Where Waves and Breasts Crash - Story
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    Post Where Waves and Breasts Crash - Story

    Where Waves and Breasts Crash - Story
    Preamble: Ok, so! New story posted on my site, but here it is for all of you too!

    This is a rewrite of sorts, though it is so different than its original inspiration -- that it almost isn't. I guess you can all be the judge of that.

    To explain what I mean, someone I used to talk to all the time asked if I would finish the story: “The French Cousin” Or “Tales of Wet T” by FightWriter . Why did it have two names? I have no idea, especially since the first seemed completely unrelated to the story they wrote. Regardless, after looking it over, despite how insanely hot the story was -- I knew I couldn't finish it. I would have to, instead, write my own story and take those elements from the story that my partner wanted to keep.

    So, that happened, in part. I wrote a lot of the story, but then -- my partner and I drifted apart and I left the story.

    Recently, I decided, as it was already nearly 9,000 words long, I should finish it. Little did I know the 9,000 words I had written all sucked. lol

    Anyway! I went through, and cleaned it up, basically rewriting the entire thing, again. Why? Because I love you guys and hate myself.

    Now, again, the original Wet T story was exceptionally sexy and clearly would have been a masterpiece had the writer had the chance to finish it. But, they didn't.

    I'm not sure this is close enough to that work to even be linked to it, but credit is certainly due to FightWriter.

    Regardless, this is my first attempt at a titfight, and I really hope you all enjoy it.

    Oh and uh ... it's a tad bit long. he he

    -------------

    Where Waves and Breasts Crash

    mOc6V7.jpg

    With a heavy lurch forward, the number 9 bus took off from another stop, filled to the brim and straightened folding doors with passengers. Passengers who occupied every seat, and whose hands wrapped and covered every safety railing and pole.

    In the center of that sea of bodies, handbags, and glowing cell phone screens, moved a redheaded beauty. One who had worked her way through and past all the other lost souls taking public transit that morning, until she had found the last place on the bus with room for her to stand. But working her way to such a space was harder for her than it would be for most. For Mary was, to put it delicately, thick. Not overweight or plus-sized as it has come to be called, but instead, well-endowed and curvaceous. Her breasts being larger than not only most women she encountered but virtually all of them.

    In fact, Mary's body seemed to have been formed by the gods and her gym, with pure, unadulterated, sex appeal in mind. Due to that build and bust, the young redhead found it difficult to slip unnoticed and comfortably into tight places or through crowds such as the one gathered on the 9. Her breasts, ass, and hips seeming to catch on every stranger she passed, dragging across their backs, sides, and fronts awkwardly, as she made her way to what seemed like her infinitely distant point of refuge.

    Still, however, having grown used to her body and the burden that came with it, the redhead scooted, shoved, and suffered the dragging of her thick figure and enormous breasts through the tightest of windows and thinnest of gaps. That is until she had made it to her oasis of space. One in which she could stand comfortably, without accidentally molesting anyone.

    In that space, she found, much to her own delight, that she was surrounded not by the gawking eyes, and fiendishly smiling strangers, but instead, backs. The connected shoulder-spans of the buses other occupants, each together forming a little nook of much-welcome privacy, by some odd chance of luck-blessed fate. A fate which brought a soft smile to Mary's face, one that took hold only to disappear in a flash, as without warning, one of the backs before her began to turn, not at some lesser angle, but fully.

    Though the turn itself was unwelcome, it was what she saw thereafter that left Mary in shock. A shock that did not pass, but instead grew as the ginger girl's eyes continued to examine the sight before her. A girl. One with the same exact pair of flip-flops Mary wore. One with the same shorter-than-short, cutoff jean shorts Mary wore -- bottoms with the same skin-exposing tears she took so much pride in. One with even the same plain white V-neck t-shirt she wore. A top which covered an upper-body which looked identical to Mary's, down to the very last curve.

    Such a matching outfit was not discovered and discerned in a quick glance, but instead in a long, methodical examination. One that was undertaken as if no threat of being caught looking existed or ever could. But finally, when that painstaking evaluation of the irritatingly similar girl's attire and figure had come to an end, Mary's amber-hued eyes began to lift. They seeking to find the face that belonged to the mirrored body.

    It was only she who had noticed the shocking similarities. Only her eyes that had locked on and languished in a slow, lingering study of body and bust, Mary thought. But to her surprise, as her eyes continued to scan upward, the redhead found that she was not alone in her rapt interest. Not obsessed with the uncanny resemblance of her own body and this girl’s on her own. For Mary found that as she had been agonizing over the body of the blonde stranger, that the stranger had been doing the same over hers. Each of the girls frozen in place, their every thought set to memorizing the other's body in silence, each believing they did so in the absence of the other's attention.

    As a consequence of that belief, the mirrored women found themselves caught. Neither of the two having even a second to adjust their expressions or to hide their own jealousy and irritation at finding another girl with a body just like their own. An experience unknown to them until that moment. As each had made it to the middle of their twenties without finding anyone whose figure could stand up to theirs in terms of bust, hips, and ass. And yet there, on that bus, in a pressing mass of people, they found such a competitor. Such a match for their own exceptional assets.

    But as quickly as their eyes met in jealous glares, each wearing a snarl-bent sneer, did their gazes ricochet in opposite directions. Each pretending like they hadn't just been staring or undressing the other with their eyes. Neither willing to give the other the satisfaction or even the idea that somehow, they had peaked an interest.

    There and thereafter, in that small space amongst the crowd, each of the two resentment-filled girls feigned disinterest and distraction, though they stood only a foot or two apart. Each pretending to ignore the other, though they could not help but steal every glance they could. Comparing their own bodies against the others in every way possible. Both of the two more than angry at their failure to discern not just a substantial difference, but any difference at all. It appearing from every angle, and every test they could conceive, that their bodies had been crafted by the same smith, and poured from the same mold.

    Despite those efforts, each girl knew of those glances and imagined tests -- both of the two comparison-obsessed girls being on the highest of guards. Each being hyper-focused on the other, catching every look, glance, and turn the other would make with their body one way and then the other, to try and discreetly compare hips, thighs, breasts, and butt. And with each caught attempt, they found themselves driven further into a froth of jealousy and anger. How dare this bitch compare herself to me?! How dare she think she's on my level?! Who the fuck does she think she is?!

    It was then, as each of the mirrored girls began to spiral into a frenzy of jealousy and rage -- when each had lost themselves in their moment of unspoken competition, that a wire was tugged, a bell rang out, and the bus driver slammed on the brakes. That slamming brought the bus to a sudden and unexpected stop. One that threw all those standing this way and then that, but most notably for our recounting, Mary and the blonde across their nook and into each other.

    The resulting impact was harsh for all, save for they two, who found themselves cushioned on both sides. One on the backs of the pressing masses behind them, and on the other, their suddenly pressed breasts. Breasts of seemingly equal size, which without warning had been smashed together and used as a brace, as the girls tried to right themselves.

    For a moment, without fire or fierceness, they remained that way. Jarred -- confused -- startled at the sudden occurrence. But as those feelings passed, their focus moved from what had happened, back to each other. And when it did, the kindling was lit.

    "Get the FUCK off of me." Hissed the blonde, as it seemed the entire universe shrunk down to just they two and their intoxicating closeness.

    "What's wrong, bitch? Can't handle the feeling of a real woman?" Came the redhead's response, not wasting a single breath demands for distance, her mind already set on challenging this cocky bitch. Even here. Even whilst trapped together with her in the midst of all these commuters.

    "What did you just say to me?" Asked the blonde as she shoved her chest forward into Mary's, knowing full well what she had heard.

    Before responding, Mary leaned in so that her lips pressed to the very edge of the blonde's ear, and then from that intimate distance, she whispered: "Fuck your body, bitch…. Small-titted, fat-assed, weak-thighe…." Like a torrent, they came, insults from Mary to the blonde, as she continued to lean her body in and against. Pushing. Shoving. Daring the mirrored stranger to fight back. But before Mary could even finish her string of patently untrue accusations, the blonde shoved her own breasts forward, slamming her tits into Mary's, in the process, knocking the redhead back and away from her.

    Mary, not to be outdone, quickly recovered, fully intent on lunging back at the blonde. But just as she locked eyes with her rival, who was already begun to prepare herself for the counter-attack, a body came between them. One and then another. With each such interloper, the girls were pushed back and away from one another. The interjection of personage not undertaken by helpful bystanders trying to stop the girls from fighting, but by persons just trying to get up from the floor and find a place to put themselves for when the bus began to move again.

    At first, they tried to find each other and to sneak past the growing sea of people that had separated them. But look though they did -- search though they did, they found not but others. Not their once-in-a-lifetime rival. Not their perfect challenge. Just people. Useless, excitement-bereft people.

    Finally, as their separation went from frustrating and fleeting to painful and permanent, a calmness took to them. Each having moment to reflect on what had just happened. The pair of jealousy-fueled women, each on opposite sides of the hopelessly crowded bus. The parted pair realizing how brazen their mid-bus fight was, and how it would have looked had anyone been paying attention to them. How they had never done anything remotely like that, and could never even have imagined it before that moment.

    In that haze of guilt, shame, and almost fear -- separated from each other and the sinful pull of the moment, they slipped out of the bus, one at each of the next two stops.

