A Brit in Texas

By Brit9002

Although I hadn’t put pen to paper (well, fingers to keyboard) in almost 4 years for anything other than my job, I continued to visit the Femfight website now and then to see what others were writing. Many times, I would stop after reading 2-3 sentences of what might have been a promising story, lamenting the fact that writer didn’t seem to understand that sentences should have verbs. And subjects. And that a period now and then helps me to understand where one rambling thought ended and another began. And that paragraphs exist for a reason. And that Bill Gates invented (or popularized) this little app called SpellCheck---maybe the author could have someone teach him/her how to use it? I’m not a literary snob by any means --- I mean, I used to write stories about girls getting in fights! --- but at least I can proudly announce that I have mastered my native tongue.
Anyway, it was rare that I read a full story because of their poor quality. But about a month ago, there was a new posting by an author on that site I hadn’t read before. So I opened the page, and started reading. What’s this? The first 2 sentences contained no typos, no spellos, and no grammar improprieties! So I kept reading.
It was cleverly introduced---almost a dare to keep reading, and a reference to some other stories she had written a few years back. Very, very clever. So I kept reading, impressed with her writing skills, and was slowly being swept up in her story, conjuring up mental images of her characters as I read. The fighting aspect of the story grabbed me, but the conquest, domination, and total subjugation of the story’s heroine at the climax absolutely hooked me. So much so, that I clicked over to the page with the 2007 stories, and found 2 more she had penned. I tore through those as easily as I do with a new James Patterson novel. They were just as intriguing and engaging as her first story and I finished them feeling a little flushed, a little more excited, and a whole lot moist.
Then, with a thought I had never had before when perusing the Femfight site, I sent her an email, praising her stories. As simple as that.
But then I got a return email from her, thanking me, and a correspondence began. We asked each other about details of our story --- the dirty little parts that never made it to the printed page. And with each question she asked me, or thought or fantasy she shared, I thought, She so gets me. I wondered if the reverse were true, but I would look too pathetic if I actually asked.
We lived about 1500 miles apart, and had never been to each other’s part of the country, so an e-correspondence sufficed. I found myself really looking forward to her emails. Sometimes it was just a brief narrative of her day. Other times it was a playful taunt describing that if we ever meet, how she might challenge, beat, and sexually dominate me. I of course pointed out that according to her autobiographical stories, she had lost 67% of the fights she had been in, and then realized that ooops, so had I.
But honestly, each of those emails from her made me a little randy and a little more excited. We exchanged pictures shortly after, and I fantasized about wrapping my legs around that tanned, tight body and squeezing until, in excruciating pain, she submitted to me. Then I’d release the pressure, make a little adjustment, and clamp my thighs around her neck, pulling her face into my crotch, her hot breath energizing me in little gasps, until she feebly submitted again. Then I would sit atop that blue-eyed face haloed with silky black hair and have my way with her until we were both spent. Could I make it last for hours? I’d sure as hell try.
Of course, those fantasies never made it to the printed content of an email. Just more banter and sharing back and forth between us, and, at some level, I felt as if I had made a friend, or at least a connection, with my femfight colleague.
Until early October, that is. By that time, I found myself fantasizing about an encounter numerous times a day. Sometimes a wrestling match, sometimes other stuff. At times I imagined myself cruelly thrashing and dominating her, but just as often I was the one begging for mercy, or climaxing in a bizarre combination of pain and ecstasy. I finally shot her an email at 10:04 PM, my time.
10:04. Hey, what are you doing Columbus Day weekend?
10:06. No plans here. Same old. Do you have the Monday off?
10:07. Oh yeah. You?
10:10. Sure do. First day off since August.
10:10. What if I came down there?
10:15. You mean, fly here for the weekend?
10:16. Yes. Wouldn’t you like to finally meet?
10:20. That would be cool. Honestly, I never thought we’d actually meet. But that’s a lot of $, just to come down for 2 days, don’t you think?
10:21. It would be worth it.

And so, planning progressed, and before I went to bed, I had booked a hotel room and a flight to Fort Worth, playfully suggested that she buy a new red bikini like the one she had written about, and wistfully fantasized about me finally meeting Dawn.

