Prom and Thereafter

"Cunt..." Erica muttered back, as her fists clenched and electricity shot up her spine once again. The moment was so very close - as was Anjali now. All they had to do was touch. All had they had to do is light the match of violence that lingered somewhere between them.

It was then that, intending to defend her mother, Nisha moved in on the glaring pair. The Indian high schooler looking to push Erica away from her mother. But as she reached, but before fingertips made landing, Allison charged. Tackled. And as her fingers dug deep into Nisha's hair, sent they together down to the carpeted floor in a crash.

Despite the intensity of the moment, and their staredown, Erica's jaw dropped as she saw her daughter and her rival lock together in a hateful conflict with her own eyes. Such a sight led the blonde's maternal instincts to flare, and when they did, she moved to reach them - separate them, and keep her daughter from any further harm.

But at the very instant her head turned to effectuate such plan, a harsh slap crashed against her cheek. One that sent her stumbling to the left, just past the warring daughters.

"Fight me..." During the slap or after, somewhere in the madness she heard it. Anjali's demand.

One might expect her to feel shock or panic - anger or desperation. But at that moment, all Erica felt was a deep, soul-seizing need. A desire so palpable she could taste it. A need and desire to do exactly as Anjali asked.

To fight her.

To make her the woman she rolled with.

To battle her, as their daughters did the same.

It was contrary to everything she would have ever believed herself to want. Adverse to what she would expect of herself as a parent.

But it had been so long since she rolled with anyone. Softly in bed, or in any other way. And she could take not another second of that absence. Nor breathe without her long loneliness coming to an end.

And so she turned - and so she lunged, just as Anjali did. The two meeting and grabbing for each other. Each pulling close and lacing their fingers through each other's curly hair. Their lips parting as they cursed at each other in short, hot-breath laced hisses. "Bitch!" "Cunt!" "Fight meee..." "Yeessss..."

Their words were so similar in tone and tension, that neither could tell who said them. Each of them being exactly what they would have said, if they hadn't been said by the other.

In that clench of desire and desperation - manifested solitude and mutual motive, Erica and Anjali drifted as they pulled. Wandered as they pushed. Back and to the couch on which the Danes had sat and then onto it. The blonde falling to her ass, with the onyx-haired rival atop her and in her lap in a thigh-over-thigh straddle.

A straddle that was taken on one couch, just as Nisha and Allison slammed into the other. The latter landing atop the former, each with ironclad grips on the other's hair. They not lost like their mothers, but instead rabid, hateful, and violent.

In that state of loathing and rage, the two girls warred in their matching prom dresses. Dresses which had been kicked up so high in the intensity of their struggle, that their bare pussies could be seen by anyone who might look to them. And while no such eyes peered, the two high schooler's bare legs desperately ran up and down those of the other, as each tried desperately to coil their legs around those of their rival.

"Flat-chested, bitch!" Nisha hissed, as she and her rival pulled wrapped themselves together.

"If yours are bigger, it's just because you're such a fat slut!" Allison responded as if she were a caged lion finally released from its bars.

One might think, that with those insults the girls would want away from each other. Distance. But instead, they used their grips on hair, and binding legs to pull as close as they possible could. Each trying to, and failing completely to understand the emotions that ran through them - emotions that made them feel as if what they truly wanted was to consume one another.

A mutual desire they gave into, when taunting mouths opened, and they bit at each other - the teeth of the two 18-year-olds catching on the other's emotion-flushed cheeks.

Bites that lasted only seconds, as each, at the pain, screamed, released, and then pulled back. Their eyes meeting once and then again. Not in hateful glares, but with each contact of corneas filled with confusion and questioning. They wanted this. The battle. The closeness. The biting. But the pain...? Neither had been ready for it.

In the same way that Nisha, who stared up at the blonde laying atop her, was not ready when that same blonde attacked again. The blue-eyed 18-year-old doing so by yanking at the Indian daughter's black hair. A yank that bent Nisha's neck back, and chin up. An angle and opening Allison then used by leaning forward and biting hard - latching her teeth into her rival's neck.

