by Labeltornoff

It was Saturday and I was sitting in a booth at the back of Finnegan’s Folly, nursing a bourbon. Alone. Again.

It was no one’s fault but my own. I knew that. I just didn’t like it very much, and I was spending the night trying to figure out what it was about me that made every relationship brief and ugly.

I was good looking, the guys on the latest job told me that all the time, right before I hit them for grabbing my ass. Tall, lithe (I’m pretty sure that’s the word), strong (I can punch well above my weight), nice tits and ass (look, don’t touch without my permission), and a killer face (except for the crooked nose, which I got defending my kid brother’s honor). Everybody started excited and anxious to find out if I was packing silicone; I’m not. My tits aren’t big; they are firm and more than a handful. But after a couple nights of sweaty, torrid sex, they all stopped calling. Darla, the woman next door, said I was too aggressive, that guys, especially, liked to at least think they were in control. I don’t understand that part. What’s wrong with getting twisted and bent in interesting directions if you get your rocks off? I always did. None of them seemed to understand that.

Here I was, sitting in a booth with Mr. Daniels as my date. It was sad, really, with all the fresh meat in the bar, male and, yes, female. I believe in equal opportunity. Lots of tight jeans and knit shirts, with bulges in all the right places. I was making myself miserable. Time to go.

I drained the remains of my drink, the one I allow myself every day, and eased through the crowd toward the door. There was a knot of tantalizing flesh in my way, and I was tempted to grab something. I reminded myself that I didn’t like it done to me, so I behaved. I was nearly past the crowd when a svelte brunette in cargo pants and a snug wife beater raised her glass at the end of a joke, guffawed in a ‘look at me’ way, and stepped on my foot. Her beer flew up and drenched her shirt, giving everyone a clear view of her upturned nipples and large areola. One poor sap didn’t have any sense of self-preservation and laughed, getting the dregs of the beer in his face. The brunette turned to face me, with the slightly red face and defocused eyes that said she’d traded her inhibitions for the beer.

“Clumsy bitch. I’ll kick your ass.”

I controlled myself with great difficulty. I wasn’t angry, the insult was pedestrian and partly true; I am a bitch but not stupid. Control was required because part of me wanted some fun, and the thought of showing the lady the difference between a jab and a right cross, both of which caused split lips and loose teeth, made intelligent choices hard. I didn’t need another interview with the local cops; they lost their sense of humor when I was involved. Instead of standing over her prone, bloody body, waiting for her to get up -- so I could knock her down again -- I smiled. Likely, that was worse.

“I’m sorry,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere. “I need to watch where I’m going. Can I buy you another beer?”

“Too late, cunt,” the brunette drawled, more from beer than heritage. “I’m going to wipe that smug look off your face.”

I knew what was coming, so my face was conveniently out of the way when she threw her punch. It all went wrong when the waitress walked into the fist and collapsed on the floor.

My friends, of whom I have a few, tell me that my reflexes are quick and my instincts are good. Others, the majority, say I have a short fuse and don’t know the meaning of a proportional response. Fuck ‘em.

I put my knee into the brunette’s crotch, seeing the woman’s eyes cross and her mouth contract into a puckered “O,” which made the evening worthwhile. Because my instincts are good, I ducked the clumsy punch from a Guido, and decked him with a left he never saw coming.

Things got interesting after that.


Five minutes later, the waitress and I were sitting under a table watching people who ought to know better discover that they had no idea how to fight without getting seriously messed up themselves. I saw blood and teeth on the floor, along with the brunette and a couple of guys curled around their crotches. Then the cops showed up to calm things down with expertly wielded truncheons. Once the melee was over and most of the crowd was hauled outside, a cop peered down at us, crooking a finger in an invitation to come out. He recognized me.

“Winsome. I should have known. Why are you down there, instead of standing over people crawling on the floor looking for their dignity? A fracas like this, I expect you’d be in the middle, if not starting it.” The cop seemed amused.

