Who is This?
By Rival's Rapture

There is a dark truth to our modern lives, one that is at times both terrifying and at others: one’s only glimmer of hope.

The carousel never stops turning.

No, it simply goes -- around and around, with days passing by in a blink, with eyes that close to sleep, opening to wake in what feels like an instant. Clock in, clock out. Return. Repeat. It is a marathon we each run, until our legs give out, our back breaks, our eyes dim, and our minds fog.

One morning amongst so many, that painful truth dawned on Lauren, as she sat drinking her room temperature coffee, in her grey-rug-wall cubicle. The realization came suddenly, as her mind ran through all she had done the day before, not just at work, but on her lunch break, and when she got home: the cleaning, the shopping, the banking, the bills…. The list made her proud for a brief moment, before she compared it to what she had to do on that day, and the day after that. What she had done in weeks previous, and for every year she could at that point clearly remember….

Such doldrums are what love was for, the blonde thought to herself -- what her husband David was supposed to cure. Yes, there was a time when he did, the memories of his sweet demeanor and romantic gestures brought a smile back to her face even then as she sat pondering. He was so kind and funny -- patient and adventurous. But now…? Less so, in every moment and every venture. He worked hard at his job, she knew. He was a lawyer, and there was a stress to that. An exhaustion. Too much speaking, listening, and thinking for him to come home and light up with fire and excitement. And yet still … in his job of distracting Lauren from the day to day grind, he was failing, regardless of cause or career.

Often, such moments of clarity fade into the back of one’s mind, as they work and wage, and in fact, that is what Lauren expected would happen. That through the monotony of her day and life, that by 5 o’clock, her terrifying realization of modernity’s cruel and unbreakable shackles would be forgotten. To her dismay, however, Lauren found that even as she drove home, the painful realization haunted her. Twisting every thought, and dragging it back to her own exhaustion with life. But somewhere along her drive home, as one street turned to the next, and as on-ramp turned to off-ramp and then back again, the blonde’s focus shifted, moving from her own boredom to her husband’s sudden inability to cure it.

What happened...? She asked herself. Had he changed...? Had she...? She internally queried between dingy street lights flickering on for another night of use. Once, not too long ago, David was the salve to every wound, and the smile that graced her lips in the morning, and returned to her whenever his well-manscaped image entered her mind. But now, to her growing dismay, he was just different. In some ways -- in every way, even if she hadn’t yet collected, counted, and analyzed them.

Driven by those thoughts -- plagued by them as she was, that night, Lauren watched David. Listened to him. Examined him, closely to see what he -- what THEY had truly become.

He was quiet, but smiled. Exhausted, but kind. He would say he loved her, to which she would respond in kind. But even when they were talking about the weather or politics, his eyes and fingers remained glued to his phone. And with them there, and more often than one might expect, David would smile and laugh while looking at his screen. When Lauren would comment, he replied that he was on Facebook or Tumblr, reading memes and funny stories. But for some reason, though she had never had reason to distrust him before, she did.

As the night passed, Lauren continued to study him. Noticing that he would keep his phone with him, even when such was a burden. He would sit with his back to her, or aim the screen away, even when it left him in a position that seemed unnatural, odd, and even uncomfortable. At first, his actions were concerning, by sunset they were alarming, and by the time each laid down to sleep, Lauren was sure: something was going on. Someone had her husband’s attention, and it certainly was not her.

From that night on, the blonde became a detective, never going so far as to take his phone, but only to keep a keen eye on David’s comings, goings, and suspicious behavior. As she did, she would try to imagine what he was doing, why he was doing it, and if her own fears that he was cheating on her were real. Her investigation continued, until finally, sparked by nothing more than an inability to continue without knowing, Lauren decided that she would talk to him and give him the chance to explain or confess. That is before she was forced to take more drastic and privacy-invading steps.

But when the mood struck to talk, neither she nor David were in the safety of their home -- hidden away from others to have a possibly marriage altering conversation. No, instead they were both, once again, at their respective places of work, as it seemed they always were. But such placement and predicament would not stop Lauren, not when she needed to know. Not when every moment of her day had been spent picturing him in bed with another woman, him fucking her atop his desk at the office. His dick sliding in and out of her, as he bent her over, grabbing her hair to bring her body back to his -- each of them moaning. Screaming. Whispering words of passion to each other through desperate gasps for air. And so, driven mad by a need to answer the questions that echoed through her tortured mind, Lauren picked up her cell and called, fully intending on telling David of her suspicions. On forcing him to come clean, though to what end, she had not yet decided.

