Sunday afternoon, when the doorbell rang, I quickly removed my apron and walked to the front door. I’d given our maid and cook the day off, not wanting to scandalize them with the afternoon’s entertainment; so it was just going be my husband, myself, Pam, and five or six Japanese businessmen, along with a Japanese business interpreter.
My husband had informed his colleagues ahead of time about the unusual entertainment he’d arranged so that they would leave their children and wives at the hotel. When I opened the door, however, six Japanese men greeted me – all smiles – along with five Japanese women. As we were bowing to one another and I was liberally applying my rudimentary conversational Japanese, one of the women introduced herself as the interpreter and explained that the younger wives had expressed their dismay at being left out. They wanted to see our home, about which they’d heard so much, but, like their husbands, they were thrilled with the idea of watching two Western women catfight.
The five women looked so reserved, pretty, and demure, I couldn’t imagine why they wanted to see such a spectacle, but the interpreter again assured me that they were well aware of the sexual power of such fantasies and that their husbands had shared their manga and hentai catfight material with them on many occasions.
I’d forgotten the Japanese male fascination with erotic cartoons and animation, but my husband and I had some of this material in our own collection, too. In fact, a strip catfight between Sailor Moon and one of her notorious adversaries was one of my favorite animated shorts.
My husband joined us, and we proceeded outside to the garden adjacent to the pool for drinks and hors d’oeuvres. There were a few initial, shy questions from the wives, who giggled charmingly as a group, about who the other woman was and when she would arrive; but we soon settled comfortably into conversations about gardening and flower arranging, while the men, who appeared not to speak a word of English, monopolized the interpreter in conversation with my husband. Between my bad Japanese and the wives’ fair to good English, we were having a wonderful afternoon, laughing and enjoying the cooler, less humid weather that had arrived that morning.
Half an hour went by pleasantly in this manner, when I heard the doorbell again. I set my drink nervously on a table and, making apologies for my exit in the fashion of the Japanese, went to greet my adversary.
When I answered the door, Pam turned to face me, and I was immediately put at ease. She was everything I’d hoped she would be – feminine, pretty, well-groomed, and with a broad, sweet smile on her face. I welcomed her with outstretched hands and a kiss on the cheek, and she waved goodbye to the cab and walked in with her purse and what looked to be a small, overnight bag.
We hadn’t discussed any post-catfight arrangements, but I was happy that she felt comfortable enough to assume she’d be welcome.
“Well, I’m not disappointed,” she said, looking me over and smiling. “You’re even more gorgeous than your picture!”
“Thanks, Pam! And you’re as pretty as I’d imagined and everything I could want in a first-time partner in this venture.”
I gave her a brief tour of the main rooms on the ground floor, pointing through the large bay window in the dining room to the assembled guests in the garden, who were waving merrily at us. Pam and I waved back, and she asked where she could put her things and freshen up. I showed her to the guest wing, upstairs, and gave her the nicest of the rooms with private bath. She suggested that she wanted a shower, after two airports, a plane, and two cab rides, so I showed her where everything was and told her to join us in the garden, when she was ready.
When I rejoined the group outside, there was a pregnant pause, and I explained that Pam would be coming down as soon as she’d refreshed herself. One of the men asked through the interpreter, if we were planning some sort of role play – like two jealous women fighting over my husband.
I replied, “No, when the bell rings – or whatever we use as a signal – we’re just going to go for each other.”
“Will you tear each other’s clothing?” one of the wives asked.
“I’d be very surprised if either of us had a stitch of clothing left, when we’re through,” I answered.
This brought big smiles and excited toasts and conversation from the men and more giggling and averted eyes from the women.
My husband put his arm around me and said, “My wife is doing this, because it’s my favorite fantasy – to watch her in a fight with another woman in which she either humiliates her opponent or gets humiliated. The goal is not to hurt each other but for one woman to leave the other stripped and degraded.”
More titters from the wives and excited conversation from the men.
We all turned, as Pam entered the garden via the patio door and walked toward us, stunning in the outfit we’d agreed upon – a dark pink, almost maroon silk blouse and a patterned, black and pink Greek skirt. Her pantyhose were so sheer, I had to look twice to make sure she was wearing them, and her shoes were simple low pumps, completely appropriate for a garden party.
