Swampland Ch 7
By Kim

Cristina found her first morning in the Zedillo’s mansion comfortable. After lying on the clean sheets, the dull rumble of the air conditioning overhead, for nearly half an hour she realized she might never have experienced real comfort before. She ran her fingers up and down her abdomen and thought about the mornings she had awoken in her room in the back of her bar or under a tree in the swamp. The sweat and dirt ground into her skin and her hair while here the Zedillo family had been living in opulence, with clean water, electricity, and guards, all dependable. For years now Cristina had spent every day thinking about the next connection or the next betrayal, the danger behind each face and all the men who thought her too weak to hold onto what she had and the women who tried to take it from her. And she thought about the woman from whom she had taken her first stake in the business, her first route into Orlando.

When Cristina was eighteen, she had been drifting from job to job. She drank too much and argued with the boss too often. The men she worked for all put up her for a time with because of her looks—even then a full-figured woman with a sharp, intelligent beauty in her face and luscious hair the men could not but notice as it shone black in the heat. But too much yelling and second-guessing put her out of work again, and she got to know the alleys and bars of Orlando as well as anyone. In one of those bars she met Talia Eason. Talia was a young woman herself, the curvy beauty of mixed German and South Asian descent who had recently married Doc Eason. She offered Cristina work supplying the Doctor with rubbing alcohol, bandages and the like. Cristina came to the fourth delivery having been stood up by a guy she had been seeing from time to time, whom she later learned had been pressed into a local militia headed north to raid a train that ran across south Georgia. Angry, she demanded more money from Talia for the supplies, and Talia refused.

The two young women fought until it seemed Cristina could not remember a time they had not been fighting. Cristina had never been in a fistfight with another woman when both were sober, and Talia had, as Cristina learned when the two sat down and drank together six months later. Cristina had a height and weight advantage and she pressed the smaller woman hard. They started trading slaps and then brawled all over Eason’s office and then after Talia threw her through the back door they fought in the alley, rolling on the ground pulling hair and squeezing breasts and on their feet hitting anything they could. As she lay in bed in the Zedillo’s mansion, Cristina remembered the exhilaration she had felt, her desire to match herself against this other young woman with her looks and her body and her feminine rage. In the end Cristina found herself on her back under the other woman unable to rise and she was forced to give up when Talia sat atop her with her fist cocked, threatening to pound her face in. As she staggered back to her single room, Cristina had thought about the fight and she had known that she wanted to do it again. Six months later Cristina went back and fought her again and won, and then a week later they drank together and talked all night.

The bitch Alejandra, with her attitude and her stunning looks and her well-kept hair, the bitch who obviously had grown up with food, medicine, cleanliness and order. It was all marked on her body and her face. Cristina wondered how many times Alejandra had been forced to sleep outside so that she could make sure that someone didn’t steal what she had worked for. How many times had she fought off someone trying to take what was hers, this woman who had gotten the richest and seemingly oldest man in the country, one of the few men anywhere who could do as he pleased. She slept on clean sheets in a cool room every night next to her husband’s rotting body and when he was gone she would be in charge of everything, and no man was going to get it from her. She was already close to being the boss, Cristina reminded herself, and she was another woman trying to keep Cristina from securing her place in the world as much as the other way around. Alejandra was going to prevent Cristina from getting her contract settled with Zedillo, she had made clear. As she lay in Alejandra’s house on the clean sheets dressed in new black panties while the beautiful Mexican would have seen her sleeping naked in the mud, Cristina thought of fighting her woman to woman and the skin of her arms, legs, her torso and between her thighs sparkled. She was alive with her desire to hit her and throw her to the ground and stand over her.

