[sinclairfan]

Dorothy:  20-year old junior at Radcliffe College, a statuesque brunette, member of a wealthy Philadelphia merchant family

Elizabeth:  21-year old blonde, innkeeper and boarding house manager at a complex of buildings surrounding a prominent Charleston Presbyterian Church pastored by her older half-brother, whose family has lost wealth and status since the end of the Civil War twenty-four summers ago

Each is acquainted through location with Henry, a 21-year old Charleston native who was raised in Charleston, but is enrolled in Harvard, also in his junior year (the same Class of 1891 as Dorothy).  Henry has returned down south to Charleston for his younger sister's high school graduation.

Dorothy and Elizabeth know of each other, but do not know if they are rivals for Henry.  But they aim to find out.

[sinclairfan]

It's late on a Saturday night in June at the Inn Elizabeth is responsible for closing at night.  Dorothy has come down to the lounge, unaccompanied, knowing that the late night gentleman cigar smoking will have concluded early in honor of the Sabbath.  Three Old Maid diners are nursing their rum cocktails in the back corner, but Elizabeth is otherwise alone and cashing out for the evening, a process she commences only once the help has been sent home for the evening, since 1888 pre-dates the eponymous cash registers from Toledo, Ohio up north.

Ah, up north, thinks Dorothy patronizingly to herself, as she surveys the room.  How different this Charleston scene is from downtown Quaker City on a Saturday night, even the genteel sections.  A mixed crowd, old and young, male and female, rich and poor (well, ok, middle class), drinking and teetolling, would be rollicking a lounge such as this one at this hour on a Saturday night.  Yes, it was the Sabbath tomorrow as well in Philadelphia--but this evening's fun would be slept off during the Prodigal Son sermon at Sunday services.  How can Henry want this as his future, thinks Dorothy to herself.

The she sees why.  Suddenly, not more than twenty feet from her, is the blonde beauty Elizabeth.  At least, Dorothy assumes it MUST be Elizabeth.  Tall, with a face and hair as lovely as Helen of Troy or Venus herself, and with a scent like the incense of angels.  Dorothy has heard Henry, back up north in Cambridge, speak of the otherworldly beauty of his Charleston childhood playmate, but assumed Henry, ever the chivalrous gentleman, must be exaggerating Elizabeth's beauty.  But, no, if anything the opposite was the case.  Words were insufficient to capture the perfection of Elizabeth's physique, and the grace with which she carried herself.  Dorothy momentarily considered backing out of the conversation, and confrontation, she had been scheming for weeks.

But then Elizabeth looked up, and met Dororhy's eyes.  Elizabeth heard a gasp; well, a half-gasp, from the blonde beauty.  Dorothy fought the urge to release her gaze from the eyes of the South Carolina Belle; indeed, if anything, she steeled herself and returned her rival's stare ever more challengingly, the two women now staring unapologetically at each others' face.

Rival?  thought Dorothy.  Did I just describe Elizabeth to myself as my rival?  Surely, I do not yet know if Henry's relationship is amorous.  Perhaps they're "just friends".  Perhaps Elizabeth has gentlemen callers on her Charleston porch, already established and much wealthier than Henry.  Perhaps, too, the older half-brother of Elizabeth's, who Henry has described to me, is badly in need of Elizabeth as a property manager, and has forbidden her from romantic entanglements.  Southern gentlemen have such jealous ways, perhaps he will be more unknowing ally and prevent Elizabeth from acting on "electricity" between Henry and Elizabeth.

Why is neither of us speaking?, wonders Dorothy, as the awkward silence between herself and Elizabeth extends to over a minute.  Dorothy opens her mouth to speak, but her throat is so dry that no noise comes out.  She blushes in embarrassment.  Elizabeth smirks, which causes Dorothy to blush even more.  "Shit," thinks Dorothy to herself, "surely the South Carolinian bitch's first impression of me is one of weakness."  She steels her posture and gaze even more, drawing the attention of the Old Maids in the corner.  Although out of earshot of Dorothy and Elizabeth, the Old Maids are tittering and clucking to themselves, "Oh, my.  Do you see those two Amazon's in the center of the room?  They look like they're about to issue a challenge to duel at sunrise!  The must share a gentleman calller!  Or be indebted, one to the other."

