary opponent. “Pin ‘em like that, and they’re done,” Dave said, zooming in on her ass, her shorts riding up, exposing her thick curves. Marlene grinned, panting, then lunged at a dummy, raking her nails down its chest, picturing Andrea’s welts. “No mercy next time,” she growled, her pussy wet with the thought, her body a weapon being sharpened.

Meanwhile, Dave’s other obsession simmered online. He’d posted about the fight on underground catfighting boards—grainy snippets of the video, Andrea’s face blurred to avoid trouble, but Marlene’s dominance clear. The posts exploded with comments: “Your wife’s a beast!” “Those tits took a beating—bet she fucks like a champ.” Dave, grinning, shared more—clips of Marlene’s knee strikes, her final gloating blowjob—his cock stiffening with every upvote. Late that night, a private message popped up from a user named Carl, claiming to be a husband in Phoenix. “My wife Traci’s like your Marlene,” he wrote. “One fight, one win, fucking brutal. She’s 32, 36Cs, gym rat, took down a chick named Lisa last year—clawed her face to shreds, left her crying. Traci’s itching to test herself again. You think Marlene’s up for it?”

Dave’s pulse raced, his cock tenting his boxers as he read Carl’s message again, imagining another woman like Marlene—fierce, curvy, relentless. He replied, keeping it vague: “Marlene’s always ready to dominate. Tell me about Traci’s fight.” Carl shot back details: Traci, a former cheerleader turned powerlifter, had fought Lisa, a 35-year-old divorcee, in a friend’s basement. Traci’s 36Cs bounced as she slammed Lisa’s head into the floor, her muscular legs locking Lisa’s hips, nails ripping her cheeks until blood ran. “Lisa begged after five minutes,” Carl wrote. “Traci made her kiss her feet, then fucked me in front of her. She’s got a mean streak—loves breaking bitches.” He included a grainy clip: Traci, sweaty, straddling a sobbing woman, her fist raised, her smirk pure venom.

Dave showed Marlene the message the next day, his voice casual but eyes gleaming, his cock stirring as he gauged her reaction. They were in the garage again, Marlene mid-squat, her leggings stretched tight, ass flexing like a weapon. She paused, sweat dripping, and read Carl’s words, her lips curling as she watched Traci’s clip. “This chick thinks she’s tough?” she scoffed, her nipples hardening through her bra, a slick heat building between her thighs. “Lisa looks soft—Andrea was harder.” She resumed squatting, deeper, faster, her thighs burning, but her mind racing—Traci’s smirk, her raised fist, a challenge she hadn’t named but felt. “Keep talking to him,” she told Dave, her voice sharp. “I’m not saying I’ll fight her, but I want to know more.” She dropped the barbell—clang—and lunged at the dummy, slamming her knee into its gut, picturing Traci’s face.

Dave grinned, typing back to Carl as Marlene drilled harder, her punches snapping—thwack—her elbows cracking—crunch—each move sharper, meaner. “Marlene’s intrigued,” he wrote. “Send more on Traci—her moves, her weaknesses.” Marlene, panting, caught his eye, her body a coiled spring, her pussy throbbing with a dark, unspoken need—not just to improve, but to destroy again, to prove she was the ultimate. She didn’t say it, but her sweat, her ferocity, her wet heat screamed it: she’d fight again, and she’d fucking win.

Marlene was still buzzing from her garage workouts, her body a furnace of sweat and ambition, when Dave got another message from Carl. She leaned over his shoulder, her 34Ds brushing his arm, as he opened the email on his laptop. Carl’s words spilled out, vivid and taunting, detailing Traci’s strengths and vulnerabilities like a coach scouting an opponent. “Traci’s got no formal training,” Carl wrote, “but she’s all heart—fights like a cornered animal. Her lower belly’s her weak spot; Lisa got a lucky knee there, and Traci folded, nearly puked. And her jaw—man, it’s glass to slaps. One good smack, and she’s dazed.” Marlene’s lips curled, her hazel eyes narrowing as she memorized every word, her fingers twitching with the urge to exploit those flaws.

