WARNING: This is a fantasy of extreme nature about violent, brave, lusty people who are willing to personally suffer the consequences or reap the rewards of their actions with out regards to the norms of modern society or the qualms of conscience. Don’t read it if you are not interested in such topics or at all squeamish. Also, make sure you are mature enough to know the difference between illusion and reality. This is not a how to book.

The Private Life of Moms by Mr. Cage (comments to mrcagefight@yahoo.com)

I don’t know how I got chosen by my daughters as baby sitter, but old granddad had gotten so used to nosy question-obsessed rug rats that I had actually converted my long departed (no, the bitch isn’t dead, just departed) second wife’s giant master bedroom closet into a hidden room. I hid my “burn upon death” legacies: kink computer with archived hard drives; DVDs and VHS tapes of porn, catfights, private tapes; old photos and a history of whacking material so long that I’d be embarrassed if I gave a fuck anyone. The other stuff I passed on to my secret legacy. Yeah I know I’m old enough to know better, but if I’m haven’t gone blind by now then I’m going to keep whacking off until I die and so the porn and catfight favorites stay behind a hinged bookcase.

Anyway, even after promoting in my younger days the kids’ grandmother as a underground cat-fighter, tit-fighter, fist-fighter, cunt-fighter and sex-fighter I was stunned when my ten year-old granddaughter blurted out the reason my twelve year-old grandson had been moping about and then acting like a typical teenage asshole.

“He’s just upset because he caught momma fighting daddy’s secretary.”

My fifteen year-old granddaughter, Mary, burst out laughing and Teddy, the boy, turned six shades of scarlet and raced for the room I’d designated grandson only territory at the end of the second-floor hallway. Both girls had already learned the female art of pushing buttons and he needed a bitch free zone. My first wife was good at pushing buttons, but she was strictly amateur compared to my second wife (cunt bitch whore, sorry sometimes it just slips out). Anyway, Mary is named after her grandmother, who was so good at being a wife I tried out a second model after she got killed by a drunk illegal who is probably making left turns from the right line as I write.

I followed Teddy and decided it was time to give some grandfatherly advice. I’d seen my Momma fight for the first time in 1964 when I was 12 and as the twig is bent the oak grows or something like that. I mean if I just let the kid stew in his own confusion you don’t know whether he’s going to come out Ted Bundy or some virginal religious freak that blows up after forty years of no sex and kills everybody at the post office. I was doing my civic duty and if my daughter didn’t think so then she could take care of the little savages and leave me to my aches and pains and whacking off.

“So you saw your momma fighting. Want to talk about it?”

“No. It doesn’t matter.”

“Listen kid, this is going to be hard to take at your age, but everybody who isn’t crazy eventually learns and accepts one sure and certain thing. Every man walking the earth has a mother who fucked somebody at least once. They aren’t saints, nobody is. They piss, crap, fuck, suck cock, finger their pussies and in their own way they are just as strange and freaky as us.”

He sniffled and mumbled, “What about artificial insemination like they showed on TV.”

“Don’t be a smartass kid; I’m imparting wisdom here not presenting a legal case. Believe me kid, my daughter Beth, your Mom, was not artificially inseminated by your Dad. She was fucking in the backseat of his daddy’s car when she was 14 and making your older a few years later in college. I know cause I caught them going at it right out there under the tree. They didn’t even have the sense to park down the road or use a rubber. Her feet were up against the back door window and he was pounding away. Get the picture. She was never a saint and it’s not fair of you to expect her to be one. You got to give her some space to be human, cause boy you are going to sure need space for yourself someday, we all do.”

“Whatever.”

I could tell this was going to be a little more difficult than a TV sitcom where all the problems of the world can be solved in thirty minutes with six minutes of commercial breaks and five minutes of canned laughter. “Let me tell you the story of the first time I saw my momma fight.”

“I didn’t think girls fought back then.”

I grumbled. “You mean back before the electric light. Jesus Christ on a crutch, maybe we didn’t have video games and phones in our shirt pockets, but we were on the wave of the sexual revolution and shit was a happening. In terms of sex the main difference was women still had bushes and we lied about what we did rather than bragged about what we hadn’t actually done. I was twelve, just about your age exactly and didn’t know shit other than girls were a scary mystery and for some reason I couldn’t keep from whacking off while looking at the bra section of the catalogue. That’s a book with things for sale in it, think internet on hardcopy. I figured I was the greatest pervert in the world and I was the only one whacking off. Well I wasn’t and you aren’t now.”

He started to protest, but thought better of it.

“My daddy worked for this big computer company and traveled a lot. Back then real computers took up whole rooms and nobody but data engineers were allowed inside. Anyway he traveled all over the world. Turns out he had a second family overseas and when the y had a problem in their country brought them back here and moved them into a house about thirty minutes away from our own. Long story short, my momma found out and threw him out of the house. I guess she thought he’d come running back, but he just moved in with Parita, that was her name. She was an Indian, from Asia living in England, so she spoke English like an English woman, very snooty sounding like some actress on public television.”

He nodded. I was connecting with him. Hell I wasn’t that bad at this. So I told him the story in my own way, perhaps most of it was true. It sure seems so now.

Very long story short, Mom got divorced and tried to bankrupt him, did a good job of it too back before the feminists knocked females off their pedestals. He lived with Parita and her two girls on less than half his salary, but seemed happy. I of course had all the normal problems, feeling like everything was my fault since I was the center of the universe. Nobody is the center of the universe. Shit happens and the unfortunate truth is that at one time or another most of us are nothing but floaters in God’s Toilet Bowl.

