Dear Board,

This is literally the first story I've posted on Hostboard since the demise of the grand old Titfighting & Sexfighting board. The new story is set in and canonical to the Boarding School Queen universe that was serialized over a number of years on the original board. I plan to edit and republish all of the old stories on this new board in due course.

Best wishes
Ragnar0k



WHEN AMITA MET ZAHRA

By Ragnar0k



"Boredom is the desire for desires," a famous writer once said. Amita Kaur knew exactly what the great man meant. She was finding the present lunch party stifling, uninspiring and tedious in equal measure. And when Amita became bored, the busty Sikh beauty would inevitably look for the right sort of action to feed her desires and liven things up: action that often related to titfighting and sexfighting other well-endowed females until one of them came out on top and proved she was the better woman.

Amita had been eagerly anticipating the school trip to Bristol for the university open day, and the morning’s presentations about course options had, at least, been interesting and informative. However, the lunch arrangements left much to be desired; the organisers had gathered all the prospective students in a marquee in front of the main college building on what was quickly becoming the hottest day of the year. The buffet wasn’t all that bad, but what irked Amita was being seated between two inexperienced young men, both of whom were currently making clumsy attempts at flirting with her and seemingly thinking they might get lucky.

The boy seated to Amita’s left was a local from just outside Bristol. He wasted no time in mentioning that his family owned a sizeable mansion and were, by all accounts, loaded. Amita, who had grown up in a nationalistic part of Scotland, was no stranger to satirical stories of the privileged English, and was amused that this especially unappealing example had even been named Tarquin by his parents. Finding an opportunity during a pause in the conversation, she turned her attention to the young man on her right. Like herself, he was clearly of South Asian descent, and his accent suggested he had not grown up in the UK.

“The name’s Ahmed Khan,” he introduced himself with a thoughtful smile. “I live in London, but my family comes from Islamabad. I suppose you’re… Indian?”

Amita studied Ahmed for a moment before replying, “Amita Kaur. Sikh, originally from the Punjab, though I was raised in Scotland.”

“Ah, I see.” Ahmed paused as if about to say more, then lapsed into silence. Amita considered reassuring him that she bore no ill will regarding ongoing tensions between India and Pakistan, but at that moment, her attention was drawn by a striking young woman wearing a headscarf who was staring at her from across the marquee. Amita found herself unable to look away, holding eye contact with the other woman whose dark, perceptive eyes regarded her with more than a hint of disdain. A fleeting smile crossed Amita’s lips. Why was the other woman staring at her like that. Could she be jealous that Amita was monopolizing Ahmed. Or was she also looking for a challenging fighting partner to liven up the day? Amita yawned languidly and began stretching her arms above her head, accentuating her heavy breasts for the woman's attention, before a passing waiter stepped between them and broke their mutual gaze.

Noticing the silent exchange between the two women, Ahmed leaned closer to Amita, a conspiratorial tone in his voice. “I see you’ve noticed my cousin over there. That’s Zahra Hussain. Our mums are sisters. They’re in the UK from Pakistan on an extended visit, and Zahra’s hoping to study medicine here in Bristol. She’s easily the brightest in our family, if you ask me. She’s rather striking, isn’t she? I suspect my aunt will want her to marry into a wealthy family once she’s finished university.”

Amita glanced back towards Zahra, who was now chatting animatedly with others at her table, displaying her best side. “Yes, she’s striking all right,” Amita murmured under her breath. The waiter had moved out the way and even at a distance it was possible to discern that Ahmed's cousin did indeed possess an exceptionally large pair of breasts under the baggy top she was wearing. Amita breathed in deeply and let out a happy sigh. The uninspiring day was looking up finally.