    From those distant and distinct stops, they each decided to go somewhere to cool down. Somewhere to process what had just happened. Somewhere special to them. Somewhere they had gone since they were little girls. The beach.

    Not the center of it, where everyone else congregated, but the cove at the far edge. It was almost always empty. Almost always reserved for only the most adventurous of locals who found it during long walks of contemplation. The sandy strip's solitude in part due to its location, one which left it nestled between a steep green hill and the crashing ocean waves.

    To be clear, it was not barren and humanity-free, as there was, located there, a single cement bench. One that overlooked the sea, from a spot just before picture-perfect sand met the grass-strewn wet dirt of the hill.

    On that bench, and about two hours after her unexpected and ego-threatening encounter on the "9", Erin sat on that overly small bench. The same one she had visited for more than a decade. From that seat, surrounded by not but the sound of endlessly lapping water, the blonde could just look out over the ocean, and just be. Just think. As she did whenever her life seemed to be moving too fast, or not fast enough.

    And though her life, before that most recent encounter seemed well on track, today's experience -- today's collision with that bus-bound redhead, shook her. Not necessarily because it was so shockingly abnormal, though it was. Not because it was contrary to the way she usually conducted herself, though such was true. But, instead, because even there, on that beach. Even then, after hours had passed, Erin found herself wishing that they hadn't been interrupted. Longing for the engagement the two had begun.

    As the blonde began to wrestle with those confusing and even shameful desires, she let her crystal blue eyes scan the beach, lifting her hand to shield her sight from the midday sun. And though her gaze rested on the normally calming waves as they rolled in, all she could see -- all she could think about, was the image of that redhead. Her body. Her eyes.

    Then, as if those thoughts weren't infuriating and enticing enough, Erin's mind without guidance moved on to the memory of their bodies meeting. Their ample breasts shoving and pressing together between them. And the intoxicating jealousy that had gripped her not only at the first sight of the redhead but every second thereafter. Mixed and confused though her true feelings about the encounter were, every second she spent examining them, she found herself growing angrier.

    That anger within her churning, as if in a witch's cauldron into hatred. A hatred for the absent redhead, and more importantly, their separation.

    Why did those people have to get between us?

    Why didn't the redhead fight harder to find me?

    How dare she poison my blood with such toxic jealousy and then just disappear like that...

    With every such question she asked herself in a fury, she began to wish and then dream that she and her rival were together once more. Wanting so desperately to settle things with her and between them. To finish what they started. To prove to each other which of their bodies was truly better. But as that wish burned like an inferno in the blonde's mind, heart, and soul, she caught, out of the corner of her eye, a single figure in the far away distance, moving slowly in her direction.

    Typically, a person watching another approach might spend a moment to make out who or what they might be. A man or woman? Young or old? Cute or ugly? But at that moment, Erin was too distracted by what had happened. Too focused on imagining it happening again and again. Too obsessed with the only girl she'd ever met with a body to match hers.

    After all, the blonde knew, that despite the intensity of her emotions and desires, she could share them -- speak of them, with no one else, other than the redhead from the bus. A rival seemingly lost to her. A perfect enemy stolen by fate and chance. That feeling of impotence -- of red-hot desperation, and insurmountable circumstance gnawed at Erin, driving her to curse the girl she had met in silence.

    Fuck her! Fuck her body! Her tits! Her hips! FUCK HER EVERYTHING!

    But even those thoughts, hateful and final as they were, drove Erin back to the redhead. For her whisper had said precisely that: "Fuck your body, bitch…." And so cruelly, even with the turmoil-lost blonde being alone there on that beach, she could not escape the redhead. Her memory. Her words. Nor the challenge she presented to Erin's physical prowess.

    It is from that internal spiral of jealousy that Erin found herself awoken, as suddenly she felt someone sit down next to her rudely on that oppressively small bench. With bent hip crashing against bent hip, and Erin's right shoulder and arm coming to rest together in a state of mutual force with those of a sudden and unwelcome co-sitter's left.

    Mentally exhausted in the extreme, Erin sighed in frustration, as she tried to adjust herself to an angle facing away from whoever it was who had stolen half of her already inadequate bench. But as soon as Erin made such an effort, turning her back to the invader, she felt the back of the same press against her own. Unable to deal with any further frustration, Erin, in a fit of unchecked rage and seething aggression, vocalized her anger rudely. "Could you fucking not…?"

    "I am so NOT in the mood, bitch…." Without letting a moment pass, the newly arrived co-habitant responded without thought or realization, she being equally as distracted and tormented by all that had happened between the two on the bus.

    "You fucking…." Erin blurted out while spinning back to face she who spoke. Her voice unmistakable.

    "Is that…." Mary spun in the same, as just after the speaking, she knew. It was her! That fucking bitch! That blonde from the bus!

    It was at that very moment that both girls leapt to their feet, and from only a foot apart glared at each other hatefully -- their tempers flaring along with their nostrils -- each girl almost too angry to speak. That is until, without a word, Mary reached her right arm out and shoved Erin's left shoulder hard. An attack that caused the blonde to stumble backward a foot or two, her flip-flops catching and digging awkwardly into the sand beneath her feet.

    With equal silence and force, Erin charged back and returned a shove to Mary's opposite shoulder. The redhead too finding herself sent backward and put off balance by her less than stable footwear.

    Off-balance though they both were, neither of the two hate-and-excitement-filled girls were able or even trying to resist their urges even a second longer. And instead, driven by impulses beyond their control, the two girls charged at each other, sending their arms out straight to push the other back. But as their arms raised, they caught and latched onto their counterparts, each of the two using that grasp to pull their identically dressed bodies together.

    That unintentional, but acceptable outcome of their attempted shoves, left them once again tit-to-tit, with both girls shifting left and then right, each, at first, in an effort to try and free themselves from the other's grip. And though that was their initial intent, when those efforts failed, their shifting continued. Neither girl, after their painful separation, willing to relinquish their hold on the other, or resist the urgent call they felt to press breast-to-breast once again.

    And so press they did, each dragging their pair of perfectly matched breasts across one another and then back, lying to themselves as they did so. Denying in their own mind that it was because they wanted that contact. That they needed in some primal way to feel their rival's body against their's once again.

    Such denials became harder to maintain and believe, as their centered and thrusting nipples began to harden, and dig into their rival's breasts. Sensations neither could help but feel, even when dulled by their thin white tops. And though both of them were equally as excited, and mutually betrayed by their body's reaction, they together worried, nonetheless. Both fearing what the other might think or say -- what they might do, or more importantly, stop doing.

    For so deep was their need at that moment. So incredibly intense was their hunger for one another. That both found themselves terrified that even the slightest misstep might cause the other to leave. To disappear again, and leave them wanting and in a state of abject disappointment and unsatiated desire. Driven by that fear Mary and Erin together let loose their grips, and then, with a quick push, shoved their new obsession, each other, away.

    And though they had broken apart again, this time willingly, together they stayed. Each kicking off their flip-flops, having felt just how unstable they made them in only the briefest of engagement.

    Without those impediments or even a word, the two rivals glared, as they began to circle one another. Their eyes locked together and etched in flame and hatred, as their predatory stalking moved them closer to the beach strip's center. But, as seemed to happen whenever the two women's glares found each other, their eyes found themselves drawn elsewhere. Both downward and toward the impossibly deep valley of bare-skinned cleavage that sat between the other's giant orbs. There, their gazes lingered, as each of the two made the same examination of the other's mind-boggling V-neck display of breast and body.

    Knowing that she had the redhead's attention, and wanting to send her own message of dominance and challenge, Erin quickly cupped her breasts with her hands. And once those cups were filled, pressed them together, exaggerating her fleshy chasm as she watched her rival's face for a reaction. "Get a good look, bitch." The blonde taunted her every word dripping with venom.

    The redhead's lips curled into a snarl as Erin studied her. A snarl that bent into a smirk as Mary replied with a defiant and mocking query. "I bet you think you fill out that T-shirt pretty good, don't you...?"

    "Better than you," Erin replied bluntly, as she returned the same hateful look.

    "I don't think so, bitch." Came the redhead's counter, as she planted her knuckles defiantly on her hips, and took a deep breath to puff out her chest toward Erin.

    Erin, the target of said display, quickly filled her own lungs and responded in kind, mimicking the girl's stance and expanding her chest as far as she could in Mary's direction.

    With the midday sun overhead, and with each standing no further then they could stand, the two girls' matching pairs of flesh-made-fire came perilously close to meeting. Despite that proximity, or perhaps because of it, Erin found herself desperate to show up her redheaded mirror. And with that cruel intention in mind, reached down to the waist of her short cutoff jeans and tucked the fabric of her t-shirt even deeper inside, straining the material across her bustline, almost to the point of disintegration, as it hugged her breasts ever so tightly.

    Mary sneered disdainfully at what she considered Erin's pathetic and juvenile display. And yet still, without thought or question, driven by the irresistible pull she felt to prove her superiority to the blonde, the redhead matched the maneuver. Stretching the white cotton of her V-neck down deeper into her own tiny matching cutoffs, emphasizing, as if they needed it, the size of her own incredible breasts.

    To the sight of Mary's copycat tucking, Erin returned a narrow-eyed sneer, before rolling her eyes, the blonde attempting to look as unimpressed as possible by Mary's display.