“Hey, babe. You would not believe the day I’ve had.” David answered, less than romantically.

“Hey, before you start....” Lauren said softly into the receiver, hiding the importance of the questions to come. “...can we … uh ... talk?”

“Uh … actually, honey, it’s not a great time right now. I just got out of a meeting with the partners, and they’re sandbagging me again. Not only do I have to write the briefs James assured me he would take care of three weeks ago, but apparently, I’ll be the one arguing them too. And guess what … the hearing is not only TOMORROW, but in NEW YORK.” David said with an irritated emphasis, noting the absurdity of the task, given that he and she lived in Los Angeles, California.

“Oh no!” Lauren exclaimed in support of his complaining, she still, even amidst her torment, finding it hard to argue with a man she truly loved.

“I know…. Can’t believe it.... Well, I can, but I tried to get out of it. And their response…? That without me, we’re going to lose the motion, the case, and I’ll probably lose my job.” Make no mistake, Lauren still wanted to know -- still NEEDED to know, but she knew, or at least had decided, that it wasn’t the right time. Not with all of that on his plate. Maybe when he got home that night, or back from New York.

“Ok, well -- maybe tonight then; I really think we need to talk....” Lauren commented in a voice that would raise alarms in most men, though David seemed not to notice.

“Maybe -- it’ll be late. I’d guess around 10:30 PM, and then I’ve got to leave at something like 4:00 AM to catch my flight, so I’m going to need some sleep, babe.” David explained, with an expectation in his voice that Lauren would understand and push for a ‘talk’ no more.

“We’ll talk when you can, honey. Just don’t drive if you’re tired.” Even as she said the words, Lauren felt stupid. If David was cheating on her, which she hoped he was not, she just handed him a blank check not to come home, and to stay with whatever floozy he had been fucking. But the kindness of a relationship once perfect had not fully faded yet.

“No, I’ll be home tonight -- trust me.” To Lauren, the word trust sounded almost dirty coming from his mouth. “I love you!” He finished, professing his love in such a tone that it almost sounded like a question -- a test, to see if Lauren suspected anything.

“Love you, too.” Lauren responded quickly, and in a manner meant to reassure.

‘Click’, their call ended, leaving Lauren again in her cubicle, her caramel brown eyes staring out across the sea of corporate utility, mired in her state of marital futility. A futility that led her to worry. To dwell. To almost daydream, though it was far more a daymare. And there he was in each of them. Fucking her. Again and again. God it made her angry. Sick. Disgusted. Not just with the slut she pictured, but with David -- and truthfully: herself. How could she have let it get this far…? Why did it take her so long to notice…? What had she done, or not done, that would let David slip away…? The weight of those questions and the answers that she found within herself were too much. Too painful. And so she latched on to the only hope she could. That he wasn’t cheating…. That he wouldn’t…. That she was just being paranoid, and there was a logical explanation for everything she had noticed….

But even as she clung desperately to that last gleaming hope, she found it taken from her. For that night, Lauren saw David only as he crawled into bed near 11:59 PM, smelling, looking, and feeling as if he had just gotten out of the shower.

“Did you just shower?” Lauren asked, confused and half-asleep.

“Yeah, I won’t have time in the morning. Anyway, sorry I’m so late. You get back to sleep, babe, it’s almost midnight....” Despite her own anger at David for not coming home, the suspiciousness of his scent-and-lipstick-cleaning shower, and the resulting tears that ran down her face when he didn’t, she took his advice, and went back to sleep.

The next morning, when Lauren woke, David was already gone. He did not kiss her goodbye, or even wake her to say it, he was just gone.

Lauren was irritated: yes. Suspicious: yes. Even preemptively angry about an affair she was now certain he was having. But she still loved him. Still wanted him. Still missed him, not just the way that he was when they first met, but in whatever state she could have him. In that strange mix of expected and assumed betrayal, but also longing affection, did Lauren get up, and get ready for another day. Or at least that’s what she planned on doing, until she saw it. David’s cell phone, left on the bathroom counter, sitting next to toothpaste, brush, and the cologne he wore and that she had hated since he first bought it.