Across the room, Zahra Hussain adjusted her headscarf, a symbol of the modesty observed by women of her faith and surveyed the marquee once more. It was clear to her that the young woman seated next to her cousin stood out as the brightest presence in the overheated room. Zahra surmised she must be Indian—or Sikh, to be precise—given her thick, neatly-braided hair, which had evidently not been cut in some time. Zahra recalled hearing that for many Sikh women, their unshorn hair (Kesh) is a sacred tradition, something they maintain with great pride. She found herself wondering if the tradition also extended to Sikh women’s bushes. If that was the case, then her cousin’s new companion must be in possession of a very sweaty, bedraggled hedge on a hot day like this. Zahra was proud of her own dark untrimmed bush and even she found it becoming an unkempt hothouse as the sun kept beat down on the heavy canvas marquee.

In addition to the hijab headscarf, Zahra’s mom had insisted she attend the open day wearing a loose top that covered her arms and chest, plus a pair of fashion pants that tried in vain to conceal the shape of her generous, womanly hips. Even in her support bra under the baggy top, Zahra’s large, shapely breasts hung heavy and swung when she moved; she knew she’d never have got away with this level of exposure back home.

What fascinated Zahra about the Sikh woman across the room was that she was wearing Western-style jeans and a loose-fitting red T-shirt that did absolutely nothing to conceal the fact that she was voluptuous and extremely well-endowed. The Pakistan woman found herself wondering just how big the other woman’s breasts were compared to her own. She was already starting to feel aroused at the thought of pressing her sweaty naked breasts against the other woman’s naked breasts to compare their relative sizes. The idea of deciding whose pair were stronger, weightier and denser in a ferociously nasty and bruising titfight excited her even more. Zahra had been in many such fights back home. When you possess a stunning outsized pair of boobs it’s only natural that other well-endowed females will seek you out and want to challenge you to a duel. Zahra had won far more battles than she’d lost. But that was against other good Muslim girls. She’d never fought an Indian or Sikh woman before, and now she was juicing up at the thought of matching her own powerful tits against those of the big-breasted beauty across the room. Zahra was under no illusions that if the other woman was as tough as she looked it would make a truly momentous struggle: not only female honour, but national pride would also be on the line given the strength of feelings between their respective countries. But it was a struggle that Zahra looked forward to gladly as she rose from the table and made for the door; for she backed down to no woman in the titfight arena, whatever their creed or calling.

Amita noticed Zahra getting up and looking pointedly in her direction before gathering up her purse and heading out the door of the marquee. Bet she’s off to the powder room, Amita mused, and that look was a definite ‘follow me – if you dare!’ The Sikh didn’t hesitate a moment. Snatching her own purse, she marched out in hot pursuit of the intriguing woman leaving Tarquin gaping in mid-sentence.

A multitude of thoughts occupied Amita’s mind as she followed Zahra Hussain towards the main building. Like all superbly endowed alpha females, the Sikh beauty was jealous of all other women with big breasts, especially any sexy enough to rival her own beauty. The woman she was now tailing met all her key criteria for a stonking great clash; the fact she was from Pakistan meant defeating her would be a matter of national honour as well as personal satisfaction. Amita adored fighting a close breast battle to a decisive finish, and intense sex duels that ultimately left the weaker female dominated and at her opponent's mercy. All of this, and more, flashed through Amita’s mind as she spied her rival entering the imposing college building.

Checking she was being followed - yes result! - Zahra followed a sign saying CONVENIENCES THIS WAY. Entering the females loo at the end of the corridor, she checked her appearance in the mirror then went into the first cubicle. Slumping down on the seat with her pants down, Zahra luxuriated in a long tinkle before hitching up her top and unclasping her 42DDD bra. She was perspiring profusely, and her closeted breasts were bathing their own sweat. They need air Zahra told herself, letting them swing free and releasing a sweet aroma of breast and underarm sweat. Simultaneously, a wide rivulet escaped her cleavage and ran down her navel, soaking into the fringe of her dark pubes.

“Ahh… that’s better!” Zahra sighed, leaning back and stroking her thick brown nipples, waiting for the woman whose massive sweaty tits she longed to feel crushing sweetly against her own.
Amita also entered the loo, noting the locked cubicle before going across to the sink and running the cold tap to cool her face down. “Ah shit!” she exclaimed as the water came out unexpectedly fast, soaking her ample cleavage.

