Hate on the 38th

In that position, Rebecca's left arm was stuck beneath her own body, it being pinned to the floor. And much in the same, Taylor's right arm found itself trapped just the same — beneath Rebecca and her gorgeous wound-covered body.

And though that sudden repositioning might have forced their centimeter-distant faces apart, Rebecca held them close. Her eyes locked firmly on Taylor's.

"You broke my nose..." Taylor muttered in the closeness.

"You fucked my husband..." Came Rebecca's hushed reply.

Serious though their charges were, each found themselves caught — distracted Not by anger or hatred, but instead, a nearly irresistible desire to ... to...

The two women could not believe it. Could not speak it. Could not even think it. No, instead all they could do was obey it. The pull. The desire. Each leaning in closer, further, until their lips were so very close to meeting and more.

Their drying bodies pressed together on that floor. Taylor on her back and Rebecca on her side. Each staring soul-deep into the other's glistening eyes.

The moment was not just electric, but inconceivable and indescribable. They hated each other. So much that the other's voice made their skin crawl. And yet, there on the floor of Taylor's bedroom, there was nothing either of them wanted to do more than...

"AArrrgggghh. Owe, owe, owe..." Taylor wined.

"Uuuuggghhhh, nooo!!" Rebecca cried the same, not a moment later but together with Taylor. As each, at the same second, latched their fingernails onto each other's face.

"Were you going to fucking kiss me you dyk-AAAaaAahhhhhh!" It began a question, but came out as a pained whimper.

"You're the dyke, biiiiiIIIIIIiiiiiiIIiIITTTCCCHH!! OOOWWWEE!" In the same way, Rebecca's denial suddenly became a recital of unexpected pain.

Each of two releasing those sounds as nails drug painfully down their cheek. They both knowing what it meant. What it would cause. Taylor already scratched and wounded from before, and certain her face would be swollen and bruised the next morning. And in a like state of not caring, Rebecca, at that moment, sought only revenge — only Taylor's destruction after all that had happened between them.

So why not!? Why not make their own corporate execution official. Why not be the cause of the other losing her job. Fuck it! They each thought and committed to with dragging claws.

But even when such had been done, and their own nails had dug red lines in each other's cheeks, they continued down. Until each hand reached and grabbed the other's breast — Taylor's left and Rebecca's right. Each taking that supple mound of sexy flesh and squeezing it hard, before digging those same pointy ends in as deep as they would go.

Hurt though it did, not just the breast which the other gripped and ground but their wounded faces, they together remained. Rebecca with her right leg lazily draped over Taylor's left. The two women glaring at each other, even as their faces contorted in pain. Neither struggling to escape the other's tortuous attack or their side-by-side position on Taylor's brown-carpeted floor.

No, for they had what they wanted for that moment. The other's breast in their hand. The other's scraped and peeled flesh beneath their nails. And their rival's face to read and whimpers to hear. It was heaven, though it was hell. It was the sum total of their hateful desires made manifest, mutual though it was.

And so they laid there together. Prying. Clawing. Dragging and digging the sharp fingernails of their free hands into the other's breasts. Moving from one to the other and then back, though their loathing gaze never broke. The two rivals — two enemies communicating without words. Each telling the other:

I hate you. Not just now, but forever.

I will hurt you — torture you — seek to humiliate you, until by fate or frailty, I can do so no more.

And though their eyes promised and then threatened — cursed and then countered, after moments there laying next to each other, in their mutual state of agony and antagonism, Rebecca sought to open her mouth. She looking to speak what her eyes had made ever so clear.

And yet, at the very first movement of those lips, Taylor reached and sealed, with her one free hand. Doing so by pressing her palm over not only the redhead's mouth, but with index and thumb, pinching her nose closed.

It took not moments for Rebecca to return the seizing, she sealing her blonde rival's mouth and nose closed. Each cutting off the other's air, as their eyes flared defiantly.

I will NEVER let you go. Their eyes again spoke. The communique, if understood, being not some idle threat, but something they felt to their very core. A certainty that no matter what might occur after palm pressed to lips, the end had come, not just for their feud, but the other.

In such certainty, they remained for a moment and then two, each just glaring, as they each seemed to settle into their positions. Rebecca's leg hooking and pulling just a little tighter around Taylor's, and the latter turning in, and rolling to her side to face the redhead. Both of them sending the message. I will not relent. I will never again let you breathe again...

