Showdown at the Saloon

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Two bartendresses' silent struggle for tips becomes more.
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If there's one truth in sellin' liquor to hard workin' folks, it's that bartenders with big bosoms mean two things: healthy tips and thirsty patrons. That draw held, even at a recently refurbished saloon, outside of Dallas, Texas.

Where more money than you could shake a stick at was spent to make old new again. And with every nail driven, and coat of paint applied, there was a keen eye paid to makin' sure the property's iconically western heritage, mystique, and style, was kept intact.

Yes, it was a risk, spendin' that kind of money, and devotin' that kind of time to a project that could buck its rider so easy. But in Texas, you go big, or you go home; and so chances be damned, the project was undertaken. It took a spell longer than most expected, and cost more than the bean counters presumed, but within a year or two, the Waggoner Ranch reopened, under a new name. Rival's Ranch, they called it. Chosen because double R's looked good on t-shirts, caps, or some other such marketin' nonsense.

But regardless of what hung over the door and the entry, within days of the ranch's re-openin', and the saloon doors swingin' wide for the first time in decades, the people came; desperate for a taste of what Texas had been, before these days of modernity, political correctness, and fights about which bathrooms to use.

Those escapees were greeted by a crew of smilin', warm, and frisky young girls, of many different shapes and sizes. Each of 'em ready to provide drinks to thirsty cowboys, cowgirls, and those just lookin' for a slice of what they missed about the great State of Texas. But of all those that worked the bar and the customers before it, there was two who made the most money and found the most success. A big-chested brunette named Brie, and an equally endowed blonde named Kylie.

The two buxom, wide-hipped, thick-thighed girls were sweet as a pair of honeysuckles, at least to those they served. Customers who saw 'em as two views of the same sunset. Two billows of smoke from the same fire.

That view brought the same patrons back, time and time again, some decidin' to share the two tip-hungry servers, and others decidin' to choose their favorite of the two, either by their own interest, or the girls'. It was that corrallin' of customers and their tips that led to a spirit of competition between Brie and Kylie.

Now, some competitions are friendly, civil affairs, where those in it let the challenge drive 'em to ride their horse faster, further, and cross that finish line just a little bit faster than they might'a. But, Brie and Kylie did no such thing. Instead, from the first moment they laid eyes on each other, they went silent - cold, fumin' that they had to share the same air as the other. Each of the two late twenty-somethings bein' used to the role of top hand, or chest anyway.

That silliness led each of the girls to avoid everythin' they could with the other. Neither willin' to work together, speak to each other, or even look at each other. Not unless they had to. Not 'less they was left no other choice.

But when distance didn't fix a darn thing, the two Texan girls sought to set themselves even further apart, by showin' how much of a woman they really were. Each of the pair wearin' less and less cover when they came to the saloon. Both hopin' to not only draw more and more of the patrons' attention and tips, but also, to show the other up.

That sultry war of bare skin, sly winks, and corner-eyed glances continued without a hiccup for months, until one fateful night when the saloon closed. When its entrance was sealed, windows shuttered, and all had gone home for the night but our two ladies of competin' intentions: Kylie and Brie.

Now it was as rare as a spittin' ribbit for the two of them to be the last ones on shift together. In fact, before that warm Texas night, it had never happened before. Yes, they had each closed and cleaned the bar with others, but never on the same night, and certainly never with it bein' just the two of 'em.

But there they was, each wearin' the shortest daisy dukes allowed by law, leavin' their derrière's a prairie dog's a blink away from breakin' free, and their healthy thighs beggin' for a soft squeeze and a hungry visit.

Above that glory, rested matchin' short-sleeve plaid button ups, pulled up and knotted just under their ample, and some might say identical e-cup breasts, neither with a bra to keep their girls under control. Outfits they matched with cowgirl boots, Brie's red and Kylie's brown.

Dressed like that though they was. Each of the two meanin' to let their patrons enjoy their deep cleavage, soft tummies, and peach-sweet thighs, at that particular tick of the clock, the bar's herd was made up of only two.

Now, one might conjure that the two, despite their issues, would try to work together and co-exist. To just make it through the night and to the dawn.

And Brie did, bless her heart. She thought she was hotter than a greased pig on a spittle, yes she did, but she was a sweet girl. Kylie, on the other hand, was what some in Texas call "a bitch".