From across the room, and from their engaging daughters came a mutual scream and then a solitary one. The latter coming from Nisha, as some form of pain was inflicted upon her without immediate response. One might assume that at the sound, Anjali would want to break free, and march to her daughter's aid, but instead she remained, pressing her beautiful C-cup breasts in Erica's face. A face that could not be pulled back or the lips upon it find air, as it was held firmly in place by the Indian mother.

"You come to my home with your little bitch, and expect to talk?" Anjali asked, her tone cruel, and hands pulling not just to hold, but to hurt Erica, even as the same fought for breath. But even that breath-stealing torture was not enough. For only a single moment of pause after the question, the raven-haired mother yanked on blonde hair again and added. "Hmm...?! Bitch!?"

With her lips pressed hard to the strip of flesh that rested blissfully between Anjali's perfect breasts, Erica tried to push. First at her rival's abdomen, then her arms, then even her shoulders. But with each attempt, she accomplished nothing, save for entertaining her smirking foe. Despite those failures and driven by a need to not just earn some sort of parity or revenge, but also and most importantly to breathe, Erica tried something else.

That being to reach between she and her rival's body, under the skirt of the same, and then to try and dig her fingers into Anjali's sex. An attempt that in an instant made the mounted Indian mother release her smother, and with a quick push, move herself back and away from her threatening rival's hands.

So great was Anjali's speed, however, that instead of making it back to a stand, she just fell. Crashing down to the carpeted floor in a clump. A clump she pulled herself from as she tried to make it back to her feet. Her mind filled with a mix of outrage and excitement at the revelation that Erica would truly go there - there there.

Such an escape and attack being a turning of the tables mirrored by their daughters, except in reverse. For Allison, who we had left with her teeth sinking deep into her squirming rival's neck, now found herself trapped between that same rival's thighs. The alabaster blonde suffering in a seated position, as Nisha squeezed her toned, soccer-strengthened legs.

"Like that, bitch?!" Nisha asked, as Allison pushed at the brown-hued thighs that encircled her in desperation. The blonde trying to somehow get those vice-like legs to move from her vulnerable tummy and ribs down to her hips or further to lessen the pain.

"I can't ... fucking ... BELIEVE you bit me! GAH! I HATE YOU!" Nisha raged, even in her control, before arching her back and sending a horrific pulse her rival's way. One that caused Allison to groan out in pain and collapse from her seated position, back to the cushioning of the couch.

"Owe, owe, owe!" Allison's announcements of pain bounced like a ball over the lyrics of a Sesame Street song. The word of the day being pain. And the letter: "AAaaaaaaAAAaaaaAa". Nisha pouring it on and not stopping. Not for a second. She not even knowing how to show mercy to someone she loathed so deeply.

"Uunnngggghh ... I-I swearrrrr to-to god I'm going to DESTROY you when I get freeEEEEEeEeeEe!" Allison promised. Allison swore, until she could do not but scream, from another pulse inflicted upon her. One that caused the blonde to collapse even further. That wilting of body leading the same to drop onto Nisha, who then quickly rolled. Sending their pressed bodies off their couch-made battlefield, and onto the floor below it in a thud.

A thud that came like a felling of a tree in the woods, with no one there to hear it, though such was not the case. For though it was heard, it was ignored. Taken in, but not acknowledged.

For Anjali and Erica were locked deep. Chained Heavy. And lost in every way the word can mean in an eye-to-eye glare just in front of the entrance to the home's hallway. Each circling the other.

Not wide, but close. Not afraid, but entranced by what they felt was about to happen. What they KNEW was about to happen between them.

"Indian cunt." Erica spat as if slinging such a hateful comment were of the same ease as breathing.

"White slut." Anjali replied, her heart skipping not just beats but collections of them in the intensity of the moment.

A moment that saw each of them not just circling and cursing in the most vile of ways, but letting their eyes move up and down each other's bodies. Studying. Memorizing. But most of all, wanting more.

"Take it off." Came the blonde's demand, one without explanation or context, but instead with a quick reach and quickly released tug at her rival's top.

"You want to see what kind of woman you've challenged? Hmmm...?!" She didn't need a manual or a guide. A walkthrough or explanation. For even though she had never fought another woman, or even thought about it before that day, Anjali knew exactly what the blonde woman who slowly stepped deeper into the hallway of her home wanted. Exactly because she wanted it too. So bad she could taste it. So bad that without more she reached down and grabbed the bottom of her top and then pulled up.

