The Cockpit

[PiersKnight]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE COCKPIT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day after we married in early April this year (2003) Fran and I went for a quick sex tour of Paris and the next day to Amsterdam's deservedly infamous Red Light District. During the daytime we’d had a great time seeing the sights, museums and galleries as we waited for the night. We had made the mistake of venturing onto the streets in fine clothes and while I passed for being quite soberly dressed, Fran was wearing a classic ? length off the shoulder halter gown, which had a strapless shoulder arrangement like a curtain pelmet, which allowed for a very broad, wide open chest area over her enormous plump *****. Needless to say, she was attracting some attention.

Once it was dark we walked the narrow alleyways and gamut of near naked prostitutes draping themselves in large, brightly lit windows ranging from the fresh young things to decidedly disgusting old hags. Music of every genre blasted from these windows and from the tightly nestled bars, cafes and coffee houses, the old buildings leaning at odd angles overlooking tree-enshrouded canals *****ling their garish lights in a riot of colour in the canal.

In our search for sex-fighting Fran and I had already spoken with some of the locals about the famed sex shows and we’d been told we’d find the big sex shows by the canals. An old man, his eyes boggling at Fran’s voluptuous cleavage and broad breasts, after we told him what kind of sex show we were looking for (sex fighting and cat fighting) told us to go to the Casa Rosso or the Banana Bar where we might be lucky enough to gain entrance to one of the few exclusive brothels hidden from general view, which specialise in S&M and other things such as kinky sex and some really perverse **** like bestiality and much, much worse, - things which in decent American or British society would get you locked away!

Fran was propositioned four or five times in the space of ten minutes in the crowded Casa Rosso and was jostled and groped by girls as well as sex hungry men. Her luscious melons were just too tempting. In recent weeks Fran had put more weight on, possibly due to the Lasagne craving she had developed. “Yes, you look good. Your body is magnificent, but you’ll have to stop eating Lasagne’s and other fattening dishes,” I said. “Oh, you’re just mean!” Fran said. “Can’t I stop eating them next week?” she pleaded. I relented; I was enjoying looking at her extremely full, firm foot long *****, which stuck straight out in front of her. I knew that they had grown bigger owing to her diet because when lying down I could lose my head between them completely now! She noticed and puffed her chest out, the site was truly incredible.

A statuesque woman who introduced herself as Rosa dressed scantily in what I can only describe as leather thongs and a slashed leather bodice glared jealously at Fran’s huge breasts and divined instantly what we were looking for and directed us into the ‘lion’s den’ of Amsterdam. Warmoesstraat is lined with a wealth of gay and lesbian bars in one of which two muscular and busty lesbians were fighting tooth and nail in a mud pit at the very back of the premises, one of obviously African origin, strongly built with firm, gravity defying breasts and long purple ******s, the other a muscular white girl.

The fighting looked brutal and as the loud rock music blasted our ears Fran and I watched in an atmosphere of sexual tension among the baying crowd, the screaming of the fighters drowned out by the noise as they tore into each other, biting, scratching and throwing each other around in the sunken pit like wild animals. The ‘mud’ was not the clinging variety and oozed off their naked bodies revealing bleeding scratches on their sizable breasts. The fight seemed to have no rules and was unbridled ‘Total Fighting’ in mud. It was very fast and furious with the girls punching like boxers as well as wrestling each other around the pit. I learned that these women were mostly prostitutes, usually foreigners attracted by the temptation of high earnings, many of them from poor African countries, and did this for high money stakes and occasionally one of them would die in a fight, but the first the police knew about it was when they found the body floating in a canal after being disposed of by the organisers of this illegal kind of female cockfighting.

I didn’t know that detail until after this fight was over and for the time being I stood with the rest of the howling crowd shaking with excitement and with one of the hardest erections I have ever had. I glanced at Fran who was distractedly squeezing her huge ***** together with her hands in her excitement, but hardly anyone else noticed, they were all intent on the fight. A couple of obvious lesbians had noticed though. But despite the notably busty blonde one being very attractive and provocatively dressed in a red and black bustier I was unconcerned by them for the time being as the smaller of the fighters, the white girl, was floored and the bigger girl thumped her *** down on her belly and began pulling at and punching the defeated girl’s big breasts brutally. Blood streaked both sweating fighters so much they looked like they’d been in an abattoir. The smaller girl seemed to pass out and the big girl proclaimed the winner.

