Hate on the 38th

"Why...? Why would you...?" The man questioned, despair clear in his voice.

"Because, I... AAArrrrnnnggghhhh!!" No explanation. No words from Taylor would be allowed save for what Rebecca wanted. And what Rebecca wanted was...

"Tell him to fuck me, Taylor. Tell him to take his FUCKING pants off right now, and fuck me." The words were none that Rebecca ever thought she would speak, but at that moment they sounded so very right. It was the ultimate evening. The ultimate payback.

No! NoOooooO!! NooOoOOOOooOOOO!!-OK-OKK!! OWWWWWEEEEE OK! FUCK HER, CHRIS!! FUCK HER!! OOoohhhh gooodddd" With one stroke after another — each of them coming harder and faster than the last, and then back again, Rebecca drove Taylor. Not only to instruct as instructed, but then to the most painful and incredible orgasm the blonde had ever experienced in her entire life.

And while that orgasm tore through her, causing her to moan and whimper — shake and curl at her toes, Rebecca lifted her own body up and off of Taylor's, and presented herself.

For a moment, Chris just stood, with his eyes filled with sadness and yet un-shed tears. In his mind ran so many thoughts and emotions — worries and wants, but finally all of it crystallized into anger. Not at the redhead, who was at that moment so proudly displayed and seductively waiting for him. No, instead that anger was focused at the woman beneath her, his treacherous wife.

A wife who had begun to cry, even as she continued to twitch from the after effects of an orgasm. A wife who had cheated on him only a night before. Not only with some man, but a married man. What kind of woman was she? Who had he married, he asked himself as rage built within him.

A rage Rebecca called to when she said, "make it even, Chris... Fuck me..."

With a clenching jaw, and anger-filled eyes, the brown-haired man let his eyes shift. From wife to her conqueror. From she who laid pinned and pining, to she who was ready and waiting. Her beautiful alabaster ass swinging gently from side to side, almost as a snake dancing for their pungi-playing master.

A master that with a quick, almost violent motion, shot his arms down and undid his belt. Then, after yanking through and out his nicely worn belt, came down his clean cityboy jeans, and then his red silk boxers. He, this Chris, who had been wronged just like Rebecca, not even bothering to take his button-up purple shirt off before moving to claim his revenge.

No, instead, as his dick and resolve hardened, he just climbed. Onto he and Taylor's bed, into a kneel behind the redhead pinning his wife beneath her, and then...

"Mmmm, Taylor ... is this what it was like...?" Rebecca asked, just before she felt Chris grab her hips and position her.

"What it was like when you seduced my husband, you fucking bitch..." Even then, even as her own spiteful vengeance was at hand, she was angry. Hateful. And ready to wound Taylor as deeply as she possibly could.

"When you came to my hou-UUuunnnggghhhh!! YYEESSS!!" It felt so good, not just because Chris' cock was cement-hard and at least for a caucasian, long, but because Rebecca knew how it felt. How Taylor must hate her. How deep such penetration would drive, not just into her own carnal crevice, but into Taylor's heart.

But Rebecca could not linger or slowly take it in. No, for Chris was angry. Almost-violent in his have-at-thee. He moving fast and thrusting hard. The moment more like therapy for him than sex. And Rebecca more a whipping post than a woman— a role she was happy to play, as long as it would hurt the blonde beneath her.

Such though it was, Rebecca reveled in it, the man behind her slamming forward and then ripping back. His grunts breaking and stuttering even in his ferocity. He giving the victorious redhead what she wanted, and what Taylor had instructed him to, even though his heart broke and eyes well as he did so.

His tears dripping upon release on the pearl-colored cheeks of Rebecca's rebounding ass. A sensation, subtle as it was, that made Rebecca's victory even sweeter. A victory she claimed in its entirety as she leaned in, leaned down, and began to whisper in Taylor's ear. She speaking words for only her rival to hear.

A rival who still kept her head turned, she being too shattered to even open her eyes as her wounded husband fucked her rival. Closed though they were, the blonde's eyes were wet as well, with wild emotion and unexpected despair. Chris was a good man, and a beautiful specimen of the same, but Taylor always felt he was just a stand-in. A cock and a wallet.

Until that moment.

Until Rebecca had that cock secured tightly within the walls of her sex.

Until the blonde could hear Chris grunting as he fucked her. Moaning as he took her.

Each of which filled Taylor with sadness and regret. Not for having waged such a war with the redhead, but having lost it.

And as Taylor so suffered, Rebecca's words came in a hiss. "Kiss me, bitch... Kiss me, while I fuck your husband..."

To the outrageous request, one made as the normally callous blonde wept, came no response. No, instead she just ignored Rebecca, waiting for the moment to be over and for her punishment to end.

"Kiss me, or I'll quit, cunt..." What did it matter, one might ask. Their faces were already scratched and battered to the point where anyone who might see them would know what had happened, and yet still...

And yet still ... Taylor turned her head, and with a tearful glare, stared at the smirking and expectant redhead above her. The one who moaned and whimpered at Chris' anger-and-betrayal-aided efforts.

And though that face Taylor hated. And though that face she would never forget. The blonde still leaned up, and though it made her almost sick to do so, kissed Rebecca.

A kiss that was hard. Violent. Hateful. And a microcosm of the women's feelings for one another. Intense though it was. Communicative though it was. After what felt like an eternity for one and a fraction of a second for the other, it was broken.

For as Chris increased his thrusting, he and Rebecca both began to lose their focus on anything other than the rhythm — than the pleasure of he and she.

