Hate on the 38th

"BIIIITCH!!" Rebecca screamed in a rage so ferocious spital came with it. Spital, and then a hard, arching slap, that landed on Taylor's face in a vicious splash. One that sent her into a twist, and then stomach-first, to the cold tile floor of the bathroom.

At that moment Taylor's cheek stung, and her lungs seized, searching for an air that had been knocked out of her. And yet still, despite those ailments, she began to rise. To lift herself from the floor to all fours. But just as she pulled flesh from AC-cooled tile, she found Rebecca's foot drive forward and into her ribs.

A kick delivered so hard that Taylor, even as she fell back to the floor, rolled to her back. A back on which she remained, as she heard the sound of her own shower being turned on and her rival threatening.

"I'm going to wash every trace of my husband from your body, cunt. Do you hear me!? DO YOU HEAR ME?!" The words came just as fingers once again wrapped like a curling iron in Taylor's hair. A grasp that then pulled, as the blonde battler found herself - drug across her own bathroom floor.

A pull that then angled upward, as Rebecca tried to pull Taylor to a stand, so she could toss her in the shower. But as the blonde rose, she lunged, while still only halfway up, tackling Rebecca into the lipless standup shower.

A beautiful, mocha-hued, stone box of bathing. One with two shower heads, one on either side, and enough space for a couple to lay down together on its floor. And though Taylor had fucked her husband countless times in such a position, it was now she and Rebecca that stretched out together in that width.

Their hands grabbing and pushing. The claws catching and dragging. Each crying at the other's painful touch, though such sounds of pain did little to slow them. Little to stop them as they continued to battle. The warm water of the shower pouring down on them being their only respite from the hell they had gladly drug each other through and into.

And though all seemed equal for a moment, with each giving as good as they got as they rolled this way and that. Suddenly, due to angle and luck, the spray of the shower entered Rebecca's eyes and she could not see. The distraction lasted only a blink, but in it, Taylor clambered and crawled — as quick as she was cruel.

She, in her speed, finding herself able to clear most of her rival's body, and before Rebecca could resist, drop to a kneeling sit. The blonde's sex coming down with precision, right over the redhead's face. And though at first that pressing was against shower-wet tiffany blue panties, after a quick and intentional shifting of those panties by Taylor, one effectuated with a quick grab, and an even quicker pull, it became a full press of one set of lips to another. Those of the blonde's pussy spreading and then encompassing the mouth and nose of her rival.

A mouth which then opened in a hateful scream, not a moment later. And a nose, which along with that same mouth fought to get air, though in vain.

In response to that failure, and her mere placement, Rebecca tried to use her arms to reach and push. But when such attempt failed, and as the shower-floor sprawled redhead found her biceps pinned under Taylor's pressing shins, she sought instead to grab and pull. She using her fingers to catch and secure the blonde's soaked unmentionables.

On their fabric she yanked, not just once, but continuously, stretching them as far as they would go. She hoping that the force would either give her freedom, or at least enough room to breathe. But as she pulled. As she tugged. She heard it.

"YES!!" The voice of the blonde came loudly, in utter jubilation, as her hands reached to Rebecca's bright red hair, and latched on.

"Right where you belong, cunt." The blonde continued, as her hands began to yank cruelly at her rival's hair.

Those pulls were not meant to gain any kind of compliance, but instead just to hurt her. To make her rage, as she laid there stuck between Taylor's legs. The redhead's every breath coming from her enemy's pussy. Her every wisp of long term consciousness dependant on the mercy of the same, or some kind of miraculous escape.

A mercy that was absent from Taylor's heart, as she, with swiveling hips, drove Rebecca's face deeper and deeper into her quickly wetting sex. The kneeling thighs of the blonde spread, so she could watch Rebecca's eyes flare and widen as they filled with white-hot hatred and then heart-seizing panic.

A panic Taylor wanted to consume and luxuriate in, as warm water sprayed down upon her. That moment feeling like absolute heaven, after the hell she and Rebecca had been through. The blonde finally able to just punish. Just enjoy.

Something she set out to do, by adjusting her seat, so that the redhead's nose pressed hard into her clit. "This is exactly what I needed to finish you off. Fucking your husband, in YOUR FUCKING BED wasn't enough."