Dorothy regains her voice, and speaks first.

> Elizabeth, I presume?

> The same, but please call me Liza.

> Thank you, Liza.  I'm Dorothy, but please call me Dot.

> Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dot.  I regret to inform you that the dining room and kitchen are closed for the evening.

> Thank you, I know, I'm not here for food, or drink.

> Then..... I presume you've found what you came here for?

> I have, yes, thank you. 

> I see.  Well ..... did you come here to look at me? 

> That.  But not just that.

> Oh, is that so.  You wanted to do more than just .... have a look .... at me?   Dot?

> Yes ....  Liza.  [somewhat sarcastically, having found Liza's 'Dot' spoken sarcastically]  I was hoping we might speak of a mutual acquaintance.  I met him at Harvard.

> You must be speaking of Henry.  [The women step closer, now three feet from each other.  Dorothy can smell Elizabeth's sweat from working.  She wonders if she herself smells from the humid Charleston summer air.]

> I do.  I speak of Henry.  You know him .... very well ..... I'm told.

> Charleston is a small town, at heart.  We all know each other well.  Unlike in Philadelphia.

> Then, ..... you know who I am.

> I do. 

[The two women are now staring in awkward silence again.  Dorothy feels her dry throat returning.]

> [She clears her throat, and resumes the conversation.] Liza, is there somewhere we can go and speak?  Somewhere more ..... private?

> [Liza looks at the Old Maids.] It depends, Dot.  I need to cash out these ladies.  Are we going to need 5 minutes?  Or longer?

> [Dorothy gets nose to nose with Elizabeth.]  I think we both know this will take longer than five minutes, Liza.

> Fine, sweetie.  Here's the key to my office in the back.  We can lock it behind us.  And be left alone.  Let me get these three ladies on their way.  Should take 10 minutes tops.

[Dorothy snatches the key and strides confidently to Elizabeth's office.  She enters, her hands shaking and barely able to work to door.  She sits on a leather couch in the office.[

> Shit.  What's gonna happen now?  she winders to herself.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

As Dorothy sat alone in the strange, isolated backoffice, she deliberated what a vulnerable position her impulsive improvisation has put her in. 

Her plan, to the extent she had one, was to mimic stories she had heard told at Philadelphia boarding schools, and (especially) Saratoga and Newport summer homes,, by alpha females of "confronting" their rivals for the attentions of an eligible bachelor.  But those stories were curiously vague about what actually HAPPENED at those confrontations.  Did the non-alpha female "get wise" and back down apologetically?  Was a single "box to the ears" sufficient to subdue the lesser woman?  Were social threats issued, and perhaps even doled out, in lieu of physical threats?  And if the latter, what leverage did Dorothy actually have in Charleston, it being Elizabeth's turf and not her own?

Physical threats.  What if a physical threat was issued, but then was actually 'called'?  What if the receiver of the threat decided to call the bluff of the initiator?  Should the first volley be a slap?  A closed fist?  A scratch, with nails?  Dorothy had raised all 3--an open hand, a closed fist, and extended claws--in moments of tense arguments with competing classmates, and had had all three weapons aimed at her own face.  But always, until now, peacekeepers and Good Samaritans were on hand to defuse tensions.

In a matter of minutes, Dorothy would be face to face with Elizabeth, without neutral bystanders available to intervene.

"Are Elizabeth and I about to fight,?" Dorothy found herself wondering.

"I sure hope so," she decided.  "Henry is worth it."

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Elizabeth, too, was replaying the jarring events of the past 10 minutes in her head.  And preparing herself for the verbal jousting with this unwelcome visitor from Philadelphia who was awaiting her in her office. 

As a member of a pastor's family, Elizabeth was accustomed to the art of high-stakes verbal repartee.  The Good Shephard himself had, at the beginning of his ministry, gone out into the desert and engaged The Devil in word-to-word combat.  Elizabeth was encouraged that in their initial skirmish, Dorothy had twice lost her voice, betraying fear at the stakes of the two suitors' competition.

