You Want Me To Do What Now?
by DCDave
"You want me to do what now?"
Heather asked this with a surprised tone, her hazel eyes widening as she leaned back on the plush sectional sofa in their cozy living room. The soft glow of a table lamp cast warm shadows across her face, highlighting the faint laugh lines that added to her charm. At forty-six, Heather was striking—fit from yoga and CrossFit, with shoulder-length auburn hair and a figure that still turned heads. She set her glass of pinot grigio on the coffee table, her gaze fixed on her husband, Dave, who sat across from her, looking sheepish but resolute.
Dave, forty-five, ran a hand through his full head of sandy blond hair, his grin betraying his excitement. He leaned forward in the armchair, elbows on his knees. His second marriage to Heather had reignited his spark, and tonight, he was testing a boundary he'd long fantasized about. "I know it's wild," he said, his voice steady despite his nerves, "but hear me out. I want you to participate in an arranged catfight. For me."
Heather's lips parted, amusement and disbelief flickering across her face. "A catfight? Like, clawing and hair-pulling in some dive bar?" She laughed, but curiosity gleamed in her eyes. Dave wasn't one for reckless whims, and their marriage thrived on honesty after messy first marriages. She tilted her head, studying him. "Okay, I'm listening. Why are you so into this?"
Dave's cheeks flushed, but he held her gaze. "It's intense. The raw energy, two women going all out—it's primal. I've watched videos for years, even before you. It's not just the fight; it's the confidence, the stakes. It's hot." His blue eyes sparkled. "And you, Heather—you're strong, fierce. I can see you dominating."
Heather smirked, playfully skeptical. "Fierce, huh? Flattering me into this?" She leaned forward, chin in hand. "Is this a fetish, or do you just want me scrapping for your entertainment?"
"Both, maybe," Dave admitted, grinning. "It's organized, safe. The women are into it—it's about the thrill, not harm. I've pictured you in one. You've got that fire." His enthusiasm was infectious, and Heather felt a stir of intrigue. The competition in her CrossFit box often got intense, and she loved the intensity. She felt the same way in her yoga studio, where she wanted to hold poses longer and more effectively than her...well, honestly, her competition.
She laughed, shaking her head. "You're nuts, but I'm not saying no... yet. I need details. Rules? Outfits? How do you even know this stuff?" Her teasing tone masked genuine interest, and Dave seized the moment.
"Let me show you," he said, grabbing his laptop from the side table. He opened a private folder, pulling up three videos. "These are the best—SuiteFights, Mexican Catfights, and Crystal Films. Watch, and I'll tell you why they're amazing."
Heather scooted closer, legs tucked under her as Dave angled the screen. She noticed that this folder was very full of files and connected the dots that Dave had been enjoying this in his fantasy life for some time. The first video loaded: SuiteFights, Jemma vs. Lexi. Two very chesty women circled in a mid-range hotel suite, wearing only thong underwear. Jemma, a platinum blonde with a model's poise, lunged at Lexi, a yellow-blonde bombshell. Lexi grabbed Jemma's tits, twisting hard, and Jemma yelped, retaliating with fierce hair-pulling. Their bodies strained, hair yanking intense, each fighting like hell to win despite the rules. Lexi always came out on top, her grip on Jemma's chest forcing submission after submission.
"See this?" Dave said, voice thick with excitement. "They're like models, but they're fighting hard. Lexi's ruthless with those tit-grabs, and Jemma's fighting back, no quit. The hair-pulling—it's so raw." His hand rested on Heather's thigh, his arousal evident.
Heather watched, lips parted, drawn to the intensity. "They're not playing around," she murmured. "It's... hot, how serious they are." She felt a thrill, noticing Dave's growing bulge.
Dave clicked to Mexican Catfights, Miranda vs. Santana. The setting was a somewhat seedy room, a mattress shoved against one wall, thin mats on the floor. Miranda, a brunette in leggings and a skimpy top, tackled Santana, a blonde in similar attire. They slapped and grappled, hands buried in each other's hair, pulling with abandon, their grunts echoing.
"This one's gritty," Dave said. "The setting's rough, and their rivalry's real—some Twitter beef, I think. They're all in—slaps, hair-pulls, no holding back." His hand tightened on Heather's thigh as she slid her hand to his lap, stroking his hardness through his jeans.
Heather's breath quickened, the rawness on-screen stirring her. She unzipped Dave's jeans, her fingers wrapping around his throbbing cock as the attractive ladies slid off their high heels to fight. "You love this, don't you?" she teased, her voice low as she stroked him.
"Fuck, yeah," Dave groaned, eyes flicking between the screen and her hand. He loaded the final clip: Crystal Films Video Magazine 17, Star vs. Amanda. Set in a hotel room, the women wore lingerie—Star, a leggy redhead, and Amanda, a petite, chesty blonde. This was a grudge fight, fists flying, aggression raw. They punched and wrestled, bodies slamming into furniture, no mercy.
Heather's eyes locked on the screen, her strokes on Dave's cock growing firmer. "This one's different," she said, voice husky. "They're really angry. It's... arousing." She saw herself in Star and Amanda—their athletic builds, not the exaggerated curves of Jemma and Lexi. The aggression, the physicality, appealed to her deeply.
Dave's cock pulsed in her hand, his breath ragged. He looped back to the SuiteFights video, Lexi dominating Jemma. As Jemma's face contorted in pain from Lexi's tit-grab, her expression raw and defeated, Dave's hips bucked. "God, that look..." he gasped. Heather dipped down, swallowing his cockhead just as he erupted, his balls unloading as she took him deep, milking every pulse.
She sat up, wiping her lips with a sly grin. "Okay, I get it. It's fucking hot. And maybe I'm in. But you're telling me everything—rules, outfits, all of it." Her eyes gleamed with mischief and resolve.
Dave laughed, breathless, pulling her close. "Deal. We're doing this together."
this is very exciting, and I love that you used actual references to real catfight videos!
Very very very hot! Also love the reference to SuiteFights, Mexican Catfights et al.