Taylor began to grind hard and forcefully down, as she continued her kneeling sit on her rival's face. She doing so approximately 2 feet from the nearest shower wall. "Noooooo, I needed to fuck your pretty little face."

Beneath Taylor, Rebecca struggled and kicked wildly. Her hands still pulling with all their might. Her lips still parted as she screamed in absolute rage. The sound of that cry still muted by the sealed lower lips of her rival.

The resulting spread of the same causing the newly newly drawn excitement-born juices of Taylor to seep into Rebecca's open mouth. A transference that angered the redhead even more as she suffered there, beneath her rival.

Suffered though the redhead did, Taylor just continued to taunt — continued to grind. Loving the idea of getting off on her rival's face. Wanting, ever so desperately, to live in a reality in which she had cum not only on, but into the mouth of the woman with who she had tangled for oh so long.

It would truly be the master stroke. The killing blow in their feud. One that Rebecca would never recover from. One that would leave her a frightened, and broken husk, that would never dare challenge her again.

Not just for some sense of superiority, but for place in line at the copier, or who presses the button first in the elevator, for ANYTHING! Such decimation would leave Taylor in full control of their pretend shared control of their part of the Bowman empire.

The once fiery redhead becoming to more than a pet for Taylor to toy with. A slave to collar and lead around on a pretty Tiffany-colored leas-"OWWWWEEE!!" As the blonde imagined her sweet, sweet victory she felt it. A burning. A searing. A pain deep between her thighs, one caused by a sawing fabric and resistant pride. As Rebecca used the last bits of clothing on her rival to cause pain.

A pain that pushed Taylor, if only for a moment, to lose focus and re-adjust. And when she did — when she lifted and lessened the pressure she applied, the redhead slid. Pulling not only her arms, but her head free, and out from under Taylor's lower half. The sudden escapee gasping for breath as she scrambled back, and away from her rival.

As she reached the opposite wall of the warm, steam-filled shower, she dropped and rolled to her back, knowing she didn't have time to stand. Once there, and as she looked back, she saw her coming. Taylor, looking to not only, take back control, but also to reclaim her rightful place atop her rival's face.

But as the blonde dropped down to all fours, her stretched and half-torn panties fell free from her. They being lost somewhere along the way, as she moved to scramble and then mount, her enemy. As she did, however, Rebecca's legs raised, surrounded, and then clamped down around Taylor's neck. They in their alabaster glory then locking at the heels, high above her enemy's head. A sudden application of force that trapped the blonde in a painful headscissor. One in which her own mouth and nose hovered only a centimeter or two from the center of Rebecca's shower-wet red panties.

"AAAAaaAgggggHHhhhhH!!" Came Taylor's cry, as within an instant of having her rival trapped, Rebecca seized her thighs and in the process, crushed that same rival as cruelly as she could.

"Fucking bitch!!" Rebecca blurted, as if the words needed to be spoken so that disaster might be averted. And yet, disaster still came for the blonde who found herself trapped. For even as the redheaded scissor-maiden cursed, she began to slap. Wildy. Harshly. Her fingers landing, as opposed to her palms, as Taylor was sunk too deep into a pain-filled cushion of flesh and flex to allow for more.

As those slaps landed, and as Taylor found herself stuck in front of the very core of her rival, the blonde reached as best she could to catch Rebecca's striking hands. And though she sought to capture two, she only found one. The fingers on Rebecca's right hand and the blonde's left lacing and then locking together. All as the redhead's left shot down between her own legs, as she and her rival laid there on the shower floor. Warm water pooling around them as they fought.

"NoooOooO!! SHIIiIiTTT!!" The blonde screamed again, as Rebecca sent a wicked pulse through her trapping legs. A pulse that made Taylor's vision blur and her neck to crack.

Despite that pain, Taylor saw it. The redhead's hand move down and between. And she knew what she was attempting. She knew, because it is what she would have done — what she had done, when it was she who had her rival trapped between her thighs.

The redhead was planning on pulling her own panties to the side, so that Taylor could see it, smell it, and even taste it. The sex of her momentarily dominant rival. Just as was done to her not moments before.