As the crowd headed en masse for the bars the two lesbians came alongside Fran. They quickly realised she was a Brit and they spoke excellent English. “You look like a Hooker, **** girl!” the small, dark girl said. “Leave her. Her juicy **** and **** are mine!” the taller and busty blonde girl said. “Hey. Get off!” Fran said as the blonde stroked her hair and began to push her fingers into her cleavage. I turned around to try to protect Fran, but the smaller girl blocked me. I needn’t have worried as a sharp jab from Fran’s elbow in the blonde’s ribs stopped her. “Where are the *** fight clubs?” Fran demanded as she gripped the blonde’s chin and yanked her upright. The crowd immediately around us parted sensing a ***** fight might be in the offing. “I’LL fight your ****!” the blonde exploded loudly as she rabbit punched Fran in one of her ****. “UUUGGH” Fran gasped as she doubled momentarily and clutched at her ****, which had slipped out of her dress, then she strode angrily forwards, her *** still hanging out, and head-butted the blonde. The girl staggered back clutching her forehead, a nosebleed spattering her shelf-like front.

The crowd yelled for them to be taken to the cockpit so they could finish the fight. I felt as though the situation was rapidly rocketing out of control. I was afraid for Fran as she was partially shielded from my view. Between people and over their shoulders and heads I saw both women’s arms flailing as they punched one another. It looked like an old-fashioned prizefight but within seconds there were screams from both girls as they grabbed each other’s bulging breasts.

Pulled apart by a group of large men I took to be what passed for the security team in this sleaze-pit, they were escorted away to a room behind the bar. “Don’t worry,” a local man yelled in my ear; “They’re being taken away to get changed for the Cockpit,” he informed me. He clutched at my arm as I turned away: “The winner gets a thousand Euros!” he said, - as if Fran would do this for money. I just hoped to God that she would not get badly hurt. I was also concerned that the thin, watery mud must be filthy with bodily fluids and blood as the strobe lights glinted evilly on it, as it lay like a sludge monster in its blue plastic lined pit. I fought my way to the fenced off edge of the pit I could have seen the fight clearly enough on one of the giant screens around the sleazy joint, but I reckoned I should support Fran as much as I could.

I leaned on the rail as some six feet or so below me the two doors in the padded walls at either end of the pit opened simultaneously. Each busty queen emerged identically dressed in a short white vest and a white thong. Their bulging breasts showed clearly through the thin, cheap cotton vests, deliberately several sizes too small, and obviously designed to be ripped off, their ******s straining the fabric as though trying to punch through it, their large areolas absolutely clear for all to see. The girls were certainly bustier than the two who fought previously in the cockpit. “My goodness!” I thought: “Fran’s a H cup, but the blonde girl’s not far behind!” Fran’s huge, virtually self-supporting **** over shadowed everything else, her ribs, but not the swell of her belly. “If I did not know that Fran had pigged out on Lasagne I’d swear that she was pregnant,” I thought.

The spotlights over the pit came on and the music’s volume lowered a little as the PA loudspeakers crackled into life and a thick Dutch accent proclaimed in English for Fran‘s benefit: “This is a one round fight to the finish between the beautiful Cockpit Queen, Saskia and the Engelse challenger Frances.” My stomach turned somersaults with my trepidation as I watched the two busty girls staring with sheer hostility at one another across the pit. “Please do not throw anything in the pit.” the PA commanded. “Anyone who does will be thrown out!” I clung hard to the rail in front of me as the excited crowd jostled me. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the rail harder as the two beauties below began to walk slowly towards each other, their arms held wide, ready to fight. The music grew louder and pulsated through the floor and through my body as the strobe lighting made the whole scene look like a nightmarish movie...............