Is sponsoring/pre-sales available? And maybe helpful to get Heather a really skilled nasty opponent, i.e. Sarah Brooke, Santana or Nikki Darling?
Love it, love the realism Heather knows how much it turns him on and deep down she's jealous he gets off watching other women and wants to be the centre of his attention, I am intrigued to find out who she fights and in what setting, will she allow it to be filmed I wonder
Interesting beginning
Dave-you're one smooth talking (writing) SOB! Keep it going! Mike & Lynn
Really hope this continues
Great title! And a highly promising opening. There'd better be more on the way, though, or there'll be wailing, gnashing of teeth, and a dump-truckload of dead fairies.
Dude, where's part 2 already?! You're killing me Smalls. Lol. Great start.
The hum of tires on the expressway filled the SUV as Dave gripped the steering wheel, his eyes flicking between the road and the late afternoon sun glinting off the hood. Heather sat beside him, one leg tucked under her, scrolling idly on her phone. The air between them buzzed with an unspoken tension, a leftover spark from their night on the couch that hadn't quite faded. She'd been quieter since, but Dave caught her stealing glances at him, her hazel eyes glinting with something. Curiosity, maybe, or resolve.
"So," Heather said, breaking the silence, her voice casual but pointed. She set her phone in her lap and turned to face him. "I've been thinking about the whole... fighting thing." She paused, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. "You know, your little catfight fantasy."
Dave's pulse quickened, his fingers tightening on the wheel. He glanced at her, catching the playful challenge in her expression. "Oh, yeah?" he said, keeping his tone light despite the heat creeping up his neck. "What about it?"
Heather leaned back, stretching her arms above her head, her fitted tank top hugging her toned frame. "I'm curious. How do you even find someone for this? Like, is there a secret catfight Craigslist I don't know about?" She laughed, but her eyes locked on him, searching for details.
Dave grinned, his mind racing. He felt a familiar stir in his jeans, his body betraying his excitement as he tried to focus on the road. "There are websites," he said, clearing his throat. "Private forums, mostly. FreeCatFights has a spot where women sign up, list their stats, experience, what they're into. MeetFighters, too, though their vibe's rougher. You post a profile, set terms, give your stats, and people reach out. FetLife also has a community of women who fight. It's... organized."
Heather raised an eyebrow, amused. "Stats? Like I'm listing my CrossFit PRs? 'Heather, forty-six, killer deadlift, ready to yank hair'?" She snorted, but her fingers drummed on her thigh, a telltale sign she was intrigued. "So, you've been poking around these sites already, haven't you?"
Dave's cheeks flushed, but he didn't deny it. "Maybe a little," he admitted, his grin sheepish. What he should have said was, "Yes, just about every day. Why do you think we go through so much lotion?!" But instead, he said, "Just to see what's out there." His jeans felt tighter now, the thought of Heather in one of those fights, her strength, her fire, making it hard to focus. He shifted in his seat, hoping she wouldn't notice.
She did. Her eyes flicked to his lap, and a sly smile spread across her face. "You're getting off on this right now, aren't you?" she teased, her voice low and husky. She leaned closer, her hand resting on his thigh, dangerously close to the growing bulge. "Okay, let's say I'm in. I'd want someone like me. Fit, not some twenty-year-old bikini model. Someone my age, maybe, with some experience. But..." She hesitated, her tone softening. "They've gotta look good, you know? I'm not scrapping with someone who doesn't take care of herself."
Dave swallowed hard, his cock twitching under her touch. "Fit, forties, hot. Got it," he said, his voice rough. "You're worried about experience?"
"A little," Heather admitted, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his thigh. "I mean, I'm strong, but I've never done... this. What if they're some pro catfighter who's been clawing faces for years?" She laughed, but her eyes narrowed, competitive. "I'd still hold my own, though."
"Fuck yeah, you would," Dave said, almost a growl. He could picture it: Heather grappling, her muscles flexing, hair flying. His erection strained against his jeans, and he knew she felt it when her hand brushed higher, teasingly deliberate.
They bantered as the miles ticked by, Heather tossing out questions about rules. "No closed fists, right? Like SuiteFights? But I'm okay with hair-pulling, slaps, maybe some wrestling moves." She paused, her voice dropping. "I'm thinking... a pretty rough catfight. Somewhere between SuiteFights and Crystal Films."
Dave's head spun. That she remembered the names—SuiteFights' polished intensity, Crystal Films' raw aggression—sent a jolt through him. His hands gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles whitened. "You're serious," he said, half-laughing, half-dazed. "You're really into this."
Heather smirked, her hand finally grazing his bulge, giving it a light squeeze that made him groan. "Maybe I am," she purred. "I like the idea of winning. For you." She sat back, folding her arms, her expression mischievous. "So, can you find someone? Or is this all talk?"
Dave's mind raced, his arousal warring with focus. "I'll look," he said, voice thick.
Heather's eyes gleamed, a mix of nerves and excitement. "Then let's see if some wife's got what it takes to handle me," she said, her voice bold, daring. She leaned over, kissing his cheek, her breath warm against his skin. "But you'd better make this worth it, Dave." He laughed, dizzy with want, the road stretching out ahead as their plan took shape.
Dave had a few leads, and one struck him as the best. A guy on FCF had been posting about his wife, and the photos he posted on his profile looked epic. Were they real? How was he going to figure this out? Dave's head buzzed with ideas.
There are many Dave's on this site, a very realistic and relevant story, don't stop keep it going. I'm as horny as dave reading this ????
The living room glowed under the soft light of late afternoon, the curtains drawn back to let the sun spill across the hardwood. Dave stood near the coffee table, his phone in hand, adjusting the angle as Heather struck another pose. She'd spent the last two days prepping—nails done in a sleek, deep red, her auburn hair freshly cut and styled in loose waves, and a new pair of shorts from Violate The Dress Code that clung to her curves like a second skin. The pink Sugar Shorts were daring, hugging her toned thighs and accentuating the undercurve of her ass, paired with a snug sports bra that showed off her CrossFit-honed physique. At forty-six, Heather looked fierce, and she knew it.