    Mary flared at the implied insult of Erin's dismissive look. She, just like Erin, acutely focused on the face of her rival at that moment. A moment in which even the slightest curve of lip, or barest of expressions drove the other wild with hatred and anger. Emotions which drove Mary to shift her shoulders, alternately pressing one breast forward and then the other, before raising her arms and lacing her fingers behind her head. From such a position, and with as confident and sexy a look as she could summon, Mary then brought her hands down together behind her neck and arched her body backward. Doing so to jut out her breasts, and give her rival a good look of exactly who and exactly what she was messing with.

    Impressive as such flaunting was, Erin gave Mary only a disrespectful and pitying smirk before duplicating in part the stretch of her rival. Doing so by arching her own back to an even more exaggerated degree, before drawing her hands down to her waist. Then, with them there, she bent forward at the waist, her thick thighs spread wide, and toes digging deep into the sand beneath her feet. In that position, Erin held -- letting her rival languish in her jealousy.

    "You think you're hot, fucking shit don't you!?" Asked Mary, her patience with this pose-off growing thin.

    "I know I am, cunt. You're just jealous!" Responded Erin, as she brought herself back to a stand.

    "No more games then..." Came as a challenge from the redhead. "...let's finish what we started."

    "And what's that, hmm…?" Questioned the blonde, even though she knew exactly what Mary spoke of.

    "My tits vs. yours. Right here. Right now." Not leaving anything up to examination or debate, Mary made her challenge clear.

    "You want my tits on yours, bitch…?" Returned Erin mockingly as she tilted her head to the side. "Huh…? Thought you would have had enough on the bus."

    "Fuck you, slut. You didn't prove anything there." Mary retorted as she stepped closer to the blonde, clearly angry at Erin's presumption of victory. "That's why we need to settle it."

    Without speaking, Erin stepped forward and brought the apexes of their identical chests within an inch of meeting. Then, from such a short distance, Erin, still with her head tilted to the side, finally gave her answer. "You're on, bitch...."

    At that moment, their faces were so close, and in that closeness, each again set themselves to studying their rival. To find some fear. Some shyness. Some tell that their confidence was false. But neither could detect even the smallest clue of feigned fierceness. Instead, they found a rival as committed as they were to that moment -- that fight -- that competition. Their threatened meeting of mammaries on the beach.

    "Fuck you," Mary added as she without another word spoken thrust her chest forward into Erin's.

    "Fuck YOU, bitch," Erin responded along with a thrust of her own, the feeling of the others steel-forged nipples not lost on either of the girls. But in its mutuality, and the other's fire, they finally felt certain and assured that their battle would not end without completion. That neither of them would disappear -- not this time.

    In that certainty of the other's desire and commitment, Mary returned fire and thrust her breasts forward. Erin doing the same not a moment later. A volley and return that occurred again and again, until their painful solo-thrusts began to sync, with each girl slamming their tits together in unison. Doing so once, and then again -- and then over and over, until suddenly they seized, wrapping their arms around each other, and just held. Their eyes locking in hateful glares into the very depths of the other's soul.

    At that moment they could feel their own breasts aching with an undeniable need for more. To continue. To press together and not stop. No matter what was thereafter said. No matter how taboo it may seem. No matter how excited it made them. No matter what…. No matter how...

    And so with each clamoring for precisely the same thing, and with their arms wrapped around each other, they pulled back just far enough to try and align their breasts. Each of them almost working together to slowly and carefully aim their now proudly bared and brandished erect nipples towards those of the other -- doing so without words but with painstaking precision.

    When finally they found it, the right angle and aim, the rivals let their hate-filled eyes move back up from their hovering breasts back to each other's gaze. Gazes they each matched with sneers, as they two suddenly slammed their two impossibly round, impossibly large, and unbelievably firm twin pairs of heavy flesh together. Not quickly, but slowly. Each impact harsh -- each impact heavy. With each such blow almost knocking the air out of them. Their aligned nipples stabbing -- impaling their counterparts, each using their every muscle to drive savagely and brutally into each other.

    With every press and collision, the levees that held back fathoms of hostility and yet-admitted desire began to weaken and collapse. And with each such breaking, the girls' heads began to fall back, and in sudden gusts of sea-scented air, their eyes to roll into the back of their heads. They two, at that moment, feeling almost drunk with the joy of their long-awaited contact. Contact which continued and then increased, as each sent their tits crashing together with all the force they could muster, each of them feeling as if they had reached a nirvana they never knew existed. The sensation of their enormous breasts compacting against their equally gigantic foe's being unlike anything they have experienced before.

    Through every inch of their bodies, and in the air around them, electricity seemed to spark and jump. Each girl's muscles seizing and flexing, struggling to keep themselves from being pushed back by the other. A struggle matched by their efforts to control their own, growing excitement. Excitement not only at the sensations each felt at that moment, or at finally locking up with a bitch they had grown to hate in mere minutes, but instead at the feeling that they had finally found their destiny. Finally discovering the one thing they were put on the Earth for -- that they were meant to do. The one thing they were sure they could do better than anyone else. Something they intended to prove to each other, as they settled into another long, hard press.

    "I can see you're fucking enjoying this, bitch…." Accused Mary, as their lingering hold, brought them closer and closer together.

    "Shut up!" Responded Erin, feeling almost betrayed that Mary would comment on feelings she was certain were mutual. "Looks like you fucking like it, dyke!" Came as an equally traitorous addendum.

    "BITCH!" Came Mary's outraged reply, she being just as aware and uncomfortable with the truth of her own enjoyment and no less hurt by the subject being brought up.

    Each having accused the other without denial, the two busty rivals again returned to their silent pressing and pushing, their eyes again having drifted to their warring tits. Tits which weren't pulled back and then launched forward, but instead driven forward by bare feet digging into the sand beneath their feet. Those feet being the base for their thick flexing thighs, and powerful muscle-etched calves.

    Each expected, when their battle began, and even at that moment, that within another minute or two, their rival would wilt. Succumb. And find themselves overwhelmed and overmatched. But as one minute turned to five, and five to ten, with each sharing nothing but quick, hateful glances, and muttered curses, the girls began to tire. Their muscles burning and aching as they fought to continue their seemingly endless press.

    Such fatigue caused them to soften. Not all at once, but slowly. Each of the two busty beach-bound battlers decreasing the pressure they applied to their mutual meeting of mammaries. But, just as their breasts threatened to drift apart from their reduction in force, the two in unison grabbed for each other's elbows, and then almost aiding each other with a push and then a pull, they slammed back together, chest-first.

    It was then, each having failed to compress the others tits into submission with one long, sustained encounter or with slow powerful slams, that they in unison tried something else. Choosing to fight their still nascent fatigue. Neither willing to give up on their chance of an early victory or admit that the bitch they on that beach battled was competition of any sort, let alone an equal. Driven by that desire and refusal, they each began to throw themselves forward, faster and faster. Wildly. Untimed. Hoping that with one of their manic strikes they might welt and wound their rival.

    But even those speedy thrusts and twists of hips became tiring. And with each slam, they began to mutter curses between hatefully taken breaths and pained grunts. Each of them rising in intensity, as the rapid, T-shirt-and-bra-muted slap sounds of their breasts colliding became heavier thuds of slowing collisions. Each wearing out. Each tiring as they began to perspire in the other’s grasp.

    "Only a matter of time until you give, bitch," Erin said in a winded voice, still confident that Mary would break.

    "Why would I give to you, slut? My girls will never lose!" Declared Mary, neither girl bringing an end to their thrusting as they spoke, despite their mounting fatigue.

    "Because I'm the real woman here, you're just some bitch I ran into on a bus. Not even a footnote in my story." It was a lie. A falsehood. To say that the woman who fought her there on that hot beach had done anything less than make her sick with jealousy. And still Erin said it, as each continued to drive forward, with their left breast, and then their right. Their shirts turning from white and dry, to transparent and sweat-soaked with every passing moment.

    "Then why did you get so mad when I sat on the bench? Why did you go for my tits?! You're nothing but a jealous skank!" Mary asked as they continued to bash their tits into each other, over and over, knowing that within only moments the other would collapse.

    For a moment, Erin was speechless, not even sure of the answer herself. But then she replied, doubly angry. "Because you think your tits are so fucking hot when THEY'RE NOTHING COMPARED TO MINE!" But with every word that passed their lips, they began to slow, ever so slightly.

    "Fuck you…." Responded Mary, as her focus began to move from their war of words, back to the one waged by their sweat-slicked tits.

    "Fuck YOU!" Came Erin's stern reply, one which came only a blink before each girl reared back as far as they could, and then after a moment spent taking a deep breath, they each rammed themselves back together as hard as they could.

    At the impact, each girl cried out, "OWE," as their giant chests splattered together in one last, unyielding, and unforgiving impact. Physics then took hold, as the girls bounced off each other. The twosome looking to see if the other had been wounded enough to submit when they gained the distance to do so. But to their own dismay and disappointment, they found that the other -- their other, still stood. Still glared back at them.... At that sight, they both angrily broke free of the other's grip and pushed back and away from their conflict.

    For that moment, they were free of the constant slamming, pressing, though not the pain in their chests. A pain that lingered and remained, as they stepped back from one another again, each gently cradling and massaging their own wounded weapons. It is true that their caretaking was a sign of the pain they felt, and the success of the other's attacks, but admission or not, they had no choice. For their chests hurt. Stung. Even though all their contact so far had been done clothed. Protected, in some way -- even if it didn't feel like it.

