Swampland Ch 8

By Kim

Cristina was sitting at the brow of her boat as it approached the port for Orlando. The sun was bringing all its empty weight down on her but she did not notice. The port was a set of four buildings made of rotten wood and sagging roofs. More than half of her men had returned from Mexico with her, the rest staying for the chance at higher pay, better equipment, and lower risk than they would ever see at home. She was the only woman on the boat and she was returning with no deal with the Mexicans. Halfway across the Gulf the boat’s engine had broken down. It took the mechanic two days to fix it and when he was done the old wreck had lost half its speed. The day the boat clanged against the dock they had drunk their last water and the day before they had eaten their last food. As the Barnwell men tied the boat into place Cristina climbed slowly onto the dock and then she staggered into the best-kept of the buildings in search of a meal.

She and her men had left Mexico two weeks after her fight with the beauty Alejandra, the new leader of Mexico. The first week she had spent recovering from the beating that she had received, the bruises on her face, thighs, chest, her stomach and back. During this time she had lain in bed, alone, much as she had that morning she had fantasized about taking control of the family and the land from Alejandra, except for the guard outside her door who kept her from leaving. The second week Alejandra’s more beautiful sister Isabelle had come into the room. She was wearing a white robe that could not obscure the luscious curves of her body. She was four inches shorter than her sister and two inches shorter than Cristina, but she carried herself as if she were the center of the world. Without speaking she dropped her robe to reveal her naked body and sitting next to Cristina she bent down and kissed her deeply on the lips. Then turning her over she slapped her hard across the ass and pulled on her hair. “So beautiful,” Isabelle said in her ear.

She held Cristina by the back of her hair and pulled her face to her. Cristina kissed her lightly on the mouth then dragged her lips over her chin and her throat. As Cristina kissed her Isabelle traced the outline of her enormous breasts with her fingers, sliding the edges of her nails over the curves of Cristina’s chest in the lightest way. She flicked Cristina’s nipples with her thumb and then grabbed the entire mound of her breast, squeezing softly at first then harder until Cristina moaned. Cristina pushed Isabelle onto her back. She straddled her and pinned Isabelle’s arms down on the bed and hovering over she stared down into Isabelle’s eyes and smiled. She sucked on her nipples while Isabelle ran her hands through her hair and then pulled on it. Then Cristina kissed her on the stomach and the hips and then kissed her on her pussy and licked her until Isabelle lost herself squirming and moaning. After Cristina was done the two women lay together, spooning, Isabelle with her arm draped over Cristina and absentmindedly playing with her breasts and massaging her stomach and hip.

After Isabelle was done with her they dressed and Isabelle took her to the special room in the basement. Inside were two large beds and a rubber mat covering the floor. Cristina’s woman Selina was already there, on the bed with Alejandra. When Cristina saw her she screamed and ran at her. She collided with Alejandra but at the same time Isabelle struck her from behind. The three of them fell to the mat together but in only seconds of tangling the two Mexican women had her handled. Isabelle pinned down her hands while Alejandra sat on her and threatened to have one of her men smash her teeth if she tried anything like that again. Cristina bucked her hips and Alejandra slapped her back and forth and repeated her threat. The rest of the week Isabelle and Selina did as they pleased with Cristina. Midway through the week Cristina provoked a fight with Selina but after the depravations she had endured she was no match and the Asian looker beat easily enough and then spent the afternoon enjoying the magnificent body she had mastered. In turns or all at once, the women pinched and slapped, licked and kissed her face, breasts, stomach and made her do the same to them. And while Cristina was recovering Selina and Isabelle kissed and licked and fucked.