Carl went on, painting Traci’s fight with Lisa in brutal strokes. “Traci wrecked this divorcee, Lisa, 35, in a buddy’s basement last year. Lisa was all talk—curvy, 34DDs, thought she was hot shit. Traci, 32, 36Cs, powerlifter build, just bulldozed her. She tackled Lisa two minutes in, slammed her head into the concrete—crack—then straddled her, ripping her nails down Lisa’s cheeks ‘til blood ran. Lisa screamed, but Traci kept going, punching her tits flat, then slamming her fist into Lisa’s nose—crunch—broke it clean. By the end, Lisa was sobbing, kissing Traci’s feet while Traci laughed. Then Traci fucked me right there, her pussy dripping on Lisa’s face, proving who’s queen.” A grainy clip was attached: Traci, sweaty, her muscular thighs flexing, pinning a bloodied Lisa, her fist cocked, her sneer pure venom. Marlene’s pussy throbbed, a mix of rage and thrill—she wanted to break that smirk.

Carl had kept this push secret from Traci, hyping her to Dave without her buy-in. But that night, he showed her the messages, including Dave’s fight clips—Marlene’s fists pounding Andrea, her knees crushing her belly, the final cum-soaked humiliation. Traci, lounging in a tank top and shorts, her 36Cs straining the fabric, her short blonde hair tousled, watched with a bemused smirk. “This chick’s intense,” she said, tossing her hair, her green eyes glinting. But when she saw Marlene’s photos—tight leggings hugging her thick ass, tops barely containing her 34Ds, that cocky grin—her smirk faded. Something stirred in her gut: envy, fear, and a slick, primal need to prove she could take her. Carl, sensing her shift, pushed harder. “Babe, you’d wreck her. She’s older, slower. Let’s set it up.” Traci hesitated, her belly fluttering, but nodded slowly, her clit pulsing at the thought of crushing Marlene’s smug face.

Carl fired off a message to Dave, his tone brash: “Traci’s in. Let’s make it happen. I’ll bet $5,000 my wife kicks Marlene’s ass—her glass jaw won’t last against Traci’s slaps.” Dave, cock already stiff in his sweats, grinned at Marlene, who was shadowboxing in the living room, her sports bra soaked, nipples poking through. “This guy’s begging for it,” he said, typing back: “You’re on, Carl. Marlene’ll bury Traci. Name the time and place.” Carl shot back instantly: “Three days, that Scottsdale house you used. Traci’s gonna slap Marlene silly and leave her crying.” Marlene overheard, her punches snapping harder—thwack—her eyes flashing with annoyance at Carl’s disrespect, her pussy wet with the challenge.

The four got on a tense, awkward phone call the next night, the air crackling through the speakerphone. Marlene sat on their couch, legs crossed, her tight tank top hugging her 34Ds, her thighs flexing in leggings. Traci, across town, perched on a barstool, her tank top low-cut, 36Cs heaving, her shorts riding up her muscular legs. The women were silent at first, sizing each other up through the phone, their breaths heavy with excitement and nerves. Dave and Carl, though, were throbbing, their cocks straining—Dave in his boxers, Carl in sweats—but their voices started shy, not matching the fury of their emails. “Uh, so, we good for Saturday?” Dave mumbled, his hand twitching toward his groin. Carl coughed, “Yeah, man, Traci’s ready. It’s on.” The wives smirked, sensing their husbands’ restraint, their own pulses racing.

Dave broke the awkwardness first, his voice suddenly bold, fueled by the memory of Marlene’s victory. “Marlene’s gonna beat the ass off your younger wife, Carl. Traci’s got no chance—my girl’s a fucking machine.” Traci scoffed audibly, a sharp “Pfft!” cutting through, her green eyes narrowing as she leaned toward the phone. Carl jumped in, his tone crass and taunting: “Dream on, Dave. Marlene’s a washed-up gym rat—Traci’ll slap that glass jaw of hers and have her begging in two minutes. Your wife’s tits are gonna be pulp.” Marlene’s face flushed, her hazel eyes blazing as she glared at the phone, huffing angrily, her nipples hardening through her top. “Fuck you, Carl,” she muttered under her breath, her thighs clenching, hating his smugness but burning to prove him wrong.