And bein' as she was, just the sight of Brie and her body, and dollars it had stolen from Kylie, made the blonde mad. An anger that had grown like an addiction to whiskey, not just on that day and night, but on every other. Each such passin' of sun poisoning the blonde's mind.

In that spell of jealousy, Kylie began to conceive and imagine, hopin' that one day, she would have Brie alone. And that when she did, she could end her unspoken feud with her brunette rival. Not by raisin' a white flag, or by extended a hand or branch, lookin' for some kind of truce. But instead by settlin' things...

For, you see, behind Kylie's pretty blue eyes, lurked a sexual confidence earned from years of bein' the thickest, hottest, juiciest steak on the grill. And that confidence wouldn't abide some other girl challengin' her for that title. Not in her social life with nothin' more than pride on the line, and certainly not here, where every second of that challenge took a few more pennies from her over-tight pockets.

Brie, on the other hand, was soft, kind, and as innocent as she was naive. And though maybe she could have been, she was no alpha, not on the ranch, or in the saloon. That softness didn't sneak by Kylie's view neither. In fact, it was exactly that, which made the mold for the blonde's idea. A confrontation. A Duel, if you will.

A duel that Kylie was certain Brie would back down from, in her mind picturin' the brunette slidin' away from her like butter on a pancake. For in Kylie's mind, Brie just wasn't woman enough to stand tall and fight back. And when she ran, or in the contrary found herself beaten, as Kylie knew she would, the blonde would give chase, trap the pathetic little brunette, and humiliate her. Runnin' Brie off the ranch for good, or at least shame her until she'd never dare show off her body in the blonde's presence again.

On that idea, Kylie found herself roped - seein' it in her mind, and bitin' her lip at the image, as she leaned against the bar that night. No longer workin'. No longer cleanin'. Instead just watchin' Brie, and her body move.

Before that night, each 'em had been so careful not to let the other catch 'em starin', but with her plan in mind, Kylie let that drift. Wantin' Brie to see it. Wantin' her to know that somethin' was gonna happen. The blonde lookin' to get inside her rival's head before she even laid a finger on her.

As so she watched Brie keenly, a ferocious desire to dominate her growin' in her mind. The sexy thick blonde wantin' to show the upstart, prissy little brunette exactly how foolish she had been to show skin next to a woman like her.

Out of the corner of her amber-colored eye, Brie watched too. But nervously, as she wiped one counter after another with an innocent, and yet forcibly held smile. She could see Kylie watchin', and sense that somethin' had changed, at least on the blonde's end.

But regardless of that understandin', when Brie finished her scrubin', she still turned to walk to the only exit from the bar to the seatin' area. A trip that would require her to squeeze her own thick frame by and behind Kylie's.

Like a predator, Kylie stood with a quickly beatin' heart and racin' mind, lookin' down to the bar top that she faced. The look, made it seem as if she was goin' to let Brie pass behind her without raisin' a fuss. But it was a trap, a faint, one that went on until the brunette was not but a foot away and movin' quickly.

When she was, and in the last beats left of the egg, the blonde turned. But not only, for right after, she took a wide step to the left, planted her feet, and then took a stand. A stand not only facin' Brie, but standin' between she and her exit.

With no time givin' for Brie to bring her wagon to stop, the two girls collided like a bull and its dirty rider. And when they did, their Texas-sized breasts came a-callin' and a-crashin', so hard that it knocked both cowgirls back and within a lick of down. They keepin' to stand only by grabbing at each other's hips and holdin' on.

"Oh my, girl; I'm so sorry! I didn't..." Brie began apologetically, as she tried to pull herself away from Kylie.

"You're not goin' anywhere, bitch..." Responded Kylie, her arms quickly wrappin' around the brunette's waist, and forcefully pullin' her back in. Then, before the brunette could say a word, or do a single thing, the blonde started shovin' her breasts into Brie's, not soft but hard.

Brie's apple red lips opened, as saw fit to speak in fevered outrage - feelin's she assumed she'd have. But through those lips came nothin' more than tiny, soft, grunts of effort, as she on instinct alone, began to push her chest back into the blonde's.

Why? Echoed in her mind like church bells. What are you doin' girl? She asked herself, as she and her bar walkin' rival pressed their half-bared breasts together. But even though she asked. Even though she wondered. Even though she had no idea what had gotten into her, or what she was even doin', she wanted it.