But first, she needed these clucking Old Maids to conclude their dinner and depart the dining room.  Elizabeth walked over to their table to survey their status.

> Almost done, ladies?

> Young woman, was that a rival for a gentleman's affections who was confronting you?  The tension between the two of you was crackling like a Charleston thunderstorm.

> [Blushing] Something of the sort.  A classmate from up north of a man I grew up with who is also studying in Boston.  Apparently she's visiting to see firsthand his ..... ahem .... acquaintances.  She and I are going to .... speak .... in a few minutes.  She's waiting in my office.

> Speak???  Pop her one as soon as you get back there.

> [Blushing even more]  My word!  Should I truly proceed in that manner?

> You should!  In my day, a proper lady never let herself get hit first.  I know such home truths have fallen out of fashion..... or been forgotten entirely .... since the War.  But there is nothing to discuss with a rival.  There is nothing to say.  She knows that already--her body language revealed her hatred of you.

> My word, I felt it as well. 

> Stell yourself, young woman.  Now, ladies, I think we should leave and let our host attend to her business with this unwelcome Yankee.  Young woman, we shall be in for dinner Monday night, and anticipate a favorable report of how you dispatched with your rival.

As the women departed, Elizabeth considered the wisdom of their advice.  What was the point of asking Dorothy the nature of her relationship with Henry.  If they had ever petted.  If their parents had been introduced.

And what if the Old Maids were right.  What if Dorothy was, even now, plotting an ambush, as in 1865 on Fort Sumter?

Elizabeth would strike first, strike hard, and strike often.

She would make Dorothy regret her visit to Charleston.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

As Elizabeth strode down the darkened corridor to "pop her [Dorothy] one in the mouth", she reflected on the truth of the relative softness of her postbellum generation of Charleston bells relative to the Old Maids who came of age in the 1820s, as Charleston was transformed, by the 1819 Depression and the 1820s typhus and yellow fever outbreaks, from the cosmopolitan port city of the Colonial Generation to the gritty crucible of Secession and Nullification fomenting by native son John C. Calhoun.  The Old Maids had spent their Glory Days in Topless Catfights in seedy Charleston alleys and docks, tearing at each other with teeth and claws.  They fought topless to prevent the onset of sepsis from silk clothing penetrating cuts and scrapes.  The fights inevitably involved bloody gashes and stained skirts.

Would Dorothy, from industrial Philadelphia, be anticipating a topless catfight now?  Had she already stripped off her top and underwear?  Was Dorothy of the same mind as the Old Maids, preparing to launch the first strike of the match?  If so, thought, Elizabeth, I should remove my top now so as not to restrict the range of motion of my fists and elbows.  Fighting with elbows had been an art lost between the Old Maids' generation and Elizabeth's.

"Dorothy is certainly beautiful, her hair most of all," thought Elizabeth, as she shed her top in the hallway.  "How I long to tear out that hair from the roots, and to scratch her bald scalp raw.  I mean to claim two clumps of her brunette mane for Monday; one to show the Old Maids, and the other to show Henry."

"That bitch."

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Elizabeth reached her office door, turned the knob, and was angered to find it locked.  Adrenaline surged thru her veins as she imagined her Philadelphia rival searching thru her office files for personal effects, which did include intimate letters, ranging from suggestive to explicit, from the object of their mutual affection, Henry of Charleston.  Was Dorothy reading and destroying those irreplaceable artifacts even now?, wondered Elizabeth to herself.

She pounded hard on the door.  "Let me on now, Dot!"  she demanded.  Liza wished Dot and her hadn't shared their conversational names with each other earlier--it had the effect of humanizing one to the other, when what needed to happen next was inhuman, and in fact was primal and animalistic.  The Old Maids were right--there was nothing to discuss with a rival for a man.

Startled, Dorothy ran to the peephole of the office door, not because she wasn't expected Elizabeth at any moment, but to make sure Liza was alone and hadn't brought 'reinforcements'. She immediately saw her enemy's exposed (and aroused) 36d breasts.  Is this how rivals confronted each other?  Topless?  She strained to recall if any of her alpha schoolmates' recollections had included, or implied, this detail.  She decided they had, and she had just forgotten.  She tore off her top so as to not commit a violation of protocol with her rival, recalling as she did so a naughty petting session with Henry at Saratogs, where he had asked to see, and then suck on, her 40b bosom.  Dorothy was aroused to near orgasm as her suitor licked her chest, and wished he would make similar advances on her at school in Cambridge, and not just at summer outings.