The women sat, pulses pounding, as the men’s bravado escalated, lining up a hellacious wife-on-wife brawl. “Scottsdale house, Saturday, no rules,” Dave growled, his cock leaking pre-cum, picturing Marlene’s fists smashing Traci’s face. “Anything goes—nails, kicks, whatever,” Carl shot back, his erection tenting his sweats, imagining Traci’s slaps dazing Marlene. Marlene and Traci stayed quiet, their excitement laced with nerves—Marlene picturing Traci’s tender belly, Traci eyeing Marlene’s toned arms, both women’s pussies slick with a twisted mix of fear and anticipation. The call ended with logistics set: three days, the same bare room where Marlene broke Andrea, the air already thick with the promise of sweat, blood, and dominance.

Carl, feeling outdone in the verbal sparring, couldn’t resist a final jab. He texted Dave late that night: “When Traci wins, I’m gonna have her drag Marlene’s sorry ass over, and we’re gonna fuck her right there, in front of you. Traci’ll ride me while Marlene cries.” Dave’s cock surged, his pulse racing as he showed Marlene the message. She smirked, her eyes glinting with venom, and grabbed the phone, typing back: “Oh, Carl, when I win, I’ll drag Traci’s beaten ass to Dave, and he’s gonna plow her raw while you watch. I’ll fucking love seeing her take my big, strong husband’s cock.” Dave grinned, his erection painful, and added: “Bet on it, asshole. Marlene’s gonna own her.” Traci, reading the exchange on Carl’s phone, felt her belly twist—fear, rage, and a dark, wet heat. She didn’t speak, but her fingers brushed her clit later that night, her mind locked on Marlene’s sneer, her body bracing for war.

Three days loomed, the Scottsdale house waiting like a predator’s den. Marlene drilled harder in the garage, her fists snapping at the bag—thwack—practicing open-handed slaps for Traci’s glass jaw, her knees aiming low for that tender belly. Traci, in her home gym, shadowboxed with feral intensity, her slaps whistling through the air, her heart pounding with the need to prove she was tougher, meaner. The husbands, cocks throbbing, counted the hours, their bets and boasts fueling a fight that promised to be raw, brutal, and drenched in primal stakes.

[tr0tz]

Part one of this amazing tale, for those who didn't read it yet:

https://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php?topic=120315.msg775636#msg775636

[dcdave]

PART TWO!

Four months had passed since Marlene’s brutal victory over Andrea, her body now as strong and tight as it had ever been, her pride and Dave’s love amplified by every lush, dangerous curve. Traci, six months removed from her savage takedown of Lisa, carried the same restless hunger, her powerlifter’s frame itching for a new conquest. The night of the fight crackled with tension, the air thick with lust and nerves. Dave and Carl, cocks throbbing in their jeans, were unshakably confident in their wives, each man certain his woman would leave the other’s broken and humiliated. The stakes—$5,000, pride, and the twisted promise of forcing the loser into submission—hung heavy, fueling their anticipation as they drove to the meetup.

In the parking lot of a 24-hour gym near Dave and Marlene’s Scottsdale rental, the couples converged under the sodium glow of streetlights. Dave’s black SUV rolled in first, Marlene stepping out, her 34Ds straining a tight black crop top, her thick thighs and round ass poured into leggings that clung like a second skin. At 34, her CrossFit-sculpted body glistened with a pre-fight sweat, her hazel eyes sharp, long brunette hair tied in a high ponytail. Her c-section scar peeked above her waistband, a badge of her four kids and her relentless drive. She stood 5’6”, 140 pounds of muscle and venom, her nipples poking through her top, a predator sizing up her prey.
Traci emerged from Carl’s silver pickup, her 36Cs bouncing under a low-cut red tank top, her muscular legs flexing in tiny denim shorts that barely covered her ass. At 32, her powerlifter’s build—5’5”, 135 pounds—radiated raw strength, her blonde hair cropped short, green eyes glinting with defiance. Her skin glowed, unmarred except for a faint scar on her lower belly from a gym injury, a weak spot Carl had betrayed. Her full lips curled into a smirk, but her pulse raced—she’d seen Marlene’s videos, felt the weight of her reputation.

The women locked eyes, circling subtly as they leaned against their cars, sizing each other up. Marlene’s gaze raked Traci’s 36Cs, her toned arms, noting the slight softness in her lower belly—a target. Traci stared back, clocking Marlene’s dense thighs, her perky 34Ds, searching for the glass jaw Carl swore she didn’t have. Dave, 38, beefy and broad, his cock tenting his jeans, grinned at Carl. “Your girl looks tough, but Marlene’s gonna wreck her.” Carl, 35, lean and wiry, his erection just as obvious, scoffed. “Traci’s gonna slap your wife silly, man. Bet she’s crying in five.” The women said nothing, their breaths heavy, pussies already slick with the dark thrill of what was coming.