The Indian mother was not alone, however, for as soon as her head came free and eyes set once again on her rival, she found the blonde pulling loose her top as well. Leaving both in their bras. Erica's red and Anjali's white. Hues they wore proudly as one stepped backward and the other followed.

Not as predator and prey, but together in agreement. Knowing they didn't want their daughters to see what was about to happen between them.

A happening Erica again could not wait for, a desire which pushed her to again reach. But as she did, Anjali stopped, and then with a quick tug, pulled her own skirt down to the midpoint of her thighs. Her eyes locked on Erica's as she did so. The umber-skinned matriarch wanting to send the message clear - I'm ready for this, are you?

At the challenge, Erica scrambled. Not in step, but surety. Shaken at her rival's confident advance.

A crisis of confidence that grew worse, as suddenly she felt her back press flat. Not against wall, but something else. Something not just cool, but cold and shifting. Something that came unfixed and then fell for a blink. The decoration, she surmised quickly, was a framed picture. Of who, she did not know, but that hardly mattered. For it was only held in place by Erica's body, which flattened against it and the wall beneath it.

A position made worse as Anjali took one final step, and with eyes as fierce as a tiger, she reached forward and yanked down Erica's onyx-black skirt. "Afraid, lilly bitch?"

The words were cruel and at the moment, perhaps even true, but as they were spoken, they were merely foreplay. At least compared to the boiling cauldron of malice Nisha and Allison were stewing in. Each having found their way back to their feet from the floor. Each having the other bound tightly in a neck-bending headlock.

A mutual hold each used to twist and turn - whip and wrench the other left and then right. Right and then left. Each whimpering at the pain they felt, while inflicting the same on the other without even a hint of mercy.

"Fucking bitch!" Allison cried.

"Stupid slut!" Nisha retorted.

And though they each would have held the other like that forever. Hurting the other, just for the satisfaction of it, their legs suddenly became entangled. And when they did, Allison tripped back and Nisha forward. The pair of hateful hangers-on falling in opposite directions until they stumbled to a sloppy stop. Each then turning and re-affixing their glares.

"I can't believe you told my mom about my panties!" Allison blurted in seemingly hour-old shock.

"You told mine!" The Indian 18-year-old student replied like a child.

"Shut up!" With no more maturity replied the blonde.

"You shut up!" As Nisha hissed her reply, she and her rival seemed destined to go back back and forth in such a bratty manner forever, but something in the last demand for silence caused the blonde to charge. To grab. And then, with all of her might, to yank.

The blonde's hand and the force with it applied, pulling Nisha's beautiful red prom dress down and away. Not off cleanly, or just enough to stretch it, but instead hard enough to tear it straight down the middle.

"Oh. My. GOD!" Nisha cried out in despair, rage, and hatred. Emotions which pushed her to reach back, take hold, and then in the same way: rip.

She and her rival having split each other's dresses so deeply that they fell from their bodies and hung mangled at their waists.

"UGGGGGGH! I HAAaAAAaAATE YOU!" Allison yelled, as she felt the same sting of anger that Nisha had not a moment before.

But as her words drifted and her mind should have filled with the drive to lunge and attack, it instead flooded. With something else. Something matched in her youthful rival. A mutual happening that left each frozen and staring. Their eyes locked on each other's chests.

Not chests covered in bras, but instead the bare breasts of their rival. Breasts identical in shape and firmness, but opposing in color. Nisha's centered with Kennedy half-dollar-sized areolas, tinted a river-deep brown. Whereas Allison's displayed a light pink, barely-there nickel-tipped middle.

A conflicting comparison that immediately filled both girls' minds with self-doubt and resentment. For the other had exactly what they wanted. What they saw as perfect and beautiful, even if the difference was one only they would see. Only they would notice. Feelings which filled them with a newfound jealousy.

A jealousy which made their fists clench, and their eyes to harden once again.

And as that pairing of youthful rivals began to ready themselves to re-engage, Anjali and Erica were already.

They two desire-bent mothers pressed together hard, with their hands and fingers dug deep into each other's hair. Their once half-removed skirts having fully fallen from their frames. And their once threatening standoff in the hall becoming a hard body-to-body press against that picture-framed segment of wall on which we left them.