But do not mistake the resolve they felt at that moment for some sudden transition from business woman and wife to murderer. No, instead their loyalty to purpose and retention of smother came from petulance, pettiness, and their own insistence that they win. Not just their feud as a whole, but anything — but EVERYTHING! Even something as small as contest of wills buried in a battle such as theirs. Who would release their mutual handsmother first? Who would give in? Who would blink before oblivion?

Not they, each was sure.

Not even if it meant walking through the shadow of the valley of death and back again.

500 miles and then 500 more? Ha! They would walk it... They would glady and gleefully skip it.

And yet, as they laid there together, with nude and wounded bodies pressing together almost gently, their lungs began to burn and their vision blur. Try though they did, to shake off the effects, and continue to glare — continue to smother, each began to panic. They, almost in unison deciding to rise up from their positions on the floor to a mutual kneel.

A kneel they took in mirrored positions about a foot from one another, even as they kept the other's mouth sealed and nose pinched closed. Each adding their second, newly freed hand to the effort, to make sure not a single molecule of oxygen made its way into their rival's lunges.

Hope though they did, that rising might strengthen them and keep their enemy's smother from stealing their consciousness, it only made the effects worse. So bad in fact, that they began to wobble and lean, as their eyes began to blink fast and then slow. Dizziness flooding their mind, as a glaze layered their once hate-filled eyes.

They could just let go. Just release, and the other would likely do the same. And yet, they couldn't! They wouldn't! They wanted to win! The other would give in and let loose her smothering palm and pinch, wouldn't she? Oh god, would she...?

They asked themselves in a delirious panic. One that led Taylor to move again, she fighting her way from her kneel into an attempted stand. One that Rebecca tried to follow, she not willing to let Taylor just stand up and out of her smother. She had to go with her. It was her only choice. For she could do nothing else, without losing their long war of mutual smothering.

But as the redhead rose, Taylor drove, smashing a raised right knee into Rebecca's stomach. An attack which caused not just she who suffered, but she who inflicted to release their handsmothers, as the former dropped back to her knees in a clump.

"HccckkkkaEEeeecccckkkkkkKKKKKKCCCCCHHHH" Taylor coughed so hard, she could swear she tasted blood. And though she could swear, and though she felt so dizzy she wanted to vomit, she held. Keeping to her stand, as she reached out with her hands to grab Rebecca's hair.

"Hcccckkkkk haaacccckkkkkk" Rebecca coughed just the same, after her collapse. She thereafter keeling forward, only to find herself come to a soft rest against Taylor's naked body. A body that propped the redhead up, as she continued to wheeze.

And though the blonde did the same, as it gasped for a long-denied air, she still pulled at her enemy's hair. Yanking it hard, and dragging Rebecca's half-scratched face forward and into her shaved pubic mound.

"Bi-ii-HHCCCGGGKKK-itch..." Taylor could not even make it through a single hissed curse without it being torn in two by a heavy cough.

One that came again and again, though softer each time, as the distance between she and the long smother she endured grew.

"You're going to..." The blonde paused and sputtered, as she fought a sudden spell of dizziness that threatened to send her to the floor with her kneeling rival. "...fucking eat me ... right now, cunt."

In response, Rebecca only coughed softly, there in front of the blonde and the bed behind her. The redhead not even able to keep herself safely in her kneel, as she instead just leaned against her enemy, she fighting just to breathe.

"I won, bitch! I FUCKING WON! AGAIN!" Taylor fought through her own exhaustion and screamed despite the danger of her voice giving out. And as she did — as she claimed her rival's weakness as her victory, she yanked harshly at that same rival's hair. Pulling her left and then right. Right and then left, but always after each, forward. Loving the feeling of the redhead's swollen and scratched cheek against her bare mound.

"Don't... Make me... Hurt you... Anymore... JUST DO IT!" She wanted it hard, Taylor did. Rebecca's tongue sliding past the lips of her pussy and inside.

Not because she was desperate for sexual stimulation, as she had not only her own husband but most recently, her rival's. No, her desire came from a deep, soul-aching need to subjugate Rebecca. To dominate her. One that she had felt since the moment they first met. One that made it imperative that she take back every ounce of control Rebecca had seized in the conference room that morning, and in their fight until that moment.

Gnawing and binding — unrelenting and unrepentant as that drive for subjugation was, it brought a swift smile, or more a smirk to Taylor's face when she looked down. And found Rebecca righting herself — centering herself, and preparing to concede. To please. To apply her tongue to the very same pussy that had stolen her husband's cock. That had slid down it, not in some fit of lost control or finally realized love, but out of malice alone. Out of hatred and a will to conquer.