As my husband introduced her to the group, I judged her to be maybe five to eight years older than I -- well, she said she was in her late 30’s – and maybe an inch or two shorter. Probably about 5’4” or so, I thought. She looked fit and trim but had picked up the few pounds in the tummy and hips that all women anticipate after 35. Her short, bobbed haircut was freshly blown dry, and I could see that she’d used ample conditioner in the shower. It was hard to judge, but I was anticipating a large b or small c-cup, when I eventually pulled off her bra, and the thought made me giggle nervously.
My husband had fixed Pam a drink, and she was listening to the interpreter tell her how much her willingness to entertain the group was appreciated by the men. I wondered if they understood that we had arranged this fight because we had wanted to do it – and that they were one of the conditions that made it more exciting for us. I doubted it, but the idea that they believed we were fighting for their pleasure somehow made it even more exciting for me.
Pam excused herself from the group and walked over to me. “That’s a lovely silk blouse, Avi. Didn’t I see it in the Orvis catalogue?”
“You probably did,” I said. “They said it was midnight electric blue, but it’s a little lighter than I’d wanted.”
“Are you sure you want to get it ripped off you? It looks expensive.”
“It is, but you-know-who picked it out for me to wear, so what can I do? I just hope I see it again in the fall catalogue. This little tan skirt’s a TJ Maxx, though. You should have no trouble ripping it to shreds.”
“You’ve cut your pretty auburn hair, too, since that photograph was taken. It looks like mine.”
“You picture gave me the idea,” I said. “I’d been wanting to try something different, and my hairdresser is German. It was easy for her.”
We drank a few sips and tried to unwind, a little, while listening to the others talk and laugh.
After a moment, Pam asked, “You nervous?”
“Completely!” I replied. “So nervous and excited, it feels like I might swoon or faint. How about you?”
“The same,” she smiled. “I’m already pretty aroused, too, and my pantyhose are definitely beginning to feel moist.”
“Me, too,” I laughed.
“We hadn’t discussed this, Avi, but I’m going to be feeling incredibly turned on, by the time we finish. Is there any way we can take a few minutes together, afterward?”
“I, ummm…hadn’t really thought about it, Pam, but I can see I should have been more thoughtful about your having come here alone.”
“Would he mind?” she said, tilting her head toward my husband.
“I very much doubt that he would,” I said. “He’d never countenance another man squatting on the manor, but he’d probably see you and me being together as foreplay.”
“Aptly put!” Pam whispered, suppressing a laugh. “And how about you? How are you with the idea?”
“To be honest, I’ve never done it, but I’ve had the fantasy many times, after watching catfight videos,” I said. “Tell you what, if you win? You can do whatever you want with me.”
“That’s a deal I’ll shake on, before you can reconsider,” she said, offering me her hand. As we shook, she asked, “But what if you win? What do you want?”
“I honestly haven’t thought about it,” I said. “For me, the fight’s the thing, you know? But I’ll think of something you can agree to, if I win.”
Pam cocked her head and said, “Well, okay…as long as I can veto it. I’m not interested in giving the Japanese delegation blow jobs or anything.”
I snorted. “No, I can well imagine. And I hope you’ll come to know me as someone who would never ask anything of you that you wouldn’t feel comfortable with. The only one who gets to try to degrade you is me,” I whispered.
We drank a few more sips and tossed our hair.
“Do we need to check signals or anything?” I asked.
“It’s our first time, so I’m thinking we should keep it simple and stick with the program,” Pam said. “If there are other times – and I really hope there will be, Avi – we can think about improvisations. I was going to suggest that we might engage in a little forced sexplay, but, with the ground so soggy, I don’t want either of us doing that with muddy fingers.”
“Oooh, I can definitely see not wanting mud there,” I said.
“But, once the signal is given, we should keep our game faces on. No laughing or nervous giggling. We’ll probably enjoy it more, and I know they will, too, if it looks and feels like the real thing.”
“I agree, Pam. We’ll kiss and make up, later. Right now, let’s just go for each other in the worst way. The way this fantasy works for me is that I don’t know who’s going to end up on top. Once we start, I could win or get thoroughly degraded in front of these nice Japanese couples and my husband.”