The changing light quality because of the strobes gave the scene an unearthly appearance, but even through this I could clearly see that Saskia’ s breasts were smaller and more pert than Fran’s which, despite their size disadvantage, were still firm and where Saskia’s thrust through her flimsy top like torpedo’s, her big ******s more or less to the front, Fran’s were more rounded, but her turgid areolas bulged out like hills and her stretched ******s - at least an inch long, were thick and rigid.

The evening was not meant to have been like this. We were looking for a floorshow, Fran did not come to the sleaze pits of Amsterdam with the object of competing and BECOMING the floorshow, but - her quick temper had got her into trouble again. I swayed like grass in a breeze as the roaring crowd jostled, but I kept my gaze fixed on the cockpit below. The women were as different as they were stunning, - in their own way. Although a little out of shape Fran looked clearly like the stronger woman. At 5’6”tall and weighing more than 175lbs she somewhat resembles Jill Mills, currently the world’s strongest woman, (2003) in body shape, but with bigger breasts, more modest biceps and no washboard stomach and, whereas Jill can lift the front of a car Fran has no trouble lifting my 197lbs onto her shoulder. By contrast, Saskia was at least an inch taller but lighter all round and although fit, with well defined washboard abs, she looked much more wiry. Her long, fine blonde hair was flaxen, while Fran’s brunette hair with blonde highlights is thick, wavy and tumbled around her shoulders like a mane (I’ve often thought she looks somewhat Lion-like, it has always seemed fitting to me that her Star sign is Leo).

The women glared at one another as they warily circled, their firm ***** swaying and bouncing as they moved. Suddenly the two rushed at each other and met with a thump as their chests crashed together that I heard even through the loud music! The collision was so hard they each bounced backwards a step. Then their faces contorted into grimaces as they snarled and yelled at one another and slammed their chests together again. It looked to me like Saskia’s torpedo’s gouged into Fran’s humongous breast flesh, and Fran threw her head back as she flung her arms over Saskia’s well developed shoulders. Her thick ******s poked out from the sides of her white vest as Saskia wrapped her arms around Fran and squeezed. Her muscles were truly impressive as they bulged and shone in the odd light. Fran squeezed back, pushing her hands down Saskia’s back and dropping her chin on her left shoulder.

I saw Saskia yell out as Fran ground her chin into the muscle. Then Fran threw her head back, her teeth tightly clenched, her eyes shut tight as Saskia squeezed her harder and actually lifted her 175lbs off the floor. Fran began to struggle and her hands came up behind Saskia’s head and shoved it forwards into her bosom and held her face there hoping to suffocate Saskia. I saw her muscles ripple as she fought to keep her enemy’s airways blocked, but Saskia was not far from the padded wall and before she dropped Fran she pinned her back against it. The women’s heads were side-by-side now, - cheek to cheek as they struggled. Fran momentarily gained the advantage and, with a loud roar, lifted Saskia’s lighter frame off the floor only to slam her down on her back in the thin mud. Unfortunately the weight pulled Fran forwards and she went literally head over heels to somersault onto her back in the mud above Saskia’s head. Both women quickly rolled onto their stomachs and now confronted each other on hands and knees, their muddied half-vests weighed down with the stuff and obscuring their breasts.

This was remedied as they grabbed for each other. Saskia grabbed a handful of Fran’s hair in one hand and the shoulder strap of her vest in the other. Fran had hold of Saskia in the same way and their breasts were quickly exposed as they wrenched each other’s head from side to side, their torsos twisting with the motion setting their big breasts swinging violently. The flimsy vests rode up their trunks until Saskia snapped Fran’s left shoulder strap and lost the tenure of her grip, which Fran took advantage of and pulled the muddied vest part way over Saskia’s head. The crowd near me roared their approval. The two fighters keeled over in the mud as they fought, wrestling like wild cats. The crowd was going nuts! They came up breast to breast on their knees after tearing each other’s flimsy vest off in shreds. They swiftly locked up hands and wrestled for dominance, their muddied ***** swaying from side to side as their arms pulled around. Saskia forced Fran’s hands up above their heads and inevitably; they fought with what they could and slammed their ***** together.