To beat this girl, who had been such a thorn in her side. To press breasts with her, even if it made no gal darn sense. And every second that pressin' continued, it felt more and more right. As if this was the way, they were supposed to settle things. As if their feud could only end one way: with this battle behind the bar - if that's what it even was.

And so there, in the back of that dimly lit bar back, even as they each continued to push their breasts back and forth, Brie looked into Kylie's blue eyes and asked with a falterin' innocence. "What're ya doin', Kylie?"

"What're YOU doin', Brie...?" Kylie fired back, as her eyes locked with Brie's, a cute little grunt comin' from her lips as a period.

"Tryin' to get ya off me!" Despite the strength with which the words were delivered, each of the girls knew they were lyin' - hidin'. For the battle between the two bartendress had already kicked off. Their duel of chests had already been agreed to, at the very moment our sexy brunette pushed back.

"You want me off of you...? Quit the saloon!" Kylie demanded, as she moved her thick left leg forward and between Brie's. The blonde's hope bein' that by eliminatin' just a little more space between, and by brinhin' her own thigh within' a rabbit's whisker of Brie's womanhood, she could scare her rival off. The blonde bein' sure that if she could make their impromptu square-off just a smidge more intense and a pinch more intimate, the innocent brunette would turn tale and run - or at least try to.

"Oh. No. WAY! I love this ranch, this saloon, and the people here, K; you know that!" Not willin' to be pushed out, back, or outdone, Brie made her own move by liftin' her right leg, and extendin' it between Kylie's. A move she made, though in truth, she didn't have the slightest idea why or what use it bein' there would be.

Flustered by Brie's willingness to not only stay, but to push in her chips, Kylie fired back with a flared temper. "When we're done here, you won't have the guts to show your pretty face or tits around here again!"

"I don't even ... know ... what we're doin'..." Confused though she was about why and what, Brie understood, at least a little of what they was doin'. They were testin' each other's breasts - each other's bodies. Usin' 'em like weapons, as they each pressed their pairs into each other. And though Brie was soft and sweet, she wouldn't let herself be pushed around. Not by Kylie's tits, or any other girl's. And so she leaned in, not only to hold her ground, but to take her rival's.

"Oh yes ... you do, Miss Priss... This is my tits versus yours ... until you fuckin' give ... admit mine are better ... and agree to quit your fuckin' job here!" As the blonde kept talkin', with pauses of effort sprinkled in like cheddar on grits, she began to shift her breasts left, right, and then back, in their tight, pressin' embrace.

Brie, growin' more engaged and even angry by the second,

began to reciprocate, rubbin' her tits back, not even givin' it

a second thought. She, at that moment, willin' to follow

Kylie anywhere, as long as it meant beatin' her. "Well ...

aren't you just the rudest thing..." The amber-hued

brunette muttered in half-outrage, as she let herself go.

She, an innocent young bartendress lettin' go of her inhibitions and instead just committin'. Just givin' in to her own desire - her own need to knock her rival down a peg. Somethin' she did by reachin' her hands out and grabbin' the back of Kylie's elbows, pullin' her rival in. Keepin' her there, so that their breasts and bodies could settle it.

A duel at the drinkhole.

A showdown at the saloon.

"That's right, Brie... No more bumps behind the bar, no more glares, no more ignoring each other - this ends tonight!" Surprised by Brie's unexpected fire though she was, Kylie still wore a wicked little smirk. She gettin' and sinkin' into the fight she had picked, with the only girl at the saloon who posed a challenge.

But just as Kylie's lips curved, Brie's did too. Yeah, she had never done anythin' like what they were doin' before, or even thought about it. Pressin' and rubbin' breasts with another girl. But still Brie — still both of 'em let their extended legs brush against the other's cutoff-jean-covered lady bits.

Why? How would it settle things between 'em? How do ya even win that kinda fight? Brie didn't know. She couldn't answer. But she didn't care.

It felt right.

It felt good.

A feelin' that got stronger with every passin' second, and then hopped like a frog as Brie's own excitement pushed her to speak. "We ain't provin' nothin till we take off these tops..."

Every word she spoke sent its own little chill up Brie's spine. Each makin' her feel strong, confident, and even, despite the way the whole confrontation started, in control.

"What did you just say?!" Kylie said in a gasp, as she lit up like a Junebug, and pushed Brie away from her.