At first, she only stared at it, unsure what to do. They had always respected each others privacy, after all. In fact, they had even had conversations about how pathetic it is when couples don’t trust each other. When they resort to sifting through the others social media accounts looking for likes or comments made by anyone they saw as a possible rival or demanding to see the others cell phone to check for any taboo behavior. But after all she had noticed, how could she? It was there, in front of her, the phone he had been guarding like the grail for … well, she wasn’t quite sure. Maybe she would just peek, she thought to herself, as she grabbed the phone, lifted it up, and turned its screen to face her. Once done, however, there it was. A text. From a contact without a name.

Sliding the message to the right on the screen, Lauren opened the text, and found that it sat alone, without any messages appearing to have ever been sent or received from the number before. The message read: “Did she say anything last night? Do you think she knows?”

From the moment they were read, the words repeated in Lauren’s mind, over and over again like a chant. All day the two questions followed her -- plagued her. A state she aided, by keeping his phone with her all day and keeping it charged at 100%, making sure that she would not lose the message -- making sure would have the text to study and to anguish over.

Anger. Sadness. Heartache, she felt them all. But also excitement, strangely. An excitement which made her heart beat fast, and her thoughts jump from one emotion to another quickly, only to settle on the thought: who was this person? How could she find them? Meet them? And then force them go away and leave her husband alone?

One might assume that Lauren would want to punish David. Yell at him. Leave him, and find a man who would not cheat on her. But those thoughts never passed through the blonde’s mind. No, she wanted David. She loved him, through and through. And despite his betrayal, she wanted him, forever, to grow old with him and have his children, just as they had discussed so many times before…. But she could only do that, if she could claw him free of the person who sent the text -- whoever it was.

That day passed with Lauren distracted and work went on waylaid by her obsession with the message. Such focus, or lack thereof, did not pass when Lauren clocked out for the day, or when she drove home from the office. Nor did it ebb when she stripped off her blue blouse and beige skirt, leaving herself what laid underneath, a pair of black lace thigh-highs, with a matching set of lacy black bra and panties. In such attire, did the blonde crawl into bed, despite the early hour. She took with her not a book, or the TV remote, but instead only David’s phone.

“Did she say anything last night? Do you think she knows?” She read out loud once, then twice, her voice heard by none but she. As the words passed her lips, her chest grew hot, her breath began to quicken, and deep within her she felt something stirring. She could not explain it. It was almost a lust, a passion, not for David, or for sex, but for conflict -- with this person, whoever they were.

Slowly, that feeling, however it might be described, began to work its way closer and closer to the surface, her hand lingering without intention down and into her panties. Still without noticing, she being lost in her repeated reading of the text, Lauren began to gently stroke her clit. As she did, she imagined, as was almost certainly the case, that the person was a woman, and that she was David’s mistress. From there she pictured she and this woman meeting. Herself confronting her. That they were yelling and screaming at each other, and then after one insult or twenty, they each launched towards one another and after falling to the floor they began to roll. Suddenly from the daydream Lauren woke, finding her finger deep inside herself, with her head laid back against the backboard, and her mouth open letting loose soft moans of pleasure. In shame and confusion, the blonde quickly retracted her hand, and slammed the phone down on the bed, her eyes searching the room for an answer as to what was happening and what had gotten into her.

After a moment, her heartbeat slowed, her breathing calmed, and she was again merely sitting on the bed. She again looked at the phone, half-tempted to pick it back up, and half to hide it somewhere until David returned. But as her hand lingered over top of it, she still deciding which path to take, it rang.

After fumbling to quickly take it into her grasp, Lauren lifted the phone, to see that the call was from the number which sent the text. The woman she had just fought with in her unwanted fantasy. At that moment the blonde wife found herself afraid, of both her own unexpected desires, and finding out who might speak if she answered. And yet, despite those fears, she answered.

“Hello?” Came the woman’s voice, without even waiting for a greeting, one that was smooth and confident -- sexy and strong.

“Who is this?” Demanded Lauren, her heart once again beating at a fevered pitch.

“Who is THIS…?” Responded the woman in a soft, confident hiss, refusing to give her name first.

“My name is Lauren, and I’m David’s wife!” Lauren spat, expecting the words to have a shaming effect on whoever it was she was speaking to.

“Hi Lauren, my name is Claire, and I’m David’s mistress.” Defiantly the response came, making clear that she, this ‘Claire’, was not afraid to admit who she was, or stake her claim to being David’s.

