Prom and Thereafter

"I give! I giiiiivvvee!! I GIVE!!" Erica screamed as Anjali tortured her.

In an instant, and at the very hearing of the words Allison tried to move. To stand and charge to her mother's aid. But without fully understanding what was happening, Nisha's gently placed hands grabbed. Not out of any rebellion, but out of desire. A desire for Allison to stay and finish what she - what they had started.

But in the restriction of movement, Allison found herself another way of helping her mother. A method of aid that caused her once soft eyes to turn hard once again, as the blonde soccer player suddenly grabbed Nisha's wrists and slammed them to the carpet.

"No, no, what are you doing?! Keep going! Please..." Nisha begged, as she found herself lost in she and her prom night enemy's transition from hate to lust.

But even as she begged, Allison moved. Climbing up her rival's body and just as Anjali did the same. Each of the two women, of different ages and hues reaching a seated position on their opponent's chest at the same time.

And while Allison watched Anjali, the latter only watched her enemy's blue eyes. Eyes which flared with regret and submission. They being wet with tears, and the surrounding skin run with streaks of black mascara. That mismatched attention continued until the blonde daughter called.

"Get the hell off my mom, you dirty old brown dyke!" Allison demanded, as she grabbed a handful of Nisha's jet-black hair.

"Mmmm... No..." Anjali responded coyly with an amused smirk, as her eyes moved from her victim to the confident young blonde sitting on her daughter's chest.

"I'll sit on her face; I swear!" It was a warning - the only one Allison could think of at the moment. And yet just as she spoke it, the hook of Anjali's smirk grew sharper.

"Do your worst, and I'll do mine..." At the very moment she spoke, Anjali slid forward, dragging her excitement and orgasm-wet sex over and then atop of Erica's quivering lips and sniffling nose. On which that sex then lowered. Driving the nose and lips of her rival deep within.

"Bitch!" Allison cursed as she hurried to mirror her rival's mother, dragging herself forward, though with half the surety and a quarter of the confidence.

"Yes, girl..." Anjali responded before her sentence was broken by a soft moan. "...the bitch sitting on your mother's face."

"Arrrgghhh, you stupid..." At that moment, one in which she was too angry to even finish her insult, part of Allison wanted to stand. To run. To dive atop Anjali and tear her off of her mother. But even as that sequence formed in her mind, she had already begun humping. Wildly. Awkwardly. Slamming her sex down and into Nisha's bruised and swollen face. A face which quickly became wet, both from Allison's already coaxed juices and newly formed tears.

Tears of frustration, as the young Indian girl longed for what she and Allison had found not moments before. A peace. A pleasure. And a way through their seemingly never ending storm of antagonization and hatred.

Tears of pain, as the underside of Allison's pubic bone slammed down into her already battered face with little if any control. The blonde face-fucking her in the only way she knew how - that being to poorly copy Anjali, in whatever it was she did.

But also tears from something else. A certain and burning shame.

She had been defeated by her rival.

Owned by her rival.

Not in some empty gym or in the back of a high school locker room, but on the floor of her own home, in front of her mother. A mother who could have saved her. Could have helped her. But one who instead chose not to, she focusing her efforts on securing her own rival's humiliation, even as her daughter suffered the same.

And though the causes for Nisha's tears were many, she shed those tears without eyes upon her. For rather than Allison basking in her rival's subjugation and despair, the blonde only glared across the living room at the nude, brown-skinned woman who sat atop her mother's face.

A woman who looked back with her onyx eyes and a cruelly confident smirk on her face. Each of the two victors performing for each other.

Anjali in perfectly smooth drags of her sex over face, and Allison in manic, poorly-timed thrusts of her own atop Nisha. One a perfect example of how a woman controls and uses her body and the other guide to the opposite end of that sexual spectrum.

The dark-hued mother, with every such shimmy and shift of her maternity-widened lower half, teaching Allison how to move and how to fuck. The later's sloppy slams of pubic bone slowing with every thrust, as she began to copy with greater and greater effect the woman across the way.

Until finally, as Erica and Nisha whimpered and cried beneath them, Anjali spoke in a loud, commanding voice. "Mmmmnnn, fucking lick me, you weak white slut!"