Dave cleared his throat, trying to keep his focus. "Okay, babe, this is for the verification photo. The guy from FreeCatFights? We moved to Trillian, and he asked for you in gym wear, holding a sign with his wife's name. Keisha." He grinned, his excitement barely contained. "I asked for Keisha in short shorts, a sports bra, and heels, holding a sign with your name. Fair trade. Tried to think of stuff that'd be hard to lie about or bootleg."
Heather smirked, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "Keisha, huh? Sounds like she's ready to throw down." She grabbed a piece of paper from the table, scrawling "Keisha" in bold marker. "But I'm not just doing one boring photo, Dave. If I'm in, I'm in." Her hazel eyes sparkled with mischief as she planted her feet, hips cocked, and held the sign across her chest, her free hand resting on her hip. "Take it."
Dave snapped the shot, his pulse quickening. She didn't stop there. Heather dropped the sign and raised her fists like a boxer, her biceps flexing. "How's this for fierce?" she teased, then shifted, palming her breasts with a sultry grin. "Or this?" She turned, glancing over her shoulder, the shorts showcasing her ass as she gave a playful wiggle. "Come on, get all the angles."
"Jesus, Heather," Dave muttered, his voice thick, fingers fumbling with the phone. Her confidence was electric, and the way those shorts hugged her curves had him half-distracted. "You're killing me." He kept shooting, his jeans tightening as she flowed through poses, each one bolder than the last. She was talking now, her voice low and intense, as she moved.
"I want to fight her, Dave," Heather said, dropping into a slight crouch, fists up again. "I keep thinking about it—grabbing her hair, pinning her down. Like SuiteFights, but with some of Crystal Films' edge. I want to win." Her eyes locked on his, a competitive fire burning. "You think Keisha's got the guts to handle me?"
"Fuck, I hope she does," Dave said, grinning, his cock stirring at the thought. "You're a goddamn force right now." Heather was excited enough that her top came off, carefully so as not to foul her hair and makeup. And Dave's hands tried not to shake as he snapped photos of his wife showing her breasts, covering her breasts with her hands, ending with her with her fists clenched and arms raised, her nipples like pen caps.
He lowered the phone, stepping closer. "Okay, done. These are... insane. You look like you're ready to step into a fight pit."
Heather laughed, brushing her hair back, a flush of excitement on her cheeks. "Good. Now, let me see that profile you made for me on FreeCatFights." She crossed her arms, leaning against the couch. "And I want you to post a couple of the tamer shots—fists up, maybe hands on hips. Save the spicy ones for later. Let's keep Keisha guessing."
Dave nodded, pulling up the site on his laptop. He'd spent hours crafting her profile: Heather, 46, 5'6", 135 lbs, CrossFit and yoga devotee. Fierce, fit, and ready for a first challenge. Prefers intense, fair fights—hair-pulling, slaps, grappling OK. No pros, must be fit and 40+. He'd kept it straightforward but enticing, and now he uploaded two photos: one of Heather with her fists raised, eyes blazing, and another with her hands on her hips, confident and strong.
As he hit "post," a notification pinged. A message on Trillian, from the guy. Dave's heart skipped as he opened it. Keisha had a blast showing off for you. She's ready to go whenever. What's up, man? Heather backing down already? The taunt was subtle but unmistakable, and Dave felt a thrill at the challenge.
He read it aloud, glancing at Heather. Her lips curled into a defiant smirk. "Backing down? Oh, please," she said, her voice dripping with attitude. "Tell him Keisha better bring her A-game, because I'm not here to play nice." She stepped closer, her hand grazing his arm, her tone turning sultry. "And Dave? You'd better make sure this happens. I'm ready to give you a show."
Dave's breath caught, his mind racing with images of Heather and Keisha clashing. "Oh, it's happening," he said, typing a quick reply: Heather's all in. We're ready to swap photos. She's coming for Keisha. You all game? He hit send, his heart pounding, knowing they were one step closer to making this real.
My bulge in my pants grows every time just like Dave's
Heather leaned over Dave's shoulder as he opened the FreeCatFights profile for Keisha, her curiosity piqued. The screen loaded, and Keisha's details popped up: Keisha, 42, 5'6", 140 lbs, lifts heavy, wife, mom, total dime, and the woman who'll kick your ass. Record: 2-1. Loves body punching, face slapping, hair-pulling, and crushing with my thighs and hands. Bring it. A few photos showed her in gym gear, her physique powerful: strong arms, defined quads, and a confident smirk that screamed trouble.
Heather's eyes scanned the text, her lips parting slightly. She wasn't nervous, which surprised her. Instead, a warm flush spread through her, her breath quickening. "She's a dimepiece, alright," she murmured, her voice low, almost to herself. The idea of facing Keisha, her strength, her boldness, stirred something deep, a mix of competition and arousal that caught her off guard. So did the fact that Keisha was black. She never considered that her opponent would be anything other than white. "This is... interesting," she said, glancing at Dave with a sly smile.
Before Dave could respond, Trillian pinged. A new message from Keisha's husband, with an attached photo. Dave clicked, and Keisha appeared on-screen, striking a pose in exactly what he'd requested: tiny booty shorts, a sports bra, and sky-high stripper heels. She held a sign reading "Heather" in bold letters, her expression fierce. Keisha's Black girl body was undeniable and hot as hell. Big boobs, wide hips, and a round ass that filled out the outfit perfectly. Her mocha colored skin gleamed under the light, her curves accentuated by the daring ensemble.
Heather's jaw dropped, her eyes wide. "She's fucking hot." she said, half-laughing, half-stunned. "I didn't even think about how confident she'd look... wow." She stared at the photo, taking in Keisha's confidence, the way she owned the frame. Dave was trying to play it cool, but his quickened breathing betrayed him as he typed a reply, attaching Heather's verification shot—the one with her holding the "Keisha" sign, hips cocked.
Heather leaned closer, her hand on his shoulder. "Send more," she said, her voice firm, a glint in her eyes. "The one with my fists up. And... the one where my tits are out, sports bra pulled up." She smirked, catching Dave's stunned glance. "Let's see how she handles that."