Cristina dressed in new clothes, khaki shorts and a white t-shirt that clung to her body and sandals, and went downstairs. She ate a real breakfast in the kitchen with the husband and wife who did all the cooking for the Zedillos. The two did not speak a lot of English but Cristina laughed when they laughed and noticed how much flesh the two of them carried and the lettuce and carrots in bowls on the counter. After breakfast she went outside and found Regina, the niece of Jorge Zedillo Martinez who seemed to be the family security chief. Regina gave her a looking-over and then returned to polishing her hunting knife. She wore her sandy blonde hair loose around her shoulders and her face bore little trace of her fight against Selina, Cristina’s own woman. Regina was sitting on a bench by the garage, and when she saw Cristina approached her she patted the open seat next to her. “Come and sit next to me,” she said, sliding the knife slowly into its sheath and putting it on her other side. “I promise not to bite.”

“So our good lady doesn’t like you so much,” Regina said. “It’s okay. She doesn’t like a lot of women very much. She doesn’t like me. After her marriage to my uncle she put her own mother in a small house outside of town and no one sees her anymore.”

“She’s going to keep me from getting this deal done.”

“She wants us to stay in business with the Brazilians. The Brazilians like for their partners to stay monogamous when it comes to addictive substances. Their state government still fights them and they do not want the distraction. They are a very serious people, the Brazilians. Very serious, very rich, and very well armed.”

“I got the impression that people here are all about those distractions.”

Regina laughed. She picked up the knife still in its sheath and tapped its point against her thigh. “You have a lot to learn if you intend to do business here. And the first lesson is that here,” she said, indicating the compound with the knife in one half-circle, “is not the same place as there,” she concluded, pointing the knife south.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“My uncle made our family synonymous with Mexico. We have packs of mountain lions that dominate the mountains here. They have killed the coyotes. When one large pack controls a region, it knows which prey to kill and which to leave for the next season. It tends to the land like a farmer. A relationship develops. But there can be a female, large and powerful, that roams on its own. This female kills other females, she hunts for the sake of hunting rather than to feed her young. She needs to kill and through force of will she will make the pack into herself. There is something noble about a pack that lives in balance. The competition makes us honest and makes us vital.”

“More in line with God?” Cristina asked.

Regina laughed at her. “How can a woman who grew up in Florida believe in God? God is not here. Here there are only mountain lions, the last of our oil, and the heat.” Regina hopped off the bench and walked toward a Jeep. “Come with me. I think you should see something.”

Cristina got into the Jeep with her and they left the Zedillo compound. They drove slowly through the city’s streets, taking the same route by which they had entered the city the day before. Cristina had been in the country for two days and she felt like she had seen more food and clean clothing than she had in her entire life to that point. The people who lived close to the family’s buildings worked directly for the family and they lived better than those near the city’s walls, but Cristina suspected that the children who lived at the bottom of society here would turn their noses at how Cristina had lived as a girl after her father died and then later when she began working with other crews and yet later when she first put her own crew together with a loan from Talia Eason. She could feel each gear in the Jeep’s engine turning under her as they went up hills. The heat and dust felt as if they were somehow inside her face and she missed the crisp air of the Zedillo house.

When they were outside the city walls and driving alongside the broken mess that had once been a paved road, Cristina asked, “Do you still want to beat my pretty face in?”

Regina laughed and they drove on before she answered. “I like competition. You strike me as a woman who likes competition. You also strike me as an interesting woman.”

“Are you going to say that I’m a woman who knows what she wants?”

“I’d like to think that you are intelligent enough not to believe that you can actually want a specific thing. Desire is like a snake, always winding its way through world by its own logic without regard for our own plans, our own needs. Plus, it looks like a dick.” The two women laughed together and drove on through the heat.

An hour later they arrived at an oil refinery. They got past the outer checkpoint and then the inner security gate and parked next to what had once been a management building of some kind. Cristina counted 20 security men, all carrying assault rifles, and she saw a handful of workers eating lunch under the shade of the management building and two repairing what she thought was a valve. As they walked through the rusted steel carcass of the refinery Regina said that they this was the only refinery still running. When she was a little girl there had been three. Their engineers had once been trained in a school, but now they passed expertise from teacher to apprentice. And, she said, their oil wells were running dry and they no longer had the technology to find new wells. Without oil they would lose not only their vehicles. They would lose their access to their guns and the electricity and supplies that made the compound possible. They would lose everything. Cristina asked how long they had, and Regina said that it would be a few years if the family were careful.