After driving him away Mom decided he wasn’t spending enough time with me and started arguing on the phone about him taking time to go to a school play or see me play baseball. Anyway, she just wanted to get him over to our house so she could fuck him. That’s how your great Aunt Cindy game to be. As soon as she got pregnant hit him for more child support and Parita made sure he never visited again. Hell, I understood. The school plays sucked and who wants to see a bunch of kids play baseball, especially me since I was a natural borne right fielder, if you know what I mean.

Now like most twelve year old boys I looked up to my Mom, thought she was perfect even when she was being a bitch. At the time she was about 35 with curly blonde hair worn longer than they do now. When Dad wasn’t making her crazy she was actually very elegant and ladylike. After the divorce she worked part time at a law office so she could still be home when I got home. I remember she wore these tight white button-down the front blouses and even tighter short dresses with garters and stockings. Oh, how I miss stockings. And she smelled good too. You know how your mother’s boobs stick out and those wide hips and strong arms and legs, well I like to think she inherited half of them from my mom and half from your real Grandma Mary.

So a year after Cindy was borne, Mom got real pissed when dad missed a Saturday baseball game where I hit a home run to win the game, a one-and-only event. She called him up to give him an ear full and got Parita. You could hear her screaming into the phone for about an hour and after that the rest of the weekend was an emotional warzone. The only time she stopped bitching was when she stuffed her nipples in Cindy’s mouth.

Long story short, Mom would not let it drop. She dressed like she was going to work the next Monday even though her law office was closed for the week of July 4 for their summer vacation. My older sisters had things to do. Mom loads me in the car, puts Cindy in her baby seat, and drops Cindy off with a bottle of milk she’d expressed the night before with her sister. She says she’s going to take me to a movie. I noticed we’re in Dad’s neighborhood. Mom drops me off at the strip mall that fronts Dad’s subdivision and drives off. Well I know where she’s going so I hoof it across the fields to get to Parita and Dad’s place a few minutes behind her.

Her car is in the driveway, but Dad’s car is gone. I heard her curses from the backyard and sneak around using the bushes next door. Mom is on the back patio yelling at the closed glass sliding door. Parita is dressed almost identically except her stockings were light brown matching her skin and Mom’s are black with one of those lines down the back. Mom caught her leaving to go shopping or coming back. Marita would not open the door and apparently Dad was really out of town like Parita had said when she called to tell Mom he would miss the game.

Mom looked around and clicked on her heels around the stone walk to the side of the house that had been built on a hill revealing a bottom story where they had a downstairs family room. I’d been there before in better times. Parita watched Mom go and then raced through her house for the stairs. I took off running after Mom. I saw her use a rock from the garden to break the window in the downstairs’ door. She unlocked the door and pushed inside the house screaming at Parita as I slipped into the basement and hid back among the hot water heater/ furnace and tool room on the other side of the stairs. Looking through the stairs I had a good view.

Mom stood on the brown carpet her legs spread, her hands on her big hips snarling at Parita. Parita stood just the same jawing back with her English accent shaking her long black hair with every curse. Both had on tight white blouses. Mom wore a red short tight skirt and her black stockings. I knew from watching her get in the car that she had on her red garter belt to match her red heels and skirt. Parita had on a light green skirt and green heels. She had the prettiest green eyes that twinkled when she laughed or got angry. She liked wearing green to match her eyes.

Staring from the side I’d say Mom’s nursing breasts were a bit bigger, she was bigger in the hips and maybe two inches taller. Her shoulders were broad for a woman’s and her arms weren’t spindles. Mom was blonde and paler than the light brown-skinned, raven black-haired woman from India. I think Mom was maybe a year older than Parita. The scene of them yelling almost pointed tit to pointed tit in their tight white sleeveless blouses is still fresh in my mind to this very day.

I heard Parita’s one year old cry from upstairs. Her two older girls had to be out. Parita turned to see to her daughter and Mom lost it. She grabbed Parita’s bare bicep and jerked her rival back around by the left hand and slapped the Indian’s face with the right. The slap was hard and sounded like a whip crack. I barely kept from gasping aloud. Parita gasped and staggered back and fell over the low table near in front of the wrap around couch, green garter belt for sure, and ended up with her heels in the air holding her face. Mom laughed and actually spit on the woman before turning to leave.

Marita screamed, “Fucking white cunt!”

She stood up grabbed the thin, long table lifted it throwing magazines, an ashtray, and toys all over the place. She threw the table behind her against the wall and it proved to be cheaply made, breaking off at the legs. Mom stopped in her tracks on the other side of the wrap around couch on her way to the door. Parita screeched again and took three steps, stepping on the cloth covered couch still in her heels and leaped over the back slamming into Mom like a wrestler on television. They both went down and rolled apart on the rug, both grunting and groaning from the impact.

Mom pushed up on her hands and knees, her garters showing from behind as her skirt rode up her thick, strong thighs and screamed, “Crazy fucking nigger with straight hair!”

Parita howled and rushed on her knees grabbing Mom’s blonde hair. Mom screeched back and grabbed Parita’s long black hair. They grunted and howled, jerking each other’s heads back and forth, those great conical bras they wore back then making their pointed tits rub back and forth. That’s the first day I realized I was a catfight pervert.