“She didn’t start it,” the waitress said, standing up and getting in the cop’s face, which was an interesting feat as the cop was over six feet and she was maybe 5’ 6”. Her brown eyes flashed, dark against a pale face framed by elegantly wild chestnut curls, the only blemish a spreading bruise under her left eye. Her breasts, bigger than mine and bouncing entertainingly in her bra, pushed out aggressively, making the cop step back. I had a flash impression of my green eyes staring into her brown orbs, a delicate hand stroking my sun bleached locks.

“That one,” she pointed at the brunette who was walking crookedly out the door with a female cop. “She started it. She tried to hit her,” the waitress waved a hand at me, “and hit me instead. The fight started right after that, so we got under the table, out of the way.”

The svelte brunette turned a bruised face toward me, her eyes furious. She opened her mouth, but the cop pulled her and she stumbled out the door. An ignoble end to an unnecessary beginning. I stifled a grin.

“You want to press charges?” the cop asked. “Won’t make much difference, I think. Two other people already said she fights dirty. I imagine she’ll get thirty days for assault and drunk and disorderly. And I thought you were a nasty piece of work, Winsome.”

“I just want to go home,” the waitress said. The cop nodded, gave me a wary look, and left. The bar was agreeably quiet; I could even hear the faint clicking of the clock over the bar.

The owner, who’s name really was Finnegan, brought two large tumblers of bourbon to us, along with a towel of ice for the bruise, and we sat in a booth, sipping the liquor. I’d have to forgo my next day’s drink to keep my promise. Before the silence got uncomfortable, I held out my hand.

“I’m Felicity Winsome. My parents had an odd sense of humor.”

“Grace Knightley,” she took my hand firmly. It tingled. “My parents were just as odd. I’ve seen you in here before. Usually alone.” I winced. “Thanks for helping me.”

“You’re welcome. I don’t like people with more muscles than brains. That bitch, excuse my French, was asking to get kicked in the coin purse. I’m surprised no one seems to have done it before. I’m glad you’re not seriously hurt.” The bruise on her cheek was arousing.

“Well, that putain, excuse my English, also has more money than brains or muscles. She’s been coddled and sucked up to for as long as I can remember, and thinks that everyone has to hang on her every word. Though, I think she wouldn’t care if, ‘Oh, my cunt,’ was ignored.” Grace flashed a smile that caused a further tingle. I was confused; I wasn’t used to being the one on the receiving end of appreciation.

“Come home with me,” Grace said without preamble. “I live a couple of blocks from here.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I said. I did want to go home with her, she excited me, but I wasn’t going to turn a potential good thing into a mercy fuck for either of us.

“You could have left me lying on the floor and enjoyed yourself with that fight.” Her face was serious. “I saw the look in your eyes. But you hauled me under the table, out of the way. No one’s ever stood up for me before, Felicity. Don’t think I’m asking you because I feel obligated. But I, well, I think you’re sexy as hell and I’m horny. What do you say, huh? Let’s go fuck ourselves blind.”

All this was said in a rush as if she wanted to get it out before she changed her mind. I didn’t want to seem eager, but I found myself standing and holding out my hand. “No, not blind, Grace. I plan to keep my eyes open the whole time.”


I was approaching exhaustion. The clock on the floor, it had been on the wall when we started at eleven, told me it was nearly three-thirty. We’d been at each other since Grace locked the door to her apartment. Our clothes lay in a tangled trail from the door to the bedroom. I recalled that the journey down the short hall had taken an hour, an hour of fingers and buttons and zippers and wet pussies and hungry lips and stiff nipples and tongues in all the right places for just the right time.