Dave's fingers hesitated, then moved fast, attaching the photos. The fists-up shot showed Heather's athletic intensity, her biceps flexed, eyes locked on the camera. The second was bolder: her sports bra lifted, breasts bared, a defiant grin on her face. He hit send, his cock twitching at the thought of Keisha's reaction. "You're wild," he muttered, half in awe.
The Trillian chat exploded into a back-and-forth. Keisha's husband fired back with another shot of her, this time flexing her thighs, the sign now propped against her hip. Through her husband, Keisha says Bring it, Heather. You sure you're ready? Heather read it aloud, her voice dripping with defiance. "Oh, I'm ready," she said, nudging Dave. "Tell him I'll pull that hair and slap that smirk off her face."
Dave typed her response, grinning as Heather hovered, suggesting quips. Keisha's side kept it spicy too: another photo, her hands cupping her boobs, taunting, This is what's coming for you. Heather laughed, unfazed, dictating a reply: Better hope those thighs can save you when I'm done with you. The banter escalated, each woman's confidence fueling the other's, their husbands typing furiously, barely keeping up.
Then, a message from Keisha's husband: Keisha's wondering if that soft belly of yours can take a punch. Bet it can't. He followed with a winking emoji, but the jab landed.
Heather's eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a determined grin. "Soft? Oh, hell no." She turned to Dave, her voice steady but electric. "Tell them body punching's in. I want it rough. Full on Crystal Films rules. I'm not scared of her, and my fists can take her fists." Her hand grazed Dave's lap, feeling his hardness, and she smirked. "You're loving this, aren't you?"
"Fuck, yeah," Dave groaned, unable to even hide his dizzy lust, typing the reply: Heather says bring the body punches. She's ready to trade blows. His heart raced, the stakes climbing higher. Then, another ping. Keisha's husband suggested a FaceTime call, writing: Let's see if you're both real.
Dave glanced at Heather, who nodded, her expression a mix of nerves and fire. They set up the call, and soon Keisha's face filled the screen, her dark eyes sharp, lips curved in a challenging smile. Her husband, a stocky guy with a goatee, stood behind her, grinning. Heather leaned into the frame, her auburn hair catching the light, her gaze unflinching. Dave hovered close, his hand on her back.
"Well, damn," Keisha said, her voice smooth, teasing. "You look ready, Heather. But you sure you can handle me?" She flexed an arm, her tone playful but edged with steel.
Heather laughed, leaning closer to the camera. "Handle you? Sweetie, I'm gonna own you. Hope those thighs are as strong as you think." Her voice was bold, but her pulse raced, the reality of facing Keisha sinking in.
The husbands chimed in, trading logistics, but Keisha's guy cut through the chatter. "Why wait? There's a roadside motel, thirty minutes from you. We're close. Meet us there. Now." He raised an eyebrow, daring them.
Dave froze, glancing at Heather. Her eyes widened for a split second, then hardened with resolve. "Yes," she said, her voice steady, a fire in her chest. "Let's do this. Now." Keisha's laugh crackled through the speakers. "Oh, it's on, girl. See you soon." The call ended, and Heather turned to Dave, her breath quick, her body buzzing with adrenaline.
"Grab my gym bag," she said, already heading for the door. "We're not backing down."
Dave scrambled to follow, his mind reeling, cock throbbing at the thought of what was coming. The roadside motel loomed in his imagination, a gritty stage for Heather and Keisha to clash, and he couldn't wait to see it unfold.
So far so good
Need more
The SUV's headlights cut through the dusk as Dave pulled into the parking lot of the roadside motel, its neon sign flickering "Vacancy" in a sickly yellow glow. The single-story building was as seedy as they'd imagined, with peeling paint, thick cinderblock walls, and a vibe that screamed 1970s construction, frozen in time. Heather's grip tightened on the gym bag in her lap, her heart pounding as she scanned the lot. "This place is a dump," she muttered, but her voice carried an edge of excitement.
Dave spotted a sleek silver Lexus IS500 parked near the end unit, its polished surface out of place against the motel's grime. "There," he said, nodding toward it. A figure stepped out, Keisha, unmistakable even in the dim light. Her sky-high stripper heels clicked on the asphalt, but she'd thrown on a thin black wrap that clung to her curves, hinting at the booty shorts and sports bra beneath. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, her posture confident, almost taunting.
Heather's eyes locked on her, narrowing. "She's still got those damn heels," she said, her tone half-admiring, half-competitive. She glanced down at her own outfit, pink Violate The Dress Code Sugar Shorts, a sports bra, and a similar sheer wrap tied loosely at her waist. But her Ugg slides felt like a misstep. "Should've worn heels," she muttered to herself, kicking herself mentally. "At least our wraps match. Classy."
Dave parked a few spaces away, his pulse racing as Keisha's husband, a stocky guy with a goatee and a cocky grin, spotted them. He waved, casual but challenging, and opened the motel room door. Keisha turned, her eyes catching Heather's across the lot. In one fluid motion, she untied her wrap, letting it fall open to reveal she'd ditched her sports bra entirely, her full round breasts bared for a split second. She flashed a wicked smile at the white couple, then stepped into the dark room, her hips swaying.
Heather's jaw tightened, a mix of shock and defiance flaring in her chest. "Oh, she's playing dirty," she said, her voice low, already untying her own wrap. "Let's go, Dave." She slid out of the SUV, her slides scuffing the pavement, and Dave followed, his throat dry, cock straining against his jeans at Keisha's bold move.
Inside, the room smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener, the air thick with tension. Keisha's husband closed the door behind them, the lock clicking with finality. The space was cramped, with faded wallpaper, a sagging bed, and a rattling AC unit that he kicked on high, its hum filling the silence. Heather and Keisha stood a few feet apart, sizing each other up, their wraps now dangling from their hands. Heather's palms were sweaty, her nerves buzzing, but she forced a smirk, refusing to show weakness. Keisha's dark eyes gleamed, her confidence unshaken, though her own heart raced beneath her bravado.