To forestall and avoid that fate, the trapped blonde reached, so that she and her rival's hand met and grabbed, each for their own grasp of Rebecca's panties. The redhead to pull and Taylor to hold. One wanting to move those panties to the side, and the other to keep that from happening.

Viewed from anywhere else than the two warring women's brains, the battle of shifting fabric made little sense. But somehow, to them, it was everything. It was a struggle for vengeance. A battle of wills.

Would Taylor escape her rival's thighs without being pulled face-first into the sex of the same?

Would Rebecca show her enemy that she would repay any punishment inflicted upon her? As she had failed to do when she caught Taylor in her own home — in her own bed — and grinding herself on the cock of the redhead's own husband?

Those questions, as important as they were, found no answer at first. For as Rebecca pulled and Taylor held, they found that the panties would move one inch and then two, only to be pulled back. No matter how much urgency they put into their efforts. No matter how much each of them wanted to win that most minor of struggles.

But as parity persisted and lingered — languished and lounged, Rebecca suddenly let go, allowing Taylor's own resisting pull to yank the panties to the side. An allowance that not only gave Rebecca exactly what she wanted, but also, in the force applied, broke the side-band of those same, now shifted panties.

In an instant Taylor cursed herself, but before she could do anything more, her redheaded rival moved her now free left hand to Taylor's water-darkened blonde hair, grabbed, and then pulled. In so doing, the scissoring beauty yanked Taylor's face forward, and more importantly, the mouth and nose of the same deep into a waiting and wet pussy.

At the capture, Rebecca's legs seized, and then shifted, leaving their high ankle lock, so that they could cross at the calves behind Taylor's head. A change in position that drove the blonde even deeper into Rebecca's smothering valley.

For a few moments, the redhead just focused, not only on Taylor's muted and muffled cries, but also her fingers grasping and fighting for release from Rebecca's own. Fingers that thereafter pulled free, so that they might move to join their right-side counterparts to Rebecca's thighs. They landing, claws-first, only to then drag. An attack which the blonde hoped would set her free.

But as she clawed, Rebecca doubled down on her grasping and yanking of hair. Keeping Taylor not only trapped but smothered. Not only breathless but humiliated beyond all imagining.

A humiliation that continued despite Taylor's fingernails digging and then pulling down — catching and then clawing Rebecca' beautiful white thighs. A futility which pushed her to find some other method of escape. One less focused and more frantic. She attempting to crawl back and away from Rebecca's center, all as she moved her hands to the ass of the same and pushed.

At first she found nothing. No give. No removal. But finally, her head began to slip out, only a centimeter or two, but once the first inch was taken, it began to happen faster. Even when Rebecca tried to squeeze her legs tighter and pull desperately at the blonde's hair.

In fact, Rebecca clung so tightly to Taylor's locks, that when finally the owner of the same pulled herself free, and out from between squeezing thighs, the redhead came with her. Each of the two warring women meeting as they rose. Each burying their hands in each other's hair as their upper-bodies came together in an echoing, water-made clap.

A clap that sounded amongst fury and falling, as together, on their knees they pulled each other one way and then another. Until after a few such teeters, and no less totters, they spilled out of the shower together, and down to the fluffy pink rug that rested on the floor outside of it.

There they did not remain however, for after only a few seconds they clambered to their feet. Their bodies and hair soaked with the remnant drips of their abandoned shower. And their effort-and-water-warmed cheeks pressing together, as Rebecca's ripped panties fell from her to the ground and then off of her. Each there, in the other's grip, cursing at the other.

Not in recognizable comments and retorts, but in hotly spat slivers of absolute hatred. Words that continued to be shot back and forth as they drug each other out of the bathroom and into the hall. They each collapsing there, not once or twice, but again and again as their journey to nowhere in particular continued.

But as they so moved, they felt it. The bite of their efforts spent. The sting of their muscles used. They had waged their secret little war with such fire — such anger, and only then did they realize such a struggle came with a cost. Exhaustion. A slowing and seizing weakness that had taken them, when they could afford it least.

And though they felt it deeply, that fatigue, they still pulled, not only themselves, but their rival back to their feet when such faltering would occur. Until finally, in part due to luck and in other to Taylor's instinctual guidance, they crashed through the unclosed door of the blonde's most private of rooms — the master.