Both cars pulled up to the Scottsdale house, the same vacant rental where Marlene had crushed Andrea. The group walked in silence, the only sound the crunch of gravel underfoot and the faint hum of desert night. Inside, they filed into the bare back room, its walls scuffed, the overhead fan swirling cool air that did little to calm their nerves. Dave closed the door with a soft click, sealing their fate. The room smelled faintly of sweat and memory, the floor hard under their feet. Carl broke the quiet, glancing at Traci, his voice low. “You ready, babe?” Traci nodded, her green eyes locked on Marlene, who returned a cool stare. The women exchanged a “shall we” glance, a silent agreement that words were done.

Marlene and Traci began to strip, their movements deliberate, the men’s eyes devouring every inch. Marlene peeled off her crop top, her 34Ds bouncing free, nipples hard as bullets, then shimmied out of her leggings, revealing a purple thong that her thick ass devoured, the fabric disappearing between her cheeks, barely covering her shaved pussy. Traci tugged off her tank top, her 36Cs jiggling, then dropped her shorts, stepping out in gold boy shorts that hugged her pubic mound tightly, the outline of her lips visible, the shorts cupping her firm butt cheeks like a second skin. Both women stood, nearly naked, their bodies taut, scars and muscles gleaming under the dim light, the air thick with their musk—sweat, arousal, and raw intent.

Dave and Carl whipped out their phones, hitting record, their cocks straining harder, pre-cum darkening their jeans. Marlene, her voice steady, met Traci’s eyes. “Rules okay? Anything goes, until one of us gives.” Traci shifted, her fingers flexing, hesitating as she felt the weight of Marlene’s stare. “Yeah,” she said finally, her voice catching, then firmer, “I’m ready to fight for real.” Marlene nodded, a smirk tugging her lips. “Good. No limits, just fight ‘til it’s over.” Traci’s green eyes flashed, her smirk returning. “And gives is right. Five grand, and the loser gets fucked—by the winner’s man, while we watch.” She glanced at Carl, whose cock twitched visibly, then back at Marlene, daring her to flinch. Marlene didn’t, her pussy clenching at the stakes, her eyes promising pain.

Dave and Carl pulled out wads of cash, flashing the $5,000 each had brought, stacking it on a rickety table in the corner. The bills fluttered under the fan, a tangible reminder of the bet. Marlene and Traci began to circle, their bare feet scuffing the floor, bodies coiled like springs. Marlene’s 34Ds swayed slightly, her thong riding higher, her thighs flexing with every step. Traci’s 36Cs jiggled, her boy shorts stretching as she moved, her muscular legs tense, her lower belly a faint target under the light. The men’s breaths were ragged, phones steady, capturing every second. The room pulsed with heat, hate, and a twisted lust that made the air feel electric.

Without warning, the fight erupted. Traci lunged first, her right hand swinging in a vicious slap aimed at Marlene’s jaw—whack!—the sound echoing as Marlene’s head snapped sideways, a red welt blooming instantly. “Fucking bitch!” Traci snarled, confidence flashing in her green eyes. But Marlene, quick to read her, saw the opening Carl had betrayed. She fired back, her right fist snapping into Traci’s jaw—crack!—a clean, brutal pop that staggered Traci, her muscular legs buckling, eyes glazing for a split second as she swayed, feet slapping the floor to stay upright. Marlene’s hazel eyes gleamed; Traci’s glass jaw was real, and she’d exploit it.

Traci recovered fast, panic flickering behind her bravado, and swung a desperate left punch at Marlene’s cheek—thud!—landing solid, rocking Marlene’s head. Dave’s cock surged, his phone steady, wild with lust watching his wife, her 34Ds bouncing and her strong ass eating her sexy purple thong, trade face punches with this hot, muscled blonde. Marlene absorbed the hit, her cheek stinging, and answered with a vicious right hook to Traci’s jaw again—snap!—sending Traci staggering once more, her feet slapping the mats loudly, arms flailing as she fought to find her balance, her 36Cs heaving in her gold boy shorts.