Dave and Keisha's husband moved in sync, shoving the bed against the wall to clear a space on the thin carpet. The women barely noticed, their focus locked on each other. Keisha dropped her wrap to the floor and stepped out of her heels, her bare feet planting firmly, her breasts swaying slightly as she adjusted her stance in just her booty shorts. Heather mirrored her, kicking off her slides and peeling off her sports bra, tossing it aside. Her own breasts, smaller but firm, glistened with a light sheen of nervous sweat. She caught Keisha's gaze lingering on her, and a pang of envy hit, Keisha's tits were bigger, rounder, denser, like they were built for battle.
Keisha, meanwhile, felt a flicker of anxiety. Heather's ass and thighs were unreal, thick, muscular, sculpted from years of CrossFit and yoga. She hadn't expected a white woman to pack that kind of power, and it threw her off. "Damn, girl, you been squatting trucks?" Keisha said, her tone teasing but sharp, trying to regain her edge.
Heather smirked, stepping closer. "Enough to crush you, sweetheart. Hope those thighs are ready to tap out." Her voice was steady, but her heart hammered, the reality of this fight sinking in.
The men stepped back, watching as the women circled, their bare feet scuffing the carpet. Keisha's husband spoke first, his voice calm but firm. "Rules check. Body punching, face slapping, hair-pulling, grappling, all in. Kicking's cool, but no low blows unless you both agree. Anything else?"
Keisha's eyes flicked to Heather, a sly grin spreading. "You want to keep your pussy safe, or we going all out?" Her tone was provocative, testing.
Dave let out an audible moan, his face flushing as Heather's eyes blazed. "Bitch, I'll go for your twat if you try me," she snapped, her voice thick with defiance. "Nothing's off limits."
Keisha laughed, low and dangerous. "That's what I like to hear." She cracked her knuckles, her muscles tensing.
Dave's voice was hoarse as he looked at Heather. "You ready, babe?" She nodded, her jaw tight, sweat beading on her brow. Keisha's husband glanced at his wife, who gave a sharp nod, her ponytail bouncing. He clapped his hands. "Well, fight it out."
The room seemed to shrink as the women lunged. Keisha moved first, more aggressive, her right hand darting out to slap Heather's cheek with a sharp crack. Heather's head snapped to the side, a red mark blooming, but she didn't flinch. She countered with a quick jab to Keisha's ribs, her fist sinking into the soft flesh just below her breast. Keisha grunted, her body twisting, but she retaliated fast, grabbing a fistful of Heather's auburn hair and yanking hard.
Heather gasped, pain shooting through her scalp, but her CrossFit strength kicked in. She drove her shoulder into Keisha's chest, shoving her back until they hit the wall with a thud. The impact rattled the cheap mirror above them, and Keisha's breath hitched, her grip loosening. Heather seized the moment, landing a sharp slap across Keisha's face, the sound echoing over the AC's rattle. Keisha's head rocked, but she snarled, her free hand swinging a punch into Heather's stomach.
The blow landed hard, forcing a wheeze from Heather as her abs contracted. She stumbled back, sweat dripping down her temples, her thighs trembling. Keisha pressed her advantage, charging forward and tackling Heather to the carpet. They hit the ground hard, limbs tangling, grunts and gasps filling the air. Keisha straddled Heather's hips, her thighs clamping tight, trying to pin her. "Got you now," she hissed, her hands scrabbling for Heather's wrists.
But Heather was stronger than Keisha expected. With a guttural growl, she bucked her hips, twisting her body to flip Keisha off. The move sent Keisha sprawling, her back hitting the carpet with a muffled thud. Heather pounced, her knees pinning Keisha's shoulders as she grabbed a handful of Keisha's ponytail, pulling hard. Keisha yelped, her hands clawing at Heather's thighs, leaving red scratches as she fought to break free.
The fight turned frantic, both women sweating profusely, their bodies slick as they rolled across the carpet. Keisha managed to hook her leg around Heather's, flipping them again, and landed a stinging slap to Heather's cheek, followed by a quick punch to her side. Heather groaned, pain radiating through her ribs, but she retaliated with a fierce tug on Keisha's hair, dragging her head back. She used the leverage to shove Keisha off, both women scrambling to their feet, panting heavily.
They circled again, eyes locked, each waiting for an opening. Keisha lunged, aiming a kick at Heather's thigh, but Heather dodged, grabbing Keisha's arm and twisting it behind her back. Keisha hissed, stomping on Heather's foot to break free, then spun, landing a solid punch to Heather's stomach. Heather doubled over, gasping, but her instincts kicked in. She tackled Keisha, their bodies slamming into the wall again, this time knocking a cheap painting to the floor.
The brawl grew wilder, their grunts and curses mixing with the AC's rattle. Heather's strength gave her an edge, her powerful thighs driving Keisha back as she landed a series of slaps to Keisha's face and chest. Keisha fought back fiercely, her fists hammering Heather's ribs and stomach, each blow drawing a sharp gasp. But Keisha was tiring, her aggressive start costing her stamina, while Heather's endurance, honed by years of CrossFit, kept her pushing forward.
Keisha grabbed Heather's hair with both hands, yanking her head down, and tried to knee her in the chest. Heather blocked the knee with her forearm, then drove her fist into Keisha's midsection, the impact forcing a choked groan from Keisha. Heather followed with a slap that snapped Keisha's head to the side, then tackled her to the ground again. This time, Heather pinned Keisha's arms with her knees, her breath ragged but triumphant. "Tap out," she growled, her voice hoarse, sweat dripping from her brow onto Keisha's face.
Keisha thrashed, her legs kicking, but Heather's weight held her down. With a final, desperate heave, Keisha tried to roll free, but Heather tightened her grip, twisting Keisha's hair until she gasped in pain. "Fuck... okay!" Keisha spat, her hand slapping the carpet in submission.
Heather rolled off, collapsing onto her back, chest heaving, her body slick with sweat. Keisha lay beside her, panting, her own skin glistening, red marks and scratches crisscrossing her arms and thighs. The men stood frozen, Dave's eyes wide, his erection painfully obvious, while Keisha's husband clapped slowly, a mix of pride and disbelief on his face.