In silence the two sat, on other ends of the phone, as each came to grips with not only what the other had said, but the consequences of two such opposed women speaking.

“I knew he had a mistress.” Lauren commented, making clear her own recent realization.

“And I knew he had a wife....” Unlike Lauren’s comment, Claire’s was stinging, though it was not said with cruelty.

Again, after only two sentences, they paused again, each trying to decide what to say next, and how to say it. I should yell, thought Lauren. Scream. Berate this slut. Tell her to leave David alone, or else…. But instead….

“Where did you meet David?” Lauren asked, oddly calm, though her voice shook from the whirlwind of emotions running through her.

“In court, I was opposing counsel on a few of his cases. Where did you meet him?” Claire answered after a short pause, before asking the same question back, doing so because she truly wanted to know.

“We met in high school. I was on the cheerleading squad and he was the football team’s quarterback.” Wanting desperately not to give into the shameful desires that she had found herself masterbating to not moments before her rival called, Lauren tried desperately to keep her hands away from her own soaking sex.

“David played football? I can’t believe it….” Claire said, as she laughed, entertained by the idea of David, a less than fitness-and-sports-focused man, in a helmet and pads.

“I know, right!? Honestly, he was terrible….” Admitted Lauren as the two women began to laugh together, she too finding humor in the thought, given how different David was now from back then.

“Then why did you date him? Women like us go for the players with talent.” Claire asked sympathetically, the sound of her voice sounding far too friendly for one used to speak to a woman whose home and heart she was wrecking.

On and on they continued, speaking almost as friends, together discussing their history with David, their lives, their work, and everything else other than the fact that they were both sleeping with the same man. Such avoidance continued, even up until the moment when Claire asked. “Look, would you mind if I came over? I think we need to….” The attorney then found herself cutoff suddenly by Lauren, before she had completed her question.

“Yes, come over. Please….” Lauren said in acquiescence, she regretting her addition of ‘please’ almost immediately, knowing that it sounded almost desperate.

“What should I wear?” Claire asked, her voice bending and softening at just the right moment to make it clear that she would follow Lauren’s lead.

“Whatever you’re wearing now.” Responded Lauren, as she looked down at her body, one covered only by her black bra, panties, and lace thigh-highs.

“You won’t change either, right? I want you to promise me you won’t get dressed, when I am coming just as I am.” Claire said, making it clear that she wanted to meet Lauren in the same clothing each had worn when they spoke on the phone.

“I promise.” Lauren said softly. “Do you know where it is?” The blonde asked, both in genuine concern and to see….

“Yes, I have been there with David before. We’ve been fucking … in your bed….” Claire said with unneeded detail, wanting to make sure that Lauren knew that David had held nothing sacred, and had crossed every line with her that he could.

“Hh--hurry.” Lauren’s response was simple and stuck in her throat, as she tried to process Claire’s words.

“Be there soon.” Claire promised, before hanging up.

It seemed like an eternity to Lauren, but really, it was only a matter of minutes before Claire arrived. In anticipation, the betrayed blonde, sat on the couch in front of the street-view window waiting and staring. Wanting to meet Claire -- to see her, as soon as she could. And that soon finally came, when a woman, no shorter than she, stepped out of her red BMW coupe. She had gorgeous brown hair, which had a tint of red to it. On her feet were bright white high heels, and from her ankles to her neck she wore a long wool coat, one that was obviously too hot for the warm, night that LA was accustomed to.

With speed the brunette made her way from her car to the front door, looking almost nervous at the prospect of being seen. With no less speed, Lauren grabbed her belted trench coat from the hall closet, and threw it around herself, tying it closed just before she opened the front door.

There, in silence, the two women examined each other. Lauren’s brown, and Claire’s green eyes traveling up and down each others still-covered bodies. Finally however, their eyes, having finished their exam, aimed upward and met -- locking together as each stood only a foot apart.

“You were wearing a wool coat when we were speaking?” Lauren asked with a smirk.

“You were wearing a trench coat?” Claire responded in query with an an identical curled lip.

Without answering or saying another word, Lauren turned and walked back into the house, only stopping when she reached the long couch which sat in the center of the living room. Claire followed her without asking permission after closing the door, thereafter taking off her heels, as she moved the couch which Lauren had peered out of. Their placement on the two angled couches leaving the two sitting next to each other, but aligned in almost a V, with the tips of their toes only centimeters away from touching.