Still fighting for control of their arms, they slammed ***** over and over as hard as they could. I noticed some of the men around me were groping their own groins in their excitement. Leaning back and slamming their **** hard together again, this time the women leant into each other and tried to push one another backwards. Unable to topple each other they began twisting their torsos, pulling one another’s breasts all over their chests, and then whacking each other’s ***** from side to side. Whereas Saskia’s torpedo-like **** were obviously superior to Fran’s for slamming, Fran’s bigger, heavier, longer breasts now dominated Saskia’s, which turned redder and redder as they were knocked all over her chest, twisting, contorting and bouncing before returning to be whacked across her chest again. Not that Saskia’s ***** (which I estimated as DD or F cups) didn’t have some effect and they came into their own when Saskia managed to grind one of her ***** head on into Fran’s. Taking full advantage Saskia wrestled Fran’s right arm outwards and bending her over sideways from the waist bore her to the floor.

Fran found herself collapsing first onto her right hip then falling heavily onto her right shoulder and in an instant Saskia was on her and the two wrestled wildly in the mud, their legs and arms flying as they slapped, punched, scratched and kicked each other, rolling first to one side of the muddy pit, then back across the other way pulling hard on each other’s hair. Somewhere in the melee both women lost their flimsy thongs and their bushes were now fully exposed. Saskia got Fran in a headlock and wrestled her face down in the mud.

Fran began to draw her knees under her as Saskia straddled her back, but I know just how strong Fran’s back is as she has carried me on it in our wrestling play fights. She carried out a familiar move; - raising herself on her toes she effectively bucked Saskia off who tumbled forwards to land on the top of her head before being rolled off as Fran threw herself onto her right hip. Saskia however, had other ideas and clamping her powerful thighs around Fran’s ribs, locked her ankles and began to crush her in a fierce scissors, which she then made more intense by laying backwards and pulling Fran’s head back by her hair. Fran writhed helplessly on her right side for a few seconds, then lashed out with her left elbow jabbing it deep into Saskia’s thigh.

Saskia’s devastating hold broke immediately and it was her turn to writhe in agony as her left thigh exploded with intense pain. Fran rolled onto her back squashing Saskia beneath her who still had hold of her hair but before she could do anything she felt Saskia’s left arm around her throat crushing her windpipe. Gurgling in pain Fran bent her arm over her shoulder and began heavily punching Saskia’s head with her fist, her middle knuckle extended to cause maximum injury. Three of these devastating blows were enough to make Saskia let go and she rolled gratefully to her left to escape Fran, while Fran rolled to her right onto her front. Saskia was surprisingly quickly up on her feet, but reeled unsteadily as though punch drunk.



Fran came up first on all fours, her big ***** swinging as she did so and in one move was on her feet and ran at Saskia grabbing her muddied, flaxen locks and swung her around the pit by it. Saskia’s screaming could be heard above the noise of the audience and the rock music, but she managed to grab Fran’s hair with her left hand and yank her forwards. Fran, now doubled at the waist, tugged violently on Saskia’s hair with both hands, trying to get her in a position to knee her in the face. Saskia was pulled to the horizontal but she had other plans and with her free hand began slapping Fran’s hanging left breast as hard as she could. Fran was naturally annoyed at this painful assault and reciprocated by slapping and punching Saskia’s hanging left breast.

Full blooded punching ensued until Fran took a tight hold on Saskia’s left ****** and tried to pull her towards the floor with it, but Saskia rebelled and grabbed hold of both of Fran’s huge ******s, pinching and twisting them brutally, until suddenly, a long arc of white fluid spurted from both of Fran’s squeezed areolas. The crowd cheered at this incredible sight. Keeping her grip on Saskia’s left **** Fran now grabbed the right and, twisting and torturing both of Saskia’s breasts, began to pull her towards herself. Unexpectedly, Saskia walked quickly at Fran and pushing her ******s back deep into the massive breast flesh began to push her backwards. They progressed like this for a couple of minutes, - pushing and pulling each other all around the cockpit by their now agonised ******s and bruised breasts.