The clock was difficult to see; I had to squint, because I was looking at it over Grace’s sweaty stomach and breasts while I ran my tongue along her swollen pussy, stopping often to suck at the engorged clit; it was bigger than I expected and very savory. It was also very sensitive, if the moaning and thrashing were any indication. I bit the erect nub like I was testing a piece of al dente pasta, just hard enough to feel the resistance. Grace screamed and grabbed my ears, pulling me into her crotch so hard I cut my lip as I raked my teeth away from the clit. The tang of blood and pussy juice popped my cork -- again. I sobbed into the fragrant join of her legs, feeling my cunt drip with yet another orgasm as every nerve in my body fired at the same time.

We hadn’t started out that way -- gently. When we made it to the door of the bedroom, I’d pressed Grace against the jamb, probing her pussy with my fingers and her mouth with my tongue. She responded like I’d always dreamed, wrapping herself around me, running furrows down my back, digging her nails into my ass, pushing back hard, banging her thigh against my pussy while I fingered her to near collapse.

As she sagged, I picked her up, tossed her on the bed, and threw myself on top. The springs groaned as the mattress flexed to near breaking. I thought to spread her legs for a missionary trib, if she was ready. I was surprised to find myself on my back, my own legs splayed, and Grace on top with her pussy sliding over mine in a liquid squishing that began pushing all my buttons, making lights pop behind my eyes as we both came.

That had been hours ago. We became more inventive and aggressive as time went on, which was why the clock and the sheets were on the floor and we sported bruises along with a little blood. Grace’s small frame contained a ferocity that left me pummeled, battered, abused. I was in heaven. Each time we scissored or fingered or licked there was an urgency in the coupling. I had five inches on her in height and at least ten pounds in weight, but I’d never been with anyone, man or woman, who treated me like this, like I wanted, like I deserved.

Around four, we lay on the remains of the bed, licking the sweat from our breasts. Grace turned on her elbow to favor me with a smoldering gaze. I think I actually cringed.

“You are truly felicitous. For me, anyway.” She traced a finger through the droplets between my breasts, around my navel, into the matted hair above my swollen clit. “People think because I’m short and ‘delicate’ that I like sex the same way. Fuck that! I like banging cunts, the harder the better. You split my lip.”

“Yeah,” I said, moderately embarrassed, mostly because I was excited by the blood from my own lip and my nose. “Sorry about that.”

“Sorry? This is the most fun I’ve had in a year!” Grace slid a finger into my pussy, finding the spot of rough flesh behind the clit, massaging it slowly. I lost focus for a moment. When I came back, she was grinning at me expectantly.

“What exactly do you do? For a living, I mean. I have a pretty good idea what you like to do in your spare time.” The finger continued it’s hypnotic motion; I had to stop her so I could answer.

“Fuck, woman! Let me breathe at least.” I kissed her, to which she responded with passion. After a few minutes, I answered. “I’m an electrician. Commercial stuff. I’m working on a building downtown.”

“Shocking,” Grace purred, putting another finger in my pussy.

I flipped her head over heels so we lay face to crotch, mashing my lips and tongue against the slick flesh, inhaling her intoxicating scent.

“I’ll show you shocking,” I replied, astonished that I was speaking, even if it was like dialog in a bad novel. My standard repartee during sex was usually grunts and groans.

She bit my clit, just hard enough to make the lights pop again. I locked my legs around her head harder that I probably should have and she did the same for me. Pressed to each other’s pussy, we ravaged the sensitive vaginal folds without regard for how many times we came. I don’t remember passing out but I awoke at six to find myself face to face with Grace, who snored softly against my shoulder. I laid my head on hers and wondered when it would all fall apart.


Our schedules were opposite. I worked days; Grace worked nights, mostly. On the days when I didn’t work -- weather, no materials delivered -- or when she had a night off or on Saturday, we met at her place and fucked each other like it was our last day on earth. I took her to my apartment one night, but Darla called the police because she thought I was being attacked. Grace lived in a detached apartment; besides, no one in her building cared what we did to each other. During the next four weeks we developed a mutually haggard appearance: mild bruising, signs of no sleep, a tendency to hesitate before sitting down. This was the longest time I’d been involved with anyone since, well, a long time.