One ramming forward and the other slamming back.

The steel-hard cock of one driving head-long into the red-hot, and hate-wet sex of the other.

Deeper and deeper.

Faster and faster.

Until at the very pinnacle of grunts and moans — whimpers and screams, together Chris and Rebecca came. As a unit. As a pair. Not one in wedlock or sport, but a pair made for vengeance. To punish Taylor for what she had done to each of them.

The orgasm was ... not something that can be described by me or any other writer. Not well. Not accurately. For it was born in the pits of Rebecca's hatred and nurtured by the same of her rival. It had built not for days or weeks, but since each of the two enemies first met oh so long ago.

And though it may have come in some other setting or engagement, it instead came here, on the tip of Chris' spear. On the end of an appendage that belonged to Taylor. Her husband's cock. Just as the same released its own spiteful comeuppance.

Release though they did, Rebecca kept Taylor pinned. Re-engaging she and her rival's kiss throughout her release, each such return driving the dagger a little deeper into the blonde's heart.

But finally, when that glorious moment of vengeance had passed, Rebecca reached down between her legs, just as Chris pulled out and stumbled off the bed. Then, with him removed, she used two fingers to press in, curl, and then drag out. Those digits bringing with them a collection of not only Rebecca's essence but Chris'.

Essences which Rebecca wiped on Taylor's claw-marked cheek, even as they continued, against reason and expectation, to kiss one another hatefully. A rough, rebellious kiss that Taylor pulled back from as she felt her rival smear. The blonde knowing exactly what it was, and what it meant.

But in case she had forgotten, Rebecca reminded. "I win..." The redhead gloated as she finally let Taylor's wrists go, and then climbed off of her.

She then leaving the room without a word given to the man she just drained. A man who, in his abject state of dismay fell into a lounge chair in the corner of the room. His eyes closed and head hung — the reality of what had just happened — what he had just done, only then breaking through his fog of rage.

In that realization and in Taylor's humiliating defeat, Rebecca left them. She collecting her clothing, torn and mangled though it was, on her way back to her car.

A car in which she sat for a few moments, her smile wide and pride restored. No matter what happened the next day. No matter what Austin would say when he saw them. It had been worth it. She had won. She had defeated the bitch.

The next day, that same smile and those same thoughts persisted as she sat in the familiar conference room of the 38th floor next to Taylor. Their moods and expressions having switched from the day before. The blonde being deflated and destroyed by the acts of her rival, all as the redhead glowed due to the same.

In that room, as the cityscape of New York surrounded them, neither spoke. In fact, Taylor would not even look at Rebecca, she being too humiliated and terrified of losing her job to dare such a thing.

A fear which sparked and flared as the door to the conference room suddenly opened. And though each had expected Austin, or maybe even Bennett Bowman to appear, instead came their assistants ... or fiances ... or whatever position they had magically lept to in the past few days.

They being two brunettes, each shorter and thicker than Rebecca and Taylor, but bustier by leagues, as far as they from the 38th could see. In such states of thickness they came, they sat, and then stared. Examining both Rebecca and Taylor closely.

The eyes of each brunette seeming to seize on the waiting women's wounded cheeks, despite their best efforts to cover their scratches with makeup — hoping they wouldn't be noticed.

"So, we're ready fo-" Rebecca began, before finding herself suddenly cut off.

"Sorry, one second." Amber said with a fake smile. One she donned as she took out her cell and dialed Austin and Bennett.

One ring came and then two, and then suddenly and with exuberance, one of the brothers answered the phone, though Taylor and Rebecca could tell not which.

"Amber! So ... what's the report? Are we going to be able to trust the 38th floor to our quarreling co-leaders? Think they can keep their hands out of each other's hair? Ha ha." The comment was flippant, and not made with any insider knowledge of Rebecca and Taylor actually having fought, and yet still it caused Amber to smile knowingly.

"I think they'll be fine, don't you Jennifer?" Amber asked, as she intentionally and dramatically raised a hand to her own cheek and scratched. The display meant to let both Rebecca and Taylor know that she knew what had happened between them.

"Mmm hmmm, they'll be ok. Just let Amber and I watch them for you." Jennifer replied with a knowing and confident set of eyes trained on the blonde and redhead that sat before them.

"I like it. Anyway ... Bennett and I are off to look at this Rival's Ranch property. Talk soon." Before Amber or Jennifer could reply, the brothers were gone. And left in their verbal wake, were their two assistants to deal with the leadership of the 38th floor.

"Ladies..." Amber said without more, as she and Jennifer both pushed back from the table and stood up.

"We ... uh..." Rebecca spoke again, as Taylor remained silent and seething — wounded and worried.

"Just keep this floor in order, and each other in line, and you're golden." Jennifer explained as she and Amber walked to the door.

"But leave each others faces out of it..." Added Amber in a playful, bouncing whisper, as each of the two brunettes exited the room, and the door shut behind them.

As that door shut, and the words registered with each of them, Taylor looked not only up for the first time, but at Rebecca in a inferno-hot glare. A glare that set a blaze, only a second before both blonde and redhead lunged at each other from their chairs.

And though both blonde and redhead fought hard that day and thereafter, those are tales for another time and perhaps another place.

For the Hate on the 38th was not that day quelled or thereafter squelched. No, it continued and lingered. And in the pain and passion of it, our two enemies existed. From that moment of re-engagement and freedom, until one of finality and fate I shall mention not here. Not yet, at least...

The End