“That’s the way it works for me, too, Avi,” Pam said.
We set our drinks down and I led her over to a soft grassy depression between the pool and the garden that measured about 10 meters by 20 meters. Our entire backyard is walled in by an eight foot tall brick and stone wall, so no one was going to invade our privacy. Pam and I removed our shoes and tossed them over to where the guests were seated, a few feet away, and we felt our bare stockinged feet squishing on the soggy ground.
We had everyone’s attention, no question, and I asked my husband to start the match by clinking his glass. The Japanese contingent bowed and applauded, as I imagined they might before the beginning of a sumo match, and my husband tapped his glass with a serving spoon.
Pam and I crouched instinctively and began to circle each other warily, perhaps 10 feet apart. To be honest, I’m fairly certain that I was mildly dissociated for the first five minutes or so of our fight, and I don’t recall it very well. I’ve watched my husband’s videotape, and it seems almost as if I’m watching someone else.
I was breathing fast and my heart was pounding, and I can remember thinking that we’d been circling for an awfully long time and that the Japanese must be a very patient people. At some point, I just launched myself at Pam, and we grabbed handfuls of each other’s hair and wrestled each other to the ground, where were rolled back and forth for control. We’d mutually decided, ahead of time, not to start ripping clothes, until we’d had a few good exchanges, so we just wrestled for the top position and tried in vain to keep our skirts down. Whenever the advantage changed hands or there was a flash of a nearly nude bottom, the business men and their wives would cheer loudly and clap. I remember feeling exhilarated, when they were clapping for me, and demoralized, when Pam pulled my skirt up, revealing my ass, as we rolled in front of the group. At one point, the interpreter yelled, “No pussy hair!” and I knew that everyone had seen my clean-shaven mound, as well as my ass. Pam, I’d noticed, was clean shaven, too.
We pulled apart and scrambled to out feet, after several minutes of not being able to establish any dominance. Our blouses and skirts were wet, with streaks of mud and grass stain, and our feet were popping out of our nylons, ripped apart by the wet grass and our struggling. We faced each other about six feet apart, hands on our knees and panting heavily. I thought I might be hyperventilating, I was so worked up, and I wondered about all the stories in which two catfighters had the strength and stamina to call each other names and taunt each other. Pam was clearly in as bad a shape as I, and, if it weren’t for our audience, I’d have suggested a breather then, even though we’d only been at it for a few minutes.
Pam suddenly came toward me, and we embraced in a mutual bearhug, trying to throw each other down. Really what we were doing was leaning on each other and trying to get our breath, but we danced around half-heartedly, making a show. I pulled her skirt up to her mid-back, revealing her bottom, and she did the same to me; so now each of us was trying to turn the other’s backside to the crowd.
When Pam had me turned toward the group, she whispered breathlessly, “Avi…I know…we said…we wouldn’t…improvise…but it seems as good…a time as any…to tear out the backs of our pantyhose.” With that, she pulled the seat of my pantyhose apart until a gaping hole revealed my entire ass and crotch. As I felt the cool air greeting me, I sensed that Pam was allowing me to turn her backside toward the crowd more easily, and I repeated the favor, revealing her pale, pretty bottom. The group was ecstatic, clapping and cheering, and Pam whispered, “Think that will hold them? I can’t…go much…further.” And with that, we both collapsed on our backs, a few feet apart, panting harder than I thought possible.
My heart was pounding, and I thought for a moment that I might be sick. I willed myself to breathe more slowly and deeply and, after a minute, I thought I’d gotten myself a little better under control. The group had been actively commenting, all along, and now the interpreter said, “They think you are magnificent, but they want to know – is it over?”
I coughed, still panting, and managed to reply, “We’re…we’re just…getting started.”
This brought more appreciative applause, and Pam and I struggled to our feet. As we circled again, I wheezed, “Your blouse is mine, Pammy.”
“It’ll cost you,” she smiled, coughing.
We came together and seized onto each other’s blouses, pulling as well as we could. The effect was to swing each other around, but neither of us could gain any advantage. Suddenly, Pam lost her footing and went down, and all of the buttons on her blouse popped off. I fought to pull it off her shoulders, and she was forced to roll onto her stomach, while I continued to pull with all my strength. Finally, her blouse came free, and Pam rolled away, with her black half brassiere in plan sight.