Humming cheerfully despite this, Amita regarded herself in the mirror. Water dripped from her nose and her wet T-shirt clung revealingly to the contours of her tits. Somehow, they looked even more impressive under the wet clinging fabric, and the feeling as the moisture started to evaporate was rather nice.

Sounds of rustling came from the cubicle as Zahra emerged, keen to find out what had caused the watery commotion outside. Amita turned towards her rival and their eyes met, gazes locked and loaded, both women radiating composure and self-assurance, as all superbly endowed women must feel when meeting in the flesh for the first time. Amita broke the silence. “Hot inside that marquee huh? Thought I'd cool off for a bit.”

“Or maybe you’re planning on starting a wet T-shirt competition?” Zahra was eying Amita’s wardrobe malfunction mischievously.

“If you want to join in the fun, be my guest.” Amita retorted, her hand already poised to squirt water from the tap.

“I'll pass on the offer for now..." Zahra replied. "Though I doubt you'd be much competition if I did.”

Their gazes drifted downward, each woman taking in the other's shapely figure and jutting breasts. The moment hung in the air, charged with anticipation, as they silently assessed one another. Standing a mere two feet apart, the equality of their heavy breasts seemed undeniable. Both bosomy beauties knew then that they wanted to see - and feel -each other’s breasts; up close and bare. They wanted to know who was bigger, who was shapelier; and if necessary, who was firmer, heavier and had the higher pain tolerance. They knew all that in an instant as their eyes met again and they smiled knowingly at each other.

"The offer still stands," Amita added with quiet assurance. "Unless you're afraid."

"Why would I be afraid to match my tits in competition against yours, Indian girl?” Zahra snorted contemptuously, arching her back to accentuate the size of her shapely breasts.
Not wishing to be outdone Amita raised her hands to cup her breasts through the wet T-shirt, holding them up like an offering towards Zahra, who ran her tongue round her lips lasciviously. “Not bad but hardly a match for mine, she teased, mirroring Amita by squeezing her breasts together with both hands.

Amita gave an amused smile. “They look okay. But we can’t compare properly until you remove that shapeless top you Muslim girls insist on wearing. Zahra was about say something snarky but had a sudden flash of inspiration. “I have an idea! My room’s in the accommodation block on campus, just around the corner. Why don’t we skip this afternoon’s presentation and go back to mine so we can do this properly?”

Amita was already hot to fight and didn’t need persuading. “You’re on, Muslim girl. But let’s do this properly. My big Indian tits against yours - in a fight to the finish!”

Zahra was also feeling wet now and jumped at Amita’s proposition excitedly. “Oh yes, that sounds beautiful! But we must keep going until one of us surrenders completely. We both want to know whose are bigger, firmer, stronger. Only a duel to a final submission will settle who has superior tits.”

“I agree ,” Amita confirmed bluntly. “When two women with first rate breasts fight it can only end in total defeat and humiliation for the loser. Let’s go to your room now, I can barely wait to crush your fat ugly tits to a pulp!”


--oOo--


The two busty young women walked briskly to Zahra’s room, aware of the rising tension between them, their breasts bouncing braless under their tops, nipples on high alert as they anticipated the battle to come. The air was thick with unspoken challenges and promises, the atmosphere charged with a mix of excitement and rivalry. With each step the excitement and anticipation built, their breasts swelling with desire, nipples throbbing with the promise of the duel they were about to engage in. It was like a silent contest of wills, the closer they got to the room the more the intensity grew, the energy between them palpable, and the battle they both craved drawing nearer. As the door of the room closed behind them, they faced each other, their eyes locked, the air thick with anticipation, the battle of the breasts about to begin.