Neither of us did anything seriously stupid to end things. One day we had a rather nasty fight over something small. I said things that I later regretted and was sure the affair was over. I’d screwed it up again. To my utter surprise, Grace met me downtown when I got off work, bought me dinner, and apologized before I could. I stumbled through my own apology. We barely made it to her apartment before we ripped each other’s clothes off and fucked so hard we both called in sick the next day. Instead of resting, we fucked all day and into the night. I was a mess in the morning, barely able to walk; I was even nice to the site foreman.


Saturday night, four weeks after that first fateful evening, I wandered into Finnegan’s Folly for my bourbon and some flirting with Grace before she got off. After which, we’d both get off. The play on words, silly as it was, pleased me. It was late and the bar was mostly empty, people had gone places that stayed open longer. Finnegan slid my drink along the bar, refusing to look me in the eye. I took a sip and paused.

“Where’s Grace?”

Finnegan pushed a cocktail napkin at me. “You gotta understand. Her father owns the building.”

The writing was neat, compact, made by someone who’d spent a lot of time practicing. It was nothing like my own mostly illegible scrawl. I sipped and read.

‘Grace and I are at her place. Join us. Unfinished business. V’

“Who’s V?” A knot began tightening in my stomach because I was pretty sure I already knew.

“That woman, the one who hit Grace instead of you? Who go arrested? Her name’s Valerian, goes by Val. She’s a mean one, Felicity. I’d have called the cops but Grace told me not to.” Finnegan looked away. I didn’t blame him.

“How long?”

“An hour, maybe less.”

I didn’t exactly run to Grace’s building, I tried to be rational and think of a plan. My last foreman told me planning was a growth opportunity, right after he told me that I could be a really good electrician if I figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up. I consider that a defining moment because I didn’t hit him and I didn’t get fired. I needed a plan, but all I saw in my head was Val’s face turning red while I squeezed her neck like a pimple. It wasn’t much of a plan, but at least it was simple.

Grace lived at the back of the complex, in one of two apartments that formed the rear of the central courtyard, in their own building. The other tenant was off on some extended trip, making things convenient for Grace and me. And now for Val.

I took deep, calming breaths as I walked through the garden that someone tended with more enthusiasm than skill, forcing myself to think of other things besides stomping the shit out of Valerian. Three men lounged on the covered porch that ran the length of the building. They were carefully tonsured and fashionably rumpled; any was take-home quality. I changed my mind when one of them grabbed my ass and another one grabbed a tit, while the third watched with a stupid grin on his face. It wouldn’t have made me mad if they weren’t so bad at it. No technique, just grab and grope. I’d had better feels from the arthritic old man who sold produce on my block.

I slammed my foot on the instep of the man behind me, hearing something snap and twisted the man in front around in an arm lock. Then I dislocated his index finger. I looked for the third man but he was already halfway across the garden at full speed. I went inside.

Grace sat on her couch, the only real furniture in the living room aside from the small home theatre on the opposite wall where we watched porn when we were too tired to fuck. The woman, the one with the red face and bulging eyes in my plan, was pacing the thin rug. Curiously, she looked relieved when I walked in.

“Finally! You took your time. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. That would have been disappointing.” The woman’s voice was thick, sultry, hypnotic. In spite of my anger, I felt my crotch tingle. But the woman didn’t go any further; the tingle evaporated.

I glanced at Grace who shot back a smile. “You OK?” I asked her.

“Yeah.” She held up her hands to show she wasn’t tied. “Valerian says the two of you have stuff to settle.”

“Val. My name is Val. Valerian is ... inane. You going to stand there gaping at me? You cost me almost thirty days of house arrest, bitch. Four weeks cooped up with the ‘rents and that godawful disapproving silence.”

