Catfight Chronicles Ch. 01

Author's note: This series has been a failure. I know. I know. I am writing for free. There is no skin in the game. In reality, there are no strings attached. That said, this series has been a failure. What was supposed to be weekly, episodical, and developmental of both character and world has flopped. Instead, it is disjointed, sporadically updated (if at all), and in dire need of retconning. The good news? The series is still alive. I continue to plan and reform the core ideas of what Catfight Chronicles entails. What is canon and what will be retconned is a process that begins now. Of course, I understand that this writing is first and foremost geared towards pleasure. But, I want to try and turn this into a spanning urban fantasy/fantasy saga. So, delays, jarring retcons, and mistakes will happen. If you are invested in this series, I apologize. Nonetheless, the show will go on. All previous chapters are considered non-canon. I will borrow from them, and leave them up as I understand they can still be reread. But, for all intents and purpose, the story begins anew.

A second author's note: Trigger warning. Catfighting is innately about submission and reluctance. Humiliation and violence are part of it.

Lover's Quarrel

Sex is forbidden. Violence is forgotten. All that remains is the art of both: Sexfighting.

Air dense in sweat and grease filled Guinevere's lungs. She exhaled, and shouted.

"Ýou can do it, baby! Kick her ass!"

This was more for Guinevere than Aisling, of course. Shouting flooded the arena. The crowd was equally split. Half for the redhead fury, half for the blonde belle. When one girl got the upper hand, half the stadium erupted, cheering, chanting, stomping on the steel-grating floor. When the other girl got on top, the other half erupted.

This had gone on for the better part of thirty minutes and both girls panted. Sweat slicked their naked bodies as they scissored each other in the center of the fight ring. Juices trickled from their slick-wet cunts. Their expressions deepened, each girl's eyes instinctively closed, each girl biting their lower lip till it might bleed, each girl clinging to an orgasm desperately trying to get away.

Guinevere cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted again. "Hold strong! Hold strong, baby! Fuck her hard!"

This fight meant more to her than anyone else in the arena, save for the fighters... and one other.

The redheaded fury, the emerald eyed beauty--Aisling--was Guinevere's sweetheart.

Was the love of her life.

The one that completed her.

The one she woke up to and kiss good morning and the one she laughed with in bed until she was too tired to keep her eyes open.

Aisling.

Her smile was the fire in a room. Her tender body and supple ass made Guinvere hot under the collar. Her eyes made Guinevere's heart flutter. Her.. Aisling was everything. Is everything.

And she battled her heart out in the middle of a ring for more than prize money or the tournament.

She battled for love.

The blonde belle, Aubrey, was vicious in the pre-fight building, or when fighters give interviews for the entire previous week. It was typical at the beginning. Aubrey mocked Aisling's breasts, and though admittedly smaller, the two fighters received a similar perkiness score.

While Aubrey had round double D's and Aisling had double C's, both pairs of tits were firm, pliable, and bounced back quick.

In return, Aisling bluntly told the press Aubrey's ass was flat. This is not true, exactly, but prefights are notoriously exaggerated. It is part of the fun and gets bigger crowds. There was, however, a truth to Aisling's taunt.

And it was Aisling's own ass. It. Was. Legend. Perfectly round, toned yet pillow-like. When Aisling wore panties, they disappeared quickly and one of Guinevere's favorite games was...

Guinevere lurched forward. The crowd's volume had dropped. The only thing Guinevere heard were restrained moans, wet slapping, and heaving pants. The fight turned yet again and Aisling had tossed her head back, her face a mix of deep pleasure. Pleasure so leashed, her cunt was from holding it in.

Aisling blushed, her cheeks nearly matching her blood red hair, and if her eyes were open, she would be staring at the ceiling lights.

She locked her eyes shut. She needed to. She needed to imagine something else, anything else, to take her away from here.

Her entire body was hot. Her hard nipples burned, her vulva simmered like an iron in a fire, and her clit was ecstatic. It was overloaded. She was overloaded. Her ragged breathing and heartbeat, her aching muscles, her tight body deformed over itself to pin her orgasm down and hold it in the doorway.

But her cunt drooled. It begged. It pleaded. She pleaded. As if she were a strong being pulled tighter and tighter till it frayed.

She held. She had held for nearly thirty minutes, but unfortunately, so had Aubrey. The vicious bitch.

Aisling felt a knew sensation, a rough tug on her hair. She opened her eyes and saw Aubrey, reaching forward and taking a fistful of blood-red hair.