"I said..." Brie began, sensin' Kylie fear. "...If we're gonna be testin' our tits..." A fear which she guessed came from her own confidence. A confidence that kept growin', as she finished. "We need to take our tops off..."

It was wrong. Not right at all. Brie was supposed to be a precious little flower. She was supposed to be easy pickins, without a sexy or tough bone in her body. But with every moment that passed, she seemed to be gettin' more and more confident. And though that sense made Kylie pause, she then answered fast - she tryin' to act more sure than she was.

"You take yours off!" It sounded strong, as Kylie said it, standin' a few feet from Brie.

"Oh, I will, darlin." Came the brunette's reply. One that came just a puddle-skip before she moved her hands to the knot of her midriff barin' shirt, and began to untie. Her eyes goin' long like a sunset, as she glared at Kylie. Almost darin' her to do the same.

A dare the blonde wanted to accept fast and do quick, but as she watched Brie's breasts come free, not a bra worn to collect 'em, she froze. Her eyes caught like they'd been lasso'd by the brunette's bust. A sight that led the same to comment. "Mmm, honey doll, why don't ya give up now, before I embarrass ya."

Hushed and hissed though the words of her rival were, Kylie bristled at 'em. She breakin' free of her spell, only to bring her breasts that same freedom a moment later, as she too reached and untied. Barin' her own braless tits. Her own top then fallin' to the floor, just as Brie tossed her's to the end of the bar.

Had she been given the time, Brie too might have froze. Lettin' her eyes gaze at the sight of her rival's Texas-sized tits, but instead Kyle charged. The blonde feelin' as if she had to retake control of the their bar-back battle. A control she tried to seize as her own body slammed into Brie's, knockin' her back.

"Owe!" Brie cried, as her eyes widened and hands moved to her own tits.

"Too hard for you, bitch?" Kylie said as her head tilted and lips curled into a pleased smirk.

"No, I jus' didn't think you wanted t'play that wa-" As the brunette went to reply, Kylie charged again. Her tits once more slammin' into Brie's, that time with a large splat sound that echoed through the bar like it would in a canyon.

And though the first time, Brie was knocked back, when Kylie's charge came again, the brunette grabbed. And then, at the feelin', the blonde returned the favor. Each of the two busty bartendresses wrappin' tight around each other with their arms, even as they began to spin like a twister and stumble like one of their patrons.

A clumsy tumble they took, as their nude breasts met for the first time. Those bosoms slappin' together and then pressin' like flapjacks on a griddle. They together only comin' to a halt, just before the end of the bar, as their booted feet caught on wood planks. There, no longer movin' faster than they could think, Brie and Kylie stepped into each other hard.

Their foreheads fixed. The tips of their noses brushin'. Their eyes, Kylie's blue and Brie's brown, locked together in looks so hot you could melt mud. Each of 'em on equal footin'. Neither the hunted, both the huntress.

"You're out of your league, Brie..." Kylie warned, wantin' to shove her rival back down into the timidness she had once shown.

"Oh, I think I just found mah league, K." Came the brunette's parry, as each of their pressin' pairs began to flatten more and more.

"Don't you feel my breasts beatin' yours...?" Asked the blonde with a devilish excitement, as she leaned in and lifted to her tiptoes to put as much pressure on Brie's tits as she could.

As Kylie raised up, Brie dug in, bracin' for the pressure the blonde brought down on her. The brunette steppin' back and away, just far enough to make Kylie imbalanced, before givin' her retort. "I don't feel nothin' of the sort."

An imbalance which led to Kylie's tits comin' down on top of Brie's, as the blonde fell from her tiptoes. Only to slide down, and then under, as the brunette seized up once again.

"Mmm, I can't even see yours anymore, hun." The brown-eyed bartendress mused in a mockingly soft voice.

"Shut up!" Kylie shouted, mad as the Dickens, even as she struggled to drag her tits up from under her rival's.

"Oh don't be mad. You were never gonna win this anywaaayyy." The word drug, lingered like a Texan heatwave. And as it did, Kylie continued to strain - squirmin' like a varmint in a bag. And every second that she did, Brie's eyes began to light with a bigger fire than before.

"Whose tits are gettin' beatin'? Huh, K...?" The brunette asked as she squeezed even tighter. A tightenin' that forced the blonde to groan in pain, frustration, and effort (even if it didn't mean much).