“But Alejandra is not careful. She has my uncle focused on being more powerful than the Brazilian families and humiliating the Americans who fucked the whole world with their arrogance. Building more and more cars and shopping places as the world started to melt. That’s why she wants to fuck you, because she blames your people for fucking the world. A lot of people here do.”

“I’m not an American. I’m from Italy.” They were sitting alone in an abandoned office building now, out of the sun. Regina recovered a bottle from a secret stash and they drank together.

“She doesn’t care.”

“Why is she looking to ruin your family?”

“She is beautiful and ferocious and now that she has used those qualities to marry my uncle she has power. She’s a bitch.”

“You were calling me that recently, I believe. Or agreeing with her as she did.”

“That’s how the game is played. And you are a bitch. I look at you and I see someone who can match Alejandra in looks and in competition, and you’re the woman we need right now.”

“I just got here.”

“No other woman is arriving now. Alejandra has been married to my uncle for a year and no other woman has arrived here who can challenge her. And you’re the woman I need now.”

Regina leaned in and kissed her as Cristina had known that she would. Cristina had felt this coming since sitting next to her at the house and she let it happen. Regina slid her hands up and down Cristina’s bare thighs and then over her abdomen and her ribs and then her large breasts, squeezing them through the thin material of the shirt, the flesh as if it were some marker of her femininity, her person. Cristina put her hands on the small of Regina’s back and pulled her in close. The two women kissed again, and then Regina pulled Cristina’s hair back and kissed her on the neck and then pulled her shirt up over her head. She trailed kisses down across Cristina’s collarbone and then the beginnings of the swell of her light brown chest and then kneeling down her stomach. But rather than pull down her shorts, Regina focused on her full thighs, her hands holding tightly on her wide hips. Cristina ran her fingers through Regina’s hair as she kissed her and held her lower body. Then Regina stood and grabbing her shirt led her by the hand out the door of the office building.

They got back in the Jeep and drove to a small lake. Still without speaking Regina led her down to the water. It was warm and she felt as if the sun were layering a thick wet blanket over her as she moved. Standing to their knees in the water, the mud oozing around their toes, the two women pulled each other’s clothes off, slowly, tracing their fingers and their mouths over the outline of each other’s bodies as they did. Cristina traced the woman’s large, dark nipples with her thumbs, and Regina stood in front of her with her arms around her neck and her eyes closed as she did. Then Regina slid around behind her and brought her out to where the water was to their shoulders. At first she embraced her from behind, then she began rubbing and gripping her breasts. Each one filled her hand and Cristina leaned back into her as the Mexican woman massaged her breasts, squeezing them and pinching her nipples. The two women began grinding their hips together and as they did Regina nipped at Cristina’s ear and neck with her mouth and slid her hands down her stomach and over her mound. Cristina could not stand it any more and she turned around and kissing Regina with all her force she guided her hand inside of her. The feeling of this other woman moving inside of her body, flicking at her cunt lips and sliding in and out of her. Then when her legs started trembling she started fingering Regina and pulling her hair and moaning from deep inside of herself. When both women were finished they stood in the water like that, arms around each other’s bodies and heads leaning together, the warm water of the forever summer of central Mexico surrounding them.

************************

Cristina stayed in Mexico for another week. The Zedillos had left well before dawn the morning after Cristina’s country escapade with Regina, on some business on the coast that Cristina could not determine. Regina stayed, and Cristina spent early evenings touring different parts of the Zedillos’ business with her and Selina Hu: oil and gas production, farming, repairing the housing units their workers lived in, recruiting and drilling security forces. Their security trained at what had been a police station before the world fell apart. A collection of raw youths were sitting in the lobby when they arrived, smoking and laughing, and Regina had them doing pull-ups and running sprints outside in the heat until they fell down. “Toughens them up,” she said, and then she led Cristina into the basement. Young men and women both were receiving basic self-defense and firearms training, and with gentle prodding Regina got her onto the wrestling mat. They put on a good show for the excited recruits, and Cristina found her as strong and capable as she had expected. The two women both enjoyed straining against each other as their audience enjoyed watching them. After they left the training station they went back to the Zedillo estate and ate dinner and then after dinner Cristina and Regina slipped off together. Regina had an array of dildos, cuffs, lingerie, and other toys and the women spent their nights fucking every way they could think of. There was a tall, muscular soldier Regina kept around for her use, and he joined them and one night brought two friends of his, an equally fit man and middle-aged woman. They were a tangle of bodyparts the horizon of which Cristina could not feel.

