Disclaimer: This is the continuation of a violent duel between two people on the older side, so if one or both isn't up your alleyway, feel free to skip it. I don't like leaving stories unfinished, but feedback is still appreciated.

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Marge's perspective: It was adventurous to get on 2 feet again without getting attacked, and sure enough, we both grabbed hair with one hand while forcing the other inside. I shoved Sally toward the kitchen counter and closed the door, rolling the blinds down in the process. I sensed she was crazy enough to jump me, so I offered a truce. More specifically I threw a water bottle and a towel at her.
- Use this time to recuperate. I did just clean up, so the only mess I want to leave is you!
- Don't worry, sweetheart, you're welcome to try!
- Oh really, honey? - I've almost felt an urge to spit in her face, but I chose a different tactic instead. I've put my right hand across her right and started to drink my own bottle by pulling away hers from her lips via pulling her arm toward me.
She did not take long to recognize my aim, and started to pull back. No words were exchanged, only grunts as we tried to dehydrate each other. As our arms waged their own war, so has our bodies gotten closer to the counter. As a preemptive measure, we both crouched a little so that our breasts neither push against the cold furniture, nor end up on them. This was not yet the time for breast mauling. We still haven't found out who has the stronger arms. As if by magic, we both let go from blocking the other from drinking, and once finished, it only took a glance to make the other understand: it will get only rougher.

Grunts have filled the air again as I forced her away from the counter until we could meet again unhindered. Sally spared no chance of attack, and a brief, but very painful, mutual leg stomping followed. The ensuing screams echoed from the walls, so there wasn't much of a choice, I had to cool her down. I started to push her towards the toilet, leaning in on her, so she can't kick me again. Once she grasped the idea, she frantically tried to let go of me, following up on her previous attempt to break my fingers. I chose to negotiate. - If I let you go, you promise to behave?
- I'm not a kid, you're not my mother! - she retorted, forcing my hands in a submissive position.
- I certainly am not, I wouldn't have had you. - I pierced back at her, pushing my chest into hers.
- Put them up, you fucking cunt! - she yelled at me, letting go of my hands, ready to punch me out.

Loud smacks and the occasional blood have drawn the trail backwards, sparing no scrap of skin uncovered by bruises, until I reached my limit and got hold of her torn swimsuit. For a few seconds she still pummeled me, but then realized I was about to give her an atomic wedgie. She dropped her fists, but couldn't stop my advantage even if she followed suit. If hatred could be measured in sound, the effect of ripping garment tormenting flesh would be a gold standard. It is closely followed by painful howls and breathing down the other's neck. To break the stalemate, she pushed her weight on me, and swept my right leg from under me. Although she fell on top of me, she needed time to recuperate from such a savage attack. She slid down on me to nurse her sore womanhood, and to get a firm grasp on my torn suit. Instead of doing the expected, and continuing her assault, she started to pull it down. I shrieked out, and used my legs to try and lock her neck, but it was unsuccessful. I did the next best thing, using my toes to clutch onto her suit. While not as effective as her attack, it still took her by surprise, so she started to back away. Or, attempted to. By grabbing her hands, I managed to keep her in place and I did my damnedest to press my butt down so she can't disrobe me. Despite all valiant efforts, after a time that felt like eternity, there we lied, in our birthday suits.

We got back on our feet and went for a mutual bearhug, wanting to tire the other out. After stumbling into a huge chair, she landed on top of me. She managed to slide up a bit, and proceed to breast smother me. I let go of my bearhug and tried to push her off, to no avail. In desperation, I grabbed her ass and used my lips to suck in her breast. She moaned, and let go of her hug in favor of grabbing my breast and mound with her hands. This might have seemed as if we ventured into a sexual combat, but that was far from it. In addition to get free, I've only humiliated her so that she doesn't forget to mess with me again... also, this is hard to be proven assault. She slid back and let go of my breast as did I with hers to gain air supply. She just stared at me, and if looks could kill, I'd be dead with the knowledge she doesn't mess around either. She wasn't my friend, she wasn't my blood, this was still the woman I suspect having had foul play. I wanted to hurt her... just not like this. We used our free hands to pry away the attack and we slowly climbed out of the huge chair. It was time to recuperate in as far away corners as possible.