Marlene pounced, smelling weakness. Her right knee rocketed into Traci’s lower belly—thump!—hitting the soft spot Carl had exposed, folding Traci forward with a choked gasp, her face twisting in pain. “Weak-ass stomach!” Marlene sneered, her hands lunging for Traci’s 36Cs, fingers sinking deep into the soft, heavy flesh, nails biting as she gripped tight. Traci yelped, her body jerking, but Marlene hauled her around, muscles flexing, loving the feel of those big, pliant tits in her hands, her thong-soaked pussy throbbing with dominance. She swung Traci toward the wall, aiming to slam her into it, her own 34Ds jiggling with the effort. Traci felt steamrolled, her jaw aching, belly burning, concern creeping in but masked by a defiant glare.

Carl cheered, oblivious, his voice hoarse, “Fuck her up, Traci! Slap her silly!” his phone shaking, cock tenting his jeans, blind to his wife’s faltering poise. Dave, though, saw it—Traci’s wobble, her flickering confidence—and silently beamed, his cock leaking pre-cum, gloating inside but keeping quiet, not daring to jinx Marlene’s edge. Just moments into the fight, and the room stank of sweat and heat, the women’s grunts sharp, their bodies a blur of violence and lust, phones capturing every second as Marlene pressed her attack, hungry to break her rival.

Traci’s heart pounded, worry gnawing at her as she felt Marlene’s early dominance. Her powerlifter’s strength had always carried her, but Marlene was exploiting her weaknesses—jaw and belly—relentlessly, thanks to Carl’s betrayal, the why of it a mystery that burned but didn’t matter now. Traci attacked out of fear, no pause, no strategy, just raw aggression to reclaim control. She lunged at Marlene, her hands clawing for Marlene’s 34Ds, fingers sinking into the firm flesh, nails scraping, trying to twist and hurt. “Fucking bitch!” she snarled, her gold boy shorts soaked, her 36Cs bouncing as she yanked.

Marlene grunted, pain flaring, but her grip was fiercer. She clamped onto Traci’s 36Cs, her fingers digging deeper, nails piercing skin, drawing thin beads of blood. “Soft tits, weak slut!” Marlene hissed, twisting harder, making Traci yelp, her face contorting. Marlene’s purple thong was drenched, her pussy throbbing as she overpowered Traci in the brutal exchange. They broke apart, panting, welts rising on their chests, eyes blazing with hate.

The women dove for each other’s hair, hands wrapping tight, yanking viciously. Marlene’s ponytail whipped, Traci’s short blonde locks twisted in Marlene’s fists. They stumbled, then crashed to the floor, bodies pressed close, heads jerked at painful angles, grunting and cursing. Their thighs tangled, sweat-slick skin sliding, the air thick with their musk—rage, arousal, and desperation. On their sides, they writhed, each trying to dominate. Marlene seized her chance, rearing back and slamming her heel into Traci’s lower belly—thump!—a savage blow to her weak spot. Traci gagged, her body heaving, a choked retch escaping her lips, her face paling as pain radiated.

The sound hit the men like a drug. Dave groaned, his cock leaking through his jeans, phone steady, picturing Marlene’s heel as a prelude to victory. “Fuck, that’s it, babe!” he rasped, his eyes wild. Carl, despite Traci’s struggle, grinned, his cock throbbing, the gagging sound obscenely erotic, like a sloppy blowjob. “Keep fighting, Traci!” he called, too caught in lust to see her distress. The phones kept rolling, capturing every wet, gasping second.

They twisted apart, rolling to their knees, panting, hair disheveled. Traci, desperate to turn the tide, swung a wild slap at Marlene’s face—smack!—landing hard, reddening Marlene’s cheek. Marlene took it, her hazel eyes narrowing, and fired back a brutal slap to Traci’s jaw—crack!—rocking her head, exploiting that glass jaw. Traci’s face went ashen, her green eyes wide, a flicker of fear breaking through. She slapped again, weaker—whack!—and Marlene answered with a vicious backhand—snap!—stinging Traci’s cheek, leaving it purple. On their knees, they traded slaps, the room echoing with sharp cracks, sweat flying, their tits swaying in their skimpy underwear.