A week after their departure the Zedillos returned from the coast. While there, they had overseen the activation of the first set of solar panels in anyone’s living memory. Jorge Zedillo gathered everyone in the mansion’s entryway and from the balcony told them that, on the direction of his beautiful wife who was standing beside him, he had begun an electrical engineering school on the Pacific coast. As he talked about their plans to begin installing the panels on the estate and the houses of their managers in the next month, Cristina noticed the edge of beauty on Alejandra. She was wearing a black skirt and red blouse that showed the regal curves of her chest and hips, and her black hair set her face to excellent effect. Cristina felt the entitlement and superiority rolling off the woman, and it seemed to be aimed directly at her. When Jorge was done talking, Alejandra stepped to the edge of the balcony. “You are all invited to a special dance tonight that we are having here, to celebrate my family’s triumphs and our bringing this great advance to our city.”

Another woman was standing next to Alejandra. She had a dark complexion but her hair was a caramel color, dark with blonde coloring to it, and her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that hung midway down her back. She was several inches shorter than Alejandra, and she seemed to be more athletic in her build but with an enormous chest that seemed every bit a match for Alejandra’s or Cristina’s. She was also a stunning beauty, and Cristina had to rethink her initial impression that Alejandra was the most beautiful woman she had seen. She was wearing a light brown blouse and tight pants and her flesh seemed ready to explode from her clothing. She also wore glasses and black boots. Cristina scrutinized the woman’s face and thought she did not care about how people evaluated her appearance the same way that Alejandra did. Rather, the newly arrived woman was looking at Cristina now with the same intensity Cristina had been looking at her. As the two women stared at each other, Cristina deduced that she was close to Alejandra and that she had been brought to the city for some reason that bode ill for Cristina. “This is my half-sister, Isabelle,” Alejandra said, at which Isabelle stepped forward and nodded her head at the audience. “She has joined us from the coast to help with our new projects and to oversee some of our ongoing operations.”

Afterward, Cristina was summoned to Jorge’s study. Before she went, Cristina changed into new clothes she had gotten while in Mexico, a sheer white blouse that revealed the outlines of her nipples and the underside of her large breasts. Jorge was waiting for her, alone, and when she entered he rose unsteadily and kissed her on the cheek and brought her to his couch. “I’m glad you came to see me, dear,” he said, glancing down at her chest. The cold air of the room tightened her nipples against the fabric of the shirt. “I wanted to give you some good news, well, most of it is good,” he added. He leaned in close to her, and Cristina could feel his impending death seeping out of his skin. “My wife is a big fan of these new solar panels, but this new program is expensive. I’m afraid that she does not have a good understanding of the complexities of the financial systems we are a part of. We are going to need to be in business with your Florida acquaintances, probably for as long as we are making these panels.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Cristina said, letting the words drip out in a low voice. “I’d like to continue working here with you and your family. Someone will need to oversee the business, of course.”

“I’m afraid that my wife would not approve. She doesn’t care for you, as you are aware.”

“I suppose she’s a bit jealous.”

Zedillo laughed, which turned into a cough. His face turned red and he covered his mouth with a handkerchief. As he was hacking, Cristina put her hand on his back and rubbed up and down and as she did she hoped that Alejandra would walk in on them. She could feel the old man’s ribs and spine through the jacket he was wearing. “Thank you,” he said when the fit had passed. “You might be right about Alejandra. We do need to do business with the Barnwells, thanks to her and these fucking panels. And you are the woman they have sent to represent them.”

