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Raging Neighbours
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An Inter-racial Fem-Fight story
By Piers Knight



Fatima and Fran cause a Road Rage incident,
Fight in an empty parking lot, and are nearly arrested.

All breast cup sizes in this story are UK bra sizes


Foreword

As fans of Titfighting, we are all used to the picture of breast fighting, featuring young women in their late teens and early twenties, with strong, pert, firm breasts. There are few stories, which can match these, but I equally appreciate the more evolved, bigger breast with its superior weight and increased density, greater firmness, volume and resistance to and lack of compressibility.

Up until the 1950s, it was thought that women could not be friends, only rivals, partly because of the primal nature of the female of our species, and partly because of rivalry bourn of competitiveness for a mate. Psychologists and social reformers eventually dropped this idea in the 1990?s, but how wrong they were to believe their own social ideal. Going out to nightclubs and seedy bars as I used to, and seeing all the young women and men there for loud music, booze, drugs and sex, I strongly refute that erroneous ideal. I have seen more fights between women in rivalry for the attentions of a potential or actual mate, than I ever have amongst men of any age!

Even more potent than rivalry over a mate or petty jealousies, is a normal woman?s instinct to protect her children, however deluded, paranoid or postpartum psychotic she might unwittingly be in her anxiety, made even more potent these days, by the modern stress of overcrowded cities, debt, their children, congested roads and the dozens of other things our women have to be concerned about.

I am one of those men, who have always been attracted to extremely busty women, and I was even lucky enough to marry one! Frances had not even begun her Titfighting career in the early 1990s. Except for a couple of tussles with her own busty younger sister, and the catfights she had endured in a motorcycle gang, of which she was a member, in the 1980s, as a lively rebellious teenager, she remained unscathed and her breasts only lightly scarred. This would be a lot different by the time she gave up the sport in 2006, with a number of scars and hard breast lumps caused by cuts and injuries in innumerable breast fights. Her breasts did not even achieve their optimal size, weight, shape and incredible beauty until after she had given birth to her two children, which left her with permanently enlarged breasts which made Titfighting very exciting and rewarding for her; and for me!

This story is set in the hot summer of 1993, when both women featured, were in their mid to late 20?s, but their physiology had already been changed by the bringing of children into their lives.

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Raging Neighbours
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CHAPTER 1. (Prologue).

Fatima was regarded as a disgrace by her family, by her husband and his family and any decent friends. They actually wanted to take her children away to prevent them from being corrupted.

She was outcast by her culture. She now found herself living in a terrace house in the poorest, roughest part of this north-eastern English town. She did not care as long as she had her freedom, though she knew she was playing a very dangerous, possibly fatal game, but ?What the heck?? was her refreshing attitude, she was going to live and have fun. She had money, friends, babies and all the ****ing she wanted.

She broke most Pakistani cultural laws. She was highly provocative, dressed in a way to attract men and flaunted herself in public. Since the birth of her children, she had developed fantastic breasts, which she loved, big, firm and lusted after by many men of all cultures (and some women. Oh l? l?!)

Here is what the guidance literature says:

?The society in Pakistan is highly protective of women and girls. Sex is a taboo subject for good women and they are not supposed to speak about it or seek it before their marriage. The society encourages women to pursue higher learning and other economically empowering avenues; however, it prohibits any type of exposure and beautification that encourages sexual attraction. Any type of nudity in public is treated as a sinful act and it is punishable by law.

As long as women accept their position as subservient to man they have nothing to fear in Pakistan?? ?blah blah blah?? .

?Pooohhh!!, - is what I say to all that crap!? Fatima said as she threw the ?Society and Culture of Pakistan Vis-?-Vis Women and Girls ? article at her new boyfriend (the third this year, incidentally). It skimmed across the coffee table and nestled on the floor partially in a cup of her humongous bra, near her briefs G strings and other items of underwear and ?personal? wear.

?Don?t you think it is time you cleaned this place up babe?? her boyfriend Mukhtar said.

?If you wanta clean this place up you can, but I?m goin? out to work so you can also look after me babies,? she said as she pulled her jacket on over her revealing costume and huge bust.

This had been her life since her forced marriage at 16 years old, though she had chosen to reject her abusive husband, Mahmoud, who regarded her as some kind of child producing machine, for a degree of freedom, however uncomfortable. She wasn?t going anywhere special, just to the factory at the end of the road making jeans, jackets and other items of clothing. The women in that ?sweat shop? were all highly competitive and dressed to kill, in their revealing mini skirts to show their legs off (and more) and tight flimsy tops to show their ***** off. Typically, after work they would hit the town and find some willing men to lay, but she was disappointed that she would have to go home to be with Mukhtar tonight. Fatima was in rebellion.

She was thinking that it was time to get rid of Mukhtar, he was getting too serious and she did not want ?serious? at 25 years old. He hampered her pulling ability at the moment and some of those factory ******* were getting all the action, ?but there was not one, not ONE,? who could match her face, her figure, her legs or her big firm *****! The only real rival in the ***** department was Angela, that curly haired blonde **** with her enormous *****, as big and firm as her own and almost completely self supporting, and for the same reason, she had two young kids!

Ah, but Fatima had her beat there; she had four young kids and the fact that they came along one after the other in a relatively short space of time gave her the main peculiarity that her breasts were making so much excess milk that even all of her kids could not drink it, her boyfriend thought it was disgusting and so she had taken to selling some of it online. Fran watched the various men come to Fatima?s door, then come out some 10 minutes later clutching a bag (which had a number of sealed packets of Fatima?s breast milk in them). Keeping her fridge stocked with the stuff and selling up to 20 fluid ounces at a time supplied a welcome second income.

Fatima was born in Lahore to strict Pakistani parents, who moved, for political reasons and for work, to the north eastern English town when Fatima was just 6 years old. But her husband, Mahmoud, also from Lahore, though delighted by his supremely gorgeous looking wife, was disgusted by her decadent deleterious Western ways. No way would she go back to Pakistan with him, he beat her up and so they agreed to part. Being impregnated since 16 years old, Fatima had four children, whom, naturally, the local court gave her custody of, and the local council, gave her a house to go with it! Her ***** were big as a 16 year old, a good-sized DD cup but it wasn?t until she started having children that they blew-up 3 or 4 cup sizes to their present proportions!

1993 had been a hot summer and Fatima?s naturally coffee coloured skin had darkened to Mahogany, but not just her face, her whole body, especially her big HH cup breasts, which gave her the advantage of looking exotic to English eyes. She had always wished that her breasts were bigger and now that they were, she loved it; their self supporting firmness, their engorged hardness, their shape; - a lot of men found them extremely attractive, some didn?t, but that was their problem. But there was one neighbour, who was definitely not a fan, with whom she had been having issues, the big busty ***** next door who complained about her sunbathing in her own yard. In fact she even complained about her children and once sent social services to check them out.