The room was a modest single student accommodation, with a narrow bed and a small desk in the corner. The two women stood facing each other, their eyes locked in a silent challenge. Their chests were still concealed beneath their clothing, but the outline of their ample bosoms was clear, and the heat of their rivalry was palpable. Zahra was the first to speak, her voice laced with confidence and a hint of taunting. "You're sure you want to do this?" she asked, her eyes flicking down to Amita's breasts before returning to meet her gaze. "I won't go easy on you." Amita didn't flinch, her own voice steady and filled with determination. "I wouldn't want you to," she replied, her own eyes tracing the curves of Zahra's body. "I'm ready for whatever you've got."

The tension was electric as they began to undress, the sound of rustling fabric filling the room. First, they removed their shoes and then their tops, each movement deliberate and calculated to heighten the anticipation. The room felt charged with energy, the air thick with the scent of their bodies and the musk of their arousal. Amita’s wet T-shirt clung to her, the fabric stretched tight across her large breasts, the outline of her nipples visible through the damp cloth. Zahra's eyes were fixed on her, a smirk playing on her lips as she pulled her baggy top over her head. With a fluid motion, she let it fall to the floor, her heavy breasts spilling free, bouncing with a soft jiggle. They were large and round, capped with dark nipples that stood out against her light brown skin. Amita's eyes widened slightly at the sight, but she didn't let her surprise show. Instead, she reached for the hem of her T-shirt, pulling it up and over her head in one swift motion. Her own breasts were equally impressive, their fullness accentuated by the cool air of the room, her nipples hard and erect, almost mahogany dark against her brown skin.

The two women stood now, bare-chested, their eyes raking over each other's bodies, each taking in the sight of their rival's assets. Their bodies were in the bloom of youth, a testament to their confidence and power, each muscle defined, each curve accentuated. Amita's eyes gleamed with a mix of excitement and determination, while Zahra's gaze was steady and intense, her confidence never wavering. They were both proud, confident women, and the sight of their bare breasts only fueled their desire to prove themselves superior.

Without a word, they moved towards each other, their steps slow and deliberate, their eyes locked in a fierce battle of wills, the air crackling with anticipation. Their bodies came together with a soft thud, their breasts pressing against each other, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through them both. Even by the age of eighteen both women had already become highly accomplished titfighters, supremely confident in their fighting abilities.

After the initial shock Zahra and Amita shot predatory grins at each other and stepped back before slapping their big firm breasts together again even harder. The outcome was exactly the same: although they wobbled and shook, neither woman's big milkers gave way or were significantly displaced. Amita shook her head and whistled, while Zahra's grin widened. There was not a shadow of doubt that they were supremely well-matched: with neither woman's breasts holding any advantage over her rival's in terms of size, weight or firmness.

As often happens when two exceptionally well-endowed fighters meet the contest entered a lengthy exploratory phase. Grasping each other firmly by the shoulders they beat and thumped their rapidly swelling boobs together for a minute or more: frontally mainly, but also attacking from above, below and side-to-side. Feeling each other out for any weakness, inconsistency or hesitation that they could exploit to gain the advantage.

Zahra and Amita were both feeling sore and slightly bruised by this time, but they were still standing toe to toe and neither one would give up any ground to her opponent. It was clear the contest would have to move into a higher gear. Simultaneously they wrapped their arms around each other and squeezed their tits tight together, nipple to nipple, trying to force their way into each other's cleavages. Both women had powerful pecs which they now used to their maximum advantage, attempting to drive their large boobs deeper into their rival's tits. For a while they merely stood toe to toe, flexing and tensing their pecs against each other, their faces only inches apart. They were both perspiring heavily now and the scent of their arousal hung thickly in the air. The contest was turning them both on immensely and each woman wanted her opponent to know it.

Then, without saying a word, Amita opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, an invitation Zahra readily accepted. Their tongues tangled and clashed wetly as their mouths crashed together and they kissed passionately, swapping hot spit and saliva, their bodies pressing together ever more tightly. Their hands began to roam over each other's backs and down to their buttocks as they kneaded the flesh and pulled each other in closer. Both women knew that foreplay was an integral part of any hard-fought titfight. The more turned on you got, the more your nipples hardened, and your breasts swelled, until they became massive, pumped up erogenous zones. Slick with sweat they rubbed their nipples together relentlessly as their tongues wrestled, slapping their tits from every angle. All the while their hands kept busy fondling and squeezing each other's buttocks, pulling each other in tight to maximise the pressure and friction between their big jutting boobs.