Once in place, their eyes met again, just as each untied their coats, shrugged their shoulders, and let them fall behind them. In silence they studied one another, Lauren in her black bra, panties, and lace thigh-highs. Claire, in a color-pitched mirror of her rival, she wearing bright white panties, with a matching bra, and the exact same brand and style of black lace thigh-highs.

Though before they had stared at, studied and examined one another’s bodies, now that each was nearly bare, they instead sat, neither wanting to break their intense gaze. Despite that decision, neither could help notice out of the corners of their eyes, that the shape of their bodies appeared nearly identical. C-cup breasts, with stomachs that had echoes of abdominal muscles, though not pulled taut by them. Long, muscular legs, formed by years of walking in stiletto heels. And finally, a small amount of thickness to each of their frames, making every line soft, and every curve blistering hot.

“Wine?” Lauren offered, as she motioned to the bottle of "Darwin" red Syrah on the coffee table, and the two glasses she had brought out with it in anticipation.

“I’d love some, thank you.” Claire said in appreciation, the idea sounding like exactly what she needed at that moment.

Keeping her back straight, and legs purposely extended to show them off, Lauren leaned over, and took the already open bottle into her hands. Then, she poured herself and her rival a glass of the dark burgundy wine, before picking each up. With a glass in each hand, and separated from her rival by only the arms of their couches, Lauren handed Claire her glass, letting her eyes drift down to their feet, which sat upon the carpeted floor so very, very close -- both pairs threatening to touch, should either re-adjust themselves even a little.

“Your home is lovely.” Claire said before taking a drink of her wine, she wanting desperately to break the electric silence that existed between the two.

“Thank you.” Lauren responded, as she too began to drink. “Did you like the bedroom?” The blonde added in question, her previously warm tone turning more hostile.

“Yes, I did. And the kitchen table, the shower, your vanity, and even...” Claire paused as she watched Lauren’s face contort with a barely restrained anger. “...that couch you’re sitting on.” The comment again was a shot, one aimed right at Lauren’s heart and confidence -- one meant to impress upon the blonde how real a threat Claire was. The message was heard. Understood. And then, responded to.

“What do you want, Claire?” Lauren asked planely, growing tired of the calm.

“I want what you want, Lauren.” Claire said cryptically.

“I doubt that.” Lauren replied, her tone now serious and combative.

“I want David.” Too honest and direct, the sentence sounded, and yet, there it was.

“Well, he’s mine. See…?” Lauren asked as she raised her left hand and wiggled her ring finger, and the giant diamond ring thereupon.

“Well, yes, in a legal sense you are correct. He is technically your husband, but in EVERY other sense, he’s actually OURS, and I want that to end, don’t you…?” Sounding just like David -- just like a lawyer, Claire muddied the issue.

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it…? If you stopped fucking MY husband, and found someone wasn’t a married man to satisfy your needs.” With every word spoken between the two, and completely unbeknownst to either of them, each of the women’s non-glass-filled hands began to lower to a gentle rest between their legs.

“But that’s just it, and I can see how you’d like to think I’m just sleeping with David, fucking him in your house -- your bed, just for the thrill of it. Because it’s taboo, or because I’m some slut who just wants the excitement of taking a married woman’s man, but I love him. And so do you. And so we have to settle this….” Claire’s words were sincere, thoughtful, but still demanding, she making clear that she wouldn’t be leaving, or abandoning her affair with David. Not willingly. Not ever….

“What does that even mean? ‘Settle this….’” Lauren asked, more than aware of what it meant, but not yet willing to admit to either herself or Claire what she wanted to happen.

“Please, Lauren…. Why else would you have picked up David’s cellphone, when you ‘knew he had a mistress’? Why else would you have spoken to me for hours on the phone, if you wanted to just ignore me, and talk to David...? Why else would you allow me to come over, and then meet me half-naked, if you didn’t want us to resolve this...? If you didn’t want to fight me for David….?” Claire questions required no answers, as there could only be one to each.

“I … I don’t kn….” As Lauren stumbled for an answer, Claire interrupted.