This woman, Fran, whose **** must have been as big as her own, and had just one little blonde baby girl she called Morag, was always knocking on her door and her husband, - the letch, - would get an eyeful of her ***** whenever he could. Still, never mind, it would be her birthday in a few days time and she would strip as much as she liked in this hot August weather! She would invite her friends around, other ?enlightened? Paki girls and their boyfriends and she?d lay them too! And if their girl?s wanted to fight her for their boyfriends, she would be happy to do that too, she enjoyed fighting women. Pulling hair and mauling **** were her specialities!

August arrived. Shopping for things in the local Safeway supermarket for things for her weeklong **** (er? party), she bumped into her neighbour Fran and her husband (who was still staring at her ***** despite his wife?s being enormous). When she says ?bumped? she means it literally; walking around the isles their huge ***** met ?accidentally on purpose? as Fran seemed to go out of her way to bump her. Fatima complained, they argued a bit then she went on her way, only to be confronted by her again. This time, Fran sidestepped her and blocked her way until their ***** came firmly ******-to-******. ?What?s your problem, ay?!? Fatima said. ?Do you like my T-shirt?? which was pretty revealing as it showed off her thick ******s to best advantage, the picture of 2 birds and text did not help; ?A nice pair of ****!? it said. But by the same token, Fran?s plain black T-shirt was equally revealing and shoppers had stopped to stare at both of these immensely busty women.

?I have a kind of girls? wrestling night in my house on alternate Saturday nights and I?d like you to come? Fran confided as she pressed her **** against Fatima?s, testing their firmness. ?Don?t do that, *****!? Fatima said as she felt her breasts tingle and pulsate in response. ?Why? ?cause my ******* ?r better than yours?? Fran said. Breast milk began to gush through Fatima?s bra. ?You wish!!!? she said. ?I?m more woman than you. I have four kids and I breastfeed them all, even my eight year old!? she said triumphantly as she pushed her leaking breasts harder against Fran?s until the women were almost nose to nose, testing the strength of both sets of ****, then shoved her aside.

Piers gazed with fascination at this impromptu supermarket titfight. Blas? of the spreading wet patches over her breasts, Fatima went to talk to Piers, whose eyes were soon transfixed by her prominent ******s and expanding wet patches, which emphasised her excited ******s even more, and annoyed Fran by inviting him to her party. He was a writer for a law firm or something and she thought it might be fun to shock him. What Fatima did not know was that Piers was unshockable and had been involved in arranging erotic wrestling and Titfights for his busty wife and her friends for years, his staring at her ***** was down to him assessing her as a titfight partner for Fran. But that?s another story. However, the female checkout assistant was not unshockable and she looked aghast at Fatima?s soaked T shirt and prominent ******s.


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CHAPTER 2. (From Piers notes)

The hot summer of 1993 was the hottest we had had in England for years, which suited me because the hotter it got the more female flesh was on display. My eyes were almost popping out of my head at the gorgeous semi naked girls languidly flaunting themselves as they walked up and down our terraced street in town. It was one of those hot summers that are very dry, the tarmac on the road has melted and the air was hot and any sounds muted, - lost to the shimmering haze, but it had been a long summer and tempers were becoming frayed between people. More than once, trouble had brewed then erupted between Fran and our Pakistani next-door neighbour. Fatima and Fran had even very nearly come to blows over Fatima?s badly behaved children, but Fatima would hear no bad said about them, she was like a lioness guarding her young.

But Fran also had her newborn child, Morag, born at the beginning of June and she felt under a lot of stress too. We were all living in a street of Victorian terraced houses, facing similar buildings across the narrow road, so it was a fairly oppressive atmosphere. Fran was 29 years old, having just had her birthday in July, which was quietly celebrated in our house, in contrast to Fatima who was 25 and had a very noisy few days of celebrations during that hot August week with, seemingly, her entire entourage of ****** friends and boyfriends holding wild parties. It went on for so long, I assume, because some of her friends had to jet in from Pakistan and elsewhere.

They were clearly not strict in their religious beliefs because much alcohol and much bad behaviour had disturbed both our neighbours and us. This was a kind of birthday and house warming party combined because she had only moved in two weeks after Morag was born. I worried for Fatima?s children because they were of varying ages, with the youngest being less than two years old. Still, having four children over a relatively short period of time had actually given Fatima a fantastic figure. She had resumed her trim belly and hourglass figure, but child bearing had left her with much bigger **** than before; much, much bigger in fact, but she had no idea that wearing the flimsy clothes she was because of the heat was getting the men of her acquaintance very hot under the collar in more ways than one. But I doubted that she was innocent in this. Men were on her ?to do? list?

Fatima was exceptionally beautiful with her tall long legged extremely busty figure, and her long jet-black hair, cascading around her shoulders, framing her symmetrical beautiful, flawless face, which in this heat, had tanned to a gorgeous silky mahogany colour. Every time I clapped eyes on her (which was often, as she lived right next door) I could not tear my eyes away from her flawless beauty. The broad mahogany shoulders and silky smooth mahogany coloured breasts and her long dark legs made her an achingly desirable temptation beyond my reach, a completely unattainable woman, as I was merely a white Englishman, while she was steeped in her culture and traditions, - to a point.

She had, of course, divorced her husband. He was her strict parents? choice, but the uneasy marriage had just not worked out. So she fell out big time with her family and was now trying to attract suitable males. This was another trigger of annoyance for Fran as she could hear Fatima?s noisy, bed thumping passionately screaming love making through the bedroom wall almost every night and every morning. Fran complained that she was being as noisy as possible on purpose. There was a period which Fran spent knocking on Fatima?s front door to make her complaints, but these bad tempered meetings did no good, Fatima was a very confident and very capable young mother who was afraid of nothing, and they had some lively stand up rows, but Fran was rattled by Fatima?s glowing brown beauty and the fact that she was a serious rival on the big breasts front.

Fran was obsessed with *****. She loved having big H cup ***** and people turning to stare at them as they tried to burst out of their T-shirt or blouse. She thought it hilariously funny that a cyclist going down our street one day was so distracted by her huge bazookas that he rode straight into a lamp post. Her ***** were even fuller, rounder and bigger since she had given birth to our daughter. I can?t even hazard a guess, certainly at least HH (she was now wearing that cup size and it seemed to be too tight) but after studying the available literature on pregnancy and lactation, I realised that they can grow up to 3 cup sizes bigger! Fran absolutely adored her big breasts, she studied and criticised other women?s breasts quite openly without fear of what people may think or say. She hates implants and criticises women who are not woman enough to be able to grow natural ***** and is contemptuous of women who cannot lactate.