“If only there were a reason for me to stay besides this deal with the Barnwells,” Cristina said, and he nodded eagerly. “Like, say, if you and I were to start having an affair. Bet your wife wouldn’t like that.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” he answered. “You’re a bit rural now, but I see so much potential in you. I could give you so much, bring out the beauty that I see inside of you,” he said, and he leaned in to kiss her.

But Cristina pulled away. “And how would I benefit from that?” she asked.

“You would have a very nice life, of course.”

“In which I would get to play wife number two to Alejandra.”

“You’d hate that, wouldn’t you? But couldn’t that be part of the fun?”

“For you, maybe. Not for me.” And Cristina rose and left the room.

That night she arrived at the dance an hour late. She was wearing a tight black dress that wrapped itself around her tight midsection and strong thighs and out of which her cleavage seemed to pour. Her hair was wrapped around and hung down over her right shoulder in flowing waves. The dress and hairstyle had both come from a woman in town whom Cristina had paid with a set of gold candlesticks she had taken from her room. Around her neck she wore a gold necklace the stylist had let her borrow after the old woman had exclaimed over how beautiful she was. Before she left the old woman’s house, the woman told her a story. She had been the head of staff for Jorge Zedillo’s father, Eduardo Zedillo Ruiz, and then Jorge after his father died. She said that she had always gotten along with Senor Zedillo and that the father had always been good to her. But then after Jorge took over it changed. He reduced her pay and then her staff and when she complain he pulled her into his office and asked her if she liked having a house of her own and if her husband liked his job. From that day on she never made another complaint and when Jorge’s first wife was dying she got her permission to retire with a stipend. And when she was in the ground, Jorge moved his favorite mistress into his bedroom and told her that he expected her to show up for work. She told Cristina that Jorge Zedillo knew what he wanted and did not let anyone tell him otherwise. She was glad that she had never been a beauty, and she said that if she looked like Cristina she would leave and never return.

There were vases of roses standing next to each doorway and the lights had been turned down so that shadows hung over each face and body. Still it was as if a light shone on Cristina as she walked into the room. Men and women both stopped talking and stared at her. At the bar she found Selina, looking beautiful herself in a strapless green dress that stopped above her knees. Selina had two older men in jackets and open shirts talking to her, but when Cristina approached both men turned away from Selina and toward her, openly looking her body up and down and then asking her name. Selina introduced her as her boss and then the two men nodded and both said that they had heard of the great beauty visiting from Florida. The one with grey hair said that he had heard that the Zedillos were looking to make Florida part of Mexico, and the other asked Cristina if she was planning on staying. Cristina assured them that the first was not true and that the second remained to be seen. She had seen a great many wonderful things in their country, she said, but she also had her own career and her own home to think about.

Cristina saw both men’s eyes widen before a haughty woman’s voice spoke behind her. “I cannot imagine that anything in Florida could tempt a proper woman to stay,” Alejandra said. She was wearing a red dress with thin straps and a slit that revealed her feminine, powerful leg up to the top of her brown thigh. Her back was bare and the front revealed as much of her larger, firm breasts as Cristina’s dress. Her black hair hung loose around her shoulders, and her eyes were alight with the anger she felt toward the Italian beauty. The two women stared at each other for some time. As they stared, each woman brushed her hair back behind her ear, as if they were mirrors of each other in their agitation and their drawing attention to their faces and their dress, their being compared to each other by the men and the women who were gathering to watch the clash.

“I find that it’s the improper things that tempt me the most,” Cristina said. Next to them was the bartender with a pitcher of clear tequila and a set of glasses he had been filling for the guests. Cristina took a glass of tequila from the bar’s offerings and downed it, turning the glass over and banging it on the bar when she was finished. “Something tells me that you know more about the improper things than you’d like your guests to suppose.”

