Author's note: This series has been a failure. I know. I know. I am writing for free. There is no skin in the game. In reality, there are no strings attached. That said, this series has been a failure. What was supposed to be weekly, episodical, and developmental of both character and world has flopped. Instead, it is disjointed, sporadically updated (if at all), and in dire need of retconning. The good news? The series is still alive. I continue to plan and reform the core ideas of what Catfight Chronicles entails. What is canon and what will be retconned is a process that begins now. Of course, I understand that this writing is first and foremost geared towards pleasure. But, I want to try and turn this into a spanning urban fantasy/fantasy saga. So, delays, jarring retcons, and mistakes will happen. If you are invested in this series, I apologize. Nonetheless, the show will go on. All previous chapters are considered non-canon. I will borrow from them, and leave them up as I understand they can still be reread. But, for all intents and purpose, the story begins anew.
A second author's note: Trigger warning. Catfighting is innately about submission and reluctance. Humiliation and violence are part of it.
Lover's Quarrel
Sex is forbidden. Violence is forgotten. All that remains is the art of both: Sexfighting.
Air dense in sweat and grease filled Guinevere's lungs. She exhaled, and shouted.
"Ýou can do it, baby! Kick her ass!"
This was more for Guinevere than Aisling, of course. Shouting flooded the arena. The crowd was equally split. Half for the redhead fury, half for the blonde belle. When one girl got the upper hand, half the stadium erupted, cheering, chanting, stomping on the steel-grating floor. When the other girl got on top, the other half erupted.
This had gone on for the better part of thirty minutes and both girls panted. Sweat slicked their naked bodies as they scissored each other in the center of the fight ring. Juices trickled from their slick-wet cunts. Their expressions deepened, each girl's eyes instinctively closed, each girl biting their lower lip till it might bleed, each girl clinging to an orgasm desperately trying to get away.
Guinevere cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted again. "Hold strong! Hold strong, baby! Fuck her hard!"
This fight meant more to her than anyone else in the arena, save for the fighters... and one other.
The redheaded fury, the emerald eyed beauty--
Aisling
--was Guinevere's sweetheart.
Was the love of her life.
The one that completed her.
The one she woke up to and kiss good morning and the one she laughed with in bed until she was too tired to keep her eyes open.
Aisling.
Her smile was the fire in a room. Her tender body and supple ass made Guinvere hot under the collar. Her eyes made Guinevere's heart flutter. Her.. Aisling was everything.
Is
everything.
And she battled her heart out in the middle of a ring for more than prize money or the tournament.
She battled for love.
The blonde belle, Aubrey, was vicious in the pre-fight building, or when fighters give interviews for the entire previous week. It was typical at the beginning. Aubrey mocked Aisling's breasts, and though admittedly smaller, the two fighters received a similar perkiness score.
While Aubrey had round double D's and Aisling had double C's, both pairs of tits were firm, pliable, and bounced back quick.
In return, Aisling bluntly told the press Aubrey's ass was flat. This is not true, exactly, but prefights are notoriously exaggerated. It is part of the fun and gets bigger crowds. There was, however, a truth to Aisling's taunt.
And it was Aisling's own ass. It. Was. Legend. Perfectly round, toned yet pillow-like. When Aisling wore panties, they disappeared quickly and one of Guinevere's favorite games was...
Guinevere lurched forward. The crowd's volume had dropped. The only thing Guinevere heard were restrained moans, wet slapping, and heaving pants. The fight turned yet again and Aisling had tossed her head back, her face a mix of deep pleasure. Pleasure so leashed, her cunt was from holding it in.
Aisling blushed, her cheeks nearly matching her blood red hair, and if her eyes were open, she would be staring at the ceiling lights.
She locked her eyes shut. She needed to. She needed to imagine something else,
anything
else, to take her away from here.
Her entire body was hot. Her hard nipples burned, her vulva simmered like an iron in a fire, and her clit was ecstatic. It was overloaded. She was overloaded. Her ragged breathing and heartbeat, her aching muscles, her tight body deformed over itself to pin her orgasm down and hold it in the doorway.
But her cunt drooled. It begged. It pleaded.
She
pleaded. As if she were a strong being pulled tighter and tighter till it frayed.
She held. She had held for nearly thirty minutes, but unfortunately, so had Aubrey. The vicious bitch.
Aisling felt a knew sensation, a rough tug on her hair. She opened her eyes and saw Aubrey, reaching forward and taking a fistful of blood-red hair.
Aubrey grinned. "Look at me, bitch. I want to see it in your eyes when you lose."
Aubrey's chest swelled with pride. She was winning. In a few seconds, she would win. Aisling barely held her self up with one hand while the other hand vaguely waved in the air, as if the redhead fury was going for a nipple or breast attack... but was too horny to concentrate on it.
Aubrey wanted to see Aisling's teary eyes as she surrendered her orgasm. This was only fair.
The prefight buildup had been extraordinarily venomous. Aisling told the public what they were already thinking.
Aubray had a flat ass.
In comparison to Aisling's ass, the rolling hills of Ireland were flat. It was unfair and that unfairness when compared to perfection danced on Aubrey's insecurities. Her ass was in another league, a far lower league. It was without question.
She consoled herself throughout the week, noting her own breasts were a size bigger. But Aisling's breasts were not far behind.
No.
In all criteria, Aubrey and Aisling were equal or close to equal, except for ass, and that made Aisling the sexier girl.
Aubrey hated her for this. So much so that the night before the fight, during the final interview, she...
Aubrey had regretted it after. What she did was also unfair. Childish even. But she noted the flaws on Aisling's fiancé, Guinevere.
Guinevere was always by Aisling's side. In truth, it was sweet. That made Aubrey angry too. She was jealous.
Guinevere... Whoa, now there's a uggo. To give credit where credit is due, Aisling could do better. Way better.
She saw Aisling's face boil with rage and Guinvere's mouth drop with shock.
Aubrey continued.
I mean she is a tooth pick. No tits, no ass. Probably a wrinkled, stinkin' cunt.
She kept it up until Aisling leapt from her seat and had to be held back.
DON'T BRING HER INTO THIS, YOU BITCH!
She screamed through her thick brogue.