Fran made a very attractive figure with her 48-inch bust (perhaps 50? or more now) - 28-inch waist and 38-inch hips. Fran was convinced that Fatima was jealous of her figure and dressed to compete with her, their tight jeans hanging from their hips, emphasising their hip wiggling walk, their trim but womanly waists with only enough fat to make them 10 times more attractive, and their firm, beautifully shaped and well presented breasts. I was in heaven! My nerves were also shredded because there had been such animosity between these busty sirens ever since Fatima moved in that I hoped every day they would fight.

By September, the late summer heat was unrelenting; in fact the days seemed to be even hotter and drier than the last couple of months. Tempers were becoming frayed by the hot sticky weather conditions. Fran had had occasion to slap one of Fatima?s young children for breaking into our yard stealing plants and taunting our dogs. The Lioness, which was Fatima, really turned against Fran big time. They had a massive stand-up row, and Fran punished Fatima by calling Social Services and reported her for bad parenting. While Fran laughed about this, Fatima fumed. I don?t suppose therefore, that I should have been surprised when the two fiery women almost caused a road rage incident between them.

While our au pair, a very pretty slim but shapely Sikh girl called Sangita, looked after Morag, it was mine and Fran?s habit to drive to the livery stables on the outskirts of town so that she could ride her horse, and it was Fatima?s habit to take her kids to the local supermarket on Friday afternoons, and on that Friday afternoon, 25 Sep 1993, we found ourselves in a serious traffic jam, our cars side by side in the blistering, tarmac melting heat. The heavily congested traffic had just ground to a halt on the motorway flyover, and no one knew why. We were parked on top of the flyover surrounded by hundreds of cars and vans sounding their horns, the No. 1 hit pumped out loudly over the radio. The traffic jam went on for over an hour until everyone was sweltering in his or her cars, and people started getting out to stretch their legs.


Fran became annoyed and exasperated by Fatima?s raucous kids jumping around, screaming and shouting. This was loud because the windows were wide open because of the heat. Fran complained that the ?half dressed ****, Fatima? she said loudly for Fatima to hear, had ?no control over her badly behaved brats.? Well, Fatima became enraged by Fran?s comments and bitchiness and got out of her car and stalked up to Fran?s door and banged on it with her fist. ?Get out of there you cow!? she raged. ?I want to sort you out!? My eyes were magnetically drawn to Fatima who looked particularly busty and beautiful to me in her tight white T shirt emblazoned with the words ?Stop looking at my ****,? which certainly emphasised her huge HH cup breasts which, while not pornographic certainly allowed her prominent ******s, resembling mobile phone aerials, to show through.

Everyone within a short distance was ?gob smacked,? entranced to see Fatima strutting towards Fran?s car. She had not had time to express her milk that morning and her breasts were full in appearance, rounded, plump and painfully swollen and as hard as stone on account of their engorgement. The pain and pressure made her bad tempered, so her attitude toward Fran was disastrous.

Fran is usually a woman of few words but she was incensed and flung open the car door and got out to confront Fatima. Well, as you know, Fran was very busty at this time in her life, normally taking a H or HH cup in bra size, but God knows what size since her pregnancy, but she was certainly head turning in her white stretch, sleeveless tank top which hugged her figure tightly, emphasising the shape, volume, depth and breadth of her breasts. As she stood confronting Fatima, her ******s seemed to have erected and stuck out like rivets. For a second time, other driver?s were ?gob smacked!?

?Can?t you keep those brats under control, you pathetic cow?? Fran said.

?I?m looking at a cow right now who?s not under control, and if you don?t stop victimising my kids I?ll slap your udders until they bleed.?
?My breasts are swollen and hard today, so you?d better watch out, because this aching and pain puts me in a bad mood!? Fatima said sporting bosoms of quite gargantuan proportions.

?If you don?t get yourself and your **** out of my face, *****! I?m going to reduce those Jessica Rabbit ***** for you!? Fran said. ?And should you really be breast feeding kids between 2 and 8 years old?? she added in criticism.

?As you know perfectly well, breastfeeding works on a demand-and-supply basis. The more my babies feed, the more milk my body makes, giving me big firm ****! Great for pulling men with!?

?You?ve a one track mind, if you infinitesimal ant brain can be called a mind. My norks have swelled up too, virtually overnight from melons to watermelons, ? rock hard and leaky. And bloody hot and tender!? Fran said. ?So I?m in a foul temper too!? she warned.

In fact Fran?s ***** were so ****-star-implant-rigid this morning that Morag was having trouble latching on, until Fran eased them with warm flannels and expressing some, but they had since become engorged again.

?But Morag?s suddenly so ravenousness she's feeding all the time, it?s a kind of full-on feeding frenzy.?

?I?ll stop it for you!? Fatima said, ?In fact she?ll be on formula for weeks!?

?Is that a threat?? Fran said.
I could tell she was extremely annoyed.

?Naa. It?s a promise I can deliver on today!? Fatima said.

As you can imagine I was hoping and praying that there was going to be a fight, and as it was, they argued loudly and got very personal and heated, attracting quite a following of supporters in the nearby stationary cars, then before they had finished arguing the traffic began to move again, so both women exchanged some terse words about where to meet to sort out their grievances and jumped back into their cars.

Fran was grimly tight lipped, but by this stage I was aware that Fatima and Fran had agreed to drive to the nearby supermarket car park to confront each other, and I was getting pretty excited at the prospect of a real fight between these T-shirt popping busty women, so my heart almost leapt into my throat again, thinking I might see that fight after all. Of course, it could have been that they were just going to discuss their differences, ?but then why go to a secluded oasis?? I reasoned as we flew down the steep hill created by the flyover.

The car park on Friday afternoons was usually pretty empty and there were plenty of white lined empty bays across the expansive hot tarmac. To be fair, this was the unloading and delivery side of the supermarket, its main business entrance was in the covered shopping mall on the other side of the building, and only a few people who knew about this back way ever parked here. It was virtually hidden to traffic driving from the direction we had just come from, by the corner of the covered shopping mall jutting out, though it was perfectly viewable from the other side of the supermarket. This was not a top of the range store, more like one of the ?stack ?em high, sell ?em cheap? supermarkets.