    "You fucking bitch, you'll wish you never met me when my tits are done with yours!" Mary shouted in abject frustration.

    A threat which enraged Erin even further, causing her to take a step toward Mary and scream. "My tits will NEVER be done with yours! When I break yours, that'll just be the beginning, bitch!"

    Mary quickly matched Erin's step forward, and then the rage that poured forth from her mouth. "Same, bitch! This doesn't end, even when you beg me to fucking stop."

    Neither girl backing down. Each staring into the face of a girl with a nearly identical body challenging them. Threatening them. Promising not just defeat, but pain and humiliation thereafter.

    "I will NEVER beg you to stop…." Came Erin's defiant, and yet accepting response.

    "Never, bitch…. NEVER…." The sound of the blonde's voice. Her fucking face. EVERYTHING about her caused the redhead to seethe.

    "Swear it, cunt! So I can make you break your promise..." Mary replied, wanting her rival to commit. Wanting her to say that she will never quit.

    “You swear on it, bitch! Because I do! You will never hear me give up to you…” Understanding Mary’s desire, and wanting that promise just as badly, Erin agreed and then demanded the same. Looking to hear it. Needing to hear it, before they engage again.

    “I swear on my hate for you, slut… I will never give you the fucking satisfaction…” As soon as Mary said it. As soon as the oaths were given and shared, you could see it. You could feel it. You could taste it. Their mutual and malicious joy. They had it. The other’s word. The other’s body, not just for that moment, but from then on. Each getting the war they wanted. Each getting the enemy they would forever long for.

    "Fuck you, puny titted bitch!" Mary added, in the midst of that silent exaltation, she wanting to battle once again and to feel her enemy’s breasts once again pressed against hers. After what felt like an eternity of separation in which the two rivals stood screaming into each other's reddened faces, their huge tits quaking with anger, hovering only a few inches apart again.

    "Puny?!" It was the ultimate insult for Erin, to have the one thing that she valued above all else in this world, her incredible pair of majestic breasts, insulted. Demeaned. Dismissed! It was then, that with barely a single rational thought left in her head, forgetting entirely about the pain she had been in only moments earlier, Erin surged forward -- acting only on instinct and rage. Doing so by cupping her heavy tits in her hands as she shrieked at Mary, "do you still think they're PUNY!?!" The blonde asked, before practically leaving her feet, hurling herself at the redhead, swinging her breasts wildly, sending them slamming quickly back and forth against the sides of Mary's unprepared tits.

    Mary, on instinct, retreated, cupping her hands over her breasts to defend them.

    For a moment, Erin just stared at her enemy dumbfounded. Was that it...? Was it going to be that easy...? Had the redhead folded like a cheap tent...? But within an instant of seeing Erin's shocked face, the fire returned to Mary's eyes, burning like two dark coals that had just been bellowed up to a white-hot intensity. Such intensity pushed Mary to cup her own breasts, and run straight into the blonde, swinging just as wildly, her huge tits smacking into Erin's, beginning their fight anew.

    "You think your tits are so tough! Next, to mine, they're A-cups!" Mary, incensed and shocked by her own apparent near-surrender just a blink before, screamed in challenge and in an almost hysterical tone, charged her tormentor. As she did, Mary's face, which had born a look of shame, then gleamed with wicked delight as her set connected so solidly with Erin's, that the blonde retreated from the impact, grimacing at the tremendous weight of her opponent's tits.

    There the two stood for a moment, Erin now having broken, in the same way, her opponent had not a moment before. But again, in just a glance at Mary's proud, victorious face, Erin charged back, her feet digging into the sand, as she launched a return volley, smashing her own thirty-pound tits so forcefully against her rival's pair that the recoil pushed her right back.

    Not to be outdone, Mary too returned fire, leaving her feet and launching herself at her busty rival. Mid-air, and as her ascent turned to descent, the redhead came down, almost landing on top of Erin. The impact of their ample breast flesh knocked both competitors not only away, but down to the sand beneath them. Both landing on the knees, approximately two feet from each other. On those knees, they stayed, as the scorching sun overhead began to lower.

    It was at that moment that it hit them. The reality of what was happening. This was the first time either of the young women had done ANYTHING like this before. With anyone, let alone another woman. And yet here they were. Slamming chest to chest to the point of falling to their knees. To the point of fatigue! Here on some lonely beach. And worse than that -- the woman they were supposed to beat, embarrass, SHAME with their tits, had held her own. Had been able to match tit-for-tat. "FUCK!" Erin shouted in frustration and pain as she cradled her tits.

    "DAMNIT," Mary cursed in a mutter, though it came from the exact same boiling cauldron of emotion as Erin.

    This had taken too long. Far too long. Why hadn't the other given in! They each thought. But as they glared at each other. Their eyes scanning hatefully their rival from head to toe, they each realized at once. Their scapegoat. Their reason that a victory had not yet been earned.

    "Take your fucking top off!" "Take it off, bitch!" They yelled at and over each other, each still cupping and massaging their tits through their sweat-wet shirts.

    Despite the exchanging of demands, Erin rested her hands on her knees, panting, sweat pouring down her body. In such a state of heat and fatigue, the blonde lifted the hem of her T-shirt, which had long ago pulled free from her cutoff jeans, and then wiped her face with it. Once done, and after gazing down for a moment, she pulled. Not only up, but off, thereafter tossing it right in Mary's face. All before her own hands returned to her knees, the already exhausted blonde needing every moment of rest she could get.

    As Erin so remained, her every breath came heavy as she boiled in the sun, her red-haired enemy was doing no different. Peeling her sweaty shirt off and over her head, only to then toss it at her rival.

    "Bra too, slut!" Erin demanded though she had yet to remove her own.

    "Fuck you, bitch. You take yours off!" Mary replied, knowing she needed more time to rest.

    "Gah…." Erin blurted out simply, she knowing and needing the same.

    And so there they remained for one minute and then two, with every passing second the two learning to hate each other more, even in their silence and inaction. In that festering state of hateful bonding, the two women breathed deep, and glared at one another, their desire to engage again growing.

    Despite the simmering, however, neither moved. Neither yelled, nor even spoke. Instead, they just remained, until, as if pushed by a hand unseen, they simultaneously reached behind their backs, and unclasped their bras.

    They hadn’t rushed towards the moment or fought to tear the clothing from each other’s bodies in their battle so far. But as the small metal hooks of their breasts’ bindings came undone, and tightly stretched bras came loose, the two girls waited with baited breath. Maybe there had been no difference in size when their breasts were covered. Maybe when bound by T-shirts and bras, their chests were indistinguishable. But without them. With their tits free and bared for each other, maybe the truth of their own superiority would be revealed to the delusional girl they fought. It was that possibility that suddenly seized them, and pushed them to watch the other intently from their knees. Both lost in anticipation for the other’s bra to drop. As when it did, that would be the moment when the TRUE comparisons could begin.

    In the face of their watching and waiting, the moment seemed to a slow to a crawl. A crawl during which the two comparison-obsessed twenty-somethings parted their lips, and prepared to insult. To demean. To chastise the other for having the less impressive pair of breasts. But when their bras finally dropped from their chests, off their arms, and to the sandy beach below, through those lips came no such words. For each had been silenced. Shamed. Their owners being figuratively punched in the stomach, by the others infuriatingly identical nipples. The size. The shape. The color. All of it! DAMMIT! Their souls screamed in silence and in unison. The two rivals hating each other more at that moment than ever before.

    Dashed as their hopes for some semblance of separation may have been, neither were willing to quit. No, instead, they simply closed their eyes for a moment, sighed deeply, and then, when they were ready, they set themselves to begin again.

    "Is this what you wanted to see, you fucking dyke? Is this what you needed to get yourself wet!?" Erin shot at Mary, breaking through the latter's heat-worsened exhaustion.

    "You'll have to do more than that to turn me on, slut. I see better ones in my mirror every day." Mary replied not only confidently, but harshly.

    "Yeah, you only think so because you're a fucking diluted cunt!" Erin snorted the two women's' feelings of loathing more palpable than any they had felt for any other. The air of competition between them having risen to a new and terrifying level, now that their twin treasures were out on full display.

    "Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP! And get your fucking tits on mine, so I can break you, slut." Mary demanded in shout as her frustration at having failed to best her rival began to overflow.

    "I bet you'd fucking like that, clit-licker!" Came an insult from Erin, even as she rose up, and began to scoot over to the redhead, her knees dragging through the sand.

    "You won't like it, bitch, I guaran-fucking-tee it." Mary shot back, as she too began to crawl over, the two women coming to a stop with only an inch between their giant hanging breasts.

    "On three, cunt…." The blonde offered, wanting a countdown before their breasts connected again.

    "Three…. Tw…. BITCH!" Came Erin’s shouts of angry protest, as Mary slammed herself forward, and smashed their hungry tits together before two had even been said. Despite such a small advantage, each girl set themselves to aiming and angling her breasts more and more so that they came crashing down on top of the other girl's. Each raising their huge, heavy boobs high in the air to try to then slam them down on the giant upper slopes of the others massive mountain range. But that dropping was then followed by a rough dragging of those fleshy weapons, with each of the two shifting their hands to the tops of their breasts to push them down, and apply even more pressure to their rival’s tits. In such efforts they took turns, coming down hard, only to find their efforts rewarded by their own breasts being trapped beneath those of the other. Forcing them to pull apart just enough to reset, and go again.