Aubrey grinned. "Look at me, bitch. I want to see it in your eyes when you lose."

Aubrey's chest swelled with pride. She was winning. In a few seconds, she would win. Aisling barely held her self up with one hand while the other hand vaguely waved in the air, as if the redhead fury was going for a nipple or breast attack... but was too horny to concentrate on it.

Aubrey wanted to see Aisling's teary eyes as she surrendered her orgasm. This was only fair.

The prefight buildup had been extraordinarily venomous. Aisling told the public what they were already thinking. Aubray had a flat ass.

In comparison to Aisling's ass, the rolling hills of Ireland were flat. It was unfair and that unfairness when compared to perfection danced on Aubrey's insecurities. Her ass was in another league, a far lower league. It was without question.

She consoled herself throughout the week, noting her own breasts were a size bigger. But Aisling's breasts were not far behind.

No.

In all criteria, Aubrey and Aisling were equal or close to equal, except for ass, and that made Aisling the sexier girl.

Aubrey hated her for this. So much so that the night before the fight, during the final interview, she...

Aubrey had regretted it after. What she did was also unfair. Childish even. But she noted the flaws on Aisling's fiancé, Guinevere.

Guinevere was always by Aisling's side. In truth, it was sweet. That made Aubrey angry too. She was jealous.

Guinevere... Whoa, now there's a uggo. To give credit where credit is due, Aisling could do better. Way better.

She saw Aisling's face boil with rage and Guinvere's mouth drop with shock.

Aubrey continued. I mean she is a tooth pick. No tits, no ass. Probably a wrinkled, stinkin' cunt.

She kept it up until Aisling leapt from her seat and had to be held back. DON'T BRING HER INTO THIS, YOU BITCH! She screamed through her thick brogue.

This fight was personal. Well, all catfights were. It is unavoidable. But this one more so. Aubrey looked to the side and saw Guinevere at the edge of her seat, dark curly bangs brushed back, ashen skin flushed with fear.

Then Aubrey looked to the other side and... her heart dropped. Not watching the fight but rather casually counting a thick wad of cash was her own lover, the Baron.

He was a stout man, usually dressed in a cape or long coat, and wore frilly hats both in and outside the manor. Aubrey stared at him as Aisling was in the final throes of cumming, her body beginning to involuntarily twitch, her cunt brimming with juices.

Aubrey stared blankly. Her own lover, too distracted with betting. She looked back at Aisling. The redhead fury's usual ashen skin was so blushed, it nearly matched her hair.

Veins popped in the side of her neck as her teeth clenched. Strands of hair stuck to the layer of sweat on her skin.

And Aubrey, without warning, collapsed. Her cunt relaxed and an orgasm bellowed out. Juice sprayed all over a surprised Aisling, who, immediately after pushed away and cupped her own cunt. It burned.

She rolled on the ground, leaving a trail of sweat, almost all of her hair stuck to her back now, cupping it, soothing it. Coaxing the orgasm to cool off. And as the crowd began to cheer, it was as if an ethereal hand petted her, releasing--some--of the tension. She lay on her back, looking up.

She would have seen the ceiling lights, but instead she saw another light. Her light. Guinevere.

Guinevere hopped out of her seat the second Aubrey came and pushed her way into the ring. She knelt over Aisling. She knew better than to touch her right after a fight. Right after she was that hot.

But she could still smile.

"Had me worried, baby." She said tenderly.

Aisling wanted to say she had this in the bag. Aisling wanted to reassure Guinevere. Aisling wanted to... fuck. She wanted to fuck the living daylights out of her brown-eyed fiancé. To rend her soft skin with long, red nails and bite at her shoulder and neck. She wanted to dive into Guinevere, but luckily, she was too tired to move.

As both fight camps rushed to the stage, the fight priestess entered the ring and examined first Aubrey, then Aisling's, cunt. She raised her staff.

"TONIGHT'S WINNER IS AISLING."

She lowered the staff and knelt beside Aisling, and across from Guinevere.

"As per the special request of both fight parties..." Her eyes glimmered in lust and jealousy beneath her hood. "Take your prize." She licked her lips and motioned to Aubrey.

The Baron stood above her. His chubby cheeks and thin lips curled into a frown. He stared at Aubrey with a look of dismay. Aubrey stared back at him, blankly.

She was shattered, weak, and in pieces.