"Damn, ladies," he said, shaking his head. "That was... something."
Heather managed a weak laugh, her body aching but buzzing with adrenaline. She glanced at Keisha, who met her gaze with a grudging nod. "Good fight," Keisha muttered, her voice rough. "You're stronger than you look."
"You too," Heather said, a small grin breaking through her exhaustion. She pushed herself up, wincing, and Dave rushed to her side, his hands hovering, unsure where to touch without hurting her.
"You okay, babe?" he asked, his voice thick with awe and concern.
Heather nodded, her eyes still burning with fire. "Hell yeah. Told you I'd win." She glanced at Keisha, who was sitting up now, rubbing her ribs. "Next time, I'm going for that twat."
Keisha laughed, a sharp, genuine sound, and shook her head. "Bring it, white girl."
The room fell quiet, the AC's rattle the only sound as the reality of what they'd done settled in. Dave's mind raced, already replaying every moment, knowing this wouldn't be the last time.
You hooked us with the build up and sealed the deal with the fight
Very well done
My only slight disappointment was the fact that neither did go for the pussy but the little bit at the end gives me hope you're already working on the rematch that will include that and maybe more
However it's what I wanted to see Not a criticism of a very good story
Keisha pushed herself to her feet, her chest still heaving, sweat glistening on her dark skin. Red marks bloomed across her ribs and arms, and her ponytail hung loose, strands sticking to her neck. Her dark eyes burned with a mix of hurt and fury, her jaw tight as she glared at Heather, who was still catching her breath, propped against Dave's arm. Keisha's loss stung, a bitter edge to her pride, and she wasn't ready to walk away. She stepped to the center of the cleared carpet, her bare feet planted firmly, and crossed her arms over her bare chest. "We're not done," she said, her voice low, sharp. "I want another round. Different fight."
Heather, riding the high of her victory, wiped sweat from her brow and straightened, her hazel eyes narrowing with curiosity. Her thighs ached, her cheek stung from slaps, but the adrenaline pumping through her made her feel invincible. "Oh yeah?" she said, a cocky grin spreading. "What's your game, Keisha? Ready to lose again?"
Keisha's lips twitched, but her gaze didn't waver. "No grappling, no punching. Just us, face to face. Hands on throats, choking until one of us goes out." Her words hung heavy in the air, the challenge raw and brutal. "You game, or you scared?"
Heather froze, her grin faltering for a split second. Choking? Her heart skipped, the intensity of Keisha's stare boring into her. Keisha's husband let out a strangled, anxious noise, his eyes darting between the women, his hands flexing nervously. Dave exhaled a sharp "whuuf," his face a mix of shock and arousal, his cock twitching despite the tension. The room felt smaller, the AC's rattle louder, as Keisha stood squarely in the middle of their makeshift fight pit, her silence a dare.
Heather swallowed, her palms sweaty again, but the fire in her chest wouldn't let her back down. She stepped forward, meeting Keisha's gaze, her voice steady despite the nerves knotting her stomach. "I'm in," she said, tossing her auburn hair back. "Let's see how tough you really are."
The husbands exchanged a glance, both uneasy but caught in the moment. Keisha's husband paced to her side, his hand brushing her shoulder, murmuring, "You sure, babe?" She nodded, her focus locked on Heather. Dave touched Heather's arm, his fingers lingering on her slick skin. "You got this, right?" he asked, his voice thick. Heather gave a sharp nod, her eyes never leaving Keisha.
The women faced each other, bare feet scuffing the carpet, their bodies still slick with sweat from the first fight. They spent a moment adjusting their stances, hands hovering near each other's throats, testing the distance. Heather's fingers grazed Keisha's collarbone, finding the right grip, while Keisha's hands settled firmly around Heather's neck, her thumbs pressing just below the jaw. Their husbands circled slowly, watching, their touches light but constant—Dave's hand on Heather's back, Keisha's husband grazing her hip—both men caught between worry and fascination.
Satisfied with their grips, the women spread their legs slightly, knees bent, anchoring themselves. Their breasts heaved with shallow breaths, their eyes locked in a mix of defiance and fear. Dave's voice broke the silence, hoarse. "You ready, Heather?" She nodded, her jaw tight. "Yeah."
Keisha's husband cleared his throat, his eyes on his wife. "Keisha, you good?" She gave a curt nod, her fingers tightening. "Let's do it."
"Fight," Dave said, stepping back, his heart pounding.
The women didn't move their feet, their bodies rigid as their hands squeezed. Heather's fingers dug into Keisha's throat, her knuckles whitening, while Keisha's grip tightened on Heather's neck, her thumbs pressing hard against the windpipe. Their faces flushed, Heather's pale skin turning pink, then red, Keisha's mocha complexion darkening as blood flow slowed. Guttural gasps escaped their lips, their chests heaving, struggling for air. Their eyes stayed locked, each refusing to blink, even as their knees trembled, threatening to buckle.
Heather's vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges, but she squeezed harder, her biceps flexing, determined to outlast Keisha. Keisha gagged, a choked sound, her lips parting, but her hands didn't falter, her grip like iron. Sweat dripped from their brows, mixing on the carpet, their bodies swaying slightly but feet rooted. Heather's legs shook, her thighs burning, and for a moment, her knees buckled, her weight sagging. She caught herself, gasping, and tightened her choke, desperate to stay in it.
Keisha's face contorted, her breath a ragged wheeze, but her eyes blazed with fury. She leaned in, putting more pressure on Heather's throat, her thumbs digging deeper. Heather choked, a strangled cough escaping, her face now a deep crimson, her eyes watering. Her hands weakened, her grip slipping as her knees wobbled again. Keisha sensed it, her own pain ignored, and squeezed with everything she had, her forearms trembling with effort.
Heather's body betrayed her. Her hands fell limp, her arms dropping as her eyes fluttered shut. Her legs gave out, and she slumped, her big ass hitting the carpet with a soft thud, her body crumpling in a heap. Keisha released her grip, staggering back, gasping for air, her own face flushed and sweat-soaked. She braced her hands on her knees, panting, her victory hard-won but undeniable.