The audience was again appreciative, with clapping, laughter, and gesticulations.
“What were you thinking?” I asked, seeing the half moons of her nipples peaking above her b-cups.
“I was thinking it would be exciting,” Pam said, “and they obviously think so, too.”
Before I could recover, she had sprung at me and pushed me to the ground, straddling me and working on my buttons. I fought to keep her hands away, but, every time I warded one off, another appeared to take its place, ripping and pulling at my blouse. I stopped defending and went on the offense, pulling her half-brassiere down to her waist, but she stayed on target and, having pulled off the buttons to my blouse, popped the front clasp of my candy apple brassiere, freeing my milky c-cup breasts.
Both of us had swollen pink nipples, and I noticed that, not only was I getting my second wind, but I was beginning to feel sexually aroused again. Pam and I hadn’t talked about what was allowed with breasts, but she grabbed mine and began to knead them sensuously with both hands. From beneath her, I followed her lead and started to rub her nipples with my thumbs, while cupping her breasts, and we both seemed content to continue for several minutes, with her astride me in a sort of schoolgirl pin. Our breathing became ragged, again, but, this time, it was sexual excitement, not hyperventilation, that was fueling our fires.
My husband and the Japanese contingent were going wild, clapping and cheering.
Pam changed tactics suddenly and began pulling the shoulders of my blouse down. At first, I couldn’t figure out why, but then my arms began to feel constricted and then I realized, too late, that she’d used my sleeves to pin my arms to my sides. She slid her bottom up until her thighs had me pinned, and her crotch, now open, was rubbing against my chin. I smelled the pungent scent of her pussy and felt her slick labia, gliding on my chin and neck. Kicking and bucking, I tried to roll her off, but was helpless.
“I know we said no facesitting until the skirts came off, but it’s not really facesitting, if I pull you into me,” Pam said, and with two handfuls of my hair, she pulled my face up into her clean-shaven, slick snatch and massaged herself against my mouth and nose.
The emotions I was experiencing were highly conflicted. I was humiliated by the cheers and catcalls from the audience, but I was also incredibly aroused. Yielding to the latter feeling first, I gave her swollen clitoris several quick licks with my tongue and pressed my lips against it to suck gently. This had the desired effect of completely immobilizing Pam with pleasure, and I was able to bring a foot over her shoulder and pull her off to the side.
Once she was off, I scrambled to gain control, and we rolled over and over, getting wetter and muddier from the now broken ground of the lawn. The bras were pulled free and we began to work on the skirts in earnest, tugging and pulling. I felt mine being pulled down over my ass but dislodged the last of Pam’s buttons at the same time. When we struggled to our feet, our skirts were around our ankles, and we kicked them off to the side.
Panting from the exertion, once again, we faced each other, hands on our knees, maybe ten feet apart, struggling to catch our breath. My face was wet and sticky with Pam’s juices, and I wanted to do the same to her. I lurched toward her, and she was so out of-breath that all she could do was collapse beneath me. I’ll take it, I thought; and, holding her arms to her sides, I swung my leg over her and dropped my bottom gently onto her face in a reverse straddle. She raised her legs and curled her toes feebly in protest – probably more for the group’s benefit than anything else – and I proceeded to satisfy my sadistic urges by rubbing my slick ass and pussy all over her face.
My husband and the Japanese couples were again on their feet and clapping enthusiastically. My husband was cheering, “Give it to her, Avi! Squeeze your juice all over her face and hair!” I took my time and queened Pammy good and proper. We were both clearly resting and recovering, but I was on top and it felt exhilarating. After a couple of minutes, I raised up slightly, just brushing my sex-congested labia lightly across Pam’s nose and mouth. She did exactly what I had done, and I felt her tongue seeking my clitoris. I adjusted myself to the optimum distance, and Pammy swirled her pink, soft tongue expertly around my sensitive spot, kissing and sucking on my button.
The women in the group sensed what was happening and let their husbands know. They seemed to be thinking that the victor was receiving her reward from the loser, so I abandoned myself to the feelings and heard my own breathing become ragged and uneven. Just as the feelings were beginning to build in earnest, though, I suddenly became shy about allowing myself to lose control, and adjusted myself forward to bring my slick, pink rosebud over Pam’s nose and mouth.