And though that, at the time, seemed like not just victory, but a complete and utter decimation of Rebecca, it was only a taste. Only a hint at the humiliation Taylor was on the very verge of inflicting.

For how could Rebecca ever even look in Taylor's eyes again, after doing what she was about to? How could she ever even bring herself to feel like the equal of a woman whose pussy she had licked and lavished after such a battle of bodies and wills? She couldn't. Not the next day or ever again. This was the wooden stake. The silver bullet. The...

"AAAAaaAaAhhhhHHhh!" Came Taylor's scream as Rebecca's teeth sunk in. The redhead's top jaw locking down on her blonde rival's pubic mound, and her bottom clamped down on lips, and then as they closed tighter: worse.

With that scream came yanking and hitting — grabbing and pushing from Taylor, who tried frantically to force Rebecca to loosen her clamped jaw. But she wouldn't. Not even under a hail of bottom fist strikes, stinging slaps, and yankings of hair.

In fact, those yanks only made the pain more intense for Taylor, who after only a few moments began to stumble back and then with her redheaded enemy still in tow, collapse. The blonde falling onto her own bed, on her back, in sheer blinding agony, as Rebecca continued to bite. Not hard enough to draw blood or maim, but hard enough to harm and torture.

Things she inflicted until she knew Taylor would be unable to fight back or resist when she suddenly released that bite and clambered. Standing and climbing onto the bed, only to thereafter grab her rival by the hair and drag her, as she groaned, to its center. The blonde laying as she might in bed alone, but squirming and grasping her wounded and bitten sex. One she hoped to protect from being the source of any more pain.

But those hands were suddenly stolen away, as Rebecca grabbed the wrists just above them, pulled them up, and then as she mounted Taylor, pinned them to the bed.

A full reversal of fortunes for the blonde though it was, Rebecca was still ravaged by pain and fatigue, and so instead of taunting — instead of attacking, she just remained. Her thighs and Taylor's flattened together, with the latter's being trapped beneath. Their mounds met and pressed, they acting as a fulcrum for their two wounded bodies. One which laid flat, and one which was bent up, as Rebecca kept her upper chest just a few inches above her rival's, as she glared down at her.

"Get ... off me ... you fucking ... BITCH!" Taylor spoke as she struggled, trying with all her might to force her enemy off of her with her arms. Pushing and pressing up hard, as if her very life depended on it.

"Not a ... fucking chance ... cunt." Rebecca spoke with the same delay and distraction as she and her blonde rival, with their arms alone, pushed against one another. Each struggling, with all they had left to enforce their will.

One to dislodge and the other to keep.

One to own and the other to break free.

"Uuunnnnggggghhhhh" Taylor groaned, as the muscles in her arms began to burn.

"NNnnnnnNNggggGGhhh" Came Rebecca's returned moan of strained and aching upper extremities.

And though once and then again they tried — they pushed, putting everything they had into that muscle-fought battle of wills, eventually, Taylor could push no more. And so, just a fraction of a second before Rebecca would have conceded the same, the blonde ended her efforts to push her rival off of her and collapsed back to the bed.

"BITCH!" Taylor shouted in a sudden surge of anger and frustration, one that tore through her just as she turned her face to the side, not wanting to even look at the redhead who kept her pinned to the bed by her wrists.

"Mmm hmmm, let it out, cunt. Let it aAaaaAAAllllll out." Rebecca purred, as her lips curled into an evil smile. She reveling in her moment of dominance, and in turn, her rival's moment of subjugation.

"Fuck you!" Again came Taylor's petulance, she seeming to pout as Rebecca held her. Neither moving or fighting for position. Each just remaining, with one on top and the other on bottom.

That is until, in a momentarily quizzical mix of action and sound, Taylor bucked her hips hard upward, she attempting to throw her rival off. But as she did, and at the very moment that her own mound met her rival's, she screamed out in pain.

The bite! Damnit! Taylor cursed in thought alone, as she realized what had just happened. And though she knew — though she feared its consequences, the blonde said nothing after the scream. Did nothing. Hoping against hope that perhaps, despite that scream, Rebecca was clueless as to its cause.

A hope that was dashed as Rebecca, without wasting a beat drug herself forward, and more importantly, her sex over Taylor's. A slow, pressing, flesh-against-flesh stroke that caused the pinned blonde to erupt in a cry of both pleasure in pain, one that left her whimpering at its end.