They broke apart briefly to catch their breath. Panting, they stood facing each other, their eyes locked, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Zahra's eyes were dark with desire, her chest heaving with each breath. Amita's gaze was equally intense, her nipples hard and aching with need. They came together again, their bodies colliding in a clash of flesh and muscle, their breasts mashing together in a battle for dominance. Their hands moved to each other's hair, tangling and pulling as they fought for control. The sensation of their bodies rubbing against each other was electrifying, their skin slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in their chests. Their breasts were now fully engorged, their nipples hard and erect, rubbing against each other with every movement. They pushed and pulled, their bodies straining against each other, each trying to assert their dominance. The room was filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and the occasional grunt of effort as they fought to overpower each other.

"Let's stop playing around and do this properly" gasped Amita.

"Fine, then show me all you’ve got girl!" breathed Zahra.

Amita leaned in, grabbing hold of the moist thong which was all Zahra was wearing, twisting it round her fingers and hauling up to give her opponent a massive wedgie. Zahra's shriek reflected equal parts pleasure and pain but she quickly gained a reciprocal hold on Amita's thong and pulled equally hard. Their bodies strained, the muscles in their arms and backs tensing as they fought for leverage. Their breasts were now squashed together, the pressure intense, their nipples rubbing against each other with every move. The sensation was almost too much to bear, their bodies responding to the touch with a surge of pleasure.

They continued to battle, their bodies moving in a dance of power and desire, each trying to gain the upper hand, their breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. But they were equally matched and neither could gain the advantage. It seemed they were stuck, their bodies locked together, neither willing to give in. Then, with a sudden movement, Amita twisted, throwing Zahra off balance. She used the momentary advantage to push her down onto the bed, pinning her beneath her. Zahra struggled, her body writhing beneath Amita, but she was unable to break free. Their bodies were still pressed together, their breasts mashed against each other, their breaths hot and heavy. Amita's eyes gleamed with triumph, her lips curling into a smile as she looked down at Zahra. But Zahra was not one to give up easily. With a burst of strength, she pushed back, flipping them both over, her body now on top of Amita's. Both women's thongs had slipped down in the melee and they used the movement to free themselves of this last encumbering item of clothing.

Eager to gain control, Zahra immediately pressed her swelling pubic mound down hard on Amita's. Both women were unshaven in this area: Amita mainly for cultural reasons, Zahra by choice. They could feel bristly pubes scrubbing against their engorged labial lips as they tussled for position. The scent of each woman's arousal was heavy and intense. Now Zahra sought to maximise her dominant position, aligning her rock hard nipples with Amita's bullets and squeezing their breasts together relentlessly. Her nipples poked Amita's deep into her titflesh as she leveraged her powerful shoulders and biceps to maintain her position on top of her rival. Amita writhed and twisted beneath her, but Zahra held firm, her body pressing down with relentless pressure.

The room was filled with the sounds of their struggle, the creaking of the bed, the soft moans and grunts of effort. The scent of their sweat and arousal hung heavy in the air, a heady mix that only added to the intensity of the moment. Both women were now fully naked and slick with sweat, their bodies glistening in the light. Their breasts were swollen and tender, their nipples erect and sensitive. The battle for dominance raged on, neither one willing to back down. In the contest of their swollen pubic mounds Zahra was doing a better job of staying on top and she began to grind down hard, rubbing her wet slit over Amita's equally moist quim. The Pakistani girl had already noted the near invincibility of her rival's breasts so to beat her she would have to concentrate her efforts on trying to fuck her to orgasm first. With Amita weakened and at her mercy, a titfight submission would surely be inevitable.