I closed the distance between us until we stood nose to nose. Still nothing. I realized that Val didn’t have any idea what to do next. She’d decided to make me suffer, but had only got to the part where she took Grace. She hadn’t even tied her up. She was even worse at planning than I was.

I pushed my tits into Val’s, staring into her eyes. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but I was, so the effect wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for; our nipples had no direct contact. It took a few seconds, but Val pushed back.

“What do you have in mind, cunt?” I prodded, mashing our breasts further. I had a nagging thought that we looked stupid, so close now our noses bent. The silence was getting awkward.

“You embarrassed me in front of my friends and made me spend time with my parents! I want to beat you stupid while your girlfriend watches and then ...” Val’s voice trailed away.

I don’t know what was more astonishing: that I was thinking of ways to get Val to try to kick my ass or that she thought was Grace was my girlfriend. ‘Girlfriend,’ that sounded nice. I prodded some more.

“That’s it? Nothing else? Not even a little revenge for ...”

“You kicked my pussy!” Now that I’d given her a hint, Val was mad, which looked to make my job easier, whatever it was I was supposed to do. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hit her or walk away. She decided for me and grabbed my crotch. “I want to punch your slaggy cunt and then fuck it raw! I want you to beg me to stop! I want to leave you moaning on the floor while I fuck your girlfriend on her bed!”

I knew I was supposed to be in control, God knows Val wasn’t, but the increasing pressure on my clit through my pants and the wild look in the brunette’s eyes did something to me. I took a handful of her pussy and closed my fist. Val’s eyes crossed; she shuddered, relaxed her hand and then squeezed harder. I was sure she’d just come. My pussy burned with the grip, but I wasn’t about to let go of Val.

We glared at each other, mangling our sex for what seemed like an hour, but was only seconds. Val let go unexpectedly and landed an awkward fist on my jaw. I released her and threw a left jab out of reflex. I slumped into a fighter’s stance. Val did the same and we circled, testing each other’s defenses with short, sharp punches. She wasn’t very adept, but her blood was up and she wasn’t afraid to get hit if she got in some shots of her own. I began to think the night wouldn’t be a total waste.

“Aren’t you going to take your clothes off?” Grace said from the couch. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

I wasn’t sure who she was talking to, but I saw the gleam in her eye. She licked her lips and winked at me. What I really wanted was her; Val would do for now. I stood and began unbuttoning my shirt. Val’s eyes widened and then she began shedding clothes like they were on fire. I was sure I was being more sedate about stripping, but I was naked, fists up, before she tossed her nice, lacy boy shorts in the corner.

“That’s the lace bra I bought you.” Grace said to me, voice dripping with lust. “You looked so sexy when you took it off.”

I know my cheeks were red, I could feel the heat and flush of the blood. Val just stared at both of us. This woman really didn’t have a clue. But I’d finally gotten the brunette to the boiling point. Was that my plan? Hell, yes.

“The winner is the last one conscious, regardless of condition,” Val snarled.

“That’s gonna be you, slut,” I said through gritted teeth.

Naked, starting to sweat, Val looked even better than she did clothed. Her breasts were the same size as mine, with smaller nipples that poked out of her good-sized areola. The stomach was flat and toned from serious gym time, as were her legs and ass. A thick thatch of dark pubic hair concealed her pussy and clit; I noticed her thighs were wet. Good, mine were, too. All kinds of possibilities appeared in my head. As if we had the same thought, we stepped in and began pounding each other.

We didn’t spare any part of the other’s body. Tits, face, abs, pussy, all were targets and got hit or kicked or twisted with the opportunity. Men seem to think that getting kicked in the cunt hurts worse than being punched in the breast. Just because a knee to the ‘nads puts most every guy on the ground, they have the idea that it’s the same for women. The truth is, getting punched in the boobs hurts, too. Especially if the nipple is hit or scraped. Think of getting both kicked and punched. Guys have it easy! They only have the one sensitive spot.