I jiggled my bottom in her face for another minute, before hopping off and helping her to her feet. The applause from the group was sustained and the acclaim, sincere. My husband explained to our guests that this was only the first round, and Pam and I both sat down, facing each other.
“You really worked me over,” she whispered. “I was surprised at the range of emotions I was feeling.”
“I hope it wasn’t too much, Pam,” I said, concerned.
“No, Avi, it was…well, it was amazing. It was arousing but embarrassing. No, not embarrassing…shaming. My mind was bouncing back and forth. I was aware of everyone watching me…watching you do that to me. I thought I was going to start crying, at one point…at the end, when you pulled your pussy away and started rubbing your ass in my face. It felt like you really did want to humiliate me, and it was powerful.”
“That’s funny, because I thought you were trying to humiliate me by making me come. And I felt like I wanted to get you back for that.”
“Oh, you did, all right!”
“Are you still game for another round?” I asked.
“Oh, without question. It’s funny, but I almost feel like I can’t leave without evening the score. Like I can’t let you get away with doing that to me…at least, not without my doing it to you.”
“Well, we said the second round could serve that purpose,” I whispered. “As long as we made it look convincing. I’m sure my husband won’t mind seeing me get my comeuppance.”
“Let’s get started, then,” Pam said.
With that, she rolled on top of me, and together we rolled back and forth, pulling hair and, whenever the opportunity arose, shredding each other’s pantyhose until only our waistbands and a few rags remained.
The Japanese husbands and wives were cheering unabashed, as I pulled Pam’s legs apart, giving them an unobstructed view of her gaping pussy and ass. She quickly disentangled herself, and we struggled hand-to-hand for dominance, lying side-by-side, feet-to-heads. Pam suddenly grabbed my legs, pinning them together and scissored me, pinning my right arm in her crotch. Unfortunately, I couldn’t move my right hand at all, even to tickle her bottom, which I would have done, if I could. With my left hand, I tried to pry her legs apart but was getting nowhere, when she grabbed my left wrist with her own left hand and trapped me completely.
Every few second, I struggled, but she held me tightly, and I realized that she could easily go for a reverse straddle pin, from this position.
I waited for the inevitable, thinking that I didn’t even have to let her win the round, but Pam didn’t move. We just lay there, breathing hard, with her having completely tied me up.
Being totally immobilized and helpless was starting to make me feel panicky and claustrophobic, and I was beginning to show signs of distress.
“You’re not going anywhere, until I say you are,” Pam whispered, and I realized she was getting some sadistic pleasure of her own. I struggled and whimpered and felt tears forming in the corners of my eyes.
“You can cry like a little girl, if you want, Avi,” Pam whispered again. And it was then that I realized she was playing out a scene I had confided to her, when we were talking on the telephone a few days earlier.
We had been speculating about the origins of our sexualized feelings associated with fighting, and I had told her about an older cousin who always wanted to wrestle, when I visited. We would go up to her room, where she would quickly overpower me, pinning me to the floor or bed and holding me, trapped and helpless, until I would begin to cry. Once, when we fought barefoot, she rubbed her feet in my face, and I was amazed and thrilled at the feelings it raised within me. From that point on, I always insisted that we wrestle barefoot, and I was seldom disappointed with the outcome.
Just as I was feeling the beginnings of a sob, welling up from within me from some primitive place, I felt the cool, wet skin of Pam’s foot caressing my face. I gasped and our visitors, taking my reaction to be a sign of shame and humiliation, applauded Pam’s strategy.
For my part, I felt a gush of fluid between my legs, and my loins began to tingle with excitement. I still made little noises of distress and struggled ineffectually to pull away, but this bit of acting only added to my excitement. Pam pinned my head to the ground with her foot and worked me over, rubbing her sole all over my face and using her toes to tweak my nose and pull at my lips.
Her foot smelled like grass, and her skin was soft and pink. Involuntarily, I began to sob quietly, and, after another minute, Pam shifted her position to straddle my chest in reverse. Looking over her shoulder, down at my face, she said, “I hope you’re a good sport, because I need payback.”