"Indian Bitch." Erica hissed in their closeness, as her hands gave taut little pulls on her rival's curly black hair.

"Weak. White. Slut." Anjali returned with a voice drenched in the same malice. A malice at odds, and yet intertwined with her nearly-nude body pressing into Erica's.

Their thighs parting, and hips adjusting, not with a intention but on instinct. Not driven by clarity but the fog of their mutual desire to feel.

To live.

To struggle with and against each other.

And struggle they did, for as Anjali kept her rival pressed and pinned against the framed family photo behind her, that same rival pushed back. Thrusting her body forward hard.

But with the Indian mother's upper-body leaning in and upon, only the blonde's hips moved. They slamming forward, and with a sudden and unexpected impact, brought each of the middle-aged women's fabric contained mounds into contact. A contact that made each shudder, and in a sudden shifting, to slide, cheek-against-cheek. Their lips coming to rest just next to each other's ear.

Lips which parted to let loose tight, hitched breaths of pleasure. Breaths which came again, as Anjali with intention fired back. Their mounds meeting once again, even as they continued to press bodies and pull hair. They each fitting in between gasps and gusts, their own hateful curses.

"Fuck you, cunt." Anjali muttered as another wave of desperately needed pleasure washed over her.

"You're the one who's ... hhhuuunnnnhhh - going to get fucked, bitch." Erica replied sternly, until mid-sentence the wave reached her.

As their mothers fought - or perhaps began to purge the demons that controlled them, Nisha and Allison bounced. Not on a bed, but on their toes, circling each other. Their fists raised like boxers, though they had literally no clue what they were doing. Each stepping in and then out, neither ready to throw the first punch or kick. Neither having ever thrown one before in their lives.

That is until they heard it. A moan. Loud and desperate from down the hallway. Whose mother was it? What had happened to her to make her release such an animalistic sound? Neither knew, and neither had time to wonder, for as soon as the sound came, Allison dove forward and drove her tiny right fist through Nisha's thin forearms. The knuckles at the end passing through and slamming into her rival's mouth.

But make no mistake. The punch was not well-delivered or masterfully thrown. Instead it was wild and clumsy. So much so that Allison fell with it, almost into Nisha.

The latter, whose lip at the punch began to bleed, fired back, even as she yelped in pain. She driving her right knee up and into the blonde high schooler's tummy. A blow that landed and bent Allison over, her black dress falling down and to the floor as Nisha struck again.

The Indian daughter of she who fought elsewhere giving a quick shove and then a hard left punch into Allison's effort-reddened cheek.

At the strike, Allison collapsed to the expensive, Indian carpet below she and her rival. But even as she dropped to her knees, Nisha was upon her. Grabbing her by the hair and dragging the dizzy ivory-hued girl up.

But Allison was not ready to be dominated. Not willing to just take it. And so she drove herself upward, and put all her strength into a push. One that sent Nisha back hard. So hard, that she only just stopped herself from stumbling back into a table. The table on which her deceased father's pictures sat. Not just on that day, but on every day, since his funeral.

"YOU BITCH! You almost made me..." Nisha began and then silenced, as from the table's edge she charged. Knowing the meaning of the display would be lost on a dumb white girl like Allison.

A dumb white girl who rose from her knees, and dove. Her arms extending, hands grabbing, and fingers pulling at Nisha's waist-bound prom dress. One which came off and down with only the slightest of pressure.

A pressure and a pulling that left each of the two young girls nude, and Nisha stopped dead in her tracks.

And whereas she stopped, and Allison rose to meet her, Erica and Anjali remained pressed and pulling. Erica tugging at the back of Anjali's hair so hard, that the Indian mother's neck bent at a most unnatural degree.

So unnatural was it, that as that pull and angling continued, Anjali's body moved back and off of Erica's. Their hips separating and their instinctual thrusting ended - even if both, in the deep recesses of their minds, wanted it to continue.

A desire that Anjali sought to enforce and by design seize, by trying to drive herself back forward and into Erica once again. But as she did, her blonde rival raised her right leg, and at the last possible moment, drove it into the onyx-haired mother's ribs. Not in a hard, striking kick, but in a placement and then a shove. One that sent Anjali back and away from her.