“Look, I don’t know how to fight. I’ve never fought another woman for a man. This is all as new to me, as it is to you. I don’t know you. I don’t hate you. But I love David. And I will be with David as long as he’ll have me. If you’re willing to share him … your husband … then we can co-exist, but if you aren’t … then we have to solve this.” Claire laid it out slowly, logically, leaving Lauren not else to say but her own desire.

“I will NOT share him.” Clear did Lauren then make it also, that she was not willing to share her husband, as her eyes hardened, and her soft stare turned to a glare.

In response to the declaration, Claire took a long swig of her wine, before she said in an almost resigned fashion: “Then we fight.”

Lauren was unsure which it was that sent a spark of electricity through her body, hearing her rival say those words, just as the toes of the same suddenly pressed themselves into hers.

“We fight then.” Lauren responded resolutely, as she continued to sip at her wine. Beneath her words, the blonde began to push back with her feet, her toes slowly, but firmly wrestling with Claire’s, through their thigh-highs, though neither woman made even the slightest mention or acknowledgement of it.

In silence each sat for a moment, unsure what to do or say, each still drinking their wine, their toes pressing together and then pulling apart as each struggled to pin the others toes down and assert their own dominance.

“Would you like to set any rules?” Claire asked cordially, her glass of wine almost empty.

“It depends on what we’re fighting for. What do we get if we win?” Lauren queried, wanting to know exactly what was at stake. As she spoke, she suddenly felt Claire’s toes come dangerously close to pinning hers, and at that feeling she pulled her foot back from her rivals, not wanting to be bested in their first challenge, even if by pulling away, she had assured just that.

“If you win, I leave your home, your life, and promise that david and I are through. If I win, you and David are through. You move out. I’ll even prepare your divorce paperwork for you.” Claire terms seemed harsh, given her previous comments, though Lauren would have demanded no less.

“I thought you wanted to share.” Lauren asked, her eyes leaving Claire’s, as she took what was was her last sip of wine.

“No, I am WILLING to share, not wanting to. And that’s without a fight. If we’re fighting, the winner gets David. Period. No. Matter. What. Agreed...?” Claire asked, wanting to make absolutely clear that if they two were to fight, that it would once and for all put an end to their feuding over David.

“Agreed….” Lauren said planely, before standing up from her seat on the couch, and reaching a hand out to help Claire to her feet.

“No more wine…?” Claire mused with a knowing condescension, one that made Lauren’s grip tighten as their hands met.

“No more wine….” Came the blonde’s reply, as she pulled the brunette to a stand. The two women standing at that moment not inches apart.

There, in that closeness, the two stood. Their eyes locked in an angry and fire-etched gaze. Their nostrils flared, even as the tips of their noses hovered so very, very close. Their breath hitching, as each tried to ready themselves for the struggle that was to come.

It was at that moment, and in that silence, that each began to feel dizzy, the weight of the moment getting to each of them, despite their confidence and resolve. A marriage hung on the outcome of this. A life together. Each of their chances at children with the man they loved. The opportunity to grow old with him. To be buried next to him.

Such thoughts rushed through their minds as they stood toe-to-toe, each being certain that the moment could not get more intense. But then it did, as each leaned in, not closer, but as close as they could, with each bending in towards one another until their foreheads sealed together. Until the tip of Lauren’s nose bent and braced against that of the other, which did the same. Until their equally proportioned breasts met, pressed, and then flattened together. All as they glared. All as every intention of civility, of kindness, of feigned friendship faded, leaving only hate. For each other, but for the challenge they each represented -- for the chance, no matter how remote it seemed to them at that moment, that they might be beaten by the other, and forced to abandon David.

It was that final thought. One of other taking the man they loved, that led them each to, at almost the same fraction of a second: explode, going from the intensity of their staredown, to wild, frantic action. No words being spoken. No ready, set, go. No countdown. Instead they each reached for each other -- around each other, and with as much violence and strength as each could muster, they began to try and throw the other to the ground -- digging their nails into each others back.

In that quest, neither found an advantage, and each instead realizing that their rival was so equal to them in strength that all thoughts of dominance faded in one terrifying instant. An instant in which they both stumbled and spun, each letting loose the smallest whimpers of effort and frustration as they struggled, locked in each others arms. Their stomachs pressed together. Their breasts mashed and shifting one direction and then the other with every twist.