Amita was alive to the dilemma that Zahra’s strategy posed. The Sikh woman was no innocent when it came to sexfighting but knew it could become a distraction when there was a titfight to be won. Nevertheless she was forced to accept the challenge while Zahra held the initiative. Moaning with pleasure the two women quickly began swapping competitive trib positions while keeping the vast erogenous zone of their battling breasts as fully engaged as possible.

The first round went Zahra’s way as she mounted Amita and rode her vigorously, their massive tits slapping together in a blur of titflesh as the Pakistani fighter sought to force her rival to a quick climax. Amita held out longer than expected and even seemed close to making Zahra come first. But with her dark nipples inched deep inside the Sikh girl's cleavage and her throbbing clit on top, Zahra was able to force the issue and soon she had Amita yelping and squealing beneath her as a powerful orgasm ripped through her body.


Zahra was justifiably proud of this early success but she knew better than to gloat over a foe as formidable as Amita, so she just rode out the storm of the Sikh woman's climax, licking and sucking her neck to show there was no hard feelings. When Amita had finished quivering and groaning Zahra rolled off her and kissed her mouth wetly, sucking her tongue deep into her own mouth and exchanging sweet saliva. Amita responded with vigour, her hands reaching up to stroke Zahra's shoulders and arms, and to feel the weight of her breasts, so far undefeated. Zahra shivered and gasped at the sensation as Amita's fingers found her thick nipples and tweaked them gently.

Zahra was already close to orgasm herself when Amita launched her counterattack. She rolled on top and began to trib her more slowly and sensually, flexing her hips and maintaining eye contact with Zahra the whole time. The Pakistani's dark eyes gleamed with excitement, sweat pouring down her face and dripping onto Amita's neck and cleavage. Their big tits were now flattened together in a solid mass of titflesh, their nipples trapped deep inside each other's breasts, and the two women gasped and moaned with pleasure as they rocked to and fro, their swollen clits slipping and sliding together. Amita kissed Zahra's forehead and her eyelids as she worked her to the point of orgasm. Zahra's breathing became more ragged, her mouth open and her eyes wide. Amita thrust her big tits against Zahra's and bit her ear gently.
"Cum for me, Muslim girl," she whispered softly. "I want to feel your orgasm with my tits crushing yours."

Zahra's hands clutched Amita's fleshy buttocks as the first wave of her climax hit. She cried out loudly, her body convulsing with waves of pleasure. Amita held her tight, crushing her tits as Zahra's pussy exploded, soaking their pubes and their inner thighs with a warm wash of girlcum.

After this they separated to get their breath back and gaze at each other's voluptuous sweating bodies. Amita broke the silence first. "You know what this means?"
"Yes, of course," Zahra gave her opponent a lustful look. "We need to go full on again to settle this."

Both women smiled at each other. They were weary from two intense orgasms, but there was no way they were letting each other off the hook. Amita swung her legs off the bed and got to her feet. She was slightly unsteady but determined to see this fight to its conclusion.

"Let's get back down on the floor" she suggested.

Zahra readily agreed. Now there was nothing left but to slug it out breast to breast till one or other of them was beaten into submission. With a wry smile, she got up slightly shakily and joined Amita on her feet.
Their tits were red and marked from the punishment they'd taken so far. Despite the soreness, they came together again eagerly, chest to chest and belly to belly, their thick nipples squashing flat against each other's as they hugged tight and swayed to and fro, gradually increasing the pressure between their swollen breasts. At first, they were simply trying to wear each other down and soften up their titflesh before the final onslaught. But as they felt each other's tits begin to soften the urge to attack became overwhelming.

Zahra began the tit assault by driving her right breast hard against Amita's left, trying to dislodge it with a series of rapid thrusts. Amita countered with a powerful sweep of her left breast against Zahra's right, and then retaliated with her right tit, slamming it hard into Zahra's left.