With the words came with a hard tug at Erica's golden blonde hair. One that drug her up and in, and sent a wave of pain through her body.

She hated it!

Hated her!

The Indian bitch that rode her face, and though if she were free and unbroken she would resist. At that moment, all she could do is beg as her hands lifted and came to a soft rest on outside of her rival's pinning thighs.

"Pleeeaassseeee ... not in front of my daughter." Pled Erica, in the space of a quick lift by Anjali to adjust her position

And though Allison could not hear her mother's words. Could not hear her cry in the most pathetic of ways. Still, only seconds after Anjali demanded, did Allison ask for the same.

"Li-lick me, Nisha! You-you stupid Indian bitch!" Stutter though she did, Allison made it through. Making the same demand of her bested enemy, just before she too yanked at splayed out hair.

"No, no, Allison, please... Not..." Nisha sobbed. "Not ... in front of my mom..." Her own hands moving to Allison's soccer-toned ass to brace against its every coming and going. She hoping to save her nose and lips from any more damage than they had already suffered.

At that moment each on top had demanded and each on bottom had begged for mercy. And yet still, despite the pleas, came another harsh and malicious pull. One that, like a tug on the reins of a horse, set Erica and Nisha into action.

Each extending their tongues through their gasping sobs, and applying the same to their rival's clit, as grief set in upon them.

But why would they care? After all they had done. After their wild battles. After their partaking of whatever sexual fulfillment gripped them without a second thought as to who watched them.

Why then?

Again, because it had passed.

The fog of fiery hate and unleashed lust. The passion and power that comes from two equal rivals struggling with one another.

Such glorious distractions from place and perception - taboo and timidity having faded with Erica and Nisha's submissions. They crashed back down to earth with singed wings and wounded bodies

And though they had fallen from such grace, Allison and Anjali were still wrapped in it - wrapt by it. They two riding their shattered enemy's tongue not just to the joy of having beaten their enemy, but to orgasm. As each, broke their locked connection of eyes - Allison's hard and hateful and Anjali's confident and studying. Each pair closing as they, both together and apart began to moan.

Neither able to focus on anything other than the pleasure that their enemy's tongue gave them, as is lapped and licked, at first timidly and then with force. Each stealing only the tiniest of glances at one another, as they together rode - and together climbed toward the precipice of their separate victories.

They two face-fucking fighters forgetting, if only for a moment, what laid ahead for both of them when finally they came and their reciprocal punishment of rival had reached its conclusion.

A conclusion which rushed towards them like the sea and the shore - charged toward them like cavalry and the flank. The voices of the two skipping and hitching, as even their cries of pleasure found themselves broken by the same.

But those sounds, beautiful and terrible as they were, depending on one's placement, built and grew - tripled and trebled. Until finally, in a moment of unintentionally shared orgasm, Allison and Anjali released in half-deafening screams of ecstasy.

Screams they released in joy as they reached for the hands of their rival. Grabbing them and pulling them up and to their own breasts. Each forcing their bested enemy to play once more the role of pleasuring pathetic, by forcing them to massage and rub their own hanging breasts through orgasm.

A rubbing and orgasm that began to ebb, just as the rolling of Anjali and Allison's hips did the same. And whereas an expression of extreme satisfaction graced the former's face, the latter's once again began to harden and twist in malice.

For though she had let herself enjoy the punishment of her battered and broken high school rival, she was still mad. Still infuriated at seeing that same rival's mother dominate her own.

And so, even though her body still felt weak. Still felt raw from the explosive and hard-earned release that had just torn through her, Allison rose. She, along with the difficulty of muscle control that comes when one cums, lifting her lower-half and pushing herself into a stand.

A wobbly, unbalanced stand, and yet on her feet she was. And though she was, Anjali was not. Not ready or wanting to remove herself from Erica's face. She wanting to milk that moment and her rival's despair for all it was worth.

But as Anjali could see it. The look in Allison's eyes. Hate. Anger. And a hunger. Not for sexual satisfaction, with that third having been quenched, but vengeance.

Present and visible - clear and conspicuous though it was, Anjali only smiled, cruelly - mockingly, as she began to lift and raise. She making it to her feet and taking a half-step forward before she spoke.