Into the carpet their toes dug and heels braced, their powerful thigh muscles flexing and tightening, with each trying desperately to take control of their swirling battle for David. One in which they seemed locked in parity. Chained in equality. In which each appeared to be a mirror of the other, the only difference being their hues -- which could be seen only in blurs, the speed and force of their violent embrace being so intense.

Just then, however, as they whirled and waged their awful war, the back of Lauren’s calves slammed into the seat of the couch, and to that piece of furniture she fell, with Claire atop her -- not by plan or on purpose, but instead by the luck of the draw. And yet regardless of cause, Claire wasted not a second, instead she straddled Lauren, raised up, pulled back, and then before the blonde could even center herself or stop her head from spinning, the brunette delivered a hard, stinging right hand slap across Lauren’s cheek. As the splash of flesh rung out, Claire wound back and struck again, this time slapping from the left, which each blow echoing through the house as it sent Lauren’s head snapping one direction and then the other.

Each slap was harsh, cruel, and intensely painful, but two were not enough for Claire. No, she knew that she would need to destroy Lauren before she would give David up, and so the brunette would hold nothing back. That commitment driving her, Claire wound back for another hard slap, but as she pulled her right arm back, Lauren struck. The blonde sending her own right hand out, up, and so ferociously across the brunette’s face that she collapsed from her straddle to the side of her rival.

Dismounted and left laying on her side on the edge of the couch cushion, her legs laying on the lap of the blonde, Claire rolled to her stomach and tried to recover, using her arms to push herself back up, hoping to retake her position of dominance. But after raising only an inch or two, she found her hair tugged painfully from behind, just as she felt her rival escape from beneath her legs. Back, and then back again Claire found herself bent, but just as she decided to try and roll, the warmth of Lauren’s thighs and the coolness of the same’s panties pressed down on the square of the brunette’s arched back.

The angle at which her back bent was painful enough, as was the ferocious tugging of her hair, but they felt like foreplay, compared to the hard, sudden, clubbing slams of wild, angry, left-handed punches, driven home by Lauren into the face of Claire. Each being sufficient to drag from Claire cries of pain, which she was kept from muffling in the couch cushion, as the blonde pulled tight on her hair-made reins. Claire had been so ready and certain that she could handle whatever her engagement with Lauren would entail, but at that moment. As one fist after another rained down into her face, she found herself literally terrified. Such violence. Such passion from each of them. Such desire to win. How would either of them survive this? What would be left of the winner for David to enjoy?

And while those questions haunted her, Lauren felt something very different. Hate. Malice. A loathing that had never felt before, building exponentially, making her every strike as potent and as harshly-aimed as she could make them. The first cry from her rival making her lips curl into a smile and then widen with each one thereafter. But just as she began to settle into the joy of hurting Claire, the same struck back, spinning beneath Lauren, hair-pull be damned. As she turned, the brunette sent her left fist flying out in a heavy, turning, back hand blow into the blonde face, which sent her off of Claire, the couch, and down to the carpeted floor.

The brunette wanted to right herself quickly and counter attack. To hurt Lauren -- to wound her, but the brunette found herself slowed and her mind fogged from the blonde strikes. And so in Claire’s efforts to chase, she instead fell. Landing with a thud on the floor, only a foot from Lauren who had already begun to stir and press herself up off the floor. A third of the way through that journey, the blonde had already made it back to her knees, and had begun shaking her head to try and regain her ability to focus, before she quickly found herself beset again.

This time, with Claire’s forearm snaking under her chin, around her throat, just as she felt the warm body of the same press against her back. Lauren was no wrestler -- no fighter, but she knew what the brunette was trying: a chokehold. And though her rival’s hold had already begun to tighten, the blonde fought back, bent over quickly, and slammed her ass back into Claire’s pelvis. The brunette fought to hold on to her burgeoning choke, but in so doing found herself lifted up into the air on Lauren’s back as she bent over. There Claire teetered, trying not to fall off, but just as she began to feel herself slipping, the blonde straightened, only to repeat the same bend and lift, hoping to dislodge Claire. This time however, the brunette was ready. And when Lauren bent over, Claire quickly wrapped her thighs around the blonde’s midsection, then locking them tight at the ankles.