Then, with neither fearless woman showing any sign of backing down, they began to raise the slugfest up a notch or two. They targeted each other's nipples, trying to bend them back or pierce them with their own bullets. Zahra managed to bend Amita's left nipple back and tried to hold it in place with her own, but Amita was too strong and wrestled her own thick nipple free. Then they traded blows with both breasts, their upper bodies swinging from side to side as they tried to knock each other's tits off their chests. The smacking and thudding of heavy wet titflesh colliding at speed filled the room, and the women's groans of pain and effort mingled with the sounds of their battle.

Amita seemed to have the slight edge as she forced Zahra back against the wall, hammering her rival's heavy breasts with her own. Zahra withstood the assault, crying out each time Amita's breasts struck hers, but managing to land a few blows of her own. Amita sensed victory was close and aimed a devastating double blow with both her tits that Zahra somehow managed to avoid. The Sikh's attack left her unbalanced and off guard, and Zahra took full advantage, driving her right breast up under Amita's left breast and flipping it upwards. The Sikh woman gasped in shock as her boob was lifted up high and the Pakistani girl then swung her left breast in hard, hammering Amita's right tit.

Amita stumbled backwards and Zahra whooping with delight followed up, crushing her opponent against the wall in turn. A renewed phase of close in grappling ensued as the Pakistani woman fought to press the advantage while her opponent struggled to fend her off. After some frantic moments Zahra managed to lock Amita in a tight bearhug. The Sikh woman refused to concede any advantage however and clasped her hands behind her opponent's sweaty back, drawing her in.

Both women began to flex and squeeze hard, using their strong pecs and biceps to drive their straining boobs deeper into each other's powerful rack. At the same time their sweaty bushes pressed together and began to grind again. They were both close to orgasm again but now the contest had become a question of who could withstand the tit pain longest. Zahra's nipples were bent back double inside her own breasts and she was crying out in anguish, but the pressure on Amita's big Indian boobs was also immense. She moaned and whined pitifully but refused to give in.

Then Zahra made her big mistake. Thinking she had Amita on the brink of submission she eased the pressure off slightly, trying to force a confession of defeat from her foe. Amita was nearly beaten, but the sudden release of pressure gave her tits a chance to recover. At the same time her big clit pressed inside Zahra's juicy wet cunt and she grabbed the Pakistani woman's sweat-slick buttocks, pulling her in tight and grinding hard on her rival's wet snatch. Zahra tried to tighten her bearhug but she was just too late. Her big brown tits had begun to lose their stiffness and now Amita's larger and firmer pair were slowly driving Zahra's big boobs back towards her chest. The Pakistani girl began to scream and sob with pain and frustration as she realised her mistake. Her first orgasm in a while was rapidly approaching but she had to try and resist the urge to climax, for she knew if she came again now her tit defences would crumble completely.

Rarely had Amita been fought this close in a titfight before, and like Zahra was close to the end of her tether. Each women could feel the end coming but knew the winner would only be decided once the excruciating mammary endurance test was finally over.

Zahra felt the first wave of her orgasm beginning to build and cried Amita's name, almost as if she wanted to surrender, but the Sikh girl knew that only total domination of her Pakistani foe would suffice. She gritted her teeth and fucked Zahra harder, feeling her own climax rising. Zahra sobbed and her legs buckled as she came hard, her hot sweet cum spurting over Amita's clit and mixing with the Sikh girl's own juices. Amita felt the sweet release and began to climax too, both women screaming and crying out as they hugged each other in their final moments of shared ecstasy.

The exhausted women lurched sideways and landed heavily on the bed, struggling to finish each other off in a last desperate breast to breast squeeze. Amita's tits had gained the upper hand and she knew it. She could feel Zahra's big boobs slowly collapsing against her own. She forced her thick nipples deep into Zahra's cleavage and her right breast slid between Zahra's two tits, spreading them apart. Zahra stifled a pained sob as her opponent's heavy pair crushed her own. Amita was in deep anguish too, but she was determined to break her Muslim rival. She grabbed Zahra's wrists and pulled her arms up above her head, then using her own weight she pinned the Pakistani girl to the bed and smacked her big dripping udders down hard on the sweaty pair beneath.