Had Henry sucked on Elizabeth's 36d's?  Her nipples ate so hugs, thought Dorothy jealously.  That's his favorite part, the part he likes to explore with his tongue.  Is that why he stopped sucking my breasts?  Because he prefers Elizabeth's?

Dorothy opened to office door to face her rival.

The two women locked eyes and glared angrily at each other.

They pretended not to notice each others' breasts, but were peripherally surveying them jealously, noting each detail.  Why do Liza's stand at attention and throb like that, wondered Dot.  Why do Dot's have freckles on the top like that, wondered Liza--when do they see sunlight?  Does she expose them when outdoors?  when outdoors with HIM?

Liza recalled the Old Maids' advice to strike first, and formed a fist and swung.  The tightness of the door frame prevented a full backswing, and she accidentally struck Dot's left breasts with a primal "thunk" sound.  Dot was startled, but quickly gathered herself and retaliated in kind on Liza's left breasts, following thru hard and pulling on Liza's large nipple as she withdrew her fist.

Both women's eyes began to tear from the pain of the opening blows of their fight.  They stared at each other to assess where they stood with each other.

"I hate you so much, Liza, I could kill you."

"Then what are we waiting for, Dot?  Let's settle this."

The two women laughed themselves at each other like panthers, their claws digging into each others' breasts and twisting and mauling.  They fell out of the doorframe onto the floor in the darkened hallway.  Liza was on top, then Dot.  Dot mounted Liza and pushed down on her breasts, but Liza had a hold on Dot's breasts as well and was fully reciprocating in mauling her back.

Dot felt the sensation of near orgasm she had felt with Henry that naughty night in Saratoga.  She enjoyed how it felt.

Liza recalled her thrill as the stories of topless female streetfights from Old Charleston.  Now she was finally in one.  The excitement was indescribable.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

As Elizabeth remained under Dorothy throughout their mutual chest mauling, panic coursed through her veins as to the account of the current catfight which the Old Maids would be expecting on Monday.  The Old Maids would be expecting Elizabeth to be describing the thrashing of an arrogant Yankee from up north, not another humiliating retreat by South Carolina from Northerners.

Elizabeth recalled her desire for a trophy, in the form of a lock of her rival's long brunette hair.  Elizabeth released the vice grip on her enemy's breasts, and reached up to Dorothy's thick mane and yanked and twisted from the roots.  Dorothy shrieked in pain and horror, and began retaliating by pulling on Elizabeth's blonde hair.  Dorothy lost her mount of Elizabeth, and the two women fell full to the floor on their sides in a tangled catball.  Their faces were locked side by side, and they began hissing insults.

> You have a lot of nerve coming down here, bitch.  Henry is mine when he's here.

> Henry is mine everywhere, bitch.  He's more a a match with me than a Charleston gutter whore.

> The only whore is you, I know what you college girls do a summer resorts, stories get around, bitch.

Dorothy was bruised by the too-close-to-home observation by Elizabeth.  Why did the Philadelphia alphas, always so proper at home and at Cambridge, give in to experimental smoking and petting and fighting at Saratoga and Newport.  Dorothy had come to Charleston due to her discomfort at the peer pressure to up the arms-race of unladylike summer antics.  She had found refuge in the simpler ways of Charleston, and knew why Henry loved it so.

Except for one complication.

Elizabeth.  The bitch Elizabeth.  Two was company in Charleston, and three a crowd, if both Elizabeth and Forothy were present.  Elizabeth was a bitch to believe the Henry could be shared, coupling and petting with Dorothy up north and Elizabeth down south.  It was impossible.  The very though repulsive.

> I'll never share Henry with you, bitch.

> You already have, Dot.  He and I have fucked.

Dorothy saw red.  Elizabeth and Henry fucked?  How often?  For how long?  How intense was it?  For him?  and for her?