Dave rushed to Heather, dropping to his knees, his hands cupping her face. "Babe, you okay?" he said, his voice frantic. Heather's eyes fluttered open, her chest heaving as she sucked in air, her throat raw. She nodded weakly, disoriented but conscious, her pride bruised more than her body.
Keisha's husband pulled her into a quick hug, his relief evident. "Fuck, Keisha, you're crazy," he muttered, but his grin showed his pride. Keisha straightened, still catching her breath, and looked down at Heather, her expression a mix of respect and lingering anger. "Told you I'd get you back," she said, her voice hoarse but triumphant.
Heather pushed herself up, leaning on Dave, her hazel eyes meeting Keisha's. "Good one," she rasped, her throat burning, but a faint smirk tugged at her lips. "Next time, I'm choking you out."
Keisha laughed, sharp and genuine, wiping sweat from her brow. "We'll see, white girl. Bring it."
The husbands exchanged looks, the tension in the room shifting to something lighter, though the air still crackled with the raw energy of the fight. Dave helped Heather to her feet, his hands steadying her, his mind already replaying the choke-out, knowing this night would fuel his fantasies for years. The AC rattled on, the motel room feeling smaller than ever, as the two couples faced the reality of what they'd just done—and what might come next.
Bonus material
Thank you
I love choking catfights! Please keep going. Great work so far!
Heather sprawled on the dingy carpet, her big ass spread wide, one hand rubbing her raw, aching neck. The sting of defeat burned worse than the bruises blooming on her pale skin. She glanced at Dave, his face etched with pain and worry, and her gut twisted—she hated letting him down. Her hazel eyes flickered with hurt, anger simmering beneath the exhaustion. She wanted to bolt, to grab her gym bag and peel out of this seedy motel, but Keisha's shadow loomed over her, impossible to ignore.
Keisha stood tall, her dark skin gleaming with sweat, her full breasts heaving as she caught her breath. Her lips curled into a gleeful smirk, her dark eyes dancing with triumph after her comeback from that humiliating first loss. She noticed her husband's raging hard-on straining against his jeans, his stocky frame practically vibrating with pride and lust. Keisha tossed her loose ponytail, stepping closer to Heather, her bare feet scuffing the carpet. "What's it gonna be, white girl?" she taunted, her voice dripping with mockery. "You running already? Thought you were tougher than that."
Heather's jaw tightened, her fingers curling into fists. She pushed herself up, wincing, her thighs trembling but her resolve hardening. Dave was at her side, his hand steadying her elbow, his blue eyes searching hers with a mix of concern and unspoken desire. "You okay, babe?" he murmured, but Heather barely heard him. Her gaze locked on Keisha, the taunt igniting a fire in her chest. "You want another go?" Heather snapped, her voice hoarse, neck throbbing. "I'm not done with you."
Keisha's smirk faltered, a flicker of worry crossing her face. She was still buzzing from her win, but Heather's intensity unnerved her. Her heart raced. She couldn't back down, not with her husband watching, not after that taunt. But her bravado muted, her voice quieter. "Yeah... I'm game," she said, less bold, her eyes darting to her husband for support. He stepped closer, his goatee framing a cocky grin, but his hands flexed nervously.
The air thickened, the room a furnace of sweat and tension, the stale cigarette smell now laced with the raw musk of arousal. Keisha's husband broke the silence, his voice blunt, cutting through the haze. "Let's make it nasty," he said, eyes glinting. "Go at each other's pussies. Strip down, no limits." The words landed like a bomb, raw and shocking.
Heather's face flushed crimson, her neck still aching, sweat beading on her brow. Keisha's eyes widened, her mocha skin glistening, her confidence shaken. Both women were red-faced, panting, their bodies marked from the earlier brawl—Heather's pale skin splotched with red, Keisha's arms scratched and ribs tender. But the challenge hung there, undeniable, and the husbands' lustful stares pushed it forward.
Dave's cock twitched, his jeans painfully tight, his voice rough. "On the floor, side by side, heads at each other's thighs. Knees spread wide." Heather shot him a mortified glance—his boldness stunned her, but the heat in his eyes was unmistakable. Keisha's husband nodded, stepping closer to Heather. "I'll hold her knees open," he said, his tone daring. "Make sure my wife gets what she wants."
Heather's stomach flipped, a mix of shame and adrenaline surging as she realized a stranger would be touching her, staring at her exposed pussy. Keisha swallowed hard, her own nerves spiking at the thought of Dave's hands on her thighs, his cock brushing her skin. But the couples nodded, a silent agreement forged in the heat of the moment, the room smelling like sex and desperation.
The women moved slowly, peeling off what little they still wore. Heather slid down her pink Sugar Shorts, her sports bra already gone, revealing her puffy, pink pussy. Her lips pronounced, neat, a point of pride despite the absurdity of the moment. Keisha stripped off her booty shorts, her glorious, full vagina exposed, her thick lips a source of confidence now tinged with dread since she knew they'd be easy to grip. Both wives, mothers, stood bare, their fresh manicures gleaming under the motel's flickering light, a stark reminder of the pain they could inflict. The wildness of it, two women driven by lust and competition, crackled in the air.
They lowered themselves to the carpet, the rough fibers biting into their hips and shoulders. Lying on their sides, heads at each other's thighs, they spread their knees wide, exposing themselves fully. Dave knelt behind Keisha, his white hands stark against her dark skin, gripping her knees to keep them apart. His cock, hard as steel, brushed her calf through his jeans, a pulsing heat she couldn't ignore. Keisha's husband mirrored him, his hands on Heather's pale thighs, spreading her open, his own erection flexing against her leg. Heather's breath hitched, her face burning as she felt his gaze on her pussy, but she forced herself to focus on Keisha's exposed lips.
