The morning silence was broken by the sound of someone punching a heavy bag. To even the casual listener, it was obvious the person doing the punching had issues they were working out. Unsuccessfully, if the random growls and groans were any indication.
Trinity Stone tried to keep her concentration as she worked the bag. Low leg kicks, high leg kicks, jabs, left hooks... Then she'd think about Melanie and begin hitting the bag randomly as hard and as fast as she could, venting her anger and frustration on the thick leather surface with her weighted gloves. She'd regain control, panting from the exertion and begin once more, calmly, deliberately, until she thought of Mel and...
After ten minutes she gave up, still furious. She and Melanie had had another fight, as bad as any over the last six months. The old ways were returning just when Trinity thought the two of them had finally gotten over their mutual grievances. She ran a towel across her blonde cornrows and trailing braids, settling the thick cotton over her shoulders to control the latent sweat. Her sports bra and shorts weren't completely soaked, but the heat of the early summer morning had given her body a glistening sheen. Too bad she was mad at Melanie. A good sweaty fuck would go a long way toward making her feel better.
The blonde walked slowly to the nearly empty house she shared with her manager and part-time lover--heavy emphasis on part-time--in the short intervals between when they hissed and spat like feral cats. Melanie and her husband had owned the house until Rick did a runner with all the money and a twenty year-old woman. He was now doing life in Costa Rica for selling drugs after the woman cleaned him out and split. As a result, Melanie got a divorce, the house, and all the debt.
After Trinity's first victory in a sexfight six months prior, life looked better, and she moved into the big house so the two could share expenses. They sold most of the furnishings, keeping only a couple of large beds, something to sit on in the living room, and the 80-inch TV with the home theater in the 'media room,' where they watched high definition porn videos from bean bags. Within three months they'd cleared most of the house debt at the cost of having to live hand to mouth for all the time they were together. There was also a cost to Trinity, who had fights every two to three weeks, most of which she won, but on all of which Melanie made money, shrewdly betting for or against her. That was the source of many of the arguments, when the blonde objected to her manager betting against her. Mel told her to stop whining and be grateful she had a place to live.
Mostly, the five-bedroom, three-and-a-half bath house was silent on both levels. Unless, of course, Melanie and Trinity were fighting, and then the whole subdivision rang with the noise. Life was tense, the sex rough, with each woman often sporting bruises and bloody noses in the morning. Neighbors had called the police twice in the last six months.
The women were hermaphrodites of different kinds and temperaments. Trinity was muscular and trim, with a nice cock in front of her pussy, balls tucked in tight around the base of the shaft. Her breasts were full but not large, giving her a boyish appearance. Melanie had a smaller cock, about four inches when fully erect, with a moderate scrotum that hid her pussy. Her breasts were larger, rounder, with bigger nipples than the blonde. A narrow waist and pleasingly wide hips gave her a curvaceous appearance that made both men and women drool. For a while Trinity drooled, too. Until the brunette betrayed her--twice in the last week alone.
------
The first reason for their most recent fight sat on the couch in the living room in a lotus position, eyes closed, breathing deep and slow. Her face showed the family resemblance with Trinity, with a little more bulk and small lines forming at the eyes and mouth. Her blonde hair was worn long and loose down her back with the exception of randomly placed braids decorated with wood or glass beads. Her body was indeterminate, hiding inside an oversize shirt and a pair of balloon leg pants in delicate rainbow colors.
Melanie sat in the only chair, nursing a cup of coffee. She looked up when Trinity walked in and then looked back to her cup, face sour and turning more sullen by the second. She said nothing. The young blonde plopped onto the couch, causing the older blonde to rouse from her meditation and look around.
"Why is she still here?" Trinity asked with as much scorn as she could stuff into a normal voice.
"I'm here because you need me, dear," the older blonde answered without any indication she knew her sister was angry. Melanie rose and stalked out, leaving the two women to argue in private.
"I don't need anything, least of all from you, Wendy."
"Willow, my name is Willow now, has been for about a year. And you do need help. I left the ashram as soon as I sensed it. Came straight here when Melanie sent me the money." The older blonde flashed an irritatingly winsome smile.
"How much do you need?" Trinity said, looking at the empty fireplace. "How far do you need to go this time to get away from whoever is chasing you?"
"No one is chasing me," Willow said expanding the peaceful twinkle in her eyes to her mouth, which only made her sister more angry. "When I told Yogi Maharesh of my vision he insisted I leave immediately, with his blessing. I called Melanie and she offered to pay for the flight."
At this point Melanie walked back in the room, heard Willow confirm her as a co-conspirator, and sat down in the chair with a fresh cup of coffee, a rueful expression on her face. She seemed to be sorry. Not that it made any difference to Trinity. After the last time her sister visited four years earlier, when the police let them go for lack of evidence, they'd promised each other that they'd never get involved with Wendy--Willow--again.
"Why do you think she can help? I don't need any help. Especially not from Satan's spawn over there." Trinity barely controlled her voice as she spoke to Melanie, pointing at her sister.
"Those days are behind me, Trinity. I've learned to reach my inner self and achieve a semblance of peace on this plane of existence. You, now, are desperately in need of some deep meditation and breathing exercises."
"I am perfectly fine," Trinity said, her voice rising in volume and pitch. "There's nothing wrong with me--that a good fuck won't cure. You know where I can get one of those?"
She looked accusingly at Melanie, who rose and handed her coffee cup to Wendy. There was no table in the large room, only the couch and chair.
I am not calling her Willow.
The brunette and the blonde stood nose to nose, eyes fierce, fists clenched, equal in height as well as anger. Melanie wasn't trained as a fighter, but she'd never backed down from a confrontation in all the years that Trinity had known her. A sense of impeding violence descended.
"You ungrateful blonde bimbo," Melanie snarled. "I fucked you whenever you asked in the last six months. And sometimes when you didn't ask. You'd just poke that big schlong of yours between my legs and expect me to roll over and beg for more. I am not your fuck toy, bitch When did you ever think to ask what I wanted?"