Elizabeth's breasts were even with Dorothy's mouth.  She began biting them.

Elizabeth did the same, the memory of ancestors' Charleston 1840s streetfights coursing through her DNA.

The skirmish had turned into total war.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

For the first time in their fight, Elizabeth's and Dorothy's arousal was offset, and overwhelmed, by negative sensations:  pain from the mauling their chests had been subjected to, fatigue and thirst from the exertion of fighting in the summer Charleston humidity, and frustration at each inability to (as of yet) enforce superiority over the other. 

Without verbally offering a formal temporary truce, each woman slowly released her grip from her enemy's hair, and sat up to regain their breath.  Each inhaled deeply, craving respite from the furious pace to date of their vicious catfight. 

Elizabeth grabbed two swatches of the Philadephian's hair, no laying on the floor in clumps, separated from Dorothy's scalp by Elizabeth's hungry claws.  She got up and placed them in her desk, seemingly disregarding the droplets of blood dripping from her wounded chest.  She saw the packet of her letters to Henry, and felt a hint of regret that Dorothy hadn't found them and scanned them while waiting alone in Elizabeth's office.  Upon a whim, she took the packet out of the desk, and fingered thru for a letter from last Christmas which she knew had just become pertinent during Round 1 of the catfight.

She read aloud from it:
Darling Liza.  Thank you so much for granting access to me to your flesh, and allowing me to snake inside of you until I exploded.  I've longed for many years to feel the warmth of your loins, not with my hands, but with other parts of my anatomy, one part in particular.  Poets I read of in school describe the transcendence of the experience; oddly, sometimes, as "dying".  I wondered what they meant, craving comprehensin--now I have it.  Thank you for granting it to me.  I shan't forget it soon.

Elizabeth felt pride in retaining the letter, and for finally having an audience to share the experience with--the experience of giving up her virginity to the man she loved.

Dorothy seethed in rage on the floor.  "Leave that note out on the table, you South Carolina wench.  Before tonight is over I shall shove it down your throat."

"You're incapable of doing any such thing, Dot.  I'm winning this fight, and shall hurt you even more when our fight resumes.  I wanted to read you that note while you retained the capacity to hear it, and to know it to be genuine.  He and I have fucked other times.  But that time was the first."

Elizabeth let her cruel words sink into Dorothy's consciousness.  Then she continued, " I can tell by your body language that Henry and you have never fucked, have never proceeded beyond heavy petting.  If even that.  And after I finish with you tonight, you never shall.  How tragic."

Dorothy responded immediately, "To the contrary, bitch.  After tonight, Henry and I shall get married.  You'll be left behind and forgotten, and that letter, too."

" Regardless of the destiny of the letter, nothing can change that Henry fucked me first.  I'm glad I got to be the one to break the news to you."

" And I'm glad you got to meet his future bride.  Every weekend for the rest of your pathetic life in Charleston, you'll know that it's me he's fucking."

"You can't make that happen.  I'm the better woman."

"Your words say that.  But does your body?"

"Let's find out."

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

The women fall to the floor in a hair-ripping catball, scratching each others scalps while removing clumps of hair from each others' sweat-soaked manes.  Each woman is enraged at their virginity status; Elizabeth, for having given up hers to Henry; Dorothy, for Henry not (yet) having stolen hers.

The summer before, at Saratoga, Dorothy had seen Henry flirting with 2 pretty Irish barmaids.  Although initially envious of his companionship with the women, she realized her luck in Henry becoming abused by the loose women, and later that afternoon decided to turn the episode to her advantage.  She approached the trio and surreptitiously broke up the socially inappropriate tete-a-tete, drawing angry glares from the Irish lasses, and requested Henry's presence in a nearby winter ice house.  The ice houses were utilized as summer trysting places, offering short spurts of privacy for petting, sometimes escalating to young-lover fornicating.  Dorothy knew Henry's mind had been taken to such a sinful place by the Irish temptresses, and hoped he would demand she yield to his lustful desire.

Wordlessly, once inside the ice house, Henry and Dorothy were petting heavily, but more urgently than they ever did in Cambridge.  Dorothy guided Henry's hand to her soaking wet loins, Dorothy whispering dirty suggestions to Henry's suggestible ears--"Fuck me like you wanted to fuck those Irish tarts."