The hair pulling was nasty and they just didn’t stop. Back and forth they twisted each others’ heads about. Their make-up smeared as they went cheek to cheek cursing each other letting out several years of hatred. I don’t know when Mom’s middle button popped but I saw her red bra slightly exposed when she won the hair pulling contest and twisted Parita off her knees. Parita’s skirt had rolled up her brown thighs revealing the green garter belt and straps holding up her brown stockings. Her legs kicked as she fell over exposing a white pair of full panties put on over the garters, a sure sign that a woman was ready to fuck in those days. Mom bent over her enemy still jerking hair and decided to bang Parita’s head on the ground. Mom started to straddle her rival, but Parita’s knee to the hip knocked her on her side. Parita threw a leg over Mom’s hips and climbed on top and banged Mom’s head on the floor. Mom squealed and bucked and twisted on her back her tits rubbing Parita’s their blouses wet with sweat now.

Mom rolled Parita on the side, and with her upper hand, the left, she delivered a punch slap to Parita’s right eye. Parita cried out and with her upper hand, the right, she grabbed the front of Mom’s bra and started jerking at it. More buttons popped or came lose, Mom screamed and tried to cover her fully exposed bra allowing Parita to roll her onto her back and sit on Mom’s belly. The Indian woman shouted out triumphantly and dug her green nails into the puffy white flesh of Mom’s tits and ripped down clawing the top of Mom’s tits and hooking her red bra. Mom screamed and kicked her feet so violently that her heels flew off. Parita tugged and cursed pulling Mom’s heavy wire red bra up over her fat full tits and rolled it up on top of the big white things. Mom squealed and as Parita leaned back to deliver double hammer blows down like on a cartoon, but Mom’s knees slammed into her back really hard before she could start forward.

Parita groaned and instead of pounding Mom’s tits she grabbed her back and twisted around to see stop another knee. Mom grabbed the Indian’s blouse and ripped it open in one hard jerk. Then she used a two fisted grip on either side of the open blouse and push pulled Parita off balance. The Indian screeched as she hit on her side and my Mom rolled on top between the Indian’s kicking legs, exposing the full length of the very full and shapely brown legs. Those legs clamped on Mom’s big hips keeping her from getting on top and straddling. Mom’s claws reached up and sank into the puffy brown flesh rolling over the top of Parita’s green bra. Parita screamed as bright red nails clawed down and under her bra cups. Mom kept pulling down and hooked the heavy wire bra under Parita’s big fat tits pushing them straight up and putting a crease in the bottom. Parita beat at the back of Mom’s head, so Mom bit her belly.

Marita went wild. Her hands grabbed Mom’s hair and jerked her face back. The Indian’s legs kicked and she twisted at the hips. Mom rolled over on her side with Parita’s crotch on her belly threatening to straddle her again. I almost shouted in excitement as Mom’s right hand grabbed the tight crotch of Parita’s full panties and squeezed at the clearly outline thick cunt lips. Parita howled and started pushing away, finally kicking Mom in the belly with a heel. Mom grabbed the pump and pulled it off throwing it wildly and bouncing it off Parita’s forehead. The two scrambled backwards getting space between them before pulling up about the length of one of the couch’s long wings apart.

Mom’s tits were heaving as she breathed. Her hair was a mess, her tits were streaked with claw marks and she had started to leak a bit. She glared at Parita who was in a similar situation except that her own bra was choking her fat tits making the clawed udders leak even worse than Mom’s big pale milk bags. Parita tried to pull her bra back up, but Mom had made such a mess of it Parita hurt herself twice. Mom laughed and made a joke about her third world dugs not being bra trained. Parita stripped off her torn blouse and un-hitched her behind the back bra, shrugging it off and standing their in her rolled up skirt, white panties, runner-stockings, green garter belt and straps, and one heel. She reached down and took off the heel holding like a weapon. Mom looked worried until she saw where one of her heels had fallen. Now she had a weapon too.

“Get out of my house you ugly white cunt!”

“You stole my husband!”

“You’re not woman enough for him. I am!”

Parita took a provocative stance, cupping one of brown breasts and lifting it up to lick its wet nipple. “He likes to suck my tits in between feedings? I know you’d never let him do that you stuck-up old prude. But now that I see your withered udders I can’t say why he’d want to suck them anyway.”

Mom turned bright red. I thought she was going to charge. Instead she stunned me by stripping off her blouse and then the rolled up bra. “My tits against your tits, it’s not even a comparison. I’ll leave yours wrung out so dry that little squalling bastard will go hungry like the rest of the brown rats in your country.”

Mom stopped looking for a good curse word and saw a picture of Parita and Dad at their wedding in England. Parita had on a traditional dress and had a big red ruby looking thing in the center of her forehead. Mom finished, “You fucking man-stealing dot head.”

That started a battle of the angry wits, and like the comic says it was unarmed combat, but dirty as hell. They circled forever waving their heels and insulting each other’s body and womanhood. It was a revelatory moment for me. I never knew women could curse so well. I picked up at least ten different ways of saying cunt and new phrases detailing a woman’s sexual deviancy. Best class I ever had in woman-speak. However, I noted as they got madder, they got closer and closer. I wondered if they knew they were within arm’s reach, and then I got an answer.