    Into a perfectly synced rhythm, the two warring women sunk. In the heat. In the sand. On their knees, as sweat continued to pour down their bodies in long, uninterrupted lines or into mixed pools between their warring bodies.

    The sight of the two topless girls rubbing and dragging their immense bare breasts against one another in such an unending dance, must have been incredible to behold. But equally as engrossing were the sounds that came from their spectacular battle -- the THWACKS and PLOPS and SMACKS that came from the unmuted contact of skin against skin. As their enormous sweaty tits were finally set free, and allowed to slap against each other in their natural state, unimpeded and unprotected.

    But those sounds were not alone in their symphony, as grunts, groans, and intensely labored breathing also accompanied the chorus of frenzied collisions. Collisions effectuated by the two enraged rivals, who continued to attack each other with a frightening passion, each bent on destroying the others most prized possessions with her own. They two striving desperately to not only defeat their mirror, but to humiliate her.

    And though that had always been their mission, everything else before that incredible engagement of flesh on flesh had been foreplay. Fancy. A test to see if the two even belonged in the same arena. But with that question having been answered with a definitive yes, the two settled in like two lovers buying a home, set on living there together until they died. In that same way, Erin and Mary set breast to breast, determined to battle until the other gave in and admitted that their breasts were inferior, and even further to break their oath and beg for mercy and cessation.

    With that as goal, one that drove each of them, so many incredible minutes passed. In them, each continued their onslaught on the other's colossal breasts with their own. Both of the two attacking from every possible angle and in every way they could, back and forth, up and down, even with looping roundhouse shots.

    And yet, even though each was able to inflict maximum damage on the other, in their mutual state of toplessness, as their fight wore on, each began to tire. That drain brought about both by their own intense exertion, but also by the oppressive heat in which they both so exerted. As if that state wasn’t already bad enough, it was made worse by their abandonment of bras. Without which, the effort required to hold, lift and swing their heavy breasts at each other increased.

    And so, in the center of that lonely beach, with each of the two rivals drenched in sweat and drained beyond measure, they leaned. Not into a curve or some tactic, but each other, extending their necks and allowing their chins to come down on the other's shoulder. Not just to earn enough closeness to better hurt the other, but instead because if they did not, they would collapse.

    In that tight, desperate clinch, their battle slowed and degenerating into something more like a slow sliding dance of breasts.

    Neither pressing or pushing any longer, but instead dragging their sweaty tits against the others. Left and then right. Right and then left. Each maintaining full and heavy contact as they tried to push in and deform the other girl's tits as much as they could in their exhaustion. Taking solace and pride in even the smallest and most minor of victories, even as the fire in their eyes dimmed and their lips offered not but soft, strengthless whimpers and moans next to the other’s ear.

    But as their slow, battle of attrition continued, even it began to overwhelm the two women. As their tender, bruised breast flesh ached for cessation and rest. It was then that they began to focus -- to fight with their nipples. Neither of them shifting or dragging their chest-bound weapons anymore, but instead, searching to cross nipples. Doing so without sight, their chins still resting on each other's shoulders.

    That search continued until finally, such blades crossed, and their two mirrored sets of nipples came to bear. They had intended to use that collision to stab and scrape -- press and push. But instead, they caught and then held together. Tip-to-tip. End-to-end. And for both Erin and Mary, it was beyond electric. Beyond will-shattering. Their friction-raw nerve endings coming alive, as nipple drove into nipple and lips parted in loud, traitorous moans.

    Despite the moans they hated to share with one another, they leaned in further, and with wrapping arms, pulled each other closer. Certain it would be their nipples that drove the other’s back. To their shock and shame, however, each pair gave way in equal measure. Each inverting together and apart, an event that sent wild sensations of pleasure through their bodies. Bodies which shook as they pressed deeper. Further. And then quivered as their breath began to hitch, heads began to tilt to face inward, and lips to moan in pleasure into each other's ears.

    That contact for them, even buried amongst all their hate and malice for each other, was delicious. So much so that for a time, they just held. Not only the position but each other. Tightly. Not wanting the moment. The pleasure. The chance at anything other than war, to end.

    Together in that mutual hold, one that pleased rather than punished, they each began to approach something they had not even dared to imagine. Something neither had wanted or would have accepted until that moment. An orgasm -- one brought about by their most hated of rivals. As it rushed towards them both, each lifted their heads, and when finally able, looked deep into each other's eyes. There, their gazes locked for a few seconds, each seeing on the others face no expression of loathing. No scowled lips. No narrowed eyes. Only desire, one that was shared. One that was palpable, overriding, and real.

    Together, they trembled, as each communicated with their pleading, lust-filled eyes alone. The intensity of the moment and the contact between them stealing from them the fire that had so engulfed their mirrored souls. Each of the two trying to maintain their incredible dual-inverting of nipples for as long as they could. Wanting to steal from their battle and each other every second of pleasure there was to steal amidst all the pain.

    But finally, when there was only a moment left before they reached the edge, not apart but together in orgasm. A crossing that would betray everything that had happened between them. Everything they had felt for each other. They each shifted their nipples out of alignment, causing both pairs to extend again and slide off of each other.

    Finally freed from their counterpart’s pressure, each of the girl’s quivering daggers came to a soft rest against the areola of their rival. With their nipples there, and no longer driving them headlong into an unwanted orgasm, they held. Careful not to move. Careful not to do anything that might suddenly reawaken those unwanted sensations, and push them over the edge.

    As that threat passed, each did all they could to once again summon the fire that had burned so brightly within them. A fire they used upon its return to continue their grinding. Their rubbing. And their testing of each others breasts without comment on what had just happened. On how close they were to cuming together and in each other's arms, as the sun lowered around them. But only a few pressings thereafter, did it happen. Did she, Erin, see it. An opportunity. A chance to attack -- to trap -- to perhaps end this battle.

    Without a second’s thought, the blonde moved to make that chance reality. She raising her hands to the sides of her breasts, and just as Mary's breasts traveled from left to right, and the redhead’s right breast centered between the blonde's, Erin pushed -- Erin squeezed! Pressing from the outer-side of both her breasts, catching the redhead's tit between them.

    With it there and isolated, Erin pushed in on both sides of her own tits, applying a cruel pressure that quickly began to crush Mary's breast in between. The redhead, in reaction and agony, began to moan out in pain, as the blonde's large breasts began to overwhelm her corned right orb.

    On and on the pressure continued, the redhead's beautiful right breast being both trapped and triturated by her rival’s fleshy weapons. They pressing in and around their victim, causing a deep and protracted pain that brought a tortured look to the redhead’s beautiful face. An expression which brought a sparkle of malicious joy to Erin's crystal blue eyes, she reveling in the pain Mary anguished in. And though her rival’s distressed reaction brought her glee, she wanted more. Needed more. And so, with that desire in mind, the blonde began applying even more pressure, as if her goal was to cave in the sides of Mary's poor captured breast.

    Knowing the situation was dire, Mary attempted to escape as quickly as she could. Trying at first to crawl backward on her knees, but as she did, Erin moved with her, keeping her trapped tit tortured. Having her attempts thwarted, the redhead tried shaking herself loose, but Mary hung on gamely, showing all the fierceness of a lion hanging on dearly to a wounded and teeth-caught gazelle.

    Still and desperately, Mary fought on, deciding to retaliate against her foe, her attempts at escape having been checked by the same. Doing so by raising her left hand to the outside of Mary’s right hand, and then with a sweat-aided slide, her own right hand between Erin’s left breast and her own trapped tit.

    With her hold secured, Mary began to apply her own pressure, making it the blonde's turn to moan out in pain. A moan that rang out like the starting bell to a round of tit-pressure torture. There in that stalemate, as the sun above became the sun to their sides, both women continued their squeezing and pressing. Each trying to overpower, overwhelm, and out endure the other.

    The pain was excruciating, but at the same time, oddly exciting, serving as another measure of who had the biggest, best, and firmest set. And though they derived more than just pride from their rival's moans of pain and looks of the same, as seconds turned to minutes, they each began to falter. Weaken. The aching and burning in not just their breasts, but their hands quickly becoming more than they could bear. Every such part, and both of their pairs begging their owner to end the painful contest.

    Through those unspoken pleas of pain-centers firing, they continued, until they each had no choice but to again lean into each other, and gently rest their head on the other's shoulder. A necessity to remain standing, and to do so without their enemy seeing their face written in agony. But even from that obscured location, their lips began to let loose a stream of wounded whimpers. Shameful sounds that left no doubt that their squeezing and compressing of the others breast with their own was not only effective but debilitating.

    But they could not enjoy those sounds, nor the fact that they revealed, for with every passing second their hands began to weaken. The pressure began to lessen. Until finally, blissfully, their hands released and arms dropped, tits falling loose around each other. Their contest having ended in a simultaneously-seizing inability to continue.

    And though such relief was welcome beyond word or measure, neither made comment or pulled away. No, for instead they just rested, leaning on each other for support. Keeping their chins laid on the other's shoulder. Each needing a breath. A place to recuperate, no matter where that place may be.