Fran moved her right hand to clasp the whole of Saskia’s tortured left breast and began squeezing it hard in her clawed hand. Saskia realised that her own hands would not spread wide enough to grasp Fran’s huge H cup *****, so she redoubled her efforts of twisting her big fat ******s. Fran, meanwhile, had clamped her left hand over Saskia’s left breast and was pulverising it - and the other one, - in her strong fingers. Saskia retaliated by pulling Fran’s ******s and stretching them out.

Fran began to drag Saskia by tugging on her entire ****. From my grandstand viewpoint the sight was incredible as Saskia’s **** were pulled out straight from her chest, her mouth was wide open in an expression of extreme pain and Fran’s heavy orbs were similarly lifted from her ribs by her ******s. I wondered which of these holds was the most painful, - the ****** pinch and twist, or breast crushing.

This fight had had it all, - wrestling, *** on *** breast fighting and now some serious breast mauling. It seemed to me that these plainly exhausted girls could not go on for much longer. They were now at a standstill just mangling each other’s ***** and waiting until one or the other gave in. Chanting and stamping began amongst the audience and before both girls sank to their knees in pain, Fran conceded defeat. I asked her, when she came out of the dressing room and we were in the relative peace of the dark street if she had thrown the fight as Saskia looked to be in a much worse state of health towards the end of the fight.

“Yes! What else?” she said as we walked along by the canal. “I could easily have reduced that stupid ***** to jelly, but I don’t need the thousand Euros. Besides, this is her patch and she’s got to be back out on these streets tomorrow,” she generously added.

Fran suddenly went quiet, stopped and looked at me seriously. “I think I’m pregnant!” she suddenly said. I almost fainted from that bombshell.

“Pregnant? After a fight like that?” I stammered.

“Didn’t you see the fountains of milk when that Saskia ***** squeezed my ****?” Fran said.

“Well, - yes, but…” I mumbled.

“Is it possible to be 7 months pregnant and not show any signs of pregnancy and not know that you are pregnant?” Fran asked.

Not unless you are extremely overweight, I joked

“WHAT A HORRIBLE ANSWER!!!!” Fran said.

“Okay, bad taste,” I said. “I don’t know I’m not a doctor!!!!!!”

“Well, I know it’s possible, and I know that its possible because I just got told by our GP a few days ago and I had no idea!!”

“You’ve just been slugging it out with a tough Dutch prostitute and you say you KNEW you were pregnant?” I questioned her.

“I still had my period. I have a lot of pain, but nothing that feels like I am pregnant. I still sleep on my stomach. I have not gained much weight….”

“Oh no, - not much!” I said sarcastically. “I thought you were getting fat on Lasagne,” I added.

“I haven’t felt much movement since I’ve known about it (could be where my placenta is or the position the baby is in). But I know one thing: - I am NOT EXTREMELY OVERWEIGHT!!!” Fran yelled at me!

Other people turned in the street to stare.

“Shhh. You don’t want everyone to know!” I said.

“It is VERY possible for this to happen, in fact. When my mother was pregnant with me, she had showed no sign's at all, and she was around 7 and a half months!!! The only reason she found out was because she devolved problems during the last few weeks she was carrying me!”

“Have you got any internal pains? I asked. “Shall we find a hospital to get you checked over?” I said. Perhaps we should book an emergency flight home?” I panicked.

“Have you finished getting hysterical?” Fran said, smiling pityingly at me. “One thing you have to learn yet is just how tough women are! – We are survivors. Our son is fine!” she reassured.

I paused and took a few deep breaths to clear my head of the evening’s traumas.

“So, do we still want to find that erotic fight club?” Fran asked. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve not even begun this night yet!” she said in an exited tone.

I was amazed at her resilience and as it was late there were only hours before we had to catch a train and begin our homeward journey, so we stayed to soak up more of this eclectic nightlife. Alex was born 7 weeks later with no problems.

I think we’ll probably be going back to Amsterdam for another visit in summer.

END

~~~~~~~~~~~
Piers Knight