Did I feel pain? Yes. Did I like it? Well, yes. I hadn’t had a good fight in a while and there was the distinct possibility of fucking, both with Val, as someone I wanted to beat -- physically and sexually, and with Grace, as someone I wanted to wrap around and go to heaven. Both held promise. Did that bother me? No.

The mutual beating took a while. We were both in good shape and aroused. I had better form, but Val kept coming no matter where or how hard I hit her. I let my anger slip out, mostly at the brunette for being a stuck-up cunt, but also at the men outside who groped me, the guys on the site who treated me like a piece of meat, everybody. Each thud of my fist on exposed flesh worked off some of the frustration. Getting hit in return added spice. Soon, I was seriously enjoying myself. I hadn’t done this since, well, that wasn’t important.

We were in a clinch, catching our breaths and taking any shot we could in close. I tasted blood and sweat, probably my own, but Val’s face before we locked up was as battered as I believed mine to be. Neither of us had held back. Val found an opening and slammed my left breast; I responded with a hard punch to the kidney. Our crotches pounded one on the other and I felt the tingle of that contact; I wanted more. First, though, I had to pummel the brunette.

Val pushed away and knocked me back with an uppercut that might have impressed me if my head wasn’t spinning. I landed on my ass, shook my sweaty locks, and took Val’s feet from under her with my foot. She fell on her side, eyes glassy from loss of wind. I rolled on top, sat up and worked my fists slowly from her tits to her face and back. As I bashed the brunette methodically, relishing the groans and twitches, Val pounded my sides and breasts. I was amazed at her stamina, which made me want to hit her more.

Our pussies ground together as we fought, my clit finally finding hers as I rode her cowboy style. An electric thrill rippled along me as our clits dueled through matted pubic hair and slick, puffy pussy lips. I was seriously horny now, the urge overwhelming. I slid into a missionary position to fuck Val like a man, feeling my hard clit press under her own erect nub and as far into her cunt as it would go. Legs wrapped around my ass, arms folded around my neck, drawing me close.

“Got you now, slut,” Val purred, smearing blood on my ear. “I’ve done the rub and bump since I was fifteen. You’re going to die happy.”

I was in serious trouble. Val was very, very good at fucking, something I should have known. Lack of a good plan; I got caught up in the fever and was now getting a terminal pussy massage from an expert. She held me fast, unable to get away. I did the only thing left: I shoved my tongue into Val’s mouth. She sucked it in eagerly but the distraction allowed me to reset and change from Val fucking me to us fucking each other. The motion was ecstatic and excruciating. If I’d done things right -- I wasn’t quite sure -- we were on our way to mutual eruptions.

Val’s tongue slid into my mouth. I put my arms around her and shifted to give my clit a better angle, I thought. I’d never actually done this as a competition. Before, if I got out of position, my partner and I just stopped, rearranged and went on. Often that was as much fun as the actual fucking.

Our breasts slithered against each other on a thin film of sweat, nipples catching and releasing that made syncopated counterpoints of arousal to the rapidly building orgasm in our enmeshed pussies. My nipples were longer than Val’s, but hers were just as hard. I decided we were evenly matched. Through the fog of sexual exertion, I had the uncomfortable thought that I might lose, both the fight and Grace.

I shivered uncontrollably as an orgasm washed over me like standing in a yard of powerful lawn sprinklers. My sense of defeat disappeared when Val trembled beneath me and cried into my mouth. I tasted the salt of her tears with our blood. We lay still for several minutes, unable to move. I didn’t have the energy to punch the defenseless woman beneath me.