    Finally, however, the two recovered enough to straighten and pull apart. But not just an inch or two, but on sliding knees, feet. Giving them each room -- space to move their hands to their own breasts and massage them, even though every touch hurt, even their own meant to heal.

    "So, are you ready to give up yet?" Erin asked, with a false confidence.

    "Why would I give up? I'm winning." Mary's responded, her blood already beginning to boil again.

    "You're delusional. You were just about to beg me to let you go." Erin shot back, she too finding her state of mind escalated by even hearing Mary's voice, let alone her claims to victory.

    "You're the one who's delusional! You almost came all over me! Did my tits get you hot, dyke?" As the words spilled forth from Mary's lips, Erin's face contorted with rage.

    "Why don't we just settle this then, cunt?!" She alight with anger at the comment -- her voice dripping with malice.

    "Okay. Let's do it, bitch!" Mary agreed shortly, and with a glare, before she began to storm towards Erin. Erin doing the same, marching forward, with each girl coming to a stop only a centimeter from their breasts locking together again.

    "I'm going to fucking destroy you," Erin said resolutely, all of the softness -- all the slowness from their last few battles having disappeared entirely, not just from their battle but their minds.

    "You're the one whose tits will never be the same, slut; bank on it." Those were the last words spoken before Mary thrust out her breasts, bringing her nipple to nipple with her rival once more.

    On contact, Erin felt a cold chill run through her again, as they each held the contact for a moment before pressing in and together once more. Their nipples sliding off of each other and disappearing from sight, as once again the two settled into their long battle of breasts. Pressing themselves together. Harder and harder. Each looking for any difference in bulge or shape.

    Despite a definite firmness earned from the ripeness of their youth, in a matter of moments, neither girls' breasts had anywhere to go, and so they began to spill out at the sides, pancaking against each other. That change in shape, and pressed mass did nothing to distinguish their mirrored and equal breasts, their pairs matching up inch-for-inch and bulge-for-bulge.

    Confident that if they could only bring to bear just a little more pressure, victory would be theirs, they each lifted up their arms and wrapped them around each others neck and shoulders, each right arm overlapping their opponent's left. Such an embrace eliminating the last bit of space between them, causing their cleavages to shrink to almost nothing as their breasts continued to flatten together.

    When neither could push or pull any further, and it was clear they had reached their absolute maximum tightness, Mary turned her head to calmly whisper into Erin's ear.

    "You're going to beg me to fucking stop, when I'm through with you, bitch." There was an air of supreme confidence in the red-haired girl's voice that caught Erin off-guard, given the stalemate she was not only witnessing but feeling. The blonde finding herself worried that she might be missing some growing advantage in her rival's favor.

    But after a quick scan of their warring tits, did she respond in the same way, feeling it in her bones that there was no way she could lose when it came to a contest like this. "You're going to be the one begging. The one who gets tortured ... with ... my … superior … TITS" Every word that came from her mouth labored, as together the two tried to squeeze together as tight as possible.

    Flustered by Erin's resistance and resilience, Mary then came back with a bit more edge, though affected by the same growing breathlessness. "Fuck … you … CUNT!"

    "BITCH!" Mary snapped back, knowing she could speak not another word, or even a syllable. A fact that made her so angry -- so intensely enraged, that she just snapped. Clamping her teeth down on Erin's shoulder, the shocked blonde then letting out a loud scream. Not done, or even close, the vicious redhead then lowered her arms further down Erin's back, and with them there, applied a crushing tit-to-tit bearhug on the bitten and consequently unprepared Erin.

    Erin, for her part, responded in the only way she could think of -- by biting into Mary's shoulder, as well. Eliciting a loud, ear-piercing scream from the redhead. A cry muffled by the blonde’s flesh, just before Erin locked in an identical bearhug to that of Mary’s.

    In the dusk of the coming night, Mary and Erin clung to each other in a hateful embrace, each seeking to lock their hands behind the other's back. But their massive breasts, even in their compressed state, created an almost impossible distance for them to span. But somehow, someway, spurred on by their fierce determination and hatred, they found a way to find and clasp their fingers just at the small of their their rival’s back. That securing set of a simultaneous and horrifying, bite-muted groan from each of them, as each began to try and really ... actually … SQUEEZE the life out of the other. All as they continued to gnaw on the soft skin of their rival’s shoulder.

    Mary, frustrated to the point of blinding rage, found herself no longer willing to merely linger in long wars of attrition. For she wanted to hurt her rival badly. Wanting not only to hear her scream or whimper in pain, but instead to beg for mercy. For release. For an end to their battle. Compelled by that sudden soul-seizing desire, Mary released both her bearhug and bite. Then, before Erin could react, or even decipher why she alone was squeezing -- she alone was biting, Mary's nails dug in only to thereafter claw forcefully down the blonde’s back. Erin, fearful she might be falling behind, quickly released her holds of bear and bite, before mimicking Mary’s attack.

    Mary, though incensed by Erin's copied attack, and having felt every inch of her enemy's drug claws, suddenly pulled away from Erin, separating their breasts from each other. Then, without speaking of her anger or new, unspoken desire, the redhead instead moved to escalate their encounter again, by reaching out and grabbing for the blonde's unguarded tits. Latching wicked fingers onto them before sinking her claws deep into their spongy flesh.

    At the shocking amount of pain inflicted upon her, Erin cried out in paid, even as inner fury began to build within her. A fury that aiding her in fighting past the agony -- past the deep, wounding misery she felt, to return fire. She doing so by clamping her own nails down on Mary's wide-open breasts. Then giving it back, as good as she had gotten, squeezing Mary's tender breasts as if she were wringing out a washcloth.

    In that way, the two rivals dug their claws into each other's proud tits, as the sun set on their battle. Each of the two screaming, moaning and wailing as the other abused their chest in the most violent way they could. Pushing and pulling -- pinching and clawing at and on the others breasts before stretching them apart, and then slamming them together painfully. The pair of warring women using everything at their disposal to wound the others frustratingly similar bust.

    Before long, their hands drifted to the center of their rival's breasts, and their attacks moved from fleshy pillow to raw, stimulus-sore nipple. In the transition, their levels of pain moving from beyond excruciating, to beyond imaginable, as each girl mercilessly pinched, twisted, and tugged on the others hardened nubs.

    Their intent at that moment wasn’t merely to try and hurt or mark those targets, but to instead rip them right off their enemy's chest. And though both wished they could -- and tried with all their might, neither had the strength or pain tolerance to keep such an assault up for very long, nor stand the same being waged on them. And so finally ... Mary, the one who began that cruel, hateful contest, found herself forced to let go and try to rip Erin's hands from her chest.

    Erin had been only seconds away from breaking. Blinks away from doing the same. But regardless of the separation between wordless submissions, the blonde was thankful and, in fact, overjoyed that the pain had ended. She finding the willpower to only twist for a few more moments before she too released.

    Had it not been for the pain in her chest. The dizziness that pain brought her. Or the tears that welled and flowed from her eyes, Erin would have loved it. The thought -- the experience of having her most hated rival pry desperately and pathetically at her wrists. But instead, she was a wreck, actual and complete.

    Each of the hateful pair sobbing and whimpering, instinctively covering up their nipples with protective palms. Their faces, at that moment, matching the color of Mary’s hair. Their cheeks flushed, and eyes bloodshot, as each stared across at each other.

    Despite their hatred. Their desires. Their willingness to destroy each other barely more than ten minutes before, those eyes that stared projected nothing but fear -- but horror. Each trembling at the idea of even a second’s more of that battle, the one before it, or any they had carried out that day.

    It had to be over. Please let it be over... Erin thought to herself, as she wept.

    And almost as if that desperate plea -- that trembling prayer had been answered, Mary, without a word or warning, stood up from their seemingly endless kneel. Then, once on her feet, and as Erin fell back, worried Mary might attack her once more, the redhead instead turned, walked back to her clothes, and then when she had them, away.

    Leaving Erin, with her hands on her knees. Still crying. Still wrecked by their battle. The blonde watching her rival go, hardly believing that it -- their epic sea-side battle was finally over. Just as the sun had disappeared over the horizon.

    They had both said so much, about how this would never end. How they would take each other beyond the point of submission. But at that moment, the blonde was silent. Terrified of continuing their war even a moment longer. She finding that terror give way to joy with each step the redhead took in the opposite direction. A joy she felt as she wiped at her tears sloppily. Her nose stuffed from her state. Her head shaking in disbelief and run-amok with emotion.

    But when finally, she felt like she could. When she was sure that, yes; their brutal, intense, and memory-searing war was finally over, Erin too stood. Too went back to gather her clothing. And then, like her bested foe, began to traverse the beach, except in the opposite direction. With every movement she made she felt it: pain and extreme discomfort.

    And though it hurt -- and though it burned her young, busty body. Those feelings began to fade, only to be replaced by an incredible high. She had won. She beat her. YES! OH MY GOD YES! She screamed internally, as she made a small gesture with her arm, one that looked like an uppercut. So very proud of herself, her body, her spirit to not just fight, but win!

    She didn't question it for a second, why she, alone and ecstatic, celebrated a victory that would have meant nothing to her yesterday or any day before it. It meant everything. It meant the world to her. A value that pushed her to turn back to where their war had been waged, to look upon that star-lit spot, one last time.