When the week was over Isabelle came and sat next to her on the bed. She told Cristina that they had drank their fill of her and that she was free to return to Florida with the men who were still with her. Selina would not be going, she said. Rather, she, Isabelle, would be going north to Colorado and she had decided to take Selina with her. “I must say that you have been a remarkably good sport about the past two weeks, more than most would have been,” Isabelle told her, as she slid her finger up her thigh and along the swell of her breast. “One might think that you enjoyed it.” Isabelle went on that she was tired of living where it was hot all the time, and she was tired of being the second sister to Alejandra. She was prettier than Alejandra, and smarter, but her sister had married as well as she could have. “I think that I’m more like you,” Isabelle said. “I don’t want to marry into power. I want to take it. I want to make everyone else recognize my greatness, and I’ll beat them into it if I have to. Of course, I’m a bit prettier than you, and I’d guess that I’m smarter since I’m sitting where I am and you’re where you are. So the comparison only goes so far.”

When she said this, Cristina’s arms and legs tensed, her eyes opened wide. “I suspect that you’d like to continue this comparison,” Isabelle said. “But you’ve had a tough week, and before that you had a very bad night at the hands of my delightful sister. I’m not as large as she is and I’m younger, but I assure you that I’m faster than she is, and I’ve had a good deal of experience in these matters as well.”

“Or you could call your guards in here to hit on me if I come at you.”

“I could,” Isabelle replied. “Or, I could make Selina come in here and fight you again, see if she can give you another beating. You came here on a fool’s errand and you are going back the same. We don’t need Florida for anything and my sister doesn’t want to be in business with a bunch of poor people who live in a swamp without electricity.”

“So she’s letting you go live with the savages in the mountains. So your sister thinks you’re the same as us swamp people, then?”

Isabelle slapped her across the face. It rocked Cristina and before she could respond Isabelle pulled her by the hair off the bed and slung her to the floor. Cristina rolled over ready to be attacked again, but Isabelle had stood and backed away. “If you want to do this, okay. Let’s see what kind of claws you have, bitch.”

Cristina rose and the two women circled. Isabelle was wearing expensive white shorts and a white top, and her body made clear its athletic ability as well as its femininity in the swell of her breast and the lean strength of her stomach and legs. Her black hair framed her beautiful face, the wild strands of her hair in contrast to her intelligence and her fierce spirit in her face and eyes. Cristina rushed at her but Isabelle jabbed her in the face as she came and then dancing to the side hit her in the breast. Cristina grunted in pain but she swung around and slapped Isabelle across the face. Isabelle was spun around by the blow and Cristina grabbed her from behind. She threw both arms around her and squeezed and braced herself to lift Isabelle up and throw her to the ground. Isabelle grunted with pain but she twisted and spun free of her grasp. There was surprising strength and speed in her body. As Isabelle turned to face her Cristina hit her across the face. But Isabelle took the hit and punched her in the stomach and the breast and then shoved her back into the wall with a loud thud and then put her hands around her neck and choked her. Cristina pried at her hands and then started hitting her in the head and body. Isabelle let go of her neck but then rammed her knee up into her stomach. Cristina was banged into the wall again and she fell to the ground, stunned and out of breath. Isabelle was going to kick her in the ribs when the guards knocked the door open and separated the two women.

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On the trip back across the Gulf of Mexico in the rickety boat, Cristina sat in her cabin. The first day Cristina used her satellite phone to tell Allison Barnwell the results of the endeavor in a brief call. The men who returned with her played cards and smoked the cigarettes they had stolen from the store near the docks and their mechanic repaired the engine when the oil it had been leaking caught fire. She could feel the decrepit engine vibrating the metal surrounding her and the men yelling at each other and fighting and she could feel their desperation. They would have abandoned her and hired on with the Mexicans, as Selina had, would the Mexican family have accepted them as they had Selina. Now Cristina was limping across the Gulf in a metal shitpot with nothing to show for her trip except bruises and losses. She was in the same situation her father had been, bouncing from one job to the next except that she was on the water and he had been floating above it. She had allowed herself to become one of the people being used. She still had her looks and she could still convince men to do what she wanted but that had gotten her a trip in someone else’s deathtrap and an asskicking from a more beautiful woman.

