A Challenge Unspoken
By Double R

Sometimes you just know.
I can’t explain it, really. I think it’s something that evolves over time, the fighting woman’s ability to recognize a sister, but evolve it does. I’m 38 now and I can look at another woman and recognize her craving to get it on, to match our bodies and test our will to dominate one another. No words are necessary.
Sometimes you just know.
It was that way with Jean. The moment I saw her I knew two things: we would fight and our fight would be epic. Remembering the first time we saw one another—just two weeks ago—and the match that followed still makes me hot. It also makes me realize that we aren’t done. Not yet. We won’t be done until one of us has the other pressed to the carpet and can feel the heaving of her opponent’s breasts against her own and the damp mingling of female sweat and arousal. I hope I am the one looking down into Jean’s face and savoring her realization that I am the better woman.
Jean was an unexpected guest at a weekend party at our place organized by my husband, Tom. Well, I didn’t expect her. I have my suspicions about Tom. He’s become somewhat skilled at finding opponents for me. For all I know he may have orchestrated the whole damned thing just to get us in the same room at the same time because he knew what would happen. If it was Tom’s doing I’m almost sorry that he only got to see the end of our first battle.
She came in with a guy half her age and he was strutting like the cock of the walk. I can’t blame him. Jean was a goddess. I pegged her as my age or a tad older but I was a little surprised when I found out later that she was 41. Very little about her 5’7” body gave her age away. Her tits were massive and still sat up high on her chest, straining at the fabric of a low-cut black blouse that came down just to the bottom of her navel and left an enticing gap between the hem of the blouse and her blue jeans. The skin there was tan with the faintest hint of a stretch mark or two that did nothing to diminish her sexiness. Newsflash: real women aren’t perfect and they don’t have to be. I’ve got a dimple or two on my thighs and they’ve never stopped me from turning my share of heads. She had white blonde hair that was cut short but full-bodied and elaborately styled. I was already thinking about what it would feel like between my fingers as I grabbed two glasses of wine from the bar and made my way over to where Jean stood.
“Hi!” I flashed my best smile and it was returned. “I don’t think we’ve met. My name is Marla.”
I extended my hand and Jean took it. Our handshake lingered a little longer than normal as Jean applied just the right amount of dominant pressure. Her red lips curved upward in a confident smile while she sized me up. I stood a little more erect to give her the full measure of my 5’6” frame. The short blue dress I’d chosen revealed enough of my bosom to let her know I had the goods, too, and Jean’s blue eyes darted quickly downward to take in the hardness of my thumb-sized nipples. Her own nipples responded in kind and poked at the fabric of her blouse. I brushed back my shoulder-length brown hair to give her a clear view of my high cheekbones and soft neck.
“I’m Jean. This is your place?”
“It is. I hope you find it comfortable.”
“Oh, I do! I absolutely love the décor. You must give me a tour.”
“My pleasure,” I said and motioned for her to follow. Jean’s boy-toy made to follow but Jean stopped him with a single glance. “Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’ll have her back in a jiffy. Have a drink. Mingle.”
As we walked off I caught sight of Tom across the room. He lifted his whiskey glass to me and winked.
Sneaky bastard.
I led Jean upstairs, away from the noise of the party. She took in the surroundings and complimented my taste in art. We passed a large painting that depicted two Spartan girls wrestling nude in a clearing. One brunette girl had another gripped in a powerful bear hug as their breasts flattened against one another.
“This one is especially nice,” Jean said and smiled.
“Yes, it is my favorite.”
We reached a locked door at the end of the upstairs hall and I entered four numbers on a keypad set into the wall. A click sounded and I opened the door, standing aside so that Jean could enter. Once we were inside I flipped a switch that bathed the room in a soft amber glow. I closed the door behind us and it locked automatically.
The room was covered in deep, plush carpet the color of pink roses. There was no furniture but more artwork of women in combat adorned the walls. In the very center of the large room there were four brass stands that formed a square enclosure with three lengths of soft velvet rope on each side. I looked at Jean and was pleased to see that she was impressed.
“I don’t think I’ve ever wrestled in a room this nice,” Jean said, and she was already removing her blouse. “It will almost make me feel bad to beat you in it.”
“Nude?” I asked, ignoring the taunt.
“Preferred,” Jean answered. “But…your turf, your rules.”
I slipped out of my dress revealing my lacy blue bra and panties. I was taking it slow, letting Jean see each curve and muscle group. “Oh, I think nude suits us both.” I unhooked my bra with one hand and my 38 C boobs came free. They swung as I bent forward to remove my panties to expose a full but neatly trimmed bush.
Jean had discarded her blouse and jeans and stood before me in a black thong and black bra. Her back arched seductively as she used both hands to undo the bra and let it slip free. Her breasts were even more spectacular than I had imagined them to be; puffy brown areola topped with petite pink nipples that stood out in contrast to her tan body. She hooked her thumbs into the band of her thong and slowly slid them around to push the thong over her ample hips. Her own bush was almost invisible, blonde and neatly groomed into a landing strip.
We stood on the outside of the velvet ring, hands on hips, taking in each other with our eyes. She was slightly bigger than me but I wasn’t the least bit intimidated. I’ve fought bigger.
“Rules?” I asked.
“Well, we do have a party to get back to. Don’t want to raise any eyebrows.”
“Agreed. No scratching then?”
“No. And no face punches, Marla. Let’s keep it sensible.”
“Body punches okay?”
“And hair pulling, of course, for leverage. ANY hair.”
I instinctively touched my bush. “That’s fine. Pin or submission, Jean?”
“Either.”
I nodded. “Let’s get it on.” We shook hands again and I stepped over the velvet ropes into the square enclosure. Jean followed and we began to slowly circle one another.