At first, Henry seemed to comply, showing Dorothy his throbbing cock, much larger and thicker than the couple of times Dorothy had seen it in more innocent dormroom games of "Show me yours and I'll show you mine."  Dorothy winced with fear at how the penetration of her loins by such a full rapier would feel, and yet she desired it more than breath itself, to forever lock Henry and hers destinies and futures.

And Henry seemed about to take her.

But he hesitated, looking Dorothy in the eyes.

"I can't Dorothy.  I respect you.  You must save yourself for marriage."

"I release you from any obligation to respect me Henry.  Take me here.  Take me now.  Fuck me like you'd fuck those Irish bitches."

"Dorothy, you're kinder and more noble than those Irish ..... ladies."

"Henry, they're not ladies, they're sluts.  You know it.  Take me like you wanted to take them.  I saw that look in your eye.  When you were talking to them.  Fuck-lust.  I saw it"

But rather than persuade Henry, Dorothy's articulation of the flirting broke the mood.  Henry did have fuck-lust before.  And he didn't have it now.  And nothing would bring it back.

Henry finished himself with his hand, letting his cock explode on Dorothy's bare belly.  Dorothy loved the hot cum on her belly, loved the stickiness.  But Henry's cock then returned to its normal, less Titanic size.  Henry was a gentleman and rubbed it on her soaked loins, giving her release.  But she craved the hard, engorged iteration of his cock inside her, and that moment had passed. 

Henry only revealed that portion of his cock while taken with fuck-lust.

Until tonight, she thought no woman had been taken by that version of Henry, that the Southern gentleman version of himself had always prevailed.

But tonight, Dorothy learned she was mistaken.  Henry had taken another woman in fuck-lust.  That woman was Elizabeth.

Dorothy was enraged.  Henry's letter to Elizabeth had described the aroused, enlarged cock Henry developed when he wanted to fuck.  Elizabeth had not only seen it, but had felt it.

Dorothy felt an urge to kill Elizabeth, so that there would no longer be living women who had felt that sensation.

But Elizabeth, too, felt reason to be angry.  For Henry had pressured Elizabeth to surrender to him by implying that his Philadelphia coed up north in Boston had given himself to her, and that she was a tigress in bed.

Elizabeth's instincts told her to make Henry wait for the marriage bed, or at least a public Charleston engagement announcement, before surrendering to the lustful urges she felt for her suitor.  As she feared, he took her for granted after fucking her, had mentally removed her from a pedestal.

And Elizabeth had done it for a lie, or at best a misunderstanding.  She realized now that Dorothy had retained her own virginity AND Henry's heart.  And Dorothy knew it.  And knew that Elizabeth knew it.

The humiliation was unbearable.

And Henry had the milk without needing to buy the cow.

Elizabeth felt taken, vulnerable.  Small.  That's the word.  She felt small.

The only solution was to defeat her enemy in a catfight.

"I'll kill you, Dorothy."

"I'll kill you first, Elizabeth."

To be continued.....

[sender]

great story thanks

[sinclairfan]

As Dorothy's eyes winced in pain from Elizabeth's nails slashing her temples and scalp, she recalled the last time she had been this aggravated by the feeling of her and Henry fully consummating their college courtship.  It was 2 days after their aborted ice house tryst in Saratoga, 12 months ago.  She saw the two Irish sluts who had been flirting with Henry chatting furtively on a couch, making eye contact with her as she took afternoon tea in a lobby.  Dorothy was aggravated and ready for a quarrel, but she knew better than to let the Irish bitches take her 2 on 1--they were likely from New York City, and would immobilize her and steal her jewelry if given the opportunity. 

But Dorothy listened to the women's talking.  She heard them using a word which electrified her with emotion:  "cockblocker".  The 2 Irish bitches were calling her, Dorothy, a "cockblocker", for having two night previously interrupted their flirtatious session with Henry.  "Good," she thought.  "At least some good came of the whole affair.  At least the Irish bitches went home as frustrated as I did that night."