"Come to me, little slut. Let me teach you what your mother should have." As the words came from Anjali's curled lips, she lifted her left foot from the carpet. Then, after bringing to just the right spot, and in what seemed like a split second, she kicked down and slammed the very point of her heel down into Erica's forehead. A blow that forced the blonde mother's head down and with a heavy force into the floor. A collision that caused a loud and unforgettable echoing thud.

At the sight of it.

At the audacity of it.

At the rage and virulent animosity it set ablaze in the 18-year-old's soul, she charged. Almost dove, from just above Nisha's tear-stained and bruised face, past the gap between them, and then atop of Anjali.

And as Allison arrived in mid-air, she began to strike. Not with discernible blows. Ones with a name or learnable method of delivery, but instead with wild, almost indefensible, undefinable attacks.

Attacks which came, even as the liquid leavings of their lustful lavishments of tongue and torture dripped from their sexs to the floor and down their fatigue-pained thighs.

Reminders though those drips were of their own respective victories, battle was upon them again.

For they two alone, and not the others.

Not with the rival with which they had rolled and roiled, but with each other. The daughter of one versus the mother of the other.

One fueled by a palpable fury. A fury that made her blood boil and eyes burn as she fired out arm and leg - fist and foot.

And the other, filled with a confidence so utterly resolute, that even as she retreated she knew. Even as she stepped back amidst Allison's onslaught, she had not a single doubt. Not even when she fell back upon the couch on which Nisha and she had sat when their family "discussion" began.

And though Anjali was sure of her own strength and certain in her own impending victory. Allison felt the momentum swelling behind her, as she followed Anjali down to the couch cushions - leaping upon her sitting and sweaty form.

The young blonde keeping to her feet between the Indian mother's juice-soaked thighs, as she did her worst. And as she did that worst - as she struck one frantic, svelte-strength-driven blow after another at Anjali's side's, she was sure. She was CERTAIN.

She was going to beat her!

Break her!

Then humiliate her in front of her own daughter!

"I told you to get off my mom!" Allison shouted.

"I TOLD YOU AND YOU DIDN'T LISTEN!" She screamed as she continued to whale away at her mother's smug rival.

"NOW YOU'RE GOING TO GET I--AAAARRrrrRrRHHHHhhhH!!" Just as she promised. Just as she SWORE, she felt it. Anjali's legs wrap around and then contract hard - contract fast. So tightly and forcefully, that Allison found herself torn down from her feet, and slammed, tummy first against the edge of the couch.

In an instant the once-striking student knew. She had to withdraw. Had to escape. And so her striking hands opened from their states of ball and moved. Each looking to set down on Anjali's thighs and push.

But as those hands traveled, they were caught at the wrists and then pulled back out wide to the battling pair's sides. Anjali extending her own arms, to keep Allison's at bay. To keep them from aiding her in any way. Leaving the prom-goer trapped between Anjali's thighs. Thighs which then straightened in a mighty flex. One so powerful and perfectly-placed that the blonde girl collapsed forward and between her older rival's breasts with a loud and soul-felt moan. "Uuuunnnnnggggghhhhh..."

"Mmmmnnnn, such fire." Anjali mused, as her pulse of pressure lessened, and her legs loosened just enough to let Allison rest from the pain"It's too bad your mother doesn't have that fire." An opening though she gave, as her sentence ended, the pain began again. As dark-skinned thighs straightened and squeezed at the little blonde's insides again.

"Oooowwwwweeee-aaaRrrrrHhhhhH" Allison moaned once again, as the pain of Anjali's bodyscissor ripped through her. A pain which came as each of the two struggled with their arms. The former to pull her hands free, and the latter to keep them kept and extended - far away from the thighs on which they sought to push. Thighs which again softened and loosened, as the sitting mother toyed with her prey.

"Let! Me! GO!" A toying that allowed the young blonde to demand. The final word of which coming as she suddenly surged forward. She hoping to move forward and through the momentarily widened gap between Anjali's thighs, in an attempt to escape the crushing bodyscissor in which she found herself trapped. Or at the very least, leave its point of pressure around her boney hips and not her defenseless abdomen.

As Allison moved, however, her body met that of her mother's rival. And when such occured, the breasts of the mismatched pair slid atop one another - their hard nipples crossing and bending at the center.