"Rules are rules." He scoffed. He tossed a few bills onto her slowly rising chest. "Get yourself back when they finish."

He turned and left the ring.

Aubrey lay in silence.

When she came to Aisling, it was an awkward thing; she fell back lightly but uncontrolled, like a leaf plucked from a branched. When she came, she did not make a sound. Not a whimper. It just came out.

For years, she trained and fought. And for months, she resisted the urge to cum herself to pieces so she could be stronger, so her sex magic could develop and she could win this tournament. And for all that time, she thought the Baron truly cared.

That he truly wanted her in his life.

Sure, his cold demeanor made his emotions reserved, but he was a businessman. He was reserved.

That did not mean he was not caring.

He did leave money for her to get home. She weakly lifted her hand and grabbed the bills off her sweaty chest. He does care. Tears welled in her eyes.

Aisling's orgasm receded, or went back into hiding. That was as far as it could go, if she wanted to be a catfighter.

Sex is forbidden.

Every day, Aisling wrestles with her need to cum. It is a carnal itch that never strays or takes a day off. It is there. Always. Even in brief reprieves of distraction, it is in the background and comes back ever stronger when she remembers.

Sex. For now, she denies it and her power grows.

And Guinevere is there with her, holding her hand, coaxing her through the bad nights, giving her the strength to keep her lust fastened.

Guinevere, herself, does not tread the path of the warrior. She relinquishes any chance of sex magic when she cums--by Aisling's fingers or scissoring--and accepts it for what it is: Simple bliss.

Aisling, with Guinvere's help, stood up. People chattered lively about the fight. The announcer blazed over the microphone. Tonight's fight had been one for the books, and was sure to be the talk of Guinevere and Aisling's home street for the coming week. But now, it was down to business.

Guinevere and Aisling slowly approached Aubrey, who had not budged from the floor. She did not move her head, but moved her eyes down and watched them approach.

The two lovers stood above her for a few moments before Aisling planted a foot on Aubrey's tits and began lightly mashing them. Aisling raised her fist into the air and screamed her clan's battle cry.

She mashed Aubrey's tits harder.

Aubrey didn't move.

---

Guinevere finished the knot and stood up. She admired her handiwork. Aubrey was hog-tied, hanging in the air, her mouth gagged, her eyes covered, clamps on her nipples, and already, cum dripped on the floor.

"Guin, honey..." Aisling walked into the room and began ogling. "This is..."

Guinevere looked back and smiled. "I know, I know. But... It was your birthday last week and you were too busy training and..." Guinevere ran her fingers shyly over the back of her neck. "Well, I know you like doing this to me so I thought..." She blushed.

Aisling stepped forward and put a finger Guinevere's lips. "Shhh, baby. Its perfect."

Wind rattled the window. The room was cold, but it was always cold. Each girl's nipples were hard and each girl knew what happened next.

Aisling walked behind Aubrey and knelt. In front of Aisling was a view so perfect, so divine, it made Aisling begin to get wet. Aubrey's womanhood, open for display like a painting on a wall.

Aisling grabbed Aubrey's thighs and pulled the belle closer. In a low voice, "At the fight, neither of us came for six months. We are... were, roughly equal."

Guinevere knelt beside Aisling.

Aisling continued. "I know I have three orgasms and a victorix. I bet you have the same. Now the question: How much do I take?"

Aisling looked at Guinevere.

Guinevere shrugged. "Deal is a deal. Fat bastard Baron agreed and gifted he-"

Aubrey struggled for the first time in the bondage. In a muffled voice, she tried to snap at them. She tried to tell them not to call the Baron that.

Instead, gagging, gurgling noises, and then Aisling and Guinevere's laughter.

"Blonde bitch really doesn't like it when you call fat bastard Baron... fat bastard Baron." Aisling smirked, a devilish twinkle in her green eyes.

Aubrey struggled again, only succeeding in rattling a chain, before falling still again, drool from her mouth reaching to the floor.

Guinevere put a hand on Aisling's shoulder. "If you drink her, you will be going to the big leagues months ahead of schedule. You are already..." Guinevere paused, looking up and down Aisling's body. Ever since they left the fight, she seemed stronger. More vigorous. And she was.

Few things grew sex magic like winning catfights. Fewer things grew sex magic like drinking your opponent's cum.

But they were in a world of heroes and villains. Each day, new girls got stronger, new powers were discovered, and new names hit the news.

But there were also old names. Girls who had not cum in years and their powers were unimaginable.

