Prom and Thereafter

While one stumbled, the other leaned forward and off. The large framed picture coming down with a crash on the carpeted floor behind her. The glass therein cracking, but not shattering. Leaving the floor clean, but the memories of a complete family - one with a father, desecrated.

"You disrespectful cunt!" Anjali accused as she centered her stance. Her fire-forged brown eyes searing flame-bit holes in Erica.

"Oh, do you miss him?" Erica mocked, her expression bent in the most insincere of expressions. "Tell you what..." The blonde began as she reached her hands behind her back and unclasped her bra. "...you can tell me about him after I've FUCKED YOUR FACE, YOU HINDU LOSER!"

"That's what you want this to be about, huh?! You presumptuous white, slut?! FINE!" Anjali fired back as her heart bounded hard in her chest and her hands made the same journey to back and clasp.

"That's what I want, cunt. To show you exactly how pathetic you Indian bitches really are." As if the words were a series of hooks snagging in her rival's skin, Erica smirked knowingly. An expression she maintained, as she took to removing her panties - as her bra fell from her chest to the floor below.

"You-you're the one who's race is going to be embarrassed here, you white whore!" Seething with anger and a desperate need to lock together once again, Anjali grabbed and tore at her own panties. Wanting them off. Wanting to be free to lock up with this woman who had been a stranger not hours before.

A stranger who had let her own pubic hair grow, just as the Indian mother had. Neither trimming or taiming. Just letting those most intimate of hairs grow. No man to keep happy. No pursuit to prepare for. Not until that moment. Not until Erica dared to say it.

"Let's see it then!" Erica demand, as she raised her right arm into the air. Her lithe white fingers spreading in challenge.

Issuing a challenge though Erica was, Allison was on the verge of losing her mind.

"No wonder Jason didn't want you? Your pussy is disgusting!" Nisha said it as if it were obvious to anyone who might see her nude as she was.

"Fuck you! You're the one with an ugly brown pussy! It looks like someone smeared shit all over it!" Allison wanted to cry, but still she insulted back. She saying anything that came to her mind to hurt her rival's feelings.

"Oh my GOD! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Nisha raged, she feeling instantly the same emotional anguish as her high school enemy. She having no confidence and no defenses. Only a thin veneer of the same, though feigned.

"YOU SHUT UP! I hate you!" Came the blonde student's desperate shoutings of fully exposed insecurity. An insecurity that moved her to lunge at Nisha, wanting to punish her for the things she had said.

And as Allison came, her equally-hurt classmate did the same, she letting loose a quick, "I hate you more!" as she and her enemy came together in a maelstrom of flailing arms and unaimed slaps. Their hands landing on any and all surfaces. Some landing hard with a sting and other in a glance without effect.

A spree of smackings that continued until finally, looking to drive her rival away, if even a step, Nisha suddenly kicked. Driving her shin hard into Allison's thigh.

As if that kick were some kind of betrayal or revelation, Allison suddenly stopped and stared, after a quick yelp.

"Bitch!" She then cursed before delivering a kick just the same, one that landed in a splash on Nisha's tummy. That strike landing hard, causing the Indian student to stumble back with a groan.

With the distance, each of the two girls flashing back to where they first met. Where they first argued. Where they first fought: on the soccer field.

"No wonder you always foul me in practice! You can't kick!" Nisha accused in a hiss, as she glared at Allison.

"Oh yeah?!" Allison replied without maturity, as she stepped forward and tried to kick again. But whereas her first kick landed, Nisha dodged her second and delivered her own. The brown-skinned girl's shin driving hard into the blonde's stomach.

"Owe! Fucking bitch!" Even as she found herself bent over from Nisha's blow. One that saw itself followed by one and then another, as the Indian prom-goer began to deliver swift, short kicks into Allison's legs.

"Owe, owe!" Each hurt. Each stung and thereafter ached, but even in such pain, the blonde student rose and retreated. Ready to deliver the same back to her gloating enemy. One who taunted, even as she gave her rival room to recover.

"Awww, poor Allison can't kick..." The words were cruel and painfully condescending, and yet they came in what seemed like a calm between the girls.

At least compared to their mother's who stood, mid-hall, leaning into each other. Their bodies pressed together. Their fingers laced above their heads as their breasts both met and mashed. Each with their heads on each other's shoulder as they pushed. The contrary mothers trying to overwhelm and overpower each other.