So Dorothy bided her time, and waited for one of the lasses to separate herself from her compatriot.  One of the Irish women went out back to an outhouse (Saratoga was a summer community and still had little indoor plumbing).  Dorothy followed and locked the door behind them, just herself and one of the Irish slots. 

> How dare you, Philadelphia snob?  Can a woman not have a minute of privacy.

> I'll give you all the privacy you want, Irish wench, after I ask--would you like to call me a 'cockblocker' to my face?

[The 2 woman were face to face, nose to nose, mouth to mouth, practically breathing each others' breath.  Dorothy felt excited, alive.]

> [The Irish lass blinked first.]  I.... I.... it was my .... friend her called you a cockblocker, not I.

> [Dorothy knew when to declare victory and retreat.  Others may have seen her enter the outhouse behind the Irish wench.]  Then please convey to your friend the same offer I made to you--to call me a cockblocker to my face.

Dorothy left the outhouse.

She went to her bedroom, and masturbated for the remainder of the afternoon, took dinner in her room, and then masturbated until bedtime.

Her reckless escapade relieved her frustration at Henry's demurral of taking Dorothy's loins.

Until tonight.  When Elizabeth revealed that the two Charleston natives had consummated their relationship.

Dorothy needed to get Henry back from Elizabeth, the way she had taken him from the Irish wenches. 

It was the only way to get a man.

"Fuck you, bitch."

"Bring it, sweetie."

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

For the duration of her junior year at Radcliffe, Dorothy looked for opportunities to corner, confront, and provoke quarrels with Irish women.

Why Irish, she sometimes wondered?  To start with, the women she had clashed with at Saratoga were both Irish.  In 1888, the Irish conveyed a sense of danger and lawlessness, having flamboyantly assassinated the British Ambassador, Lord Cavendish, in Phoenix Park in Dublin in 1882, a mere hour after his arrival.  Dorothy felt power and strength in confronting the rebel race.

Elizabeth was a member of a rebel race, being a Daughter of Charleston, Cradle of the Confederacy.  As the school year concluded, she plotted a visit to Charleston to confront Elizabeth, rival of a suitor's attentions, the same way she confronted an Irish rival at Saratoga.  Dorothy spent countless masturbation sessions fantasizing about the verbal and social domination she would assert and impose over a low-class rival.

But Elizabeth didn't crumble like Dorothy's Irish adversaries.  Elizabeth lashed back.  Although her ancestors had been defeated in war by 1865, Elizabeth wasn't born until 1867, and carried none of the guilt of defeat on the battlefield, but harbored all the grudge. 

Dorothy knew this from the moment earlier tonight when she had locked eyes with Elizabeth.  Elizabeth was beautiful and sexy by any measure, but was also a fierce warrior and defender of what she considered hers.  And having conquered Henry in bed, Elizabeth was now bound and determined to defend her property from all challengers.

Including Dorothy.

But Dorothy had no regrets about her decision to provoke a battle.  Although her post-confrontation masturbation sessions after her bullying of Irish wenches were intense, they were vaguely unfulfilling.  She found herself wishing just once that an Irish lass would lash out in retaliation, freeing Dorothy to strike back with fists, feet, claws, and teeth.  To escalate the quarrel to no holds barred female conflict.  Now that would be arousing.

And Elizabeth had done exactly that.  She had strode into the office topless and poised for battle.  And Dorothy found it every bit as arousing as she had hoped.  Her loins were on fire, even more so than when petting with Henry, even more so than when masturbating after a quarrel.

She desired release.

And now.

She grabbed Elizabeth's head, and planted an open mouth kiss on Elizabeth's lips.  Elizabeth answered in kind.

The women were petting desperately.

Dorothy's desire exploded.  She wanted more.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Elizabeth was neither surprised at, nor unprepared for, the intimate turn her catfight with her rival had taken.  Elizabeth had no illusions about the Sapphic implications of the lifelong companionship of the Old Maids who gathered regularly for dinner.  She noticed that the most enthusiastic participants in, and retellers of, Charleston female streetfights of yore were the Old Maids least likely to be widows and most likely to have been always single.