After the boat docked, two of their men took Cristina to the Barnwells’ private house. Cristina noted the parallels to her drive with Zedillo’s men—who were now more Alejandra’s than the old man’s, thanks in part to her incompetence—to their mansion, except that the Barnwell’s house was isolated in a swamp rather than in the middle of a functioning city. And it was smaller. The men led Cristina inside to an office in the back of the house. She was wearing tight jeans and a newly made shirt that Isabelle had given her when she left, a sort of payment for their time together. Few people in Florida had clothes less than a decade old, and the woman who served as Allison’s assistant took notice of her fresh appearance as well as the men did. The paint was peeling away from the wall, and the room had the stench of mold to it despite the sputter of the air conditioning unit mounted in the window. Cristina was told to wait in the chair until Allison was ready to see her.

As Cristina waited, a busty redhead came in and sat on the couch opposite her. It was Amy, who had become Brandy’s right hand. Her curly hair hung down to her shoulders and framed a beautiful face that wore openly its disdain for Cristina. She had on tight jeans and a tighter shirt that revealed the curves and strength of her feminine body, her flat stomach perpendicular against the sweep of her hips. The women became more tense, each deliberately not looking at the other. Cristina crossed her legs and shook her foot; the other woman flipped her red hair and sighed in a loud voice that grated on Cristina. Amy sighed again and stuck out her imposing chest as she did and the two women locked eyes.

“Do you mind not making that noise?” Cristina asked.

“Do you mind not being a dumb cunt who cost us all a bunch of money?”

Cristina and Amy rose to their feet simultaneously, fists ready, alert and breathing hard. At that moment Allison Barnwell came out of her office and barked at them both to get inside. She indicated for Cristina to sit in the chair facing her desk as she sat, and Amy stood behind her as she spoke. Behind Amy was a set of French doors onto a patio, and beyond the patio was a natural pond about 50 yards across. A ring of trees and overgrown grass and shrubs surrounded the pond, and Cristina stared at the greenage while Allison spoke. Her husband had moved to Atlanta to develop their business interests there. Alejandra Zedillo had become the head of the family business and she had cut off the Barnwells for good for their insults Cristina had made to her and the incompetence she represented. The Zedillos were now looking to make a connection to Colorado, Allison told her, her frown deepening, where the crops grew better and some people were working to re-establish an actual state, with dependable laws and electricity. She would be moving to Atlanta to join her husband once the transition was complete.

“And Brandy is going to be taking over the business down in your old part of town,” she concluded.

“Doesn’t this seem like an overreaction? It’s one piece of bad news. Only a few weeks ago you were looking to expand your business with Mexico, now you’re moving north?”

“We were always moving north, honey. Just looking for the best way to do it. I don’t want to spend my last years melting down here.”

“So where does that leave me?”

“On the trashpile, where you belong,” Amy said.

“She your new bodyguard? Bit of a weakling.”

“I’ll show you what I can do.”

“She is a liaison for right now. It takes communication to maintain relationships. Brandy understands that, but I’m sorry to say that that’s something you never figured out, Cristina.”

“She’s telling you that you aren’t wanted here anymore,” Amy said. She stepped in front of the desk and crossed her arms across her large chest. “And you should know that your friend Selina had been working with me before you left. We turned her, and you never knew about it. Then you lost her because you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”

Cristina rose and stepped right up to her. Their faces were nearly touching. “You want to get rid of me, you fat bitch?”

“Do you two want to do this?” Allison asked.

“I’m ready if she is,” Amy said.

“I’m going to rip your tits off,” Cristina said.

“Then you two can go outside and settle it like women.”

Cristina and Amy went out the French doors and across the patio and into the field next to the pond. Both of them kicked off their shoes as they crossed the patio and the grass was warm under Cristina’s feet. The swing of their hips and the gentle swaying of their breasts bare under their thin shirts, their nipples clear and hard through the material in the rush of adrenaline before their fight, as they walked with purpose and desire. They were walking side by side, out of reach of an early attack and so that they could see each other. When they were in the clearing among the trees they turned toward each other. They circled like two great cats, hair erect and claws flexing in their eagerness to rip each other apart, the Italian brunette and Florida redhead equals in stature and allure. There was no sound other than the chirping of birds, no audience to stimulate.