Little by little our circle tightened until we were close enough to feel one another’s breath. Without a word we locked up like two professional wrestlers and I deftly applied a side headlock. I cinched it down tight feeling the weight of Jean’s ponderous breasts against my side. Her left hand was on my left hip and her right was splayed across my navel…measuring. With lightning quickness she drew back her right hand and drove a fist right below my navel. My breath left in a whoosh as I doubled over. Jean quickly applied her own side headlock and ratcheted it down with quick movements of her left arm. Once she had me secured with my face buried in her huge tits, Jean bent her right knee and took me to the ground ass over teakettle. My back hit the carpet with a dull thud and Jean was across the top of my body, headlock still in place.
“One,” Jean began to count.
Using all of my strength I lifted my legs and swung them back toward my head. When they cleared Jean’s head I snapped them forward again to trap her in a headscissors and break the headlock. I slapped my thigh for good measure as I squeezed. Jean’s head was clamped firmly between my thighs. I grabbed one of her wrists to stabilize the hold and immobilize her. From my viewpoint her soft stomach was a beautiful target and I used my free hand to sock home a punch to the ribcage.
“Yeah!” I exclaimed.
Jean was calm and reserved. It didn’t appear that my punch even phased her. I balled my fist again and this time took aim at one of her boobs. I drew back my hand slowly intending to deliver the maximum blow, but as my fist hung suspended in the air a curious warmth began to spread across my most private area. Jean had turned her head just enough to work her tongue into the cleft of my womanhood. My eyes went wide and I shivered.
“This is not a sexfight, bitch!”
Jean did not respond, just kept flicking her tongue in and out of my slit. I released my hold as my arousal began to increase. Jean was ready. She rolled over and was on top of me in a flash, grapevining my legs. She grabbed my hair with her right hand and used her left to deliver two short jabs to the side of my right breast. I groped blindly and found her short blonde hair and then we were in a roll, pulling for all we were worth. My scalp was on fire.
I tried to get my knee up into Jean’s exposed crotch as we rolled but she was too smart for that, expertly blocking my thrust with her own knee and thigh. We came to a rest against the velvet ropes and got to our knees with our hands still firmly entangled in one another’s hair. Jean’s back was to the ropes and I experienced a brief moment of exhilaration. My turf. I had been in this position many times. I released Jean’s hair and then brought my arms up beneath hers to force Jean to let go my own hair. As her arms came free I used two of the ropes to trap them. She was held helpless in the velvet.
“Mmmm,” Jean grunted and struggled to dislodge her arms. I slowed down her efforts with a punch that was a little low. It caught her right on the top of her blonde bush. I was breathing hard and took a moment to take in air while I pushed my disheveled hair out of my face. I put my left hand on Jean’s right shoulder to steady her against the velvet ropes and then drew back a forearm with bad intentions. It crashed down right on top of Jean’s massive breasts with a loud SMACK. Her boobs quivered on impact and she groaned. I’d hurt her with that blow but I knew she was a tough bitch. I threw an uppercut that flattened her left nipple and sent her breast so far skyward that it almost hit her chin.
“Give up,” I instructed her.
By the time I realized my mistake it was too late. The force of the blow had released Jean’s arms from the velvet. She bent forward at the waist and drove her shoulder into my stomach. Then she heaved upward and tossed me over the velvet ropes and out of the ring.
Jean took her time stepping over the ropes to stand over me. She reached down and grabbed a handful of my hair.
“Get up, bitch.”
I struggled to my feet and was helpless as Jean snaked her arms under my armpits and clasped her hands behind my back. I was crushed as she applied a merciless bear hug. I could feel her breasts mashing against my own, our pubes becoming tangled. She raised me just enough to lay her head against my chest as she squeezed.
I grabbed for her hair but Jean jerked her hold tighter causing me to arch my back in pain. She shook me a couple of times and I cried out. I was starting to feel faint and was powerless to stop Jean from leaning into me and forcing me to the ground. She put all her weight on top of me and started to count.
“One…two…”
My right hand was trapped by my side underneath Jean’s crushing grip but my left had become free and was just outside of her hip. I did the only thing I could think of. I groped for her snatch and found it. My intention was to squeeze as hard as I could but my hand was met by a moistness and two of my fingers slipped inside of her. Unable to complete her count, Jean grimaced in a mixture of frustration and pleasure. She stared down at me and to my surprise began to grind against my fingers.
Sexfights don’t bother me. I’ve had plenty of them. But this fight was to a pin or a submission. All that mattered to me was winning in the fashion we agreed to. I withdrew my fingers and used the hand to punch Jean in the small of her back until she rolled off of me. We separated and got to our knees at a healthy distance from one another. Both of us were hurting. After a few minutes we got to our feet and stepped back into the ring. Jean raised her fists and I did likewise.
Punches flew in a flurry. Breasts were bashed and stomachs were slammed with vicious lefts and rights. Neither of us went down. Eventually we wound up in an embrace that was better suited for lovers as our tired arms threw weak fists at one another’s ribcages. I’m not sure how long we would have kept going. For the first time I had found a woman that could take everything I had to give and keep coming. The sweat ran down our backs in rivets. Just when I thought I couldn’t raise my arm to throw one more punch, the lock on the door clicked.
Jean and I turned our heads to see Tom and Jean’s boy-toy standing in the doorway. They were looking at us in amazement. It was apparent that they expected one of us to have suffered defeat.
Jean and I released our embrace and collapsed to the floor. We lay side by side, breasts heaving, battered and bruised.
“No contest,” I gasped.
“Rematch,” Jean breathed.
It was not a question.