The two cars motored quietly, slowly across the hot tarmac in the deserted car park and stopped side by side in the marked bays. Fatima got out after ensuring the windows and skylight were open wide enough to keep her precious family from getting too hot in the sunshine, then locked the doors. She walked in front of her car, shook her long black hair loose and stared at Fran with a baleful glare. ?Stay here!? Fran commanded. ?It?ll only take a few minutes to flatten that dumb cow!!? she said and got out of the car.

It was quite a sight as the two women wearing their tight jeans and breast enhancing tight tops strutted towards each other. Each woman?s ***** appeared to stick out more than a foot, supported by their strong bras, and their eyes fixed on each other?s sexy assets, appraising them, their bulk, weight, shape and firmness; their eyes lingered on each other?s turgid ******s, which must have been pretty hard-erect to be pushing so firmly through their bras. Their abdomens were instinctively drawn in tight as they approached each other, their backs straightened as they put their finger tips on their hips having the effect of pushing their chests out even more. Each rack of breasts were so taut and horizontal I thought that if the was a shower of rain each rack was enough like an awning to shelter under. They stopped with their ******s just two inches apart from each other.

?So, what have you got against me and my kids?? Fatima said.

?You don?t have your brats under control, - you think too much of strutting around flaunting your ****!? Fran said. ?You have the sexual morality of an alley cat! You are a rotten example to your kids, you?re a bad mom, a disgrace to your family, and an embarrassment to your neighbours?Want me to go on?? Fran enquired.

Fatima was nonplussed, a wry smile even spread across her face, resembling impertinence.

?Flaunting my ****?? Fatima repeated aghast. ?Flaunting my ****?? she said again angrily and much louder. ?My Paki? **** you mean?? Fatima asked, her beautiful, symmetrical face aglow with the fire of anger, then inflated her chest a little bit more, her ******s almost touching Fran?s, stretching tight horizontal creases in her white T-shirt. ?So it?s okay for you to flaunt your big fat white **** around?? she added.

?My superior white ****!? Fran bragged, cupping the big firm things underneath as if to emphasise them, glowering at Fatima?s inflated chest.

?And what makes you think those balls of suet are better than my firm *****?? Fatima said, cupping her own ***** with a slap and held them out for inspection.

?Because I am going to teach you some manners and respect by teaching you a lesson about who has the firmest, strongest and frankly, the best breasts!? she said turning her torso enough for her left *** to nudge into Fatima?s left areola. Fatima was turned slightly to her left by the collision and she dropped her hands to rest on her hips.

?Don?t do that!? Fatima said angrily and walked directly up to Fran (also standing with her hands on her hips) and started to press her bra supported **** firmly against Fran?s. Fran stood her ground as her **** compressed in their bra cups. ?As I said before,? Fatima said, ?I?m more woman than you, I?m tougher, I got bigger better **** than your pathetic flabby bags, I breastfeed all my kids!? she said as she pushed her firm breasts harder against Fran?s until the women?s faces were close enough to breath into each other?s mouth and nose, testing the strength of her strong **** against Fran?s.

Fran felt the incredibly firm breast ligaments, the pertness of her hard ******s and the sheer bulk of the bundles of nodes of alveoli reinforcing the ligaments and fat lending supportive, tensile strength to her young breasts. Fatima felt that her breasts were making her point (literally) for her and she smiled unpleasantly into her opponent?s face. To her surprise Fran pushed back with grim determination and both sets of **** gouged into each other, both pairs of maternal glands were as hard as rock as they crumpled the softer surrounding fatty tissues until pain began to shoot through the nerves surrounding their fully erect ******s.

The firmness and collective strength of Fran?s motherly breasts was almost as good as her own Fatima thought. The increasing compression caused not only moans and grunts of discomfort but also some milk leakage and as it soaked through their bras the women began to try to shove one another backwards.

They pushed each other backwards by no more than one step as the pressure increased to the point that neither woman could breathe, but neither was going to give way either. Fatima withdrew a few inches and powered a hard shove with her bra supported **** against Fran?s big ****. Both women grunted and walked backwards a few strides and glared at each other.

?C?mon you *****!? Fran said, and the two women began to stride purposefully towards each other. Then their big rolling udders smacked together, the heavy blows muffled by their T-shirts and bras. Both women staggered back a stride but hurled themselves together pounding each other?s breasts again, their bras holding their **** firm and level as they smashed one against the other, pulled back, and then thrust them together again, ramming one breast against its counterpart alternately for several *** punches, then both pairs of firm, engorged udders rammed into each other, crushing inside their bra cups.

They gasped in pain as their prominent breasts clashed ****** to ****** and the women rebounded, but they thought of nothing of ramming their huge ***** together again and again as hard as possible. Their **** soon began to grow pretty sore and their ******s throbbed from being crushed. Both women agreed that it?s not so much of a challenge through T-shirts and bras, which were rapidly becoming soaked as their **** leaked milk through them. But the desire to hurt each other is obvious, as they both rake their breasts across each other?s wet T-shirts.

?I wonder what Social Services would think of you Titfighting in public in front of your children?? Fran goaded Fatima, as she punched her left breast deep into Fatima?s left breast.

?I?m not gonna let you break up my family, I?ll kill you first? Fatima said, her voice choked with anger.

?So?? Fran said belligerently, her voice breathless; ?I got your kids taken into care on account of you and your husband constantly fighting to teach you a lesson? she said as she shoved Fatima?s **** as hard as she could with her own.

?No. That was just YOU being vindictive!? Fatima snapped as she came at Fran, twisting her shoulders and raking her **** across Fran?s. ?I threw my useless husband out, you *****! But you?ve got it in for me, - you sad pathetic cow!? Fatima said.

?Just because I got kids and lots of milk in my *****, you?re jealous!? she added as she shoved her breasts into Fran?s again.

?I?ve got plenty of milk too! Fran argued indignantly backing off a couple of feet and cupping her heavy mammaries underneath.

Both women?s tops were soaked with breast milk and they clung seductively to the women?s shapely breasts, their ******s extremely prominent, despite their bras.

?You got only one kid, you dried up old sow, but now you are pathetically inducing lactation with breast pumps to make your **** bigger!?? Fatima laughed ironically.

?How do you know that?? Fran sharply snapped.

?You ought to keep your husband?s mouth under control? was all Fatima said.

?Okay, - I like big milky *****! What?s wrong with that?? Fran said. ?There is nothing more womanly than big milky ****!? she asserted. ?The bigger the better in fact!? she added.

?Say what you like, mine are better than yours any day!? Fatima said. ?I don?t know what you see in those bloated things,? she said slapping one of Fran?s breasts and laughing in her face.