The redhead rushed forward and slapped the brunette across the face and the brunette slapped her back. Amy threw another slap and Cristina grabbed her hair and pulled her in close. The two women grappled, breasts pushed together, each with one arm gripping at the other’s back and the other driving punches into her opponent’s stomach and side. Their legs and hips twisted and writhed in their struggle. They went down into the grass still clinging together, churning over. They pulled hair, their buxom bodies pressed together, sweat now running freely and mixing with the grass and dirt as they grunted and panted. Amy got on top of Cristina and slapped her across the face, hard, stunning her, and then ripped open her shirt with a triumphant snarl. In response Cristina threw a hooking punch into Amy’s breast that sent her tumbling off of her, screeching in pain. The two women came to their feet, Amy holding her breast and Cristina tossing aside the remains of her shirt.

“That was a new shirt, you white camp bitch,” Cristina hissed.

“Then do something about it.”

The two great cats struck at each other again. They threw wild punches at each other and after some exchanges Cristina nailed Amy across the jar, spinning the redhead around and when she was facing away and stunned Cristina threw her arm across her neck. The two women stumbled about like that, back to front, Cristina holding her in place and choking her and Amy trying to break free, the two grinding against each other in their struggle. Then Cristina yanked and pulled at Amy’s shirt and sliding her hand up under the material she grabbed the enormous breast underneath and squeezed. Amy grunted and threw her elbow back into Cristina’s stomach with all her strength. Cristina lost her hold and stumbled back, clutching herself, and then with a snarl Amy dove into her and the two went down into the dirt again. They rolled back and forth, a writhing fury of catfighting: yanking hair and slapping faces, their hands all over each other’s bodies as they mauled each other. Cristina got on top of her and pulled Amy’s shirt up so that it covered her face and then slugged her across the face and when she was stunned she hit her in the stomach and breasts. Amy struggled under her and Cristina hit her in the face again and then Amy bucked her hips up and rolled her off.

Again the two female brawlers came to their feet, both of them now topless and their jeans tight as skin as Amy took off her ruined shirt. Sweat glistening on their skin, streaks of dirt and grass crossing their torsos, magnificent feminine globes rising and falling on their chests as they gasped for air, hair matted to their foreheads and shoulders, beautiful faces contorted in equal parts rage and exhaustion. They walked deliberately toward each other to finish their fight. They fistfought with the last of their strength. Amy hit Cristina across the face, Cristina slugged her in the stomach and then when she was bent over she kneed her in the breasts. Amy knocked her senseless with a blow to the temple and Cristina backpedaled until her head cleared. Slower and slower they moved, feet plodding through the tall grass, throwing punches into each other’s faces, chests and stomachs. Cristina ducked under a haymaker and punched her in the stomach as she went past, driving the wind from her, and then while Amy was facing away from her Cristina gripped her hair like a bridle and punched her in the back. Amy weakened and fell down to her hands and knees and Cristina stood over her, still holding on to hair, and punched her in the side of the face and head. Amy was moaning with each blow but then she reached back and tripped Cristina. Cristina went to the ground but she was getting back to her feet before Amy could. Amy pivoted and lunged forward, her head down and arms reaching out, trying to ram Cristina, but she was too fatigued and moving too slowly. Cristina blocked her and turned her to the side and Amy went to the ground. She lay sprawled on her back, breasts rising and sinking, staring up at the sun. Cristina sat on her face, Amy’s arms under her powerful thighs, and she punched her in the stomach and her breasts until Amy stopped moving under her. Then she sank her claws into Amy’s chest, mashing and kneading the feminine flesh, as Amy mewed weakly under her. She sat up, hands resting on her knees, gasping for air, sweat pouring into her eyes, and she pushed her black hair back behind her ears and stared down at the magnificent body of the woman who lay beaten under her and then when her desire was satiated she rose and stumbled back to the Barnwells’ house.