Instantly Claire began to squeeze, pulsing her powerful thigh muscles around Lauren, who in response gasped and plaintively whimpered out, “noo….”, before collapsing to the carpet on her side -- her previous smirk having disappeared. At the finish of that collapse, Claire found herself finally able to cinch in her choke, and when she did it was her lips that curled in pleasure. For the brunette knew, she had her rival, as her own forearm pressed against Lauren’s windpipe, and that David would be hers. Pressing her advantage, Claire parted her legs just enough to pull the blonde back, deeper into her scissor like a spider latching onto its prey, so deep that only the smallest of gaps existed between the brunette’s pelvis and the lower back of her rival.

There, with Lauren caught in her strangling web of limbs, Claire settled in. Ready to slowly, cruelly, drain the life out of her rival until she had no choice but to submit, or pass out. It was only then, as Claire allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of dominating her foe, that she began to feel the same lust Lauren had while they spoke on the phone. It was absolutely intoxicating. This woman had stood toe-to-toe with her. Challenged her. Demanded that they fight instead of share David. And now…? Now she writhed in panic between Claire’s thighs. Locked in a hold she could not escape. Her every breath coming only at the brunette’s allowance. Her every resistance weakening by the second, as she laid helpless in Claire’s malicious embrace.

It was a lust born from those tantalizing facts which led the brunette to begin, without intention or even knowing, to loosen her leg scissor just enough to then tighten it again and drag her quickly wetting, but still panty-covered sex against the lower back of the blonde. An act which Lauren paid little attention to at first, as she was busy desperately prying at Claire’s forearm -- to relieve the blackout-inducing pressure against her throat, so that she might breathe again. And though on the choke she was focused, she could still hear, even if her vision was quickly darkening. And what she could hear, out of her left ear, was the tiniest little moans escaping from the brunette’s lips. Lips which laid against Lauren’s ear.

At first, as the blonde began to realize what was happening, that she was being humped by her rival, as the same was choking her out, she felt humiliated. Horrified. But then … as she felt the small, gaps in Claire’s leg scissor strength, brought about as she continued to please herself at Lauren’s expense, the latter realized. It was an opportunity. A chance. One she took, as she slowly reached her left hand back, an act which went completely unnoticed as Claire had closed her eyes as a result of the quickly welling passion within her. Then, without alarming she who was about to choke her out, Lauren shot her arm behind her own back, in between Claire’s thighs, and then dug her nails into the wet panties of the same, each nail stabbing into either clit, lip, or something equally sensitive.

In an instant such a biting grasp caused Claire to release her choke entirely, and all but the last vestiges of her leg scissors, she keeping her ankles locked in front of Lauren. The latter sitting up, and letting loose a series of horse, wheezing coughs, as she fought to regain her stolen air. But as she so struggled, she did nothing but increase the ferocity of her gouging grasp on Claire’s sex. An attack which sent Claire to her back, her mouth open letting loose one pained whimper after another, with high-pitched, piercing yelps in between. Sounds that continued, until finally Lauren had recovered enough to re-engage, which she did by turning around and diving out from between her loosely clasped legs and atop Claire. Then, mid-air, and just before she landed in a straddle of the brunette’s mid-section, Lauren released her grip on Claire pussy. It was only a moment there after that when blonde brought that hand and her other down, slid them beneath her rival’s bra, and then took two, vengeful and squeezing handfuls of Claire’s tits.

Despite her freezing as Lauren’s claws dug into her sex, it took only a second or two for Claire to recover once the attack was released. And in those moments, and as the blonde landed atop her and grabbed at the brunette’s tits, Claire grabbed back. She too latching her hands on Lauren’s tits. There, with their blood pumping so hard they could hear almost nothing else than their own heartbeats, the two women twisted and tortured -- tore and tormented. Their eyes locked in the most hateful of glares as between their bodies they squeezed and clawed at each others chests.

Seconds passed, then minutes, as each set the entirety of their focus on tearing the others tits from their chest. And though they worked furiously, on their faces the others work could well be seen -- with each contorting, bending, and almost melting in the heat of the searing flames of their war. Both wanted to scream -- to yelp out in pain, but each held those sounds in, biting their own bottom lips and clenching their own jaws to keep from wailing, not wanting to give the other the satisfaction. And yet, despite that mutual desire to be strong -- to not give in to the others tit-attack, Claire suddenly broke. In such breaking, she abandoned her attack of Lauren’s tits, and instead brought her own hands down to the blonde’s wrists to try desperately to tear them off of her own wounded breasts.

She pulled so hard, and tried so fiercely to pry the blonde’s