At that Alejandra smirked, a look that conveyed her disdain for the people who filled her house and her displeasure at being confronted by a woman toward whom showing disdain would play as insincere. “Perhaps the best part of obscene wealth is that one’s own history disappears,” she said, and then she put down a tequila with force equal to Cristina’s. “You should be careful, little girl. Foreigners don’t do so well with our intoxicants. It can be very dangerous.”

“I’m confident that I can handle myself.”

“You certainly seem to be confident in that dress. It looks wonderful on you,” Alejandra said, suddenly leaning in closer. She brushed her hair back off of her shoulder and put her hand on the upper arm of the man with grey hair. “Don’t you think that she looks great in that dress, Umberto?” she asked him, and he nodded stupidly. “So much prettier than the tattered dress and pants you were wearing when you landed here. Only a week, and look at how life here with us has improved you. I just can’t imagine wanting to go back to the slums after seeing yourself in such beauty.” Alejandra had been staring at her the entire time she was talking, and she paused to take another drink of tequila. Cristina drank another as well, and the two women slammed the glasses down at the same time. “But, perhaps the thought of standing next to me every night could send you running back to the shithole you crawled out of.”

Cristina slapped her across the face. Alejandra shrieked as she was spun around but in an instant she slapped Cristina in return. The force of the blow drove Cristina back into the bar. Selina and the two men were moving out of the way as Alejandra came for her. Cristina got her knee up in front of her as the larger woman crashed into her, but Alejandra still cracked her in the face with an elbow. The two women stood leaning on each other, both stunned. Each could feel the hair, the perfume and beauty of the other in her face. They came back to life simultaneously. Cristina hit her in the stomach as Alejandra brought her fist up into her breast and then before Cristina could respond Alejandra grabbed her by the hair and pushed her back across the bar. With a snarl she grabbed the pitcher of tequila and poured its contents into Cristina’s face. Cristina felt as if they had been gagged and blinded by paint fumes. Alejandra slugged her in the stomach and then flung her to the ground. As she fell, Cristina came partway out of her dress.

The other woman was on her before she could regain herself. Pulling hair, slapping, their legs and hips pushing against each other and their breasts falling out of their dresses, the two women rolled back and forth on the floor. Alejandra punched her in the side and then in the breast, and in retaliation Cristina ripped down the front of her dress and sank her teeth into her enormous chest, the brown female flesh hot in her mouth. The woman screamed and pulled with incredible strength at Cristina’s hair, so that Cristina had to let loose of her grip on the woman’s tit. Alejandra got on top of Cristina and banged her head on the floor. Cristina gripped one of her exposed breasts, dangling above her face, and squeezed as she tried to break the grip on her head with her other hand. The shocks rattled her brain, and everything was turning into a screaming madness when the other woman was lifted off of her. Zedillo security men were dragging both women to their feet. Cristina saw that Selina had already been restrained by one of their guards, and she also saw that Isabelle was standing next to her.

Alejandra lunged at her, trying to break free. “Let me go! I’m going to ruin that pretty face of yours!”

Cristina strained against the man’s grip that held her. “You come and get it, slut! You’re just jealous of how your husband looks at me.” When she said that, Alejandra came to a stop. “You didn’t know that he offered to let me stay here as his mistress? I was going to turn him down, but if all your parties are this good, I might have to stay.”

Alejandra stared at her, then leapt forward with such strength that she got free of her man. Cristina kicked her legs out in defense, and the rest of the men got between them before they could start fighting again. “I’m going to fucking kill you!” Alejandra screamed as they took her away.

“You’re welcome to try!” Cristina screamed back.

“Stop it,” Jorge Zedillo Martinez said from the doorway.

“Is this puta lying?” Alejandra hissed at him. “Tell everyone that she’s lying. Go ahead. Let everyone see how you treat me. How you put your selfish perversions ahead of the family.” She jerked her arms away from the guard holding her and stepped toward him. “You want some dumb American to run loose in our family because she has big boobs and a pretty face. That’s all you care about.”

“How dare you,” was all he could reply.

“How dare I?” Alejandra said, laughing. “This is how I dare. I’m going to kick this woman’s ass and throw her out of my house,” Alejandra said to their guests, who had been watching. “You are all welcome to watch.”