As the plane increased speed and its nose edged upward, reality started to set in. I have no idea who I might meet, I thought. All I have is a picture---this could be some model she cut out of a magazine. She? How do I even know it’s really a she? “Dawn” could be a 15 year old boy with bad skin who spends most of his time in a basement bedroom. Or a 54 year old pedophile who severs and collects women’s pinky-toes! My mind started to race, and an immensely bad feeling swelled in my stomach and head. Had the plane still been on the tarmac, I would have pitched a fit until they let me off and ended this little jaunt before it began.

But we were airborne. No problem. We’ll land, I’ll head right to the desk and change my return ticket to today. No biggie. That plan, and the three mojitos I had during the flight, helped me relax pretty significantly, and by the time I was heading off the plane, I was loose as a goose.

“Britt?! Brittney?!” I whirled my head around, trying to find who was calling my name. My head stopped as soon as I saw the beautiful raven-haired girl at the gate. Just like her picture, and I emitted a mental whew and gave her a big smile.

Strangely, it was like having a reunion with an old friend, although I was still a tiny bit anxious. Nonetheless, we chatted through the terminal and into the garage, and we drove around town for some sightseeing, with her as the tour guide. A late lunch at a great little sidewalk café, a few more mojitos, and then she drove to the hotel so I could check in.

“You could stay at my place, you know,” Dawn said. “It’s just me, and I have more than enough room.”

I toyed with the idea briefly, but just as quickly politely refused. “That’s OK---it’s already on my card, and I don’t want to take even more advantage of you---you’re already driving me everywhere.”

“Believe me, I don’t let myself be taken advantage of. But that’s fine---let’s get you checked in.”

__________
As I had just the one bag, I politely refused the bellman service, and Dawn and I went up to the room. After having split with Jeremy, I had become semi-anti-social --- not a hermit, but I didn’t go out anywhere near as much I used to. As a result, I allowed myself to splurge as needed (or wanted), and this one was of those times. The room was a spacious suite, a bedroom with adjoining living room, a hot tub, a well-stocked honor bar, and three flat screen TVs.

Dawn made a beeline to the bar as I dropped my bag on the bed and checked out the room. When I returned to the bar, she had a mojito waiting for me.

“God, I’m not sure I can. One more and I might be out for the count, and it’s…” I peered at my watch, “only 7:15!”

“Don’t be such a lightweight,” she prodded, and my lace-like resolve crumbled as I enjoyed another rum-punctuated cocktail.

We continued to talk and laugh, and as the rum poured and the evening progressed, I felt like I had truly made a friend. Femfight and our at-times racy emails aside, I genuinely liked Dawn and was having a good time with her.

We took turns with trips to the bathroom, the alcohol now freely flowing in and out of us. As Dawn took care of business, I started channel-surfing, and stopped on a rerun of Dallas. What were the odds?

But my interest in JR Ewing was interrupted when Dawn emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a red string bikini and a smile. I just stared, and while the thoughts in my head were things like, “Jesus, she has one of the tightest, most beautiful bodies I’ve ever seen,” and “I’d pay a thousand dollars to lick honey off any part of that body,” the garble that my mouth emitted was, “Uuuh, I, uh, wow, uh, what’s going on?” Shakespeare I’m not.

“Let’s go swimming,” she said. “They have a great heated pool here, and I came prepared.”

The air quickly deflated from my libido balloon, and I whiningly responded, “Swimming? Nah. I’m beat. Let’s just hang out up here and watch a movie and finish the rum.”

“No, that’s boring.” She sauntered over to the bed, took my hand, and yanked me up. “Come on, get in your suit. You don’t even have to go in---just sit by the pool while I swim; I don’t want to go alone.”

I debated internally briefly, but the prospect of sitting in the room by myself versus sitting at the pool watching Dawn’s wet body in that skimpy red suit was really no contest. I pulled my bikini from my bag (not string, but it was known to turn many a head), and went into the bathroom to change. As I finished and came out, I said, “Wait, it’s 9 at night. Why the hell am I going to be sitting by the pool in a bathing suit if I’m not swimming? What, am I going to try to moon tan? I’ll look like an idiot. I’m just going to throw on my jeans, wait a minute.”