Amita moaned with pleasure, feeling Zahra’s thick nipples pressing into her own as their big, fleshy bags crushed together. The reek of sweat and pussy scent was intense and Amita knew her rival was still as sexually aroused as she was by the long, intimate battle.

"Submit, Zahra!" Amita ordered. "Your tits are beaten!"

"No fucking way, bitch!" the Pakistani girl shouted. There was a desperate flurry of action, Zahra gasping hard: bucking and writhing in a supreme effort to escape the pin. Amita cursed and brought her heavy tits down again on Zahra's straining chest. Zahra freed her wrists and their hands twisted into each others’ long dark hair to hold each other, their big udders squashing, flattening, and deforming each other. Yet despite Zahra's intense efforts to shift her opponent, Amita was still on top.

They remained in that position for several minutes, gasping and groaning, their faces pressed together as their sweaty bodies strained, their swollen breasts a mass of jiggling and flexing titflesh. Desperate to break the impasse, Amita arched her back and brought her tits down hard on her opponent's quivering rack. This time Zahra big breasts shook and yielded noticeably to Amita's and she let out a strangled cry.

"You're done, Muslim girl!" Amita growled. "You can't take any more tit punishment! Admit it!"

"No, never!" Zahra screamed, but her voice was trembling.

Amita smiled predatorially. She put her hands on Zahra's shoulders and and pressed down hard with her big brown tits. Zahra's nipples were almost fully engulfed inside the Sikh woman's breasts now and her tits were visibly starting to give way. Amita began to slide her tits slowly up and down, rubbing her nipples hard into Zahra's big breasts, making her moan loudly with each thrust. At the same time Amita pressed her hot womanhood down hard on Zahra's sodden pussy mound.

It was clear that both women remained supremely aroused, but neither could afford to let herself climax at this critical stage. Amita pushed with all her remaining strength, her heavy tits driving deep into Zahra's and spreading them apart.

"Ughh... Nooo...!" Zahra whined, her long legs thrashing wildly, her hands clawing at Amita's heaving back. But it was futile. Amita was now in total control. Her big tits were dominating Zahra's as she rode the Pakistani beauty hard, pinning her to the bed and crushing her breasts beneath her own. She felt Zahra's body quivering beneath her, her moans getting louder and more desperate.

"Give in, Zahra!" Amita panted in her rival's ear. "You know your tits are beaten!"

Zahra's eyes closed as her body succumbed to the dual assault on her tits and her pussy. She was finished and she knew it, the fight gone out of her. Zahra screamed something in Urdu, but Amita didn't understand.
"Say it in English, if you want me to hear you," she demanded.

Zahra looked up at her tearfully.

"I submit, Amita. You have defeated me. Your breasts are stronger than mine."

Amita smiled triumphantly and kissed Zahra roughly, tasting tears and sweat. She relaxed her tit-pressure slightly but kept her pussy tight against the Pakistani girl's mound, stimulating her clit. Zahra responded by wrapping her arms around the Sikh woman and kissing her back, their bodies still trembling in the aftermath of one of the closest and most intense titfights ever.

"I'm sorry, Zahra," Amita whispered, stroking Zahra's matted hair. "I had to do it."

"I know," the Pakistani woman replied. "I would have done the same to you."

The Sikh girl rolled off her beaten foe and lay beside her on the bed, their sweaty bodies still touching. After a while their eyes met and Amita saw no resentment in Zahra's expression, only sadness and a certain yearning. Without a word she leaned in and kissed her defeated rival again, more tenderly. Zahra responded warmly, her hand slipping down between their bodies to cup Amita's soaked pussy mound. Amita returned the favour, her own fingers seeking out Zahra's slick slit. Then they were kissing passionately, and without another word they began to pleasure each other to another satisfying climax.

Later that day they showered together and went their separate ways only after Amita had promised Zahra a rematch. Amita had won their first titfight, but in all other respects the two buxom beauties found they were remarkably well-matched and both looked forward to continuing their rivalry next time they met.



THE END