An urge to do something, anything, gave my arms the strength to roll off my opponent, for that’s what she was, onto my back. My tits and pussy ached, though in a good way. In fact, everything ached in a good way. I’d just been in a fairly nasty fist fight, had the cuts and bruises to show for it, and had my pussy pounded by an expert. Yet, I was enjoying myself. Both eyes were swollen but not completely closed. That made me one up on Val who’s left eye looked like someone had squirted reddish-purple goo into it and then glued it shut. We were even for breasts, we each had an additional cup size, at least for one tit, thanks to the swelling. But it was my crotch of which I was most proud. Even with the abuse and near domination by this woman, when I stroked it there was a responsive quiver. Yeah! I still had some left!


Lying on my back, one leg draped over Val to make sure she knew I wasn’t done, I looked at Grace. She’d stripped off her pants and had her hand stuck down the front of her thong. Damn! She was wearing a thong! For me! As I watched, she removed her fingers and stuck them in her mouth. A huge smile lit up her face as she spoke. “You are so fucking hot, Felicity! Don’t stop. But don’t wear yourself out. I have plans for you. Damn, girl, I never had anyone fight for me before!”

Val got to her knees, facing me, weaving dangerously. “I’m not done with you, cunt. Get up. I want to show the other cunt who’s going to fuck her tonight.”

“Spread your legs, you slaggy swamp-donkey. I’m going to wipe the vertical smile off your cunt.” I had no idea what that meant but it sounded good. Val seemed to think it was a hideous insult.

We slid our crotches together in a scissors trib, clit to clit, grabbing each other’s neck to begin a debilitating slam-fuck. I got my tongue down Val’s throat before she tried to do the same thing to me. The rough crotch contact gave me three orgasms in ten minutes; I counted four for Val, if I’d gotten a handle on the way she huffed and wheezed when she came. That made me overconfident; I was sure I had Val exhausted and close to collapse. As I pushed against her pussy, she moved sideways, away from me, and I lost my balance and grip.

I found myself pinned tightly, Val behind me with her legs wrapped around my thighs, spreading them wide. A hand clasped my throat, stretching me back across Val’s body. Spread eagle on my back, I was helpless while Val reached her free hand around to tease my clit and pussy with her fingers, all the while nibbling at my ear and neck. The more I struggled, the tighter the embrace became until, weary after two climaxes in quick succession, I faded out, sobbing in orgiastic release.

Val let go and I curled up, waiting for my nerves to stop firing erratically and regain control of my body. The brunette rose, looking much steadier than I felt. She stood over Grace, who’d pulled her fingers out of the thong.

“You’re not getting any of this.” Grace held up her slick fingers “Not tonight, not ever. Felicity’s not done. You are. Get her, stud.”

I staggered upright. Get her, stud. Yeah, right. I felt like a taser had been connected to my cunt and set for ‘endless orgasm.’ Val turned to me, the irritating sneer she’d given me a month ago firmly in place. I regretted helping her decide what to do. I should have just whacked her and fucked Grace all night. No, I had to get clever. Now, I was going get my butt -- and cunt -- kicked by a bitch who couldn’t hold onto her beer.

Val lifted my chin, nothing I could do to stop here, smiling in a totally despicable way. “I’d say, ‘No offense,’ but you really pissed me off. I should thank you for giving me this idea. Thanks.” She hit me in the face.


I woke up with Val’s pussy mashed over my mouth and nose. The fragrance was nice but breathing was hard, especially as my head was being held up by my hair. If I didn’t get air soon and this clit out of my mouth ... wait a minute! I bit hard, nearly getting my teeth together and hearing a satisfyingly desperate scream. It wasn’t at good as the way Grace screamed, but then she did it for getting her clit bit in an entirely different way.

After two deep breaths, nicely scented with Val’s pussy, I fell on her prone body, nose to crotch, burying my face between her legs. She hit me in the kidney; I slapped her slit. That loosened her legs so I got my mouth properly into the incredibly slick vaginal folds. A tongue slid along my pussy, licking me from clit to asshole. We rolled across the floor, struggling for position, mouths clamped on sexes. Whether by accident or design, our legs locked at the knees; we were conjoined, unable to separate. Our crotches were spread wide, dripping and ready. This was it, the last round.