Alejandra’s dress had been pulled open in its front, leaving her enormous breasts hanging in the open. Cristina’s dress was in worse shape, ripped completely open. The two women kicked off their shoes and then peeled their ruined dress down their voluptuous bodies. Cristina was left in black panties that came up high on her wide hips, the sweat already beading on the smooth skin of her breasts and her hard nipples catching the dim light of the room. Alejandra was in white panties, cut equally high. Sweat was on her even larger chest and her wider hips as well. Tangled black hair hung down in front of their gorgeous faces. Alejandra was taller than Cristina and broader in the chest and hips as well. As the two women circled each other, their breasts swayed slightly with their paces and the deep breaths they took and the muscles of their thighs flexed and twitched. One could only think of two great lionesses ready to clash, to establish their position, each the embodiment of feminine beauty and competition.

Simultaneously they ran forward and threw their arms around each other. Faces and chests pressed together, they gripped each other around the back, pushing and pulling and turning in circles around the room. They crashed into the bar and came off of it and Alejandra got Cristina tumbling backwards and she drove her into the wall on the far side of the room. Guests dashed out of the path of the two brawling women. The collision knocked the air out of Cristina and Alejandra hit her in the stomach with both fists and then as she bent forward clutching herself Alejandra got her in a headlock. Her face was pressed against the swell of the Mexican woman’s breast. Holding her there Alejandra hit her in the face and before she could hit her again Cristina sucked all the flesh into her mouth that she could and bit down on the tit. Alejandra screamed and let go, staggering away holding her chest with both hands. She was paying no attention to Cristina, and Cristina dove into the back of her knees. The women went down to the floor, Alejandra on her stomach and Cristina on top of her. Cristina punched her in the back repeatedly and then sitting up she yanked Alejandra’s head back by the hair. She held the black hair in one hand like a bridle and pulled so that Alejandra’s entire upper chest came up off the floor. She was going to smash Alejandra’s face against the wood floor but the other woman anticipated the vicious move and planted her arms on the floor. Instead Cristina smashed the side of her fist against Alejandra’s face. At last Alejandra had to use her hand to protect her face but when Cristina tried to smash her head forward the two women ended up rolling on the floor together.

They pulled hair. They slapped faces, asses, sides. They squeezed breasts. And they did it all with their faces pressed tight together, so that the smells and sounds and textures of the other woman were as close as they could be. When the two rolled apart they came up to their knees facing each other, gasping for air, sweat running freely down their magnificent bodies, hatred in their eyes. Cristina slapped her across the face with all her might, and Alejandra was turned away but then she came back and slapped her even harder. Cristina was put face down on the hardwood with such force she could not resist as Alejandra pulled her up by the hair and her arm. Holding her by the hair on the back of her head, their faces pressed side to side, Alejandra punched her in the stomach and breasts over and over. Cristina hit her and managed to spin free, but the larger woman followed her. She punched her across the face, putting Cristina down on her ass. Alejandra went for a wild kick to her face, but Cristina saw it coming and had the presence to sit back so that the foot went flying over her and Alejandra lost her balance and fell to the floor. She banged her head on the wood and Cristina crawled on top of her. Sitting atop her she hit her back and forth but the woman under her was still all strength and fierce violence. She slapped Cristina across the breasts with a blow so sharp it rung out over the yells of the crowd still watching them. Cristina opened her mouth in a silent gasp and thrust down her hands. She put one hand around Alejandra’s throat and the other on her face. But the woman bit her fingers and when Cristina reflexively let go she bucked her off. Cristina found herself on her back now with Alejandra on top of her. The dominant woman thrust her fingers deep into Cristina’s buxom breasts, mauling her with all her strength. Cristina screamed and banged her feet on the floor. The pain was so much and the sight of this beautiful woman on top of her torturing her. Cristina grabbed Alejandra’s larger breasts, swaying above her face, but she could not get a grip in their sweat, her panic, her position. Finally in one last surge she pulled Alejandra’s head by her hair to the side and thrust her hips up and rolled Alejandra off of her.