She raised her bottom over my face, her puckery pink rosebud just a few inches from my nose, and settled herself onto me, wriggling for emphasis. I wasn’t immediately prepared for the odor, but we’d been fighting for nearly 20 minutes, and our sweat and pussy juice had long since displaced any benefit a shower might have given. I breathed through my mouth, and Pam was considerate about giving me enough air; but she was definitely taking her time and doing a thorough job.
As she massaged her ass into my face, she pulled my knees apart, revealing me completely to the appreciative crowd. My husband, who was videotaping the scene in close up, was crouching a few feet away, catching glimpses of my slimy face, whenever Pam raised her bottom for a moment. The wives and their husbands had also come closer, and were excitedly offering commentary to one another. One of the wives laughed, and I think she said something like, “That is what I would like to do to that secretary of yours! Then she would never show her face again!” The group laughed heartily, and I began to wonder if Pam was ever going to let me up.
Suddenly, I felt her shifting slightly, and then I felt her tongue, parting my labia. The sensations were incredible; and, when she found my clitoris, I moaned loudly and raised my legs. She nipped gently at my button and swirled her tongue around it, until I shuddered, and then she began to stroke me with purpose.
“Great!” I thought. “She’s already giving me the worst humiliation of my life, and now she’s going to make me orgasm, right here in front of everyone.”
Then I realized that, when she shifted to get at my crotch, her ass raised up, and I could lift my face and probe her with my tongue. I quickly found her button, and it was Pam’s turn to gasp. “Ooooh! Uunnnh!” As we lavished attention upon each other’s crotches, pausing occasionally to catch a breath or moan, it was clear that we were in a race – one I was determined to win. My husband and I sometimes have similar contests; and, whenever I think he’s successfully distracting himself from the sensations I’m giving him, I start making lots of licking and smacking mouth noises. He gets so turned on by this that I seldom have to wait more than a few seconds for a mouthful of his sweet, hot semen.
This tactic apparently works with women, too! A few moments later, Pam’s back arched, and her tongue disengaged from my button, as she shuddered and moaned with an orgasm for nearly ten seconds, before collapsing exhausted on top of me. As the crowd erupted with cheers, I gave her another 20 seconds or so, before rolling her over and settling my bottom, once again, on her face.
For me, this was more like a victory lap, though, and I gave her a good sliming for maybe a minute, before rolling off and pulling her up for a hug. Courteous as ever, the wives and their husbands each insisted on bowing to us and shaking our hands. I was barely aware of it, however, being somewhat preoccupied with needs of my own.
Pam and I excused ourselves to go and shower, and she, being gracious in defeat, treated me to several orgasms on the guest bed, both before and after our leisurely shower together. I’m sure my husband would have enjoyed watching, but he had his duties as host to consider. In any case, he enjoyed hearing about it later.
When Pam and I rejoined the party, perhaps an hour later, we were – as I had predicted – treated like rock stars by our guests.
Was the experience everything I’d hoped for?
Nearly. I was certainly surprised at how anxious and dissociated I was in the beginning and how out-of-breath and fatigued I became, after just a few minutes of fighting. Pam said basically the same thing, and we both think we’re likely to relax and enjoy ourselves even more, next time.
Necessarily, there was a certain lack of anonymity that nevertheless plays a strong role in my fantasies. But, of course, I would never have agreed to fight a woman I didn’t know at all, so the comfort of a certain degree of familiarity was a necessary dilution. I knew – even after a single extended telephone call – that Pam and I could become good friends; and I knew after a single afternoon and evening together that we will become good friends.
We still plan to fight again – maybe again and again, who knows? – but we both doubt that we’ll find the intensity that we’re looking for, as long as we’re close.
Still, neither Pam nor my husband nor I would trade the experience for anything, and I’m imagining that a certain group of foreign businessmen and their wives wouldn’t either.
[Authors's Note: As always, your comments and critiques are welcome and encourage the writers among us to continue depicting our experiences and generate new fiction.]
Great match Avi, well done by both of you, the acting and the real action!!! Although it was mostly planned, you did a great job for your 1st time. I thoroughly enjoyed your story, thankyou for shating it with us, and I hope you and her can hook up again for a 2nd match.