She also knew that her own interest in the 1840s topless brawls was more than historical.  Whenever and Old Maid would recount in detail an 1845 topless Charleston alley duel, Elizabeth would enthusiastically masturbate to conjured images of the battle. 

She would also find herself wishing that she had been raised in the antebellum Charleston crucible which had forget the Old Maids, rather than the post-Appomattox hothouse in which women were put on a pedestal, as Henry had done with her before she surrendered her womanhood to her manhood.

Elizabeth welcomed Dorothy's tongue into her mouth.  Elizabeth breasts hardened instantly, and craved contact with Dorothy's.  Elizabeth now welcomed the generous size of Dorothy's globes, whereas minutes before she had despised their size and attractiveness to Henry.  Elizabeth felt her arousal mounting across her whole body. and sought caresses from Dorothy, offering them to her rival as well.

> I can't believe how hard our fight as been.  Defeating you is taking my whole strength.

> You are fighting so viciously for Henry.  I'm jealous of your attachment to him.

> I'm jealous that Henry went to Boston for school.  And that you met him there.

> I'm jealous that Henry considers Charleston his home.

Elizabeth and Dorothy release each others' hair, and allow their fingers to descend onto, then into, each others' loins.  Elizabeth wonders if this is what the Old Maids do to each other every night.

> I'm still going to fight you with all my strength after we finish, you Philadelphia slut.

> I welcome it, South Carolina whore.

> Bitch.

> cxnt.

> Cockblocker.

Dorothy explodes in orgasm as the "magic word" she had first heard herself called by the Irish wenches.

Elizabeth follow suit mere seconds later.

The women kiss desperately, knowing the fight about to resume will be a test of endurance and pure will.

> Get ready, bitch.

> I already am, slut.

To be continued.....

[JT Edson]

I am loving most everything in this period piece. Thank you so much for writing this one. I can hardly wait for the next installment.

[sinclairfan]

Elizabeth sucked her own hand, which was covered in the cum which Dorothy had just generously orgasmed onto her.  It tasted of citrus, the origin of which Elizabeth understood.

And decided to taunt her rival with.

> You orange juice for dinner tonight.  Or perhaps pineapple.

> Pineapple.  How do you know?

> The taste of your cum.

[Silence between the enemies.  Had they really just cum with each other?  And were now tasting it?]

> Explain.  Is it your habit to taste women's cum?

> Never a woman's, until now.  [The two stare daggers into each others' eyes, daring each other to continue their verbal taunting.]

> Then whose?  A gentleman caller's?

> One gentleman.  Who you know.

> You've stroked Henry's cock?

> Stroked it.  And sucked it.  Bitch.

[Dorothy is tempted to slap Elizabeth.  But she bites her tongue.  And thinks.  Elizabeth is trying to prove her.  She must know that she will lose a fair fight between the two rivals.]

> I welcome that .... item .... of information.  Slut.

> How so, sweetie?

> Because ..... in the eyes of gentlemen ..... only whores suck cock.  Henry will always see you as his whore.  Whore.

[Elizabeth has stepped into a trap.  She has always harbored deep insecurities .... and doubts ..... about her excessive sexual looseness with Henry.  Licentiousness, the Old Maids always called it.  Allowing men excessive sexual liberties.  The men would be grateful that night.  And aloof in the morning.  The way Henry was aloof with her since the first night they fucked, about a year ago.]

> Do you see me as a whore?

> I have made myself clear, I thought.  You, Liza, are a whore.  A wench.  A slut.

> Is that why .... you allowed me to fuck you just now?

> [It is Dorothy now, who has walked into a trap.  But she is too aroused to resist.]  It is.  Liza.

> You wonder what it's like for my mouth to kiss your loins, do you not, Dot?

> [Dorothy's voice has gone dry again.]

> You want me to kiss your loins. ..... [Both women are breathing heavily.] ...... Cockblocker.

Dorothy descends desperately onto Elizabeth's hips and kisses and sucks hungrily.  Elizabeth enjoys for a full minutes, and then reciprocates, the two enemies lining into a 69 position.  Both women are cumming in waves minutes later.

> You're such a bitch.

> You're such a slut.

> You're such a whore.

> You're dead.

> Don't make me laugh.

To be continued.....