Val was a so-so boxer and really good at tribbing, but I was a newly-expert cunt licker; I’d had four weeks of steady practice with a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and stopped for mouth-on instruction when she needed to make a point. I got my head twisted enough to see Grace from the corner of my eye. Her hands were back inside her thong, eyes sharp, tongue laving her lips, watching closely. I went back to work.

Val and I worked each other solidly for longer than I thought I’d ever go with a tongue at my clit and a finger in my ass. I raised the stakes with a finger in Val’s ass, my lips sucking at the swollen and bruised clit, and two fingers sluicing into the brunette’s pussy as far as I could shove them. I was pleasantly tingly, all my earlier orgasms had put me in a place where I could enjoy the thrill but not let it control me. Val wasn’t so lucky.

With each thrust of my tongue or fingers, she trembled a bit more. I licked and probed fast then slow then fast again. I don’t know how long it took, I was having a good time after nearly losing it all earlier. Whatever Val did, I gave it back more. I think I may have even smiled into the spasming pussy. I took her clit between my lips, sucked it firmly and pushed my fingers into pussy and ass one more time. I heard and felt a muffled whimper that rose to a groan and then a great gasp. Her mouth left my cunt and she cried out, rattling the walls.

I waited until I was sure she was done and pushed myself to my knees. I crawled across the rug to slide onto the couch next to Grace. I lay back, waiting for the room to stop wobbling. Grace stuck her fingers in my mouth. Nectar!

“Is she dead?” Grace seemed unconcerned.

I noticed the shallow rise of Val’s breasts. “No. Just feeling the agony of de cunt. Bitch. Strong, though.”

Grace leaned against me. “You fought for me. I said that already, didn’t I? Oh, jeez, Felicity, that was just so ...” She tilted my chin and kissed me. “My hero. Wanna fuck?”

I think I passed out because when I opened my eyes, Grace was at the kitchen counter pouring two glasses of bourbon. She sat on the couch and gazed at me.

“You had your drink yet today?”

I shook my head and she handed me one of the glasses. We lay back, shoulders touching, sipping the amber liquid. Val roused, blinking. She put her head in her hands, her whole body slumped.

“Want a drink?” I asked, surprised at the offer. Grace put her hand on my thigh.

“No. Fuck you.” Val spent some awkward and embarrassing moments finding her clothes and fumbling them on. Dressed, poorly, buttons askew, she glared at us, wiping cum and blood from her mouth. She looked like week-old hamburger.

“Door’s that way.” Grace pointed with her glass. “I expect we won’t see you in the bar any more. Your parents and friends won’t hear of this. Not from us. Unless somebody tries to squeeze Finnegan.”

“I’ll be back, Winsome. This isn’t over.”

“It is for me, Valerian. You show up again and I’ll put you on the ground. No fucking, no mercy. Go home. Take what’s left of your pride and your boy toys with you.” I was sore, rubbed raw, blood ran from my nose again, but other than that I felt very, very good. Better than I had in ... well, I couldn’t ever remember feeling this good. Grace kissed my shoulder.

Val stumbled out the door and the room got a lot friendlier. Grace set a kitchen chair in front of the couch and we put our feet on it, sipping whiskey, heads together.

“Were you afraid?” I asked.

“No,” Grace answered, squinching her nose in a way that made me melt. “Well, maybe. But for you, not me. That bitch wanted you down and done. I was just a way to make you fight. I think. Why did you fuck her, instead of just knocking her flat?” She watched me carefully.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, she insulted you. I had to fight for your honor. And I think you enjoyed it.” I grinned lopsidedly. “So ... what’s next?”


I don’t remember getting into bed. I woke with the sun, washed and tended to. Grace lay snuggled against me, snoring and drooling on my nipple. In the dawn silence, I realized that it wasn’t Grace who’d needed saving. I went back to sleep.

The End