Though they together had been equal in almost all ways during their staggering stumble from shower to bedroom, as their trip ended, Taylor gained the upper hand. She driving Rebecca back, and then even as she fell, shoving her hard. The redhead thereafter slamming lower-back-first into Taylor's unmade and messy, beige-covered bed.

Such a landing caused Rebecca to groan out in pain, as she dropped down to her knees. And though she had so landed, she then began to lean. Lean and then collapse forward from pain and exhaustion. She and Taylor having fought so hard, and so intensely, for what seemed like an eternity at that moment.

And yet as the redhead began to wither and drop, Taylor surged forward, and caught her falling rival. Not out of care or Mercy, but tactic. For the blonde quickly leaned her own, knelt bodyweight against Rebecca's right shoulder with her own left. And then, with her there propped, drove a hard right fist into the redhead's gut.

A blow that landed with a loud, echoing plop, and then a quick, jolt of a moan from she who took it. That series of sounds that came once and then again — a third time, and then a fourth. Not quickly, but at fatigue's insistence, slowly. With long, languishing gaps of time between each punch, as both Taylor and Rebecca leaned. Not against some object, but each other.

As Taylor continued her slow, thudding assault. One that earned a sputtered cry of pain from her rival at the landing of every closed fist, she muttered. "That's right, bitch..." The words coming as the blonde's head rested on her rival's shoulder. Her own body leaned against that of the same. Weakened though Taylor was as she said it, the comment came with no less force than one of the shots she delivered into Rebecca's stomach. It hurting... It wounding...

And though she suffered, the redheaded wildcat was still unable to muster or marshall her energy enough to counter or attack. She, even legions deep into her battle with Taylor, finding herself overwhelmed. Feeling, just as she had the night she found the blonde atop her husband. And for the same reason. Her own will-withering worry.

Where would it end?

She and Taylor were locked together, in the very depths of the blonde's home fighting. Brawling. Hating each other with every fiber of their being. How could either of them ever escape? Ever relent? Not only in that struggle, but the one it would spawn, and then the one that would come after that.

And yet as Rebecca spiraled into her own fears and anxieties, Taylor ceased her punching. And, as she sensed her rival's suddenly returning weakness, raised that then unballed fist, and cupped the redhead's cheeks, squeezing them as one might a child. All before she mused in a hiss. "Mmmm, there she is again. The scared little slut that let me fuck her husband. The one who didn't fight back!"

As soon as the blonde spoke the words, she could see it. See it enough to regret prodding — regret challenging her rival to become firm once more. For as Taylor's syllables ended, Rebecca's eyes flared. They setting a light only a flash before Rebecca shot her head down, forward, and then top-first into Taylor's smirking face.

The blow, headbutt though it was, came not pretty or skilled. Deft or dextrous. No it came ugly and brutal — stumbling and clumsy. So much so that as Taylor fell, Rebecca fell on top of her.

And there, in the aftermath of that wild, half-witless attack, the two laid for a moment — each breathing hard and pausing long. Taylor's hands pressed to her nose and lips, feeling not only for swelling, but blood. It feeling as if her nose had been broken, though by Rebecca's fatigue alone, the damage stopped just short.

While blonde examined and felt, her redheaded rival raised and lifted her own naked body off Taylor's. She coming to a kneel just next to the body of the same.

Wished though she did, that she could just stay there, so that she might rest. Rebecca instead leaned in, leaned over, and then when she came face-to-face with her rival, closed the gap. The redhead lowering her own forehead down on the blonde's.

Then, with they being so connected, Rebecca lifted her right arm, and then after balling her own fist, drove it down into Taylor's stomach. The blow caused the blonde to groan out loudly, and then whimper as her hands fell from her face. Only for the same sounds to come again, as Rebecca repeated her strike.

A second hit then became a third, and as it did, Taylor's confident, hateful eyes softened. Not in lust or love, but fear. The same worries of unending conflict taken her, just as it had taken Rebecca moments before. All as their foreheads pressed and lips hovered. Each pair moving closer and closer with every passing moment, as Rebecca's own remaining strength began to fail.

Threat though that was at first, only a moment later did it became reality, as the red-headed hellcat collapsed to her side next to her blonde rival. The redhead's own right leg extending and then hooking behind Taylor's left to keep her close.