I turned to go back into the bathroom, but Dawn quickly grabbed my wrist and guided me back into the room. “You know,” I snapped, “that’s the second time you’ve grabbed and pushed me. I didn’t say anything before, but you need to stop.”

Still holding my wrist, Dawn smiled and then quickly grabbed my other wrist. Raising our arms up, she slowly pushed me back into the wall, pinning my arms above my head, moving her tight, tanned body to within about half an inch of mine. Despite the situation, I felt myself blush at being so close to her, but in attempt to hide it, I pushed back, or at least tried to, but her arms wouldn’t budge.

“Don’t fight it---you know this is what you wanted,” she whispered steamily into my ear. “I can make you do anything I want to, and there’s nothing you can do but relax and enjoy it.”

Now, it was true, I was kind of hoping that we’d end up getting physical, but dammit, how dare she presume it, and secondly, how the hell is she so strong? My arms and legs were just about as toned and defined as hers, and actually I think my stomach was a little tighter. So I got angry, and I think some of the adrenaline may have finally started to counter the rum. I still tried futilely to move my arms, but I was able to squirm enough to move my leg, first lifting my knee to wedge a little space between us, and then I was able to plant my foot on her tight, muscled stomach.

I pushed her away with a kick, using the wall at my back for leverage. It moved her back, and she stumbled, but because she held the lock on my wrists, I came with her, and we ended up on the floor in the middle of the room, my arms still immobilized by hers. Taking advantage of her attempt to regain her balance, I snapped one wrist free, and went for a headlock.

Damn, she was quick, though. Just as I would encircle her neck with my arm, she changed direction. She finally let go of my other wrist, and I tried to get her again, but she kept eluding me, and simultaneously, tried to get me in a similar hold.

We grabbed each other and rolled around on the carpet, each trying to gain the top position. Control went back and forth, and at one point she rolled me into the leg of the end table near the bed. We both froze in place at the CRASH that resulted from the lamp on the table being knocked to the floor.

“Did it hit you?”

“No, did it hit you?”

We both released our grips and stood up to survey the damage. I was already hanging out of my bikini top, and quickly readjusted. The lamp’s bulb had broken and the shade was a little bent. But most of the glass seemed to be near or under the bed. I picked up the lamp and moved it to the living room, and picked up the big pieces of glass and threw them out, just as the phone rang. Dawn picked it up.

“Yes. I know, the lamp accidentally fell. No, we’re OK. OK. Sorry about that. Thank you.”

She hung up, and explained that that was the front desk. The room below us had called to complain about all the banging and noise from our room.

“Fuck them,” I countered, and started to head to the bathroom.

Dawn was right behind me, though, and wound her arm around my neck, taking me down to the floor in a picture-perfect headlock. She got me on my back, released my neck, and stretched my arm over my head. Sitting on my chest with her back towards my head, she put her feet on either side of my head and started inching her way up from my chest to my neck. She was setting me up for a rear head-scissor, I figured. She still had my arm immobilized, so the only thing I could do was use my other hand to try and prevent her ass (oh, that tight little ass!) from being planted on my face.

I kicked and I bucked, but it was no use, she stayed on top. Her ass would make contract with my face and then she’d sit strait up, putting all her weight on me. I managed to push her up a little, but she would just readjust and sit on my face again, all the while moving her legs (oh, those rock-hard thighs!) until she had what she wanted --- she was firmly on my face, and my arms were trapped under each of her legs. All I could do was try to kick out, but it was futile, and I was starting to get light-headed from having to fight for breath, which, under other circumstances, might be a pretty cool way to be suffocated.

Sensing that I might have had enough, she lifted her ass a bit and allowed me to breathe. Her riding up my body from my chest to my face had taken most of my bikini top on the journey, and I could feel my breasts totally exposed. My arms were still trapped under her legs, and flex and push as I might, they weren’t budging.

“So, have we established who the boss is?” she taunted. I said nothing, as there was no way I was conceding, and was rewarded with a sharp nipple twist.

“Jesus!” I shouted. “Cut the shit! That’s how you fight?”