The women staggered to their feet. Cristina hit her across the face and Alejandra hit her back immediately. Cristina threw a weak slap that Alejandra took and she gripped Cristina by the hair and pushed her head down. She held her in place by the hair and drove knees up into her stomach and chest. Cristina grabbed at the knee crashing up into her and threw a punch into Alejandra’s crotch. It stunned the other woman but did not hurt her enough. The two women stood in front of each other, bent at the waist, gasping, and then they clutched together. They grappled turning in a circle and then Alejandra forced her upright and hit her squarely across the face. Cristina was knocked back into the crowd, who shoved her forward. Alejandra took her by the hair and running with her propelled her onto the bar. With a howl of rage she dragged Cristina along the bar by her hair, pushing her face and chest through the spilled wine and tequila and beer, and then off the bar to the floor. Alejandra pulled the exhausted Italian beauty to her feet and leaned her against the bar. She hit her in the face and then in the stomach and then with an uppercut to her breasts. Cristina moaned and shoved Alejandra in the chest but accomplished nothing. Then Alejandra yelled for the guards to open the double doors that led outside to the back of the mansion. “I told you I was going to throw this bitch out of my house.”

Alejandra dragged her by the hair to the door and shoved her onto the concrete balcony above the pond that made up most of the lawn. Cristina hit against the railing with a thud but forced herself to her feet and turned to face her competitor. The women stood still for some seconds, sucking in air, their bodies lit by the torches outside and the heat of the night air. Their noses and lips were bloodied, their torsos and breasts bruised and aching, yet framed in the light they seemed the avatars of femininity, every inch of them signifying the brutality and the elegance of their fight. They came together for their final test. Cristina ducked Alejandra’s first punch but took another to her stomach. She hit the larger woman across the face and in the chest, but her blows did not have enough effect. Alejandra shrugged them off and with a slap rising from below and behind her hip hit her across the face. Cristina was flung back, colliding with the concrete balcony, and then Alejandra kicked her in the stomach and it was over. Cristina fell to her hands and knees, her entire body convulsing, and Alejandra stood over her. She lifted her head up by the hair and hit her across the face, spilling her prone on the ground. Then she kicked her in the side. Cristina tried to roll away but Alejandra lifted her to her feet. Cristina was turned away and she felt Alejandra snake her arms under her own and clasp her hands behind her head in a full nelson. Alejandra turned her to face the entirety of the party, her hands overhead, her battered face and body on display, and she shook her back and forth so that her breasts wobbled for the guests’ pleasure. Then she turned Cristina and drove her into the balcony and then flipped her over into the pond water.

Cristina landed face down in the water. When she rose, she was covered in muddy water and strings of the lilies that decorated the pond. Before she could react Alejandra landed on her feet beside her. She pulled her up the arms and dragged her through the water and then with a snarl heaved her up onto the grass. Cristina landed on her back, her breasts rising and falling as she gasped for air, her arms and legs splayed out. She was done. Alejandra stood over her. The Mexican beauty’s legs, hips, chest were all outlined sharply in the night. “I told you I was going to kick your ass,” she said, and she sat down across Cristina’s stomach. Cristina weakly put up her arms to defend herself, but Alejandra pinned them down. She leaned forward and smashed her breasts down into Cristina’s face, swinging them back and forth before Cristina could react. “Bite my tits, will you, bitch? Let’s see how you like it.” Alejandra bit down on Cristina’s breast, drawing a scream that filled the estate. By now the guests were gathering around them, and some were calling for Alejandra to stop. Leaning forward so that their faces were only inches away, her hands still pinning Cristina’s, her breasts swaying under her, sweat dripping from her face and chest onto Cristina’s prone body, Alejandra stared down into her eyes. “I’m richer than you are, I’m better looking and I have a better body, and now everyone has seen me throw you out of my house. How you like that, bitch? Ready to have some fun now?” So saying, Alejandra rolled off of her and told her guards to take the beaten Italian woman to the basement.