Almost simultaneously they shouted, “Cunt,” and slammed down the heels they held in their right hands on the top of the others’ left boob. I imagined a sloshing sound, but in truth it was more like hollow drum shots followed by a stereo chorus of screeching. The pain set them off like nitro. Their handheld heels rose and fell and each blow came down on the jiggling breast of the other: right, left, top, side, fat, and nipple. They marked each other up really bad until both squirted. I think my Mom’s right nipple squirted first, but if it did it was only by a second or two. Not every blow resulted in a squirt, but every blow resulted in the tit shaking and the woman receiving crying out. Each others’ tits were covered with dark marks and mixed milk from four squirting sources. The skirts were stained. Sweat and milk ran down their bodies and tears streaked their thick eye make-up and their faces streaked, this is way before good water-proof make-up.

Mom scored a particularly nasty heel drag digging into the top of Parita’s left breast, giving her a blood weeping welt all the way to the bumpy brown aureole and then across the nipple. Parita squealed and twisted away dropping her heel and grabbing her now bleeding and leaking tit. Mom brought her heel down between Parita’s sweaty shoulders. The Indian cried out and arched her back bumping her belly into the back of the couch. Mom hit her on the back of the head. Parita moaned and bent over the couch, her legs leaving the floor. Mom caught her hips and the Indian was hanging tits down over her couch with her big ass in the air and her legs pumping uselessly in the air.

Mom snarled, “How do you like it dot-head?” Then she screamed, “Let’s see what’s so great about you down here!”

Mom grabbed the waist band of Parita’s now wet (sweat, milk and perhaps pussy juice, but who can say) panties and pulled them down the length of her kicking legs and off the feet. Parita howled falling freely in a somersault onto her couch, her legs kicking wide. You know what they say about it being all pink on the inside, well its right. But Parita had big brown cunt lips, full and still wrinkled folds, covered in the richest blackest straightest pubes I’ve ever seen, animal fur for sure. And as she kicked her legs going over the back of the couch I saw everything. Big wet cunt and puckered dark brown asshole peaked out of a thick forest of black, glistening pussy hair. I popped in my pants right then and there, but that was no matter because like any normal horny twelve year-old pervert I would be ready again in no time.

Mom just missed sticking her heel into Parita’s cunt as it flipped over. She hit the woman’s bare ass a good glancing shot, but then Parita’s flashing feet kicked the heel out of Mom’s hand and over the couch. Mom grabbed for a foot and caught the ankle ripping a huge hole in the stocking and then ripping off the stocking foot. Parita hit the rug on her ass and ended up sitting against the edge of the couch still holding her wounded tit. I thought it might be over, but Mom shouted and leaned over the couch grabbing two handfuls of wild black hair, jerking Parita’s long lustrous hair straight up and pulling her head backwards over the edge of the couch. Parita screamed and reached back over her head clawing Mom’s wrists. Mom tugged and Parita had no choice but to push off with her feet, one bare one stocking, essentially climbing backwards onto the couch.

As soon as the tits were in range, Mom let go of the hair and reached for Parita’s tits, leaning over the couch. Parita’s hands left Mom’s clawed wrists and reached up grabbing Mom’s fat tits just as Mom grabbed Parita’s. I have to say it was a major tactical mistake on Mom’s part. Mom pulled up and twisted stretching Parita’s fat tits off her belly and to the full length of their connecting tissues. Parita screamed bloody murder and her feet kicked wildly, but she pulled down on Mom’s tits and sure enough, Mom’s feet left the floor and over she went. I got the second major revelation of the day.

Mom had indeed worn her red garter belt and straps, but she had forgotten to put on panties. As she went up and almost over I got a perfect view of her hairy crotch. Her thick curly blonde bush covered her crotch from the lower belly all the way back between her ass cheeks. It was so thick and curly I could barely see her puckered hole and bright, wet pink pale white rimmed cunt. Her cunt lips were thick and puffy, but not as long and wrinkling as Parita’s. However, they were even hairier; she might have had the hairiest blonde bush known to man, or at least this man. Mom hung over the edge of the couch pulled down by her tits as she pulled Parita up by hers.

In a system of two bodies connected by a mutually attracting force an equilibrium point may be reached just short of collision. Well, this equilibrium point found two screaming faces located between the stretched out, leaking milk bags of a different color. I could not tell who bit first, but very soon both were biting. Mom’s stocking feet kicked wildly as her ass waved in the air. Parita’s feet kicked out in front of her. I don’t know who screamed the louder or who bit the harder. I do know that the equilibrium was broken when Mom went over the top couch and rolled down Parita’s wet front to flop over, still held by the tits and hit the rug on her ass between Parita’s open lets. The top and bottom had just been reversed. Parita sat on the couch pulling Mom’s now bloody bite-marked, clawed, and heel-bruised white tits straight back and up under her uplifted arms and Mom doing chin-ups using Parita’s battered brown tits for handholds.

Parita yanked and twisted on Mom’s tits causing both to squirt again and again. I couldn’t see Parita’s tits squirting into Mom’s hair, but later Mom’s hair was wet so I could only assume. Parita hooked her heels, stocking and bare, into Mom’s naked crotch rubbing her hairy mound and trying I guess to hurt her pussy. Mom cursed and ripped down so hard on Parita’s tits that she bent over Mom’s head exposing the bottom of her clawed tit to another savage bite. The Indian squealed, let go of my Mom’s tortured boobs, which flopped like water balloons on her wet belly. Parita dug her claws under Mom’s jaw and clawed, her thumb pushing in between Mom’s lips and stretching down her body lip, clawing apparently into the gums. Mom released the tit bite, but now grabbed Parita’s hair and pulled her forward rolling her off the couch hard onto the carpet, again reversing the top and bottom roles.