The pair driven by the sudden suggestion that somehow, someway, their battle was about more than their rabid, unsatisfied desires. About something other than their suffering through countless months of unfulfilled sexual cravings. Their races. Their peoples. Indian vs. caucasian. Brown vs. white.

And yet only moments into the fire set by that flicker, both Anjali and Erica could feel it tugging at them. Tugging at the strings of their heart and like a leash on the collar binding their souls.

Desire.

Lust.

Their heads turned in and not out. Their lips pressed to the flesh of the other's neck and not parting to gain desperate gasps of air to aid in their bare-bodied test of strength.

And though they still pushed. Still angled, looking to bend the other to their will, they paid only half attention to the affair. The rest of it spent on their breasts. Or more accurately their nipples, which they moved and aimed. Dragging them together, and then holding them the same. Forcing those sensitive sabres to clash, length for length, fighting to bend those of the other to their will.

With every second that such fencing continued. Grunts of effort became whimpers of pleasure. Not from one, but both.

Neither trying to hide their weakness.

Neither looking to obfuscate their needs. Not from each other. Not when every ounce of it was mirrored so clearly in their rival.

A mirroring that continued as each seemed to almost melt together, there in the hall. Body fusing to body. Lust entangling with lust. Rampant and unchecked desperation grabbing hold and refusing to let go.

That is until like a bolt of lightning it happened. A sudden brushing on adjustment. An unexpected touching of unkempt bush against unkempt bush. Bushes which tangled and caught. Just before Erica drove her hips forward, and at the tip of it, rammed her sex into Anjali's.

"OoOOoohhhh, you bitch." Anjali spit out as if her breath had been stolen away.

"Fu-uuUUUuck you." Erica tried to respond, but found herself distracted by Anjali's sudden reprisal of hips and hit.

"Your bush is weeeaaakkk..." Both in challenge and taunt, the brown-skinned matriarch spoke. Even as her head rested on Erica's shoulder. Their hands still clasped together at the palms and pushing, high over their heads. Their arms quaking, as their muscles passed tired and in their continuing expenditure reached pure and utter exhaustion.

"Yours is the weak one... UNNGGHH. Dirty brown cunt." Mid-sentence and mid-return they gave it to each other again and again. Not wide, runway-taking thrusts but short, quick ones. Neither letting their pubic hairs part or detangle. Neither wanting eve the slightest distance from one another.

"No wonder -hhhnnnnn - your hu-husband left you..." Deeper than any cut and harder than any blow, Anjali drove the verbal dagger.

A dagger that cut through Erica's fog, and caused in her to stir an anger. An anger she put into words as she responded not only harsh, but cruel. "Maybe if your race wasn't so weak your husband would be alive!" Bad as the words were, they came with a sudden application of force from Erica.

A downward force of palm and fingers that Anjali found overwhelming, even as she tried to match it with all she had. She trying to drive up, as the blonde she struggled with sought to shove her down.

Said matching of might did indeed end the carefully maintained closeness of their bodies and bushes, but with each having said what they had - neither cared.

Not Anjali, as she began to wilt and bend. Nor Erica, as her opponent's fingers began to loosen and the resistance in her pushing arms to lessen.

A state of things that continued as moment after moment, Anjali continued to weaken. She, thereafter dropping down to her knees with a yelp. A sound drug from her lips as she and her rival's tangled pubic hairs suddenly tore apart.

Pain though such separation caused, it was of little import. For when the Indian mother found herself on her knees, she quickly abandoned all efforts to force her way back up For though it filled her with frustration and shame, to her it had become clear. That Erica was the victor, at least in their impromptu test of strength.

Relent though Anjali did, Erica continued to push and press. And as that victorious mother poured on the pressure, her daughter did too. Allison finding herself seated like a queen on a counter in the Patel family's kitchen. Her powerful, soccer-toned thighs wrapped around Nisha's neck like an anaconda. They being crossed at the ankles and squeezing.

"You fucking lesbian, let go of meEeeeE-AAAArrrrGGGGHH!" Nisha screamed, at first from rage and then from pain. Her view of naught but Allison's shaved and glistening pussy. One so very close to her face that the trapped Indian girl could almost taste it.