The women's hands hovered, fingers grazing each other's inner thighs, their breaths heavy, ragged. Dave and Keisha's husband, voices thick with arousal, laid out the rules, improvising as they went. "Nails okay," Dave said, his eyes locked on the women. "Gripping, twisting," Keisha's husband added, his goatee twitching with a grin. "Punching, slapping fine," Dave continued. "Go deep, go inside," Keisha's husband said, his voice a growl. The women glared at each other's pussies, the dirty carpet scratching their skin, their bodies trembling with nerves and fury.
"Ready?" Dave asked, his voice shaking. Heather felt Keisha's husband's cock pulse against her calf, a sickening thrill. "Yes," she spat, her voice raw. Keisha nodded, her eyes blazing despite her fear. "Yes."
"FIGHT!" Keisha's husband barked.
Their hands shot forward, fingers digging into each other's pussies with vicious speed. Heather's nails sank into Keisha's thick lips, twisting hard, a hiss escaping her clenched teeth. "Fucking bitch!" she snarled, her voice thick with pain and rage. Keisha's fingers clamped onto Heather's puffy lips, yanking with a savage pull, her own curse ripping out. "Take it, slut!" she spat, her face contorted.
The room erupted in noise: hisses, swears, and gasps from the women, their bodies writhing on the carpet. Heather slapped Keisha's pussy with a sharp crack, her nails raking across the sensitive flesh. "You like that, huh?" she growled, her neck still throbbing, her anger fueling each strike. Keisha retaliated, punching Heather's lips, her fingers gripping and twisting inside, drawing a choked scream. "Fuck you!" Keisha hissed, her voice breaking.
The men couldn't hold back, their voices raw with lust. "Come on, Heather, tear her up!" Dave shouted, his hands trembling as he kept Keisha's thighs spread, his cock grinding against her calf. "Get her, Keisha, rip that pussy!" her husband roared, his fingers digging into Heather's thighs, his erection pulsing against her leg. The women's grunts and curses mingled, their bodies slick with sweat, their manicured nails drawing red welts as they clawed and slapped.
Heather's was twisting Keisha's pronounced lips, but then her fingers plunged into the black wife, her own pain ignored as she snarled, "Tap out, bitch!" Keisha's eyes watered, but she fought back, her nails scraping Heather's labia and hood, a brutal punch landing on her clit. "Fuck you, I'll ruin you!" Keisha screamed, her voice hoarse. Their bodies bucked, hips jerking, the carpet burning their skin as they fought, each desperate to dominate, their husbands' cheers and groans pushing them harder.
Dave's eyes were glued to the scene, his breath ragged, cock throbbing against Keisha's calf as he watched Heather's fingers disappear up to her palm inside Keisha's pussy. Heather's forearm flexed, veins bulging, her nails clawing and scratching with a ferocity that made her look like a street whore fighting for her life. Keisha's wails filled the room, her voice cracking with horror as she screamed to her husband, "She's in me, baby! She's inside me!" Her dark eyes were wide, tears streaming down her face, her full lips trembling, drool pooling on the filthy carpet beneath her.
Heather was in a trance, a sadistic thrill coursing through her. Keisha's fear was like fuel, driving her deeper. She locked eyes with Keisha's husband, her voice a venomous hiss over the chaos. "I'm gonna rip your wife's womb out!" she snarled, her fingers twisting viciously, feeling the slick, soft walls of Keisha's vagina give under her nails. Keisha's face was a mess—tears, sweat, and drool mixing as her mouth hung open, her body shaking with pain and humiliation. But she fought back, her fist slamming into Heather's clit with a wet, sickening thud that echoed over the men's shouts and the women's wails.
Heather's belly tensed, the pain like she'd crashed onto a bicycle bar, her breath coming in sobbing huffs. Her thighs twitched, instinctively trying to close, but Keisha's husband grunted, "No you don't," his hands forcing her pale legs wide, his own erection pulsing against her calf as he stared at her exposed, battered pussy. Both women were deep in each other now, fingers buried, clawing and twisting, their hisses of rage morphing into desperate pleas. "Stop, you bitch!" Heather choked, tears streaking her red face. "Fuck, please!" Keisha sobbed, her voice breaking.
But neither relented. Heather's nails dug deeper, tearing at Keisha's soaked, soft flesh, her own pain a distant roar as she felt Keisha's body shudder. Keisha's wails grew frantic, her head thrashing as she screamed to her husband, "I can't take it! It hurts! She's ruining my womb, baby!" Her voice was raw, her body convulsing. Dave, his face flushed with lust, leaned closer, his voice a growl. "Go harder, Heather! Go for her baby maker!" Heather's thighs clenched, her hips bucking as a shudder ripped through her. Keisha's husband saw it—Heather's eyes rolling back, her body trembling, and realized with a jolt that the white woman had just orgasmed from destroying his wife.
Keisha's resolve shattered. "I give! Stop, please!" she hollered, her voice a broken sob, her hands falling limp. Heather, panting, her fingers still buried, leaned closer, her voice a vicious snarl. "Say it, bitch. Who's got the stronger pussy?" Keisha's tears flowed freely, her body shaking as she choked out, "You... Heather... you do." Her voice was barely a whisper, defeated.
The women collapsed, parting with a wet, pained gasp, each falling onto their backs on the grimy carpet. Heather's chest heaved, her pale skin slick with sweat, red welts and scratches crisscrossing her thighs and pussy. Keisha lay sprawled, her dark skin glistening, her full lips trembling, her vagina raw and swollen. The room was silent except for the rattling AC and the men's heavy breathing, their cocks still straining, their faces a mix of awe and disbelief.
Dave knelt beside Heather, his hands hovering, voice hoarse. "Fuck, babe, you... you destroyed her." Heather managed a weak smirk, her throat raw, her body aching but buzzing with triumph. Keisha's husband pulled his wife up, his touch gentle but his eyes hard, muttering, "You okay, baby?" Keisha nodded, wiping her tears, her gaze avoiding Heather's.
The motel room felt like a pressure cooker, the air thick with sex and violence. Heather and Keisha locked eyes for a moment, a flicker of respect passing between them, but the fire wasn't gone. They both knew this day was done, but that it wouldn't be the last time.
Such a great storyline
Great story please let me fight Heather
That was brutal. The pussy destruction was amazing. Thank you.