Mom surprised me by twisting on her ass, pulling the stunned Parita by the hair into an across the tits leg scissors. Again, tactically wrong because across the throat would have finished it, but both women seemed obsessed by destroying the other sexually, not winning the fight. Mom’s stocking tops and snaps crushed into the badly swollen brown milk balloons and Parita groaned in agony, suffering not only tit pain but difficulty breathing and the raising of her scalp by the double fist full of hair Mom now pulled as she tried to stretch out her body perpendicular to the Indian’s. I have seen many tit scissors since, but this was the best by a complete amateur. I had to teach your Grandma how to do it and she was an experienced scrapper, so my Mom gets credit for the first Tit Python Squeeze put on by a woman of our blood. Seeing the contrast between Mom’s white thighs, black stockings and red garter snaps sinking into the balloon brown milk squirting tits caused the second stain between my feet.

Parita suffered terribly as her neck bent to the side and Mom ground her heavy thighs and garter snaps into the already tenderized brown flesh. In a planned catfight with rules, Parita would have surely tapped out or called for a break. They had no referee and no idea how to stop fighting even when someone was clearly beaten. Suffering terrible, Parita gave up on clawing my Mom’s upper thighs bloody and simply grabbed for a handful of blonde pubic hair, which by the way is why you have to trap the hands to put on an effective Tit Python Squeeze. The double-handed scalp pull might be satisfying for a moment until the other woman goes for the single-handed pubic snatch.

Mom screamed and pulled harder on Parita’s long black tresses, ripping out an entire fistful of hair. Parita screamed even louder as she lost a bit of scalp. She replied by hooking her thumb down into the tangle of Mom’s thick bush. Mom whimpered. I moved just in time to see Parita’s thumb disappear into Mom’s cunt. Mom’s legs popped open, her hands left Parita’s hair and grabbed the Indian’s offending hand. Mom pulled on the hand and kicked with her feet knocking Parita away and then she scooted backwards quickly hitting the other wing of the couch before getting up rubbing her mound checking for blood. Parita rolled the other way and got up leaning on the arm of the couch gasping, her bruised swollen tits hanging dripping sweat, milk tinged with pink.

Both women’s skirts were rolled up around their wide hips exposing their bare asses and hairy sex along with the tits. Mom still had both stockings and her garters. Parita had lost the foot-less stocking sometime in during the tangle, it had rolled down and up bunching around her knee. As she gasped, she bent down and rolled it over her calve and kicked it off before continuing to suck in air.

Mom had recovered enough to lodge a fair-play complaint to the judges, of which there were none if you didn’t count me. “No touching my pussy you fucking dyke whore!”

“I am a dyke? You called me a dyke! I know you did a three-way with him and your best friend Amy. He said he was sure it wasn’t the first time you ate pussy.”

“That’s a lie, you fucking whore! And that was a secret!” Mom charged screaming.

Parita blinked, surprised by the sudden rush, but she responded by raising her hands and the two slammed tits first into each other ripping hair in the classic old style. Their barely stretch-marked covered ample tits and round bellies clashed. Flesh rolled across flesh. They kicked at each other’s legs. They twisted in a body to body circle ripping hair and screaming curses while their tits and bellies slid across each other like they had been oiled. So far Mom seemed to be getting the best of every conflict, but Parita just would not stop. They fell over the edge of the couch and rolled out into the area cleared by the removed table, first one then the other on top. They ended up side by side, Mom’s right side up and Parita’s left side up, slight advantage to my Mom.

By now the long curly blonde and straight jet black hair had become hairdresser’s nightmares. Their sweaty bodies had picked up tuffs of hair as they rolled around, but big wads lay everywhere and with the exception of the long black wad near the couch honors seemed to be about equal. Mom lost a wad of hair over her right ear. She howled and grabbed the side of her head with her right hand. Parita slapped her face with a hair filled left hand. Mom gasped and dropped her right hand between them and grabbed an underhand fistful of Parita’s black bush. Then Mom did a bicep curl with Parita’s cunt hair as her resistance band. Parita’s scream rattled the rafters. Parita’s left hand dropped immediately and now they lay side by side, kneeing and kicking, yanking head hair with the lower hands and ripping pubes with their upper hands.

This mutual test of endurance shifted back and forth and bit by bit they got to their knees facing each other swollen leaking tits rubbing as they leaned forward cunt mauling. Mom’s right hand ripped and twisted just as Parita’s left hand did. Parita gave up her head hair hold and bent forward further sliding her head along Mom’s right arm so she could drop her right hand to Mom’s cunt. Mom quickly did the same. Now the two women leaned into each other at odd angles so they could keep four hands in between their spread legs. Either could have closed her legs and stopped the mauling, but they didn’t. They propped against each other and just went for it.

From where I was positioned I had to drop to the ground to get an angle, but when I did it was a good one. I saw my Mom’s white right hand and red nails gripping Parita’s hairy brown cunt lips, pinching, crushing, pulling and twisting. I could see the effect of her left hand now pulling up fiercely on the front of the bush. I couldn’t see Parita’s brown hands but I could see Mom’s face screaming, tears streaming down her red cheeks. They were torturing each other and they just went on and on.