Near though her rival's sex was, Nisha struggled with almost all of her energy to keep it away. She mortified by the idea of finding herself pulled face-fist into her enemy's tight little kitten.

"You're the one about to eat me, bitch! YOU'RE THE LESBIAN!" Allison retorted as she leaned back, pouring all of her anger and jealousy into that squeeze. Wanting to punish Nisha for everything she had ever said and everything she had ever done.

"Owe, owe, ooooowwwweeee!! STOP!!" Nisha squealed, not in submission, but immaturity. Knowing that should her rival do as asked, and relent, she would immediately attack. Immediately re-engage and hurt as cruelly as she possibly could.

"Fuck you! Shut up!" She didn't want to hear it. Not just Nisha's pleas but her voice. The voice that haunted Allison's nightmares. The voice that had accompanied so many of the blonde's most humiliating moments.

But as Nisha whined with her hands pitifully placed on Allison's thighs. Their breasts covered in bruises and claw-marks. Their faces bent and bashed - the blonde's with a black eye and her rival's with a busted lip.

Wounded and welted though they were, neither had yet felt the sting of exhaustion, mental or otherwise. A fact evidenced as Nisha, suddenly jerked back, and with all the strength she could muster, pulled her rival up and off of the counter.

But do not mistake her success as a plan, for she sought not to powerbomb or piledrive. No, instead, with her blonde enemy in air, she simply collapsed. In the process and on chance alone, slamming the back of Allison's head into the linoleum floor.

A blow that caused thighs to loosen, and bodies to part. As each laid momentarily broken on the kitchen floor. Nisha grabbing for her neck and Allison for the back of her head. Each in pain, and neither sure or even caring where the other was. At least at that moment.

Apathy by agony though their daughters suffered, Anjali stared down the barrel of the same gun her daughter just escaped.

"Do it, Hindu slut! Give it to me." Came Erica's demand, as the pressure she applied on her rival's hands continued to increase. The blonde bending the fingers of her black-haired counterpart back hard, and at an angle that caused so much pain Anjali could barely think about anything, let alone how to escape the predicament.

So lost was she in the pain and the position, that even as she struggled to withstand it, she leaned forward and rested her cheek against the only thing she could find: Erica's bushy mound. The fine hairs of which acted as cushion for Anjali's pain-etched face.

"Do it! Indian, cunt! You knew that's what this was about!" She knew! She had to, Erica thought. That their words, their battle, their test of strength was pretense to earning them both the pleasure and contact they had for so long been denied.

But as Anjali continued to rest and refuse, Erica bent not only her own body down, but Anjali's arms back painfully behind her head. A change in position and pressure that caused Anjali to scream out in pain. Even as she continued to lean. Her cheek still pressed to Erica's overgrown forest.

Demanding and angry though she was, Erica then ended her press and returned to her upright position. Not out of mercy, but instead so that she could release Anjali's fingers from their lock, and then reach to take the head of the same.

The blonde certain that in her complete overpowering of Anjali, that their battle was over. And that all was left was to claim her mouth. Her tongue. And the very thing her life had lacked for so very long.

Despite that desire, and at the very moment Erica released Anjali's fingers, the head of the same turned - the jaw of the same opened - and then the teeth of the same clamped. They biting down on Erica's mound, sweat-dampened pubic hair and all.

Such a bite made it Erica's turn to scream and suffer. A sound which echoed through the house, just as the same had when it had come from Anjali. Each such echoing reaching their warring daughters, even if they had little time to pay them mind.

For though they still found themselves on the floor of the kitchen on which we left them, no longer did they breathe and rest. No, instead they laid, side-by-side, each with two hands on their rival's breasts. Sharp nails dug in and thin fingers squeezing. Not like an aggressive lover but like a tiger. Like a monster. Doing all they could to wound and waylay.

Snarling at each other.

Hating each other in the deepest way they could, at that young age.

Their digits manipulating in twists and pulls - digging in deep and and then dragging out and down. Neither settling on one tactic or method of attack, but instead choosing all of them.

Allison driven mad by Nisha's larger breasts, and Nisha finding the color and shape of her rival's nipples and areolae equally as vexing. Qualities in the other they let their glaring eyes focus on, rather than locking gazes with each other. Each of the two young women beginning to feel something shameful. Something not just unexpected but unwanted.