Fran did not like being laughed at, or having her **** slapped, and she saw red and suddenly went for Fatima?s lustrous hair, but Fatima caught her hands, and wrestling her arms from side to side, punched Fran?s pert and firm left *** with her own left ***, swiftly followed by mutual torso twisting and more *** boxing! Fatima wrestled Fran?s arms into a position which allowed her to ram her sticking out ***** with her own. A little more torso twisting and breast boxing followed, accompanied by a lot of sweating, grunting and foul verbal abuse until the women suddenly pulled their sweating hands apart.

Both women backed off, their bodies and tops drenched in sweat and milk. ?I?ll teach you not to flaunt your **** in my neighbourhood!? Fran said, then both women suddenly rushed at each other and grabbed each other?s hair.

Ensuring that her hands were far back on Fran?s hair, Fatima began pulling her head backwards and downwards behind her shoulders. Fran shrieked; she didn?t like being forced into this uncomfortable position, and so to prevent herself being pulled backwards to the ground she also gripped Fatima?s hair at the back of her head in order to wrench her head backwards.

?EEEYYOWWW!!!? Fatima shrieked as Fran gave her hair a series of vicious tugs. This yanking each other?s head backwards by their hair had the repercussion that their huge prominent sticking-out ***** were brought into sudden violent contact and their big **** rammed together.

?*****!? Fatima snapped, ?You?re hurting my ****!? she said, her eyes staring into the sky. ?

?Good!? - Fran said. ?My **** are better than yours anyway!? she added unwisely. Then Fran suddenly gasped as her head was given a series of hard yanks backwards.

?Kiss my ***!? Fatima said as she rammed her **** hard against Fran?s.

Fran rammed her in return and Fatima retaliated. This went on for a dozen *** punches or more, the women?s bellies and pubic mounds pounding together too.

?I?m gonna KICK your ***!!!? Fran breathlessly gasped as their ***** bounced against each other again and again.

?GGGNNNGH!!? I?ll flatten you!? Fatima groaned, referring to her perceived superiority of her own ****.

?Oh no no! I?ll flatten YOU!!!? Fran said sarcastically with an equally superior air.

More grunting, gasping and shrieking followed as each pulled their hair backwards. It was a trial of arm strength, breast strength, ****** strength, weight and who could push her **** out the hardest against the other woman?s ****.

?You?re going down!? ? ?You?re goin? down!!? Fatima proclaimed as she felt her strength overwhelming Fran.

?NO!? Fran desperately gasped, a woman who had rarely lost a fight.

?Yes! Proof that my **** are stronger than yours!? Fatima said gleefully.

With a combination of pulling her head backwards and ramming Fran?s firm **** with her own, Fatima succeeded in taking Fran down to the hot tarmac on her ***.

Fatima landed on top of Fran and relished grinding her firm **** against Fran?s big *****. Each woman had kept a strong grip on her enemy?s hair throughout the takedown and Fatima remained on top of Fran mashing and grinding her **** with her own. Both lactating mother?s gasped in pain as they felt their distorting milk glands release their precious milk. Fran tried to resist this as she felt her **** being squashed against her rib cage and pulled all over her chest which was very uncomfortable for her as she could not breathe because of the compression of thick flesh against her ribs. It also put her new nursing bra in danger of bursting its stitches.

Grunting and groaning fiercely, the women rolled slowly over and over, breasts to breasts, their legs locking together providing the impetus and propulsion allowing first one woman to wind up on top and then the other. They rolled until Fran wound up on top and used her weight to hurt Fatima?s prominent ****, but their powerful legs continued to fight for advantage until Fatima had rolled Fran?s back to the ground. They were both grunting and shrieking as they pulled each other?s hair. Fatima grunted triumphantly as she pounded Fran?s **** with her own, - until Fran managed to roll her over and reverse their roles. Then they rolled slowly, painfully, back towards the cars.

They slowly rolled right up to the underside of Fatima?s car bonnet. Being jammed against the front wheels, they pulled apart, scrambled to their feet and backed away from each other. Their faces were reddened and flustered, their hair wildly dishevelled and bloodied, their skimpy tops dirty, grimy, dishevelled and torn as well as soaked with sweat and breast milk, their jeans had rips in the knees, but at least their shoes stayed on; because of the hot weather, both were wearing tightly laced up canvas shoes.

The women were soon squaring up again. ?Come on you black *****, - if you think you can take me!!!? Fran said breathlessly.

?Yeah; we? got unfinished business and I want you outta your house,? Fatima insisted; ?so if I beat the crap outta you now, here in this car park. - Sorry, WHEN I beat the crap outta you,? she corrected herself, ?You gotta agree to move out!?

?No way ****?, Fran said. ?I?m marrying Piers next spring - six month?s time?.
?If anyone leaves it will be you, you black *****!? she added.

I must add that I cringed at her racist language, especially as Fatima was Asian, and a very beautiful Asian woman at that.

?Well, Piers will have to get used to you without any ****, ?cause I?m gonna rip ?em apart!? she goaded.

?In your dreams, - *****!? Fran spat.

The two busty women had been circling each other while this argument was going on, and I could see them both winding up to attack each other. They were both sweating heavily since their fight on the hot tarmac. The sun beat down relentlessly which made them sweat all the more. Their tops were torn enough that I could see cascades of sweat running down both women?s plump breasts emphasising their cleavages; I could see into Fatima?s deep cleavage in her pale blue lacy nursing bra behind her ripped white top, to meet up with the runs of breast milk which had leaked out earlier, now encircling her middle and drenching the waistband of her jeans. Fran?s ***** were mounded up either side of her tight cleavage, but the stretch material of her tank top had given up and hung off her left breast, the loose strap swinging as she moved. As the women circled closer and closer to each other, I could feel their tension as the hot air throbbed with palpable destructive tension and hate.

?Why didn?t you just accept your mother?s choice of husband for you and **** off to Pakistan with him?? Fran taunted.

This was one taunt too much on a touchy and painful private matter; Fatima prepared to slug Fran and took a swing at her face with her right fist, but Fran ducked away and grabbed Fatima?s arm by the wrist, blocking the punch before violently twisting her arm aside, but Fatima was already prepared for the follow up and she slammed her left fist straight into the middle of Fran?s gut. Fran doubled ?Oooff!!? as her breath was knocked out of her. I could see that the punch had really hurt her, (I guessed that her muscles may not have strengthened up fully since giving birth) but it was not my habit to interfere in a woman-to-woman fight, I think they deserve the same validity and respect as men.