Parita’s longer cunt lips gave Mom an apparent advantage because it was Parita that screamed the loudest and who kept moving her knees trying to lessen the pain in her cunt. She shifted so far I lost the angle so I shifted along the floor trying to get the angle on Mom’s ass. It took them forever to rotate. However I got a good side view. Up above bruised, swollen, bitten, clawed, bloody, leaking tits bulged against each other and straining biceps and forearms. Below I could see the back of their hands ripping at the thick front bushes while the wrists of the hands in between their legs could be seen flexing and jerking. Mom screamed really loud and suddenly shifted.

Now I saw Parita’s hold on Mom’s already bloody cunt lips. The bitch had the nails of four fingers digging into the outside of the left lip crushing it against the right lip which was being gouged by the thumbnail. Mom had less to pull and twist, but the Indian seemed to be improvising her own means of torture. Mom’s ass jerked and quivered as the thumb nail slipped over her right lip and plunged into the slit digging into the inside of the left lip. Parita must have felt her grip slip because once she fastened onto some cunt meat again, she pulled down and twisted. Mom’s ass jiggled and she tried to back away from the torture. Of course, she hadn’t released her own cunt hold so the Indian came forward knee for knee.

Parita yelled, “Oh god, you ripped it.”

The Indian’s hand left Mom’s cunt and the brown woman straightened up screaming. Mom kept doing what she was doing. Parita howled, drew back her right fist and delivered incredibly the first fist of the fight right to Mom’s nose. Three more punches and Mom fell backwards covering her face and bleeding from the nose. Parita crawled back to a couch, climbed on it, opened her legs and combed the blood matted tangled cunt hair out of the way to look at a bloody pussy lip. Mom had ripped off the fringe of one of the cunt lips.

“You crazy whore, I’ll rip off your nipples for that.”

Mom had found the opposite wing and was giving herself an exam. “Tell my husband to have it sown back on, no just have the doctor sow your cunt shut. I understand you like it in the ass anyway.”

“You bitch, that is our secret.”

Parita came off the couch. At this that point I have to admit I was rather upset with my dad for using both women the way he had and still was apparently. However, after a long life in the world of women I have to hand it to the old boy. Women run the world from the time you slide out of their cunt to the time you die thinking about getting back in one more time. Most men are cunt puppets. The good ones slave their way into an early grave and the bad ones go crazy on the cunt hunt and have to be put down. I’m just saying, when you know the game is rigged the only way to even break even is cheat or not play, and I’ve never learned how not to play.

So the two women collided again, but this time both swung fists. I’m not talking about Ali/Frazier; I’m talking about windmill city. Fists flew from every angle. Faces hit, tits flattened, ribs thudded, bellies thumped, but for the most part they hit arms, shoulders, or the wind behind or in front of their targets. Their punch stats might have been ten percent, but that’s ten percent of a hell of a lot of punching and no intentional defense.

Anyway, very soon they are blowing like beached whales, leaning on each other slapping each other weakly on the sweaty backs. In between long gasps they found the energy to curse each other, but even that like the sting of the earlier verbal fisticuffs. Mom bit Parita’s shoulder and Parita gave her a shove. Mom staggered back and sat down on the couch gasping. Parita wobbled and dropped to her knees on the rug.

I was amazed to see the marks on their faces. All the missing had hid the seriousness of the hitting. Parita had a very fat lip, leaking blood from inside. Her right eye had a knot above it and the left cheek was swelling badly. Her right ear seemed to have been torn, but then I saw an earring had been ripped out. Her face had mark after mark on it. Mom’s paler face was now bright red where it wasn’t dark red. Her right eye was almost shut and her nose seemed swollen and blood still dribbled. Her teeth were stained from a busted open upper lip and her whole lower face was smeared by blood and sweat.

Parita sucked in air, “Get out of my house you ugly whore!”

Mom tried to push up but then sat down. “So you give?”

“I whipped your fat white ass cunt. You give!”

That occupied them for several minutes. I realized that Parita’s baby had stopped crying. Now I would have been worried, but Cindy cried herself to sleep about half the time so I didn’t expose myself by running up the stairs. The “you give” contest continued until both seemed to have gotten some energy back. Mom managed to stand causing Parita to push up as well. They glared at each other. I thought the fight might be over.

Mom twisted her swollen lip into a sneer. “You know, I’ve never heard of a business trip during the week of the Fourth for his company. I’ll bet he’s fucking some younger bitch right now. Maybe he’s already given her a couple of bastards like he gave you.”

“We were married. My children aren’t bastards”

My Mom growled, “Mongrel little bastards that should have been dumped in the trash at birth! Half-breed little cunts that will grow up to be whores just like their mother.”

Parita screamed and charged, this time claws out. Mom answered in kind.

They slammed into each other their claws missing wild swings and fastening on each others’ back. They did what came naturally and raked each other’s backs’ bloody. Parita went lower and clawed Mom’s ass cheeks so Mom did the same. Getting to each others’ ass required them to squash their swollen tits together. They bit into each others shoulders and fought on in slow motion, hatred driving them to endure. They danced like that for a minute or two until Parita stepped on Mom’s discarded pump and fell taking them both down on the rug.