    To her horror, however, Erin saw not sand-sparkling beach nor a darkness-obscured bench. Only she. Only Mary. Her face bent with hatred and forged in malice. A visage made no less terrifying when through the lips there attached, came a scream: "MY BODY IS BETTER THAN YOURS!" Words shrieked as if howled by a banshee.

    Erin tried, in the little time she had, to react and defend herself, but found not but failure in that endeavor. As before she could do anything she found hands in her hair, and her entire person drug down into the sand.

    Immediately, the blonde’s fear was that within a single instant, Mary might be atop her. Instead, however, in the redhead's maddened assault, the two dropped, crashed, and then rolled. Not locked together like a catfight in some kind of B movie, but awkwardly. Painfully. Splitting apart and then slamming back together as they descended the angled beach, down to the lapping ocean waves at its foot. Each of the two landing in motionless heaps. Their bodies half in the water, and half out.

    For a moment, there was only darkness. Only the sound of water, washing back and forth across the beach. Only the feeling of the same, as water washed over Erin's weary body. A body which suddenly found itself drug up from its laying position by the hair. "Owe, owe, owe!" Erin offered meekly, still not entirely sure where she was.

    "GET UP!" Mary screamed as she pulled the blonde to her feet. "FIGHT ME!" Came that same rage-affected voice, just before a hard, wildly thrown slap came flying upwards from Erin. One that landed hard against the redhead's swollen right breast.

    The redhead, in turn, fired back, slapping hard and fast, her palm splashing across the blonde's cheek. All as Erin tried to stand, her feet finding no stable ground, with the wet sand below her feet giving way with every placement. Finally those feet caught and then braced, and when they did, the blonde charged forward, tackling Mary into the ocean waves.

    There, in the moonlit ocean, the two rivals wrestled with one another, their hands buried each others hair. Their breasts once again united, though they found themselves no longer the focus of the affair. For the affair had turned. Had darkened. Each of the two warring women blinded by rage, hatred, and an honest fear for their own life. Mary and Erin fighting like wild animals. Each angry beyond reason. All semblance of control and contest lost, it being washed out to see as they pushed each other deeper and deeper into the water. With grips on hair, dragging the other under the water, only to find themselves taken under by the same.


    That desperate, deadly struggle continued without winner or even a hint of one until Mary pushed Erin back towards the beach. When she finally released the blonde’s hair, the waterline at their knees, the redhead grabbed for the waist of her rival’s tight cutoff jeans. With the grip she found, she began to tug down. Doing so with such force that Erin found herself pulled off balance, again the sea-covered sand giving way beneath her feet. A state of disequilibrium that led to her falling back to the sand, just as her bottoms and panties were torn away and off in one last violent pull by the red-headed hellcat.

    "YOU FUCKING BITCH!" Erin screamed as the cold ocean water slammed against her bare ass and kitty, her head just above the last crashing wave. A feeling that had only half-passed when she rose from the receding sea, enraged and then dove forward and at her rival. The golden-locked gladiator reaching out in the air, claws extended and hooked, looking to catch Mary's waistline -- wanting to bare her enemy to the elements as well. Her dive and aim true, and the weight of her body and fall sufficient, her fingers caught and then pulled, dragging the redhead's own cutoffs and panties down to her ankles beneath the water.

    But that frantic, perhaps foolish dive, put not only her rival’s bottoms beneath the waterline, but the taking blonde as well. She plunging into the cold and frothy ocean, enemy garments in hand. As soon as she felt herself submerge fully, she knew it had been a mistake. Knew that she had left herself vulnerable. And though she then tried to undo what had been done. She spinning there in the water to face and then raise back up as she did, she found Mary’s now bare lower half lower down upon her. The naked pussy of that she-devil pressing not only against Erin’s tightly sealed lips, but also she in her entirety down to the sand beneath the waves. The muscular inner thighs of the same coming in as a wide vice to keep the blonde’s head from pulling out or away.

    As panic set in below the water, Mary’s lips bent into a smile above it, the water rising just under her chin as she sat. She able to breathe, as she kept her rival from doing the same. The redhead’s hands moving to Erin’s tummy to hold her down. To keep her trapped and suffocating -- drowning beneath the waves.

    It was insanity! It was murder! It was sin as carved into tablet upon the mount! But Mary didn’t care. Not then. Not after all the two had done to each other. This had to end. Had to be finished. Only one of them could exist Mary felt to her very core, and it would be her that walked away….

    In opposite of that certainty, Erin panicked, kicking and punching, though to her horror, she found each such attack blunted and slowed by the sea that weighed down upon her. But it was not only the sea that burdened her -- not just the ocean that held her down. No, it was Mary. Her mirror. Her obsession. Her rival. Her enemy. An enemy whose sex pressed down upon her lips. An enemy whose darkstar came to a hard rest on the very tip of Erin’s nose. Humiliating, yes, but lethal beneath the ocean waves more acutely.

    For Mary had her trapped in a reverse facesit beneath the star-filled sky. Not gasping for breath, or fighting for the same, but instead without it entirely. She having only the oxygen she had in her lungs when she plunged into the water to draw from, and even that had gone. Causing the blonde’s lungs to tighten -- to burn as if the flame that had burned in her eyes and soul before, had jumped a bank and set a new blaze. Such distress and pain -- fear and frenzied panic left Erin barely able to think or strategize how she might escape. Nor did she have the time to, even if she had the focus, for her consciousness began to fade.

    And so without weighing the cost or the consequence -- the shame or revulsion of it, Erin did the only thing that she could think of. Bite.

    Bite hard.

    Bite viciously.

    Digging her teeth deep into Mary’s sea-salt-flavored labial folds. In reaction and agony, Mary, whose head remained just above the water, screamed out into the night. A cry that came as she on instinct alone tried to stand. Tried to pull away, but Erin held on -- the blonde finding one last draw of breath from inside her rival’s suddenly unsealed vaginal canal. A breath that allowed the golden-locked gladiator to hang on, she wrapping her arms around Mary’s thighs just as the redhead stood and began to drag both her own body, and Erin’s out of the water. The upper lips of she who pulled away so desperately whimpering, not softly or sensually, but like an animal wounded.

    Finally, Mary’s effort to pull away worked, for when Erin’s biting mouth broke the surface of the receding waves, she released her clenched jaw. The blonde thereafter gasping for breath through vicious, hacking coughs. Despite those coughs. Despite the danger of not just running. Not just fleeing from the scene of this insane engagement, the blonde chased after Mary and dove out and atop her.

    From that lunge, she landed atop her wounded rival, just past the edge of the oncoming waves. Each of the two searching desperately to grab each other's hands or wrists, to stop any more pain from being inflicted. Mary’s pussy aching from her enemy’s piercing teeth and Erin’s lungs still burning from being so long deprived of air. In those mutually harmed and nearly helpless states they wrestled one another beneath the stars. Their hands finding each other, and their fingers lacing on both hands as they rolled together in the wet sand -- parallel to the ocean edge behind them. Neither speaking or threatening anymore. Focused instead and entirely on their battle. Their long war.

    At that moment, under the moon, it seemed as if they might roll forever together. Their bruised and battered breasts sliding together and then apart, contact which caused each pain they had no choice but to ignore. Finally, however, their momentum ebbed, and their tumble ceased, with Erin ending up on top of her exhausted rival.

    In that sudden cessation of rotation, Erin extended her arms to the side of their nude and pressing bodies. Bodies which were aligned from head to toe. Forehead pressing against forehead. Breast pressing against breast. Their tummies, thighs, and knees all following suit as they laid together spent and spiteful in the sand.

    For what seemed like an eternity, but was only a minute or two, they rested in that way. Neither willing to call their battle over, or even speak. But then, without a word, Mary fired up her right arm, pressing palm-to-palm with Erin. The redhead trying to push the blonde not only up, but over, and onto her back.

    Against that press Erin fought, using her fatigue-weakened left arm to push down with all the energy left within her. But it was not enough. For with every second the test of wills and remaining reserves continued, Mary’s arm raised further and further off the wet sand. Lifting not only Erin’s arm but body with it, leaning the pinning blonde’s form over, barely at first, and then further -- and then farther.

    When finally it seemed a fait accompli that Erin would be toppled, and Mary would thereafter mount her in the sand, the blonde found the strength to mutter hatefully, though in an effort-broken voice. “Bii-tt-cc-hh...”

    To that curse came a reply, the voice that gave it, Mary’s, even more, ragged and tortured by exhaustion. “Cu-nn-tt…”

    Two rivals -- two enemies exchanging their final words of hatred and anger before what each expected to be the climax of their long war of attrition. And though Erin felt it, in her very bones that she was about to be thrown to the side and overpowered. That she had survived near death by drowning and suffocation under her rival’s sex, only to likely find herself beneath it once more….

    Mary suddenly collapsed. The redhead’s body giving in as she fell back to the wet sand below. Unable to push against her rival’s body with her own a moment more. Unable to fight her enemy even a second longer.

    One might assume that Erin would taunt her rival. Mock her collapse and the weakness she had finally shown. But Erin had nothing left herself. Only enough energy, after a few silent moments beneath the moon, to lift her body an inch or two off of the redhead’s and then drop it. Slamming her body, and most painfully, her breasts atop her foe’s. The resulting collision caused both Mary and Erin to grunt out in pain, but Mary’s was worse. Louder. Like the wailing of a dying animal. One without hope of escape or survival.