And just as these thoughts were coursing through my mind, Fran swung a vengeful right hook at Fatima?s face, but the hook went harmlessly over Fatima?s head as Fatima ducked in and got there first with a right to Fran?s vulnerable gut, which doubled her over, followed by a left punch to the small of her back, then came another right as an uppercut to her jaw. A palpable ?SMACK!? sounded as Fran staggered insensibly backwards for about six feet, but she recovered quickly enough to throw herself forwards at Fatima with a right roundhouse punch to her head, which Fatima blocked with her left arm before slamming a right punch into Fran?s face, which knocked her backwards a couple of strides.

Fatima came at her with a left hook to the head, but Fran grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back as she slammed two left hand punches to Fatima?s breasts, and two more to her gut. Fatima came up retching at those blows swinging a right roundhouse to Fran?s head, but at the same moment Fran swung a right hook to Fatima?s head and both bone crunching blows connected at the same time. A rapid volley of lefts and rights aimed at each other?s face, head and breasts ensued with the sound of fists hitting heads and breasts until

Fran crashed backwards onto the bonnet of Fatima?s car clutching her injured face, her top wet where her breast milk had soaked through, while Fatima staggered backwards several strides.

Fran got off the bonnet just as Fatima ran at her with another wide swinging right to her face, knocking her head sideways and sending her backwards against the car bonnet again, but this time she grabbed Fatima?s flying black hair in one hand and swung her around by it to deposit her bodily on her own car?s hot bonnet beside her with a bone crunching ?CRASH!!!? Now Fran twisted around and began banging Fatima?s head repeatedly against the metal while Fatima?s hands were desperately trying to grab at Fran to get a grip of her somewhere about her body or clothes; she managed to grab her tank top and ripped it from her left breast, tearing one of the straps as well as her left nursing bra cup.

Fatima had locked her kids into her car, with the windows wound down and skylight open of course, and like the protective mother that she was; she clawed like a wild animal at Fran to try to force her away from her car and kids. And while all this was happening, Fatima?s four kids were crying, shouting and screaming in the rocking car, but also excited by the fight and screaming for their mother to do something terrible to Fran.

A loud ?RRIIIPPP!!? quickly informed me that Fran?s Tank top had just ripped off her shoulder along with the strap, exposing Fran?s sturdy nursing bra. Fran favoured nursing bras because they are designed to support the heavy weight of lactating breasts - and Fran?s HH cup breasts were certainly heavy, as I know because of my close relationship with them. Our 6-month-old daughter, Morag, was certainly a demanding feeder at almost any hour of the day or night leaving Fran tired and bad tempered. We had worked to get Fran re-lactating successfully. Fran?s idea was that she wanted big ****, - and she insisted that I had to suckle her too to keep things stimulated.

Fran elbowed Fatima in the chest with a terrible ?THUMP!? crushing a ***, bruising her sternum and ribs, leaving her gasping desperately for air, then dragged her off the bonnet of her car by her hair and T-shirt tearing one arm off and ripping a long line from the collar to the bottom hem before depositing her on the ground.


As the beautiful Pakistani woman sprawled on the floor, disorientated by what had happened and her face bloodied and swollen by Fran?s punches, Fatima rubbed her bruised ***, then Fran grabbed her by her hair and dragged her several feet across the car park, across 3 or 4 parking bays! Fatima screamed ?Not my hair; Not my hair! Let go of my hair! Letgo my hair!!!? She screamed loud and long and grabbed Fran?s arms to try to prevent her hair from being pulled out by the roots; she twisted around as she was dragged and ended up **** down on the ground.

Never one to reject an advantage, Fran continued to drag the busty woman across the tarmac on her **** until her T-shirt and Bella Materna nursing bra were hanging off her in shreds and her breasts grazed. Fran took this one and pulling her head fiercely backwards by the hair and raising her chest off the ground as well, she prepared to slam her face against the tarmac ground. Fatima was still holding onto her own hair to try to prevent it from being pulled out when Fran slammed her head and thickly padded **** against the hot tarmac. Then flinging her left leg over Fatima she perched astride her and slammed her head down again. Fatima?s big **** saved too much injury to her fore head as they acted like inflated crash bags!

Fatima was angry at this humiliation. She felt stunned and sickened, but there is no better painkiller than revenge, and she got to her hands and knees in preparation to get up, Her T-shirt was hanging off, ripped down to her waist from her left breast and both huge ***** virtually hanging out of her torn lacy bra, and I got a fantastic view of her sweat drenched and blood stained long cleavage. Fran was goading her to ?get up and fight like a woman!? beckoning her, tauntingly with her fingers as she stepped backwards towards the cars, but Fatima?s next move took Fran by surprise as Fatima, only half standing, half crouching, hurled herself at Fran, ploughing her head deep into Fran?s gut. The air was knocked out of Fran again and both women went sprawling across the hot tarmac together.

I could see that Fatima?s elbows and forearms were grazed by the tarmac and blood dripped off them as she threw herself on top of Fran, big fat meaty breasts to big fat meaty breasts. These massive ***** squashed against each other, but never separated as the women rolled each other over and over, their legs entwining to provide the engine of propulsion to roll them, their hands were certainly too busy, firstly in trying to strangle each other, then throwing a few more punches before finally being buried in each other?s hair right up to their sculls.

As one ended up on the bottom, the woman on top banged the other woman?s head against the ground, their breasts separating while this occurred, the floored woman?s breasts receiving a pounding from the woman?s breasts on top. Then they slowly completed the roll and the other woman dominated. Using her breasts, reinforced by the weight of her torso, each woman raised her trunk above the other woman?s, her huge ***** hanging down in their ripped bra and slammed them, reinforced by her chest, against the other woman?s for as many blows as she could.


I heard the women grunting with every blow and the thump of their chests as they violently met. Still gripping each other?s hair, they tore one another?s head from side to side. Still on top, Fran took to pulling Fatima?s head up and banging it against the ground, ostensibly with the intention of stopping her wrenching her head about by her hair. I winced at the sound of Fatima?s head hitting the tarmac, but at least it was slightly more yielding than concrete. But she was not to be outdone as, through sheer leg strength, she rolled Fran onto her back and gave her exactly the same.

It was obvious that both women were coming off pretty badly in this fight; both women had terrible bleeding grazes and lacerations from the hard ground, their fists were bleeding, their faces were scratched, bruised and bloodied from the punches each had meted out, their heads bruised, cut and bleeding, the ripped remains of their sweat and breast milk soaked bras were in shreds and hung off them exposing their breasts fully, and still they fought.

As they rolled, their entwined fighting legs became entangled in a desperate struggle for supremacy and the brawling ball of female flesh looked to be just a tight catfight ball. Screams emanated from this spitting, screaming cat ball from time to time and I saw one woman scratching the other?s eye lids and ripping out her eye lashes; I then saw the other woman having her eyes gouged; next, eyebrows were scratched out, cheeks and chin were bitten. Chunks of bloodied hair began to litter the ground in the shadow of the cars; jeans ripped as they tore on the rough tarmac cutting their knees, faces were further bloodied and scratched by their sharp finger nails.