Something they had felt before, but only with each other. A fire. An excitement. One that seemed to spark and flare whenever they would lock gaze or share a touch - no matter how small or accidental.

And yet still, even awash with such rage and loathing - confusion and excitement, still did their sinewy legs extend in search and bind in need. Their calves hooking not harshly, but softly. Each needing such connection even as they tore at each other.

An assurance, even if minor, that that neither was leaving. A promise, instinctual as it was, that whatever their battle was or wasn't, they were in it together. Enemies though they were.

One might think it odd that they would want such things, but only if that one did not understand. That despite their anger and jealousy - violence and vehemence, they were each scared. Not of each other, but of having their moment of contact and conflict taken away.

For this is what they wanted. What they needed. A release. A purging of their feelings they each held for each other. The feelings that caused them to glare in class and curse in text. Emotions that caused them to meet after class and between lockers and threaten. Such tuggings of soul did they unleash upon each other there on that floor as they whimpered and wailed in each other's grasp.

"That's right, cry for me, you ugly white bi-ttttccchhhAAAWWWeee" Nisha taunted as her hands tightened like vices around her rival's nubile breasts. The dark-haired prom-goer wanting to make it clear that she had caught Allison beginning to cry.

"Shut-OWE! SHUT-OWWEEE!! Shut up! You're the one who's crying!" Allison retorted in what Nisha at first dismissed with a pained, but insulting smirk. Afterall, she wasn't crying! Or-or wait...? Was she? As she asked herself, she felt it.

Tears rolling down her carob-colored cheek.

No! Damnit! Nisha raged at herself, though without words. At least until she felt and then saw. Allison's left hand detach from breast and then move, reaching down and between. The blonde clearly looking to add one brown cunt to her rival's list of blistered and battered body parts.

An attack Nisha copied as she lay naked next to her rival. Each with speed looking to clamp their clawed-hands down on each other's sex. And though they expected the softness they felt. And the smoothness of the other's freshly-shaven skin. It was something else that shocked them. Something else that made their hate-filled eyes fill with not just surprise but shame.

For though thumb, index, ring, and pinky drove into the exterior of the girl who ruined their prom night's sex, each of their middle made their way inside. Into warmth. Into darkness. But to their mutual dismay, into a shared wetness that finally forced their eyes to meet, and their emotions to yet again take a wild turn towards the unexpected.

Unexpected though it was to Allison and Nisha, such feelings - such cravings were known to their mothers. Felt and chased like the first shimmers of a deep green oasis in a barren and harsh desert.

A chase that led Anjali to release her bite almost as soon as Erica recoiled and retreated. Only to then follow the blonde as she fell and scrambled on the carpeted floor of the hall. The curly-haired Indian mother catching and mounting her rival just as she passed under the doorway back to the living room.

She who had been on her knees and helpless straddling Erica's left thigh, as she brought their bushy sexs together in a perfect scissor. The two warring mothers feeling their moist pubic hair meet and tangle, as their cunts came to an incredible and focus-shattering fuse.

The desire bent matrons letting out a loud, guttural moan of satisfaction, before immediately setting back to their hateful words.

"I knew what this was about, huh, you arrogant white cunt?" Anjali asked in a rage-hardened voice. One that sounded out her retaliation as she thrust herself down and forward, dragging her sex over Erica's. Each feeling the weakest of their pubic hairs pulling and then snapping at the movement.

"Shit!" The blonde mother exclaimed as she collapsed back to the floor. Her hands, which had once moved to grab at Anjali turning back and pressing to her temples. She trying to process the feeling of finally having her netherbits contact another's.

"Weak! You white bitches are!" Anjali chided as she rode, her right hand holding Erica's left leg up, as her left pressed to the chest of the same. Keeping her down. Keeping her helpless and lust-addled.

"Fuck you..." The blonde replied with her eyes closed. Her own hips beginning to betray her by thrusting back into Anjali.

"No, bitch; I'm fucking you..." Even as Anjali said it, Erica came for her. Surging up from the carpeted floor. The blonde's left hand moving to her rival's hair and catching. A grip the white mother used to pull herself up, and into an equal scissor with Anjali.

The warring mothers' foreheads coming together in a sudden and sweaty thud, as they settled pussy-to-pussy and eye-to-eye, there in the center of Anjali's home.