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Cristina was alone in her bedroom. She could hear the yelling and camaraderie from her bar and the rain pounding the roof above her. She was sitting on her bed, her legs curled under her and her forearms braced on her knees, and then she rose and stretched her body. She put on her red panties, her black stockings, sliding each up her muscular legs, and then her red demi bra with her voluptuous breasts spilling over the thin material. She had spent the last of her money on the red dress that hung on the closet door, and she paused to look at herself in the mirror before putting it on. She admired the curves and the force of her body. The dress when she put it on emphasized her hips, her breasts, her legs, every inch of her, and her black hair framed the beauty of her face. She put on the lipstick and eye shadow she had gotten from Talia Eason and looked at herself one last time and then left her bedroom.

The mud was thick in the streets and the entirety of the slums and when Cristina had arrived at The Swampland her shoes were ruined. She kicked them off and checked herself as she passed by the glass front of the whorehouse. She tossed her umbrella aside at the door and despite it her head and body had become soaked in her trek. The black tresses hung around her face and the dress clung to the wetness of her skin and it was as if she were alight with sensuality. As she entered the bar men and women both stepped aside for her. The women stared with envy and the men with desire and she ignored both of them. She went to the bar and said that she was there to speak with the cuntslack Brandy Connor. One of the whores went upstairs and the nearest bartender poured her a whiskey that she downed. She refused the second. While Cristina had been in Mexico Brandy had started remodeling the bar. There were two-by-fours nailed into place that would double the length of the bar and two new poker tables in the middle of the floor.

“Looks like you’ve come into some money,” Cristina observed to the bartender. The man ignored her and went to wipe down the bar at the far end.

“Run a business right, it grows,” Brandy said from behind her. “Run it like a slack-jawed bitch, it dies.”

Cristina turned, expecting to be rushed, but Brandy was standing with her hands on her hips some twenty feet from her. Everyone had cleared the space between the two women. The Swampland’s manager was wearing a blue dress that exposed the deep valley of her white cleavage and the broad sway of her powerful hips. Her blonde hair lay in curls about her shoulders, and her beautiful face evidenced nothing but contempt for the brunette smuggler. The sweat of the thick night air hung on her skin as the water beaded on the skin of the other woman. Cristina turned completely to face her and the two women stared at each.

“Bold talk for someone who got her ass kicked last time.”

“You here to try me again?”

“I’m here to take away everything you have.”

“And I’m here because I owe you an ass-kicking for what you did to Amy a few weeks ago.”

“I’m going to take a great deal of pleasure giving the same to you.”

“This is between us,” Brandy said to her men. “No one interferes.”

The two women began circling. They stared into each other’s eyes, their hands out to their sides and their breath quickening. Brandy tried to throw a slap but Cristina ducked under it and slugged her in the stomach. Brandy grunted and was driven back a step but when Cristina tried to hit her with a wild right to the face the blonde lunged to the side and out of the way. Cristina rushed her but Brandy hit her with a short punch to the chest and then slapped her across the face as she covered herself with both hands. The two women came together in a clinch and turning in a circle they punched each other in the sides. Cristina shoved her away and Brandy stumbled as she hit the table and then she fell to the floor. As she got back to her feet Cristina grabbed hold of her hair and holding her in place slugged her across the face. Then she brought her to her feet and hit her with a left and right to the face. The blonde toppled back to the floor and Cristina dove atop her. The two women rolled over each other, pulling hair and hitting as best they could. At last Brandy got on top of her and slapped her face with rights and lefts and then she pounded her head on the ground. Cristina reached up and grabbed hold of her breasts, ripping away the front of the blue dress as she did. Brandy screamed in pain and got off of her.