Everyone saw it now—Traci was fading. Her slaps lost force, her jaw trembling with each hit, her breath ragged. Carl’s grin faltered, his cock still hard but his voice quieter, “Come on, babe…” Dave’s silent gloating grew, his cock pulsing, knowing Marlene had her. Traci mustered one more slap—thud!—barely grazing Marlene’s chin. Marlene retaliated with a devastating open-hand strike to Traci’s jaw hinge—CRACK!—the sound like a gunshot. Traci’s eyes rolled, her body collapsing backward, ass landing on her calves, her feet trapped under her, her gold boy shorts riding up as she fell back, stunned, her 36Cs heaving.

Marlene lunged, pouncing like a predator, pinning Traci flat to the floor. Traci’s legs were folded awkwardly, feet still under her ass, trapped beneath Marlene’s weight, her purple thong-clad hips grinding down. Marlene’s fists hammered Traci’s 36Cs—thump, thump!—pounding the soft flesh, bruising it purple, making Traci howl, “Carl, help me!” Her voice cracked, desperate. Marlene sneered, slapping Traci’s face—smack!—then punching her left tit—thud!—relishing the screams. “Beg, you weak bitch!” Marlene spat, her pussy dripping, loving Traci’s unraveling.

Traci flailed, her hands clawing weakly at Marlene’s arms, pleading, “Carl, please, stop her!” Carl stood frozen, his phone dropping slightly, cock deflating as reality hit. Dave’s erection surged, his voice low, “Finish her, babe.” Marlene slapped Traci’s cheek again—crack!—then drove a final, crushing fist into her jaw—snap!—Traci’s head lolling, her body going limp. “I give… I give…” Traci whimpered, her voice a broken sob, tears mixing with sweat, her pride shattered.

Marlene paused, panting, her 34Ds heaving, sweat streaking her bruised body, victorious. The room reeked of defeat and raw power, the men’s phones still rolling, capturing Traci’s surrender, her gold boy shorts soaked, her face a mask of pain and shame.

The room pulsed with the stench of sweat, blood, and broken pride as Traci lay sprawled, a whimpering heap beneath Marlene’s victorious weight. Her gold boy shorts were soaked, her 36Cs bruised purple, her face a swollen mess of tears and welts. Marlene rose slowly, her 34Ds heaving, sweat streaking her c-section scar, her purple thong drenched with her arousal. Her hazel eyes burned with triumph as she glared down at Traci, then turned to Carl, who stood frozen, his phone limp in his hand, the reality of his wife’s defeat sinking in.

“Pick it up,” Marlene snapped, nodding toward the table where his $5,000 sat next to Dave’s, fluttering under the fan. Carl’s face fell, his lean frame slumping as he shuffled over, his cock still half-hard despite the shame. He grabbed the stack of bills—five grand, a mortgage payment, a car payment, gone—and handed it to Dave, his eyes avoiding the gloating grin on Dave’s beefy face. “Good man,” Dave said, pocketing the cash, his cock straining his jeans, pre-cum darkening the denim. Carl’s throat bobbed, his voice gone, the weight of his betrayal and loss crushing him.

Marlene stepped off Traci, her thick thighs flexing, and loomed over her beaten rival. “You lost, slut,” she sneered, her voice dripping venom. “And now Dave’s gonna fuck your ass raw.” Traci’s green eyes widened, a mix of fear, shame, and a twisted, involuntary arousal flickering through her. Her body trembled, her pussy clenching despite the terror, her lips parting in a shaky gasp. She tried to speak, but only a weak whimper escaped, her pride shattered, her mind reeling at the stakes she’d agreed to.

Marlene didn’t wait for a response. She straddled Traci’s face, yanking her purple thong aside, exposing her slick, waxed pussy, glistening with victory. “Lick it, bitch,” she growled, lowering herself, her musky heat smothering Traci’s swollen lips. Traci hesitated, then complied, her tongue darting out, tasting Marlene’s salty arousal, a humiliating surrender that made her own pussy throb against her will. Marlene moaned, grinding down, her 34Ds bouncing, her fingers twisting Traci’s short blonde hair to keep her in place.