“Who said this was a fight?” she calmly replied. “If this were a fight, you’d have fought. This is what’s called you getting your ass kicked and dominated. Big difference.” And with that, another sharp nipple twist.

“Aaagh! Stop it!” I yelled, once again trying to buck her off, but I just couldn’t move her.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said sarcastically. “Here, I’ll make it better.” I braced for another twist, but instead, I felt her finger, wet, on my nipple, slowly swirling around its tip, gently. And then, as I felt it respond to her touch, she began to gently fondle my other nipple.

The wave of emotion, going from anger and futility to physical longing was overwhelming, and I…DAMN HER, she was doing it again. She was in total control. I again tried to buck, but it was feeble, as my brain was losing its battle to my genitals. I felt the caressing of one of my nipples stop (Hey, uh, you really don’t have to stop that you know, I thought), and her fingers trailed softly down my breast, over my stomach, to my bikini bottoms. She lowered her ass on my face again, continued to fondle my breast, and with her other hand started teasing my crotch. I felt her hand trail across my bottoms, to my thigh, then my hip, and stop on the string that held the bottoms together. I knew I was wet, and as my chest heaved from trying to breathe and from her wicked fondling, I longed for her to untie my

NO! I need to be in control! I yelled to myself. But she had already untied the bottoms, and was very lightly tracing her fingers back and forth, up and down, between my legs.

This time I fought. I pushed up with my arms and clamped my legs together. I briefly trapped her hand in between my legs, but before I could figure out how to use that to my advantage, she shifted her weight, stretching her legs out and putting her head down near my crotch. My arms were now free, and as I started to move them to push her off, she locked her thighs around my neck and squeezed. This was what she had been trying to do all along, get me in a reverse neck scissor, and she had done it.

She clamped her ankles together and squeezed, and instinctively my hands went for her thighs, but there was no way I was prying them apart. I started pounding on her back and, since her head was in the vicinity of my thighs, tried to scissor her as well. But I was blinded and could only try to do it by feel, and like every other attempt I had made this evening to overpower her, it too was useless.

“You know, Britt, someone once told me that this is a much better experience with a little oxygen deprivation.”

I couldn’t respond, couldn’t talk, all I could do was gurgle, but in my mind I screamed, I’ve been oxygen deprived for the past 10 minutes, bitch, what the hell are you talking about?!

But then I knew. She gently placed a finger in my wetness and probed, gently, until she felt me shudder.

Oh, that’s what you meant. I uuuuuuunnnnnggggghhhhh

I don’t know what if any effect her squeezing of my neck had on my response, but as my hands were trying to scratch and paw at her thighs to release me, my legs had loosened and I started moving my crotch in rhythm to her probes and caresses.

She released the pressure on my neck slightly, and purred, “Are you ready to give up and give in? Just say it. Whisper it.”

Oh God, yes, you can do whatever you wa..”No,” I coughed, “ I’m going to kick yo…ooooh, please, oh God!”

Her caresses grew quicker. She had found my spot and she homed in. My crotch was gyrating in rhythm, I could feel my wetness running down the inside of my thigh, my naked ass pounding on the carpet as the orgasm built, my hands caressing her thighs and calves (oh, those delicious calves), and she tightened her hold on my neck again.

“Tell me if it feels better this way,” she demanded as she squeezed even more, now rubbing me with her whole hand, faster, faster, my ass and feet pounding the carpet, one of my hands clenched in a fist, the other caressing her back, her ass, feeling for the tie on her bottoms, rubbing her back, feeling for the tie, touching her ends of her silky hair, oooooh, faster, harder, Oh my fucking lord, oh, my god, this is

I knotted my hand in her hair and pulled for all I was worth. It yanked her head back and she released the hold on my neck. I rolled away from her, coughing, massaging my neck, and saw her rubbing her seared scalp, glaring at me. I was stark naked and humiliated, but I hadn’t conceded. No, this was only just starting. I started to get to my feet, as did she. She looked at my nakedness, grinned, and slowly started to slip the strap from her shoulder.

There was a pounding on the room door. “Open up, please, this is the manager. We’ve received a number of angry calls about the noise. Please open the door.”

To be continued.