    Despite how awful that sound was -- how harrowing it might have been for a passerby who might have heard it, Erin lifted her body again and then dropped it. Crashing her tits down on top of Mary’s, who again cried out in agony.

    The first two such dropping blows, Erin took while watching her rival’s dimming eyes, the sea-wet foreheads of the two girls sealed together. But having taken that image into her soul, and then matching it with the tormented howl of her foe, one that seared itself into her memory, the blonde bent her neck and pressed cheek-to-cheek with Mary. An alteration of position she took before lifting herself and dropping again. And again. And again. Each impact coming with the sound of an echoing clap that seemed to fill the cold, sea air around them.

    Contrary to her threats, Erin planned on continuing her cruel crashing of bodies until Mary gave her submission. But that submission did not come. Not after 7 drops of her busty body atop her rival’s, nor after 15. And so she continued. The blonde’s lips letting loose hot, quick breaths of exertion into Mary’s ear, as Mary’s began to offer not but pitiful whimpers and strengthless moans.

    I could describe it for you, the rest of Mary’s punishment. How Erin continued to splash her own body against the redheads for hours thereafter. Taking breaks of increasing length between each such assault of one body crashing into another. But in the telling, it would lose something… In its transition from reality to words, it would become less than the hell that it was.

    A hell that did not end with a tearful submission by Mary. No, for when the dawn broke -- when light returned to the world and that little strip of beach, our rivals remained. Their bodies still pressed together. Erin still atop Mary. They two perfectly mirrored warriors having passed out in each other's arms during the long painful night.

    The End.
    Last edited by Rivals_Rapture; 1 Week Ago at 11:49 PM.


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    Re: Where Waves and Breasts Crash - Story

    Great story, Rivals! Fantastic girls, fantastic writing. And it's funny, cause I'm working in my own "The French Cousin" version
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    Re: Where Waves and Breasts Crash - Story

    It's not that I couldn't find praise for the masterful work you just delivered...rather I'm looking forward to finally pin you to the sand so to speak
    The home of my multi-part work: https://www.patreon.com/powelltothepeople

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    Red face Re: Where Waves and Breasts Crash - Story

    Quote Originally Posted by Anubisx View Post
    Great story, Rivals! Fantastic girls, fantastic writing. And it's funny, cause I'm working in my own "The French Cousin" version
    Thank you, thank you, thank you, Anubis! It always means so much to me when a writer as talented and experienced as yourself likes what I have written.

    But moving on from that joy, what are the chances we would both be writing such re-tellings? It certainly speaks to the quality of the original piece. I can't wait to read your take!

    That being said, I have to admit, I'm not quite sure which feeling is stronger. My shameful excitement at being your rival in taking a stab at recreating the same such tale? Or my fear of being absolutely humiliated when yours is better by leaps and bounds. But, such is our obsession.

    ----------------

    And, Drew (catfightlover40), I hope to be keeping you pinned beneath me very soon.


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    Re: Where Waves and Breasts Crash - Story

    Fantastic rewrite of an all-time great unfinished story. Not sure why it was titled "The French Cousin", maybe because the writer intended to introduce a French cousin later on? Your version captured the essence of the original very well, bravo.

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    Re: Where Waves and Breasts Crash - Story

    Dear Rivals Rapture,

    This is a really great story. I'm not familiar with the original, but this one certainly shines by itself. For me, it's right on the edge of acceptable violence, but you do a great job of describing and explaining the women's feelings for each other, their shared hate and how close their fight is. You also creates a powerful erotic environment, though I feel it does not go quite far enough. As I've said before, to me, a fight that begins as a titfight that does not, eventually, become a sexfight is a wasted opportunity. I was hoping this was going in that direction when the women got naked, but no such luck. Still, in this story, ending with the titfight actually works, unlike (in my view) in most such stories. Even so, I encourage you to do a sequel that leads on to a sexfight.

    Great work,

    JB
    JB57

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    Talking Re: Where Waves and Breasts Crash - Story

    Quote Originally Posted by JB57 View Post
    Dear Rivals Rapture,

    This is a really great story. I'm not familiar with the original, but this one certainly shines by itself. For me, it's right on the edge of acceptable violence, but you do a great job of describing and explaining the women's feelings for each other, their shared hate and how close their fight is. You also creates a powerful erotic environment, though I feel it does not go quite far enough. As I've said before, to me, a fight that begins as a titfight that does not, eventually, become a sexfight is a wasted opportunity. I was hoping this was going in that direction when the women got naked, but no such luck. Still, in this story, ending with the titfight actually works, unlike (in my view) in most such stories. Even so, I encourage you to do a sequel that leads on to a sexfight.

    Great work,

    JB

    Rather than using what seems to be my default phrasing when responding to a legend of this genre, I'll take a different route. That being: Oh. My. God. I love your writing! I am such a giant fan of yours! I have been reading your stories since forever, and you are my favorite writer without question. To be honest, I didn't feel like I had actually and officially become a writer in this genre until you made the above comment. That is the importance of you even taking a moment to read my work. <3

    But moving past just the fact that it was you who read and made comment on this story, I'll respond to your perfectly soft "whish-you-would'ves".

    On my last few stories, I have been somewhat bound. As I had not only been trying to, in my work, respond to the criticism that my stories were too sexual, but was also writing this particular story for and with someone who was one of those critics. So anytime I would delve too far into the sexual, I would be drug back.

    That being said, I don't want that to seem as a plea from a captive writer, begging for some sort of rescue. It is important to me, silly or not, to write stories for the various types of readers in this genre.

    Some readers love sexfights and want every feud to be, either entirely or at the very least in its last fateful breaths, about sexual confrontation and domination. Others feel that sensuality should be implied in words, felt by the girls, but not acted upon. And others still belive that every ounce of sensuality reduces the intensity of the scene and the hatred the two girls feel for each other, and that by including it, you're ruining the story for them. I am not qualified to say which is right and which is wrong. But I am, at least currently, trying to write stories for all of those persons -- even if it means writing adverse to what I would want.

    And what I would want, in almost every story, is what you would want. One of the reasons that you are my favorite author, is that I feel like your inclinations are very similar to my own.

    All of that explanation aside, thank you for reading. Thank you for praising. And I have been trying to dream up a scenario to get Erin and Mary into a sexfight. Though it may sound lazy, having read this one, how would you lead them into such a scenario? (Don't tell me if you'll be upset when I use it. lol)


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    Re: Where Waves and Breasts Crash - Story


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    Where Waves and Breasts Crash - Story
    Quote Originally Posted by Rivals_Rapture View Post
    Rather than using what seems to be my default phrasing when responding to a legend of this genre, I'll take a different route. That being: Oh. My. God. I love your writing! I am such a giant fan of yours! I have been reading your stories since forever, and you are my favorite writer without question. To be honest, I didn't feel like I had actually and officially become a writer in this genre until you made the above comment. That is the importance of you even taking a moment to read my work. <3

    But moving past just the fact that it was you who read and made comment on this story, I'll respond to your perfectly soft "whish-you-would'ves".

    On my last few stories, I have been somewhat bound. As I had not only been trying to, in my work, respond to the criticism that my stories were too sexual, but was also writing this particular story for and with someone who was one of those critics. So anytime I would delve too far into the sexual, I would be drug back.

    That being said, I don't want that to seem as a plea from a captive writer, begging for some sort of rescue. It is important to me, silly or not, to write stories for the various types of readers in this genre.

    Some readers love sexfights and want every feud to be, either entirely or at the very least in its last fateful breaths, about sexual confrontation and domination. Others feel that sensuality should be implied in words, felt by the girls, but not acted upon. And others still belive that every ounce of sensuality reduces the intensity of the scene and the hatred the two girls feel for each other, and that by including it, you're ruining the story for them. I am not qualified to say which is right and which is wrong. But I am, at least currently, trying to write stories for all of those persons -- even if it means writing adverse to what I would want.

    And what I would want, in almost every story, is what you would want. One of the reasons that you are my favorite author, is that I feel like your inclinations are very similar to my own.

    All of that explanation aside, thank you for reading. Thank you for praising. And I have been trying to dream up a scenario to get Erin and Mary into a sexfight. Though it may sound lazy, having read this one, how would you lead them into such a scenario? (Don't tell me if you'll be upset when I use it. lol)

    Dear Rival,

    Thanks for the high praise! That is quite a compliment.

    I won't comment on the bulk of your message, though I think that you express your dilemma very well. I think it is remarkable that you are the kind of writer who can take the preferences of readers into account when writing. I find that I simply cannot. If I don't write these stories for myself and to my tastes then I would never be able to write them at all. I am fortunate in that many people share my tastes. This is one of the reasons that I don't write for commission.

    Re: your question about how to bring Erin and Mary back into battle - well, there are a number of ways, I suppose. The key thing is that you have managed to catch a really special kind of erotic lightning in a bottle by having them fighting on a beach. So, I'd suggest getting them back to that same scenario, except adding in an intense sexfight to go with the titfight. The most obvious way to do this is to have Mary, the nominal loser of this hard-fought battle, contact Erin and demand a rematch at the same place. Or, you could have it so that they meet by chance again, this time at some kind of tropical resort or in a private cove. You don't provide a lot of backstory for either woman, so there is a lot that you could do with that by making them work in similar professions or some other way to put them in the same place at the same time.

    Good luck!

    JB57
    JB57

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