The wallowed on each other: clawing, kneeing, biting, kicking, hitting, slapping and moaning. Mom seemed to be taking the worst of it. Parita got to her tits with teeth twice and got a hand into her cunt, inside, three fingers at least. Mom fought back climbing onto Parita’s back once and jamming an index finger into her asshole long enough to draw blood and screams. But neither was able to hold the other slick body into place. Then Mom found the heel that had trapped them. Rather than hit with it she drove the heel into Parita’s rolling right breast and then leaned against it with all her weight driving the heel into the tit flesh. Parita screamed and screamed, writhing on her back. I thought it was close to be over.

Then Parita’s flailing hand touched a snapped off table leg, about ten inches long snapped off roughly at the base. As Mom tried to spear the breast with her heel, Parita rolled the table leg into her grasp and brought it down on Mom’s back. Mom moaned and continued screwing her heel into Parita’s tit meat. Maybe it was the lack of strength or the bad angle but instead of a knockout, Parita had to bounce the wood off Mom’s head several times before Mom rolled to the side to block the next blow. The heel was stuck in Parita’s breast, but not too deeply. Parita rolled on top pressing down with the rough end of the leg targeted on Mom’s right breast. Mom’s arms trembled as they gave ground. The heel stuck in Parita’s tit for a bit then fell down, bounced off Mom’s belly onto the stained rug. Parita’s tit bled, but not poured like a knife wound.

Inch by inch the rough end got closer and Mom began to scream for Parita to stop. The blood dripping on Mom from Parita’s gouged breast seemed to counterpoint Mom’s plea for mercy. Slowly, inevitably, the wooden leg grated down on Mom’s breast and Mom kicked and writhed screaming and cursing. The splintered end opened up Mom’s bruised flesh and Mom’s body arched suddenly. Parita flew forward banging her head against the wall and falling on the remains of the table.

Mom had the table leg. She proper herself up on one elbow and raised the leg to strike down on Parita’s cunt. She scored heavily. Parita wailed drawing her feet up reflexively, but when Mom rose up to take a better swing, Parita drove her feet, stocking and bare, into Mom’s face knocking her backwards and sending the table leg flying. There was a pause for reflection as both nursed their many wounds and suffered exhaustion.

Parita crawled across the table and then the stained rug toward where Mom lay on her back holding her spurting nose. The Indian woman dropped her head to Mom’s right nipple and bit. Mom screamed and hammered the side of Parita’s face knocking her away. Mom rolled over holding her nipple. She saw the table leg and started crawling for it reaching for it with one hand holding her bleeding tit with the other. Parita shook her head clear and saw Mom’s ass in the air.

She grabbed Mom’s blood stained high heel and tackled Mom from behind. Mom had screwed the heel into Parita’s tit. Now Parita screwed it into Mom’s asshole. Mom screamed and screamed trying to twist around and stop it, but the Indian was laying across the small of her back and curled away to protect her hair and her ass. Mom screamed and cried. She clawed the carpet. She begged and then she pleaded.

Parita left the heel in her ass and crawled on Mom’s back. She grabbed Mom’s hair, pulled her head back and rammed her face into the carpet again and again until Mom stopped squawking. Then she pulled Mom’s bloody face back from the carpet with one hand and started looping her free right face around into the side of Mom’s already messed up face. Mom moaned, begged and pleaded. Parita got tired and bent over and bite Mom’ right ear, another tactical error. Mom’s head snapped back and cracked the Indian on her long elegant nose. Parita set up holding her nose as blood drained between her fingers, staining her chin, then her tits, then Mom’s back.

Mom grabbed the wooden leg and twisted around driving its rounded head into Parita’s round heaving lower belly spearing her right at the thick bush line. The Indian spewed air and bile out as she let go of her bloody nose and grabbed her belly, finding the leg still there pushing into her womb from the outside. The two now clearly insane bitches fought for position of the broken leg as Mom pushed off with her feet. She scooted back a foot or so, but Parita rode her belly. They only thing she accomplished was dragging her high heel out of her asshole.

Parita pushed down on the stick and rose up. The head of the stick traced a rough path through her wet black hair and across her mound. She moaned as it went, but then it slipped between the two of them and she sat down on it. Mom cried out. The hard wood was pressed between both their upper cunt lips. Parita’s weight drove the unforgiving wood into both women, but Parita’s upper position seemed to give her some advantage.

Mom let go of the stick and tried to sit up. She managed just long enough to fasten onto both of Parita’s swollen badly marked up tits. Mom hung on the tits trying to rip them off. Parita cried out and drove rights and lefts over the top of Mom’s arms into Mom’s bloody face. Apparently the fists had more effect because Mom let the tits flop back against Parita’s wet belly and covered her face.

Parita grabbed my Mom’s hands and pressed them against her face while scooting her hairy cunt up Mom’ belly. Before Mom knew she was in more trouble, Parita pressed her knees, one bare one with a ripped stocking still hanging on to two garter straps, onto Mom’s biceps. Mom struggled a few sweaty minutes until all the energy left her. Parita forced Mom’s hands to the carpet and then went for the full school girl press. Mom tried to bite the inside of Parita’s thighs, but the Indian spread them far enough to keep Mom’s teeth from finding them. Mom raised her head trying to bite the hairy pie at her chin. She got a hammer fist in the forehead. Parita slammed ten punches into Mom’s trapped face.