As they were coming to the inevitable question on how to inflict more pain they tore at the remains of each other?s ripped and bloodied bras until the stitching had burst on Fran?s remaining bra cup leaving her breast hanging out of it, while Fatima?s lacy bra was ripped in several places, her voluptuous breast meat bulging through the rips, until Fran ripped it off her altogether. Fatima?s plump breasts tumbled free, slapping, bouncing and rolling heavily until they spread across the ground settled just below her naval.

Fatima went for Fran?s ****, grabbing her big broad fat areola and began pulling and twisting it as though trying to screw it off. Fran yelled out lustily at the pain, but she was also ready to mangle Fatima?s huge areolas and thick ******s until she passed out, if necessary, and rolling Fatima onto her side, grabbed both of her long ******s, and wrenched and pulled at her huge flopping udders. It wasn?t long before Fatima had a powerful grip on both of Fran?s big fat ******s, pulling, twisting and wrenching them as though trying to tear them off. The noise they were making did not sound as though it came from human beings at all, but some kind of giant alley cats.

Lying on opposite shoulders on the floor the battling women were now squeezing each other?s **** as though trying to pulp the thick balls of glands inside them, and as the fight went on they intensified their twisting and pulling of each others **** by their sore ******s as hard as they could; both of them were squealing and moaning from this but kept on fighting, twisting areolas around cruelly.


The women were both now fighting all out and giving each others **** a real working over; their ripped bras were now strewn across the ground with their ripped tops, both women had tears in their eyes from the pain they were inflicting on each other, but still they kept on pulling, squeezing and twisting each others **** back and forth. Burning with rage, both women were in full fight mode and mauling each other?s **** intensely between them. Neither of them was going to let the other win.

By this point in the fight they had pulled each other so close their bloodied faces were inches apart, and both women milked each other?s **** by pulling and squeezing their areolas just behind their erect ******s causing intermittent sprays from each ******. I didn?t see who initiated this, but Fatima was pretty angry about it; she was still using her **** to breast feed her youngest child and her other kids on a need or want basis, but angry or not, Fatima?s sore ******s squirted some milk at Fran, but even Fran?s lactation was strong because of Morag?s demands and my diligent help over the many weeks. Both women tacitly accepted the inevitable unspoken rules for resolving this fight, whoever is milked dry is the loser and neither woman was going to let it be her. Flows of white milk shot across the black tarmac from their ******s crushed against it by each assailant.

The fighting women continued their single minded aim, laid, as they were, facing each other on opposite shoulders, their hands pulling, squeezing and twisting one another?s ******s and gland rich areolas. Agonized screams and shrieks escaped both women and echoed around the partly enclosed car park as they mangled each other?s *****, twisting and pulling them this way and that.

As always happens in these kind of fights the women pulled away from each other, not because their **** were in extraordinary pain but because their hands were soaked in milk making it impossible to grip each other?s areolas or ******s.

The shoulder?s they were lying on were becoming painful and numb, so they literally rolled in opposite directions, and both came onto their hands and knees, still intent on intimidating each other with the size of their breasts. Their sides heaving as they panted for breath, they glared with hatred at each other?s still lactating **** as their milk dripped quickly from their ******s onto the dark tarmac ground. Fran began to massage her left areola.

?Whas the matter? ******* sore?? Fatima breathlessly drawled.

?Yeah, but not as sore as yours will be when I?ve finished with them!? Fran said.

?Ha! At least mine aren?t saggy like your fat bags!? Fatima taunted, and began to swing her stretching milk bags from side to side, white droplets spattering the dark tarmac.

?You?ll know what saggy is when I?ve reduced your **** to mush!? Fran threatened, and allowed her movement to swing her ***** naturally as she began to crawl in an arc around Fatima. The Pakistani woman was afraid to take her eyes from Fran?s, she did not trust her an inch, so she moved around Fran on the same arc, never turning her eyes away. Both women?s breasts were so big they virtually dragged across the floor as the women crawled.

Their lively eyes fixed eagerly on each other?s huge breasts, keen to do them some damage and watched them move as they swung, rolled and rippled as waves of flesh surged and flowed as they both rose to their knees. There was so much seething and bad blood between these women that both knew this was going to be a very brutal reckoning.

The two rivals continued to glare at each other, challenging; this challenge increased as both braless busty women started to get to their feet, their massive ***** swinging wildly around, naturally flaunting the size and quality of their breasts. Both women?s breasts were huge; as they perched firm and broad across their chests, their dark ******s thrust out in stiff arousal, still dripping milk from their tips as the women began to walk around each other in a wide circle, their shapely udders surging in waves as they moved.

Fatima?s stretching breasts hung down to just below her naval, while Fran?s rounder HH cups perched against her lower ribs / upper abdomen. They glared with burning arrogance and hatred at each other?s eyes.

?Shall we find out who the better woman is now?? Fran asked as she lifted her heavy breasts.

?Why? Are you gonna fight my **** with those?? Fatima breathlessly asked sarcastically.

?You too scared then?? Fran goaded.

?Scared of your flabby ****?? Fatima laughed. ?My ******* are gonna win this fight for my babies!? she boasted. Lifting her breasts up, she pointed them at Fran and began to squeeze her areolas. An arc of liquid spurted at Fran, soaking her face and chest.

?Why you filthy *****!? Fran snapped; ?I was going to hit your **** with mine!? But now she decided to better Fatima at her own game and she pointed her **** at Fatima and manipulated her areolas until her glands spurted their load of milk. Fatima spluttered as some of the liquid hit her face, and striding closer she returned fire with just one ***, but squirting Fran directly in her eyes.

?Oww, you ****ing cow!? she gasped as the liquid temporarily blinded her.

Fatima took advantage and striding forwards whacked Fran?s hand held ***** with her own, knocking them flying out of her hands.

Fran was sent reeling several feet to her left, she blinked the remaining milk out of one eye and now, at point blank range, Fran heaved her heavy breasts up and pointed both of her **** at Fatima and squeezed both areolas; one squirted and the other just dribbled. Fatima immediately hauled both of her **** up and almost pushed them into Fran?s face as she squeezed both of her areolas. Both squirted like showers and Fatima laughed ironically as Fran?s face was covered in the spray: ?Ha! This is what four kids do for ya? she said.