Aisling chose this path.

Aisling put her hand on Guinevere's. "What do you think, love?"

Guinevere looked down. She did not want to say it.

Aisling faintly smiled and lifted Guinevere's face by the chin. "Tell me, love. It's okay."

Guinevere sighed. "Its just, you are barely understanding your power and I'm not a fighter but I know it takes time. Like, training. You need to know what you have. And... Yeah." She tried to smile, sheepishly.

Aisling nodded. "Yeah. I know."

Both of the knew it, but did not say it. Aisling almost came that match. In fact, she should have cum that match. Aisling knew it. Guinevere knew it by the look on Aisling's face. It was the face she made just before she need to rub her cunt with an ice pack to stifle an orgasm.

It was the face she made right before she was a dripping mess.

Both of them knew.

Aisling inserted her fingers into Aubrey. Aubrey moaned, gently.

Aisling began fingering. Aubrey moaned louder. Part of her wanted to resist.

Part of the belle wanted to hold tight and maybe they would stop. Maybe she would get a rematch. Maybe the Baron would work something out since the match was so close.

Aisling put another finger in.

Aubrey's head went back. She shook in her bondage, beginning to swing slightly in the air.

But no. It was futile. Another orgasm rose in Aubrey, this one weaker than her last but still potent. Aisling guessed it right. Three orgasms and a victorix. That is what Aubrey built up in the months of constant edging and training. Three, solid, juicy orgasms.

When she came during the match, that was two months of edging. This orgasm would cost her another month. All her hard work, her commitment to not cumming, was nothing now.

Aisling fingered harder. Aubrey's cunt shivered. The orgasm was near.

"You can hold it in for as long as you want, girly, but we have all night." Aisling reached around with her other hand and pinched the skin right above Aubrey's clit. As Aisling began twisting, Aubrey's entire body shivered. She shook in her bondage, swinging wider and wider while Aisling continued fingering and twisting.

The second orgasm came.

Aisling managed to fit another finger and started twisting the other direction. During the fight, during the standing portions, Aubrey really liked doing this to Aisling.

Twisting her vulva and the skin around her cunt, even plucking some red pubes.

Aubrey's last orgasm brimmed. It was there and coming fast.

Tears streamed down Aubrey's face. She howled despite the gag in her mouth, then choked on her own spit.

She did not know it but Guinevere was beneath her, getting ready.

The curly haired brunette reached up and undid the clamps on Aubrey's nipples. Aubrey, too stimulated to think, barely recognized the relief.

Relief which was short lived.

Gradually, Guinevere began pinching Aubrey's nipples. She paused and flicked them a couple times, eliciting a yelp each time, but continued until her nails were dug in and Aubrey squirmed.

"Call me an uggo, huh?"

Guinevere yanked.

"Say I don't deserve Aisling..." Guinevere paused. Deep down, she felt she did not deserve Aisling. She did not deserve the redhead fury's strength or commitment. She did not deserve the love Aisling so freely and unabashedly gave.

But Aubrey would not be the one to say that.

Guinevere yanked, seemingly lengthening Aubrey's tits, then yanked to the sides, stretching the tits out as far as the possibly went.

Aubrey, her nipples stinging with pain, her tits stretching further than they could go, the skin of her cunt twisted and rubbed red, and her cunt full of fingers, let out another orgasm.

She never felt so weak in her life. Though she was bound and held up, she felt like she was falling. As if nothing could hold her up and she was in perpetual collapse.

Her muscles were not merely drained. They were lead weights, sinking to the ocean floor. Her breath rasped. Her voice cracked. All she could do was obey Aisling's fingers as her cunt involuntary came.

What was left of Aubrey belonged to Aisling, as was the warrior's code.

Aisling continued. All that was left was Aubrey's victorix, the first orgasm she resisted on her path.

If she could shake her head, she would. Yes. Futile. Yes. Useless. But she wanted to shake her head and beg any way.

All the months of training and edging and rolling in bed frustrated were ripped out and on the floor, droplets of cum glinting silver from the moonlight outside the window.

Aubrey belonged tied up and nothing more than a fuck toy, used up and dripping.

Her victorix was almost out. Her final orgasm. A final rush of pleasure, humiliation, convulsions, and... It was over.

Aisling left her fingers in Aubrey for a moment. It was warm and wet. The cunt came so many times so quickly after being denied for months that it quivered uncontrollably on her hand. Aisling love that.