Mom lay moaning, her feet slowly pumping as those she was pushing off. Parita leaned back and grabbed the leg that rested on Mom’s heaving belly. She inverted it and started giving Mom’s cunt a wooden whipping. Mom screamed, begged, whimpered and then screamed until she collapsed. Parita reversed the wood, leaned further back and jammed the small end into Mom’s swollen bloody cunt. Mom’s closed eyes opened and her body stiffened for one last agonized cry.

Parita left the wooden leg in Mom’s cunt and put her hands around Mom’s throat. She started choking. It didn’t take long. I started to move to stop it, but Parita held up a hand and raised a finger to her lips for silence. She stopped choking and rolled off. Mom was breathing, just passed out. Apparently Parita had known I was there for some time. The Indian pointed for me to stay where I was. At twelve you’re so used to taking orders from older women you do so reflexively wondering why you don’t tell them to fuck off.

Parita stripped off Mom’s ruined black stockings. She tied Mom’s hands together using one stocking and then tied the hands over Mom’s heads to the leg of one wing of the couch. Parita stripped off her own stocking and tied Mom’s ankles together loosely, and then she used the two garters to tie the ankle bond to the far end of the couch stretching out Mom on her back. She looked around and found a bra to gag Mom. Then she put her panties over Mom’s face covering her eyes, but leaving her swollen nose and mouth exposed.

She stood over Mom, dripping blood and sweat, turned to me and said, “Help me upstairs to my baby and the shower and I’ll let her go.”

I stopped the story there for Teddy. He told me about his Mom’s fight. She won and his dad had to get another secretary. He seemed sorry now that their fight had ended up with them still wearing jeans and t-shirts. I’d done the grandfatherly thing and the boy seemed okay with the knowledge his Mom was a cat fighting bitch. I just wish he’d captured it on his cell phone and told him so. I could see an idea flashing in his head, but more on that later. I had the rest of the story to replay in my mind.

What I didn’t tell him that day was that after we saw to her baby and cleaned up Parita she told me she wanted my cum in her ass. Even though she was sore and her tits covered in gauze, Band-Aides, and antiseptics she bent over sucked me hard, bent over her sink and directed me into her asshole. I got more than a little excited pounding her ass making her sore tits sway, but she that seemed to make her even hotter and before I came she was demanding that I ram it in harder. I squirted my load and almost fell over.

She put a finger to her mouth and said, “Now be quiet. When I’m done you should go back to wherever she left you and wait.”

She led me downstairs. Mom was awake blindly pleading. “Let me go. I won’t tell anybody about this and I’ll never bother you again. Is that you? Who is that? Parita is that you? Let me go? Please let me go?”

“I’ll let you go bitch, but first you are going to eat my pussy and lick my asshole. You hurt me bad and I need to cum to start the healing process.”

“You’re crazy!”

“I’m as sane as you. Now you will eat my hairy cunt and ass or I’ll cut off your tits and bury you in my garden.”

Mom whimpered. I watched silently, my cock in my hand, as Parita knelt over Mom’s face and pulled her disheveled hair. The panties exposed Mom’s blood-caked nose, swollen mouth and bloody chin. Parita rode Mom’s face like she was on one of those electric bulls. Mom ate and ate until Parita’s sore cunt gave her a shattering orgasm. Then she turned around, pulled open her ass cheeks. I could see my wet cum glistening on the crack of Parita’s firm brown ass.

“Now eat my ass you dirty dyke whore!”

Mom whimpered, but as soon as Parita pinched a nipple she stuck her tongue out, licking the crack until she found the puckered hole with glistening cum. She ate ass pretty good, of course at the time I didn’t know it. Parita kept her busy as I came twice more whacking off into a towel. Parita asked for the towel and leaned backwards and rubbed it into Mom’s matted hair. Parita smiled at me and waved me to the door. I left.

Mom showed up wearing a tracksuit, sunglasses and a scarf around her hair. She drove straight home and went to the shower telling me that she had been in a car accident, which might have been believable if I wasn’t sitting in the car. Anyway, I let her have her fiction and wash my gizz out of her hair and mouth.

I got a little dividend. Teddy showed up a month later with three cell phone fights, including one with his older sister in a bathroom at school. She had won the fight and kept her clothes on doing it. He said he wanted to put them on the web. I said he could sell them once he collected some more.

He liked the idea and said he would start Teddy Ivy Productions. I gave him one more piece of grandfatherly advice.

“Don’t’ use your own name, Teddy. Someday you might want to sell something illegal for a lot of money. It’s best that you always keep some distance between your dirty dealing and yourself. That’s what I did.”

“What did you call yourself, Grandpa?”

“Well, I called myself what my first partner called himself, Mr. Cage.”

“Can I be Mr. Cage?”

“Sure kid, but I’m handing a legacy that stretches back to Edison’s first film of women boxing in petticoats. But in truth, a Mr. Cage staged bare fist fights in England and topless duels between French women with swords way back when. The legend is that one of us tired to match Cleopatra against Anthony’s Roman wife, but a war got in the way, but who can say. Remember, always put out a real product, press the envelope, give the customer what they want and never give a sucker an even break, even if the sucker has a cunt between her legs. You’ve got a lot to learn so for now I’ll show you a bit and introduce you to my old Apprentice who is now Mr. Cage.”

Teddy’s head nodded up and down excitedly, “Like the Sith, Master and Apprentice!”

“Yeah, kid, welcome to the dark side.”