A brushing of breasts that occured just as the bare mound of one pressed and drug against the wet-haired mound of the other. A dual-pronged, and yet unintended consequence of Allison's attempt at escape that caused each of the two still-warring women to moan softly for each other.

It could have been a moment, a swerve in direction from loathing to lust and hatred to heated sexual competition or release. But instead, even though they moaned together as one laid in the other's lap, trapped. Still did Anjali's legs once again tighten and torture. They crushing down on the blonde's ribs cruelly, before relaxing again.

And when that relaxing came, Allison repeated her demand, though it came more as a plea. "Let me go..." And just as before, when the word go left her lips, she again dove forward, in an attempt to escape the wicked pressure applied by Anjali's thighs.

A dive which once again drug body against body. Breast against breast. And mound against mound. Meetings of flesh and fixation that caused each to moan and each to whimper thereafter. Sounds set loose as Allison's head came down to a rest on Anjali's chest. A collapse mirrored by her thin, alabaster arms, which fell to the couch cushions below. They still being held tight at the wrist by the woman who kept her bound in sweaty flesh and squeezing limbs.

Bound, and then compressed once again around her center. A squeezing that caused Allison to begin to cry - her tears falling onto Anjali's dark breasts before traveling down in her body in long, chaos-theory guided lines.

"Please..." The crying young blonde's lips drug across the skin of Anjali's right breast as she whispered. "Let me go..."

"Mmmmm..." Came Anjali's response. A sounding out of her own pleasure at seeing - at feeling her daughter's rival plead to be released. And though it pleased her. And though she loved every second of it, she wanted more. Not only more from Erica's daughter, but from Erica.

Her defeated rival. A rival who still laid on the carpet, her head spinning and body aching. She still unable to move or to help as she looked on in abject despair as her daughter wept between the Indian mother's legs.

"Let... Her... Go... Please, Anjali..." Erica spoke through the tweeting birds and turning stars that she saw rotating before her vision.

From one mother to another Erica pled, and yet still, as soon as the plea ended, Anjali squeezed again, and in the process, caused Allison to cry out in a withering and terrible pain.

"You and she both must buy an end to her pain..." Anjali spoke, as she looked past the broken prom-goer between her thighs. "You will do anything I say for the rest of the night. Anything..." Anjali hissed, as she watched Erica slowly struggle to turn over onto her stomach.

A feat she accomplished, just as another pulse came from the Indian mother's legs. One that, in turn, drew another pitiful, half-winded whimper from Allison as she sobbed.

"Fine... I will... We will... Just stop hurting her..." For not only herself, but for her daughter, Erica had accepted. She focused solely on trying to free Allison from the slow, lingering agony she suffered.

"No, no, you cannot speak for her. She must say it. This cute little slut of yours must give into to me and accept my terms." At the command, Anjali finally let go of Allison's wrists, but the defeated daughter of a defeated mother could not even lift those arms. Not to free herself, or to resist as she who released brought both of her hands to Allison's hair and pulled her head up, so that she could look into her teary eyes.

"Give up." Anjali demanded, her eyes filled with resolution and ferocity.

"Give up!" She demanded again, but louder, as her right hand released Allison's hair and then splashed down across her cheek. "Tell me you submit like you forced my daughter to, you prissy white bitch."

"I... I..." Allison stuttered, as she tried to collapse back down atop Anjali's breasts. But the latter held firm, and kept her there - looking into the eyes who demanded her surrender.

"Uuunnnnngggghhhhhh" At the delay came another squeeze - another pulse, and Allison groaned, just as she had before. But at its end, she said it. "I give..."

Half-hearted and pathetic Anjali took it as, as so she tightened her thighs and flexed her calves once more! And when she did Allison screamed out her surrender. "I GIVE!! OOWWWEEEE!! PLEASE!!"

"Will you do it? Hmmmnnnn...? Whatever I say...?" Anjali asked with almost frustrated tone. She wanted the answer and Allison's abject subjugation, and she wanted it immediately.

"What...?" In truth Allison was in too much pain to understand what was happening or what Anjali was asking. She barely having had the mental strength left to hear the words Anjali and her mother spoke, let alone process and understand them.

Despite that confusion, Anjali wasted not a second before she slammed shut her umber-hued legs once more, and delivered another harsh stinging slap to Allison's already reddened cheek.