Cristina pulled herself to her feet on one of the new poker tables. Her hair, face, and dress showed the signs of her fight. Brandy looked much the same, with the front of her dress torn away and her buxom breasts swinging freely as she moved. The two women stopped and drew sharp breaths and then snarling ran at each other. Brandy reached for Cristina’s hair but the Italian beauty lowered herself and put her shoulder into the chest of the other woman. She drove her legs forward with all her strength and rammed Brandy into the wall. Cristina tried to raise herself up to punish the blonde but she found herself held in place. Despite the force with which she hit the wall Brandy clamped her arm around Cristina’s neck in a headlock and with her other arm pounded her fist into her back. In return Cristina hit her in the thigh and the side but neither woman could make sufficient impact. After the two had beaten on each other in this fashion Brandy lifted her feet from the ground and they fell in a tangle on the floor. Scrambling and grunting in their effort they pulled hair, their bodies straining against each other in the most feminine style, breast to breast and hip to hip with their legs intertwined and all of themselves struggling against the other woman. Brandy got Cristina pinned against the wall and after slapping her face repeatedly she slugged her in the stomach with all her strength. Then she hauled the Italian to her feet by her hair and wrapping her left fist around the material of the front of her already ruined dress she slugged her across the face with a wild right. The dress tore away and Cristina was sent tumbling through a table and set of chairs to the floor. She lay motionless at first, her dress ripped entirely open, her breasts rising and falling as she gasped for air. The force of the punch sent Brandy into the table as well nearly as spent as her opponent.

Cristina rolled onto her stomach and tried to push herself up but Brandy was first. She brought her foot down onto her back, driving her into the floor, and then she kicked her in the side. Then she bent over and dragged the remains of Cristina’s dress off of her shapely body. Cristina swiped her hands to ward off her tormentress but Brandy had the once-beautiful dress away from her too quickly and too easily. She paraded the red shambles for the crowd of the The Swampland, who cheered and applauded. And then Brandy draped the red cloth across her own ruined dress, sashaying and gyrating for their entertainment. Cristina saw that the blonde was mocking her and in a new rage she pushed herself to her feet and came after her. Brandy turned to face her but Cristina slapped her across the face and hit her in the stomach and as she was bent over she drove her knee up into her chest. The blow put the blonde down on her hands and knees and Cristina in her exhaustion fell down on top of her. She got behind her and locked her legs around the blonde’s waist. Then while squeezing as she could with her thighs she clamped onto her breasts and mauled her. In her pain Brandy writhed and yelled and pulled at the hands on her breasts. At last Brandy twisted around and snapped her elbow back into Cristina’s face. She was stunned and she lost her hold of the blonde.

The black- and yellow-haired brawlers lay side by side on the ground. Slowly they got to their knees, the two of them now topless and wearing only their panties and the remains of their stockings. The ruins of their dresses and bras were on the floor but their feminine desire was unquenched and they crashed together on their knees, breast to breast, hands dug into hair. They rose to their feet together. Brandy was the first to let go and she hit Cristina in the stomach. But the brunette took it and turning her hips she flung the blonde into the bar. Brandy slumped face down on the wood. Christina hit her in the back and then she lifted her head up by the hair and slammed it down into the bar. Then she lifted her off the bar again and turned her around and shoved her so that her back struck against the wood again. The women stood facing each other. Their large breasts topped by erect nipples, the sleek lines of their torsos running down to their wide hips and legs all running with the honest sweat of their exertions.

Christina turned her around and wrenching her head by the hair and her arm up her back propelled her toward the door. But as they rushed outside Brandy grabbed the doorframe and sent the two women spinning into the quagmire of the street. Rain was pouring down and they slid through the mud. Cristina was sitting up when her blonde opponent leapt upon her. The two churned over each other in the mud, yanking hair, slapping bodies, mauling breasts. The Swampland’s entire constituency watched them fight. At last Brandy was straddling her and Cristina could not push her off. Brandy slapped her across the face and then took both of her breasts in her hands and squeezed. Cristina sobbed as she tried to pull the hands off and then she hit Brandy across the face and hit her breasts but she did not have the strength left to hurt the woman as she was hurting her and then she was crying out with pain and rage and humiliation. Then Brandy rotated so that she was sitting facing the other direction, with Cristina’s arms under her womanly thighs, and she slapped and squeezed her breasts and pounded her stomach until Cristina felt that she had died. When Brandy finally stood, Cristina rolled over in the mud, covering herself, unable even to cry or say that she gave.

Brandy rolled her onto her back and stood over her. Cristina was forced to look up at the jutting breasts and beautiful face outlined by the flickering lights of the street and the pounding hot rain. “And don’t,” Brandy panted, “you show your ugly fucking face here again.”

THE END