Dave knelt between Traci’s splayed legs, his eyes locking with Carl’s, a smirk curling his lips. “Brought lube, man?” he asked, fishing his thick, veined cock from his jeans, already slick with pre-cum. Carl shook his head, mute, his cock twitching in his jeans, a sick fascination in his eyes. Dave shrugged, shoving Traci’s gold boy shorts aside, exposing her tight, puckered asshole. He lifted her muscular legs to his shoulders, folding her up into the air, her bruised 36Cs swaying with his wife’s big ass above them., her position guaranteeing maximum pain for what was coming. Traci’s breath hitched, her body tensing, fear and arousal warring as Marlene’s pussy ground against her mouth.

Dave pressed his cock’s tip against Traci’s asshole, no mercy in his grip, and pushed in slow, stretching her brutally—inch by inch, her tight ring burning as it yielded. It did not yield easily, and Dave took a beat to plunge into the other wife’s soaked vagina. Traci gasped into Marlene’s pussy, her muffled cry vibrating against Marlene’s clit, making her groan louder. “Fuck her good, babe,” Marlene purred, riding Traci’s face, her own orgasm building. Dave thrust deeper, his thick cock glistening with Traci’s same-filled juices, and then pulled back and went back to filling Traci’s ass, the pain searing but laced with a dark pleasure she couldn’t deny. He set a steady rhythm, long and deliberate, his balls slapping her cheeks with each stroke, his grunts low and primal.

Traci’s body betrayed her. The taste of Marlene’s pussy—sharp, wet, overpowering—mixed with the relentless violation of Dave’s cock, its echo in her pussy and now stretching her ass, hitting nerves she couldn’t ignore. Her clit pulsed, her pussy dripping, and after five minutes of Dave’s pounding and Marlene’s grinding, Traci’s hips bucked involuntarily. A shudder ripped through her, her muffled scream lost in Marlene’s folds as she came hard, her pussy clenching, her ass tightening around Dave’s cock. Marlene laughed, cruel and triumphant, feeling Traci’s tongue falter. “She’s fucking cumming!” she taunted, smearing her wetness across Traci’s face.

Dave didn’t slow, his stamina brutal, his cock pistoning in and out, slick with precum from the tightness and from Traci’s reluctant arousal. Carl watched, broken, his cock throbbing painfully in his jeans, his wife’s defilement a twisted aphrodisiac. He couldn’t look away—Traci’s legs on Dave’s shoulders, her feet waving helplessly as Dave’s hands gripped the back of his wife’s thighs, her ass stretched wide, Marlene’s ass flexing as she rode her face. His hand twitched, then pressed against his groin, and within seconds, he groaned, his jeans staining dark as he came fast, hot spurts soaking through, his shame complete. He loved it, hated it, his eyes glued to Traci’s violation, his own cum a testament to his twisted thrill.

Dave kept going, ten minutes now, his cock relentless, Traci’s ass red and raw. Marlene came first, her thighs quaking, a sharp moan tearing from her as she flooded Traci’s mouth, her pussy pulsing, leaving Traci gasping, swallowing her rival’s release. Traci’s second orgasm hit moments later, unstoppable, her body shaking as Dave’s cock drove deep, her clit untouched but screaming from the intensity. She sobbed into Marlene’s pussy, her cum mixing with tears, her gold boy shorts a drenched ruin, her shame and pleasure colliding in a wrecked heap.

Dave finally growled, his balls tightening, and with a bellowing “Fuck!” he unloaded, his cock pulsing, thick ropes of cum flooding Traci’s ass, spilling out as he pulled back, streaking her thighs and the mats under them. He leaned back, then found his footing and stepped away, panting, his cock glistening, victorious. Marlene slid off Traci’s face, her thong snapping back, her smirk vicious as she looked down at Traci—swollen, cum-streaked, broken, her green eyes dull with defeat. Carl knelt, head bowed, his stained jeans a silent confession. Dave tucked himself away, grabbing his phone to stop recording, the new $5,000 heavy in his pocket.

“Lock up when you drag her out,” Marlene said to Carl, her voice cold, her 34Ds still heaving. She strutted to Dave, her ass swaying, and he gathered her clothing. They left, Marlene nearly nude and entirely confident, the strut making her big ass bounce and her tits quake, the door slamming behind them, leaving Traci sobbing softly, her body a canvas of pain and unwanted pleasure, Carl’s shame a weight they’d both carry.

[Mike_Lynn]

DCDave, you are an incredible writer! Thanks for sharing your ultra-sexy stories. Mike & Lynn