Fran spluttered. ?I?m not done yet. Just getting goin? in fact!? and squeezing both areolas allowed the remaining thin foremilk to spray from her ******s first and her second blast brought her full, rich hind-milk into the fore. It showered Fatima for a full 30 seconds (count it, it?s a long time). Fatima blinked and spluttered as the viscous milk showered her face and she pointed her ******s at Fran and squeezing her plump areolas drenched her enemy in it.

Fran reacted by whacking Fatima?s breasts away with her hand held ****, but Fatima immediately and angrily reciprocated the blow, smashing her hand held ***** down firmly on top of both of Fran?s ***** and dragging them across the offending ******s, stung them and made Fran shriek at the sharp pain. Fran staggered at the blow, but still being toe to toe, she retaliated by flipping both if her long ***** upwards with her hands to smash Fatima?s breasts upwards. The perfect uppercut sent Fatima staggering backwards three or four strides.

Both women dropped their sore, aching *****, the weight of them was making their arms ache.

Mutually offended by one another?s big naked breasts and their lactate, they went for each other. With a scream, both women grabbed each other?s hair and began dragging each other around the car park in front of their cars. Their hands fully engaged in each other?s hair, the women began to use their remaining weapons and crashed their huge ***** together with a sweaty, milky ?SPLAT!? Then again and again, knocking the breath out of each other as their **** concertinaed with each slam, liquid spurting from their **** as they squashed together. They must have slammed their **** together a dozen times before I could see marked changes in their *****; they appeared to be softening and begun to sag, and I watched transfixed as their erect ******s bent against each other?s breasts.

Now they leaned back a little as they lifted their huge breasts again, Fran sprayed a perfect arc with her right *** which spattered Fatima, but this time Fatima whacked Fran?s **** with her much more pliable breasts. Fran took the cue and lifting her own **** smacked Fatima?s hand held *****.

Only a couple more shots rang out before Fran grabbed Fatima?s biceps; ?This is better? she said and twisting at the waist swung her now floppy **** across Fatima?s, stinging her ******s. Gasping at the sharp pain, Fatima got the idea and gripping Fran?s biceps returned fire with a fast swing of her ***** from her extreme right to whack the broadside of Fran?s left **** literally knocking Fran sideways. Fran came back with a hard swing of her ***** from right to left, but Fatima had also swung from her right to smack into Fran?s *****, broadside again, knocking her flying again making her lose her grip on Fatima?s biceps.

Both women grabbed each other?s hands with a will at head height and restarted their **** battle with their huge breasts flying through the air from right to left smacking each other from side to side until their beaten breasts glowed red raw and their erect ******s stung like they had been slapped. The women grunted hard with each breast punch, drops of milk and sweat flew everywhere!

As the women fought, a handful of shoppers were attracted out of the back doors of the supermarket by the noise of the fight, but were too afraid to come over towards us. Typically British, they looked shocked at the appearance of naked ****.

The women continued to battle for about ten minutes like this, - but someone in the small group of people which had gathered at the back of the supermarket must have gone back into the store and telephoned the police because another fifteen minutes later two police cars unexpectedly pulled up in the car park beside Fran?s and Fatima?s cars.

While the two embarrassed looking policemen went to look at Fatima?s kids, the two police women came over to where Fran and Fatima where still slugging it out with their over developed breasts, now almost immune to pain, knocking each other?s red raw sore **** to pulp. The battling women, still gripping one another?s hands, had, through exhaustion, taken to slamming their breasts together, head on, bruising their structured breast tissues, glands and underlying pectoral muscles! Loud wet ?CLAPP!? after wet ?SLAP!? accompanied by the women?s pained grunts reverberated around the partially enclosed car park. Each time the breasts separated, they swung and wobbled before being slammed together again. Their breasts had endured this heavy slamming for the last 5 minutes and were swollen up from this treatment, both making them appear bigger and immured against pain. Despite this, their ******s not only continued flicking drops of milk everywhere, but after every few punches a full spray of milk erupted from one woman or the other.

The policewomen went to grab each battle cat from behind, dragging and hauling the struggling women apart. As the police women individually dragged them apart and across the car park from each other, separate catfights almost erupted between the angry half naked women, and the police women who they blamed for breaking up this all important fight. Annoyed at being cheated of their revenge, both Fran and Fatima pulled the police women around by their hair. Catfight-like screaming rang around the car park for a couple of minutes, and the battler?s **** continued to spray, their milk spattering the police women?s dark uniforms as well as falling to the hot tarmac between them.

* * * * * * * * * * * *


There was no definitive win, because no one could say for sure if any woman had been drained of her breast milk. As the two police women struggled to drag the women away from each other, their now completely naked breasts were swinging around causing their diminishing spray of white fluid to be flicked around, even spattering the cop cars with a shower of droplets! But from where I was standing, I?d say that Fatima won the fight because one ****** continued to spray long after Fran?s had stopped. I was not going to tell Fran that however!

It should have been a Public Disorder offence, but luckily, the women were let off with just a caution, which was amazing, considering that they had attacked the police women, and we all set off for home. I was accused of setting up the fight and was very nearly arrested, but I managed to convince them that this was the women?s own idea. Both women had to drive home topless as their tops and bras had been completely shredded as they ripped them off each other. The next problem occurred when we got home as both half naked woman, with bloodied faces and injured breasts, had to get out of their cars and walk into their houses whilst pretending nothing was wrong.

It was mid afternoon when their dispute began, but with the traffic jam and the fight in the car park it was dusk at ten minutes to seven by the time the police turned up to break up their fight.

There were still kids playing in the street in the dying evening sunshine and some neighbours sitting on their front door steps enjoying the dying rays. To say they were shocked would be an understatement. Both Fran and Fatima got some curious stares from some of our neighbours. But who cares what they think? This unresolved fight will have to be settled, honour means a lot to Fatima and her people and walking away from a fight means that the fight and the arguments are not resolved. For the sake of honour, these two busty women must fight again.


~~~~~~~~~~
Piers Knight ^
~~~~~~~~~~


Disclaimer

This scenario involving a catfight /titfight between a Pakistani woman and a European or English woman was requested by a fan of female fighting and of my story telling style in particular. The inter-racial nature of the featured conflict is not intended to be racist in any way. Any racist elements extant in this work of fiction are not there to shock, but form part of the basis of the plot. No disrespect to other cultures is intended and no disrespect to women is intended either, I admire and adore all women and most of my friends are in fact women. Most of my stories have been written with the advantage of advice from those women of my acquaintance who are actively involved in personal contact sports, including cat fighting and Titfighting.

The elements, which form this story, are based on the advice of women actively involved in this sport, partly on observation and reality, extrapolation and confabulation. The rest is based on research, further advice and imagination.