Whimpering until she demanded. "Stop it, you-you fucking bitch! Get off of me!"

"Mmmm, nope!" Rebecca replied, just as she pulled her lower body back and then drove forward again. Making sure that her mound and Taylor's — her sex and her rival's caught on each other and then only by sheer force of redheaded will, separated.

"AArrrrggghhHHHH!! OWEE!! STOP!! OWE!! Oh, goOOOdddD..." So strange it was. A burning pain, but one that seemed to sit as a poisoned cherry atop a mountain of pleasure-drenched ice cream. An ice cream that made Taylor moan, even as she cried. That made her, even against her strongest will, enjoy her enemy's strokes, even though she was sure they would be her undoing.

"Tell me ... who ... ungh ... won, slut!" Came Rebecca's shakily delivered terms, even as she continued to thrust herself forward, again and again.

"No FUUUUCCCKKKKing waaaAay, bitch... This-this isn't oOooooooooOoooover... OOoOoWWWEEeeEE!" It was agony and bliss — torture and ecstacy, and it robbed Taylor of her focus. And yet still the proud blonde refused.

"It. IS. OvVvvveeerRr. Bitch. Just give... Just SAY IT!" Again Rebecca demanded Taylor concede their battle, even as the pleasure of her long, deep, devastating thrusts made it hard to speak.

"No! I... NoooOooo... Nevveeerr... OOOOoOOHHhhhh GoooooooDDD!!" Float on a sea of euphoria and ocean of agony though she did, Taylor remained defiant. Even as Rebecca tribbed her wounded pussy, and clit-fucked her bitten sex.

"SaAaaaAyyyy IiIiiTT!" She feeling the beginnings of what would soon become orgasm flood her body, the redhead leaned in, and lowered her head. Not wanting her rival to see her face contort with pleasure or to increase that sensation by watching the pinned blonde's contort with pain.

"OhHhhhk, ok... I... You..." She was on the very edge of saying it. Of giving it to Rebecca. Her concession. Her submission. But, as the words began to form in her brain, as shameful as they would be to Taylor, suddenly they heard it.

"Taylor-baby?! Are you alright?!" The voice asked. One unfamiliar to Rebecca, but familiar enough to Taylor to make her eyes go wide.

"Oh shit! Shit, shit, shiIIIIIIIit!!" The blonde chanted, as she once again struggled to escape her rival's pin. But even as she did — and even as whoever had spoke approached the door to the bedroom, Rebecca continued to thrust.

"Aaawwww, "Taylor-baby"... Is that your husband...?" The redhead asked in an utterly fake softness.

"No, bitch! Get off me! NO! Don't even thiIIIIiiiink abooouuuTtTt-OH GOD! STOP!! UUNNNGHHH!" It was intoxicating for Rebecca, Taylor's fear. Her squirming. Each of which intensified as a well-built brunette man stormed into the room, his face written with concern.

"What the HELL is going on here?!" He demanded to know, and rightfully so.

"Yes, why don't we tell him, Taylor. Tell him exactly what we're doing here..." Confidence pure and unaffected did the redhead exude, as she continued to grind her sex into her rival's. Even with their new guest there to watch. Even with his worry growing by the second.

"No, FUCK YOU, Rebecca! Let me gOOoOooOooOOOhhhh-you-bitch!! I-hate-yooouuuuuu..." Through burning and aching — quivering and yearning the blonde rebelled and yelled. So much so, that the man in the doorway began to charge forward. He didn't know exactly what was happening between his wife and this woman, but it wasn't what Taylor wanted, that much was clear.

But as he marched — as he stormed, raising his arms to grab Rebecca and pull her off of his wailing wife, Rebecca shouted. "She fucked my husband! Last Night..." The words were direct and without mercy, and yet still, they made the man stop cold in his tracks.

Stop and then question, his tone bending from anger and worry to sadness. "What? Baby, you wouldn't..."

"Tell him, Taylor!!" As she demanded once more, the redhead thrust and drug, harder than she had before.

And as such a strong stroke came, Taylor finally blurted. "Ok, ok, I fucked her husband! Yes! But, but...UUunnnnngggghhhh!" The blonde tried to explain, to lessen the impact it might have on her husband, but as she began, Rebecca thrust once again. The redhead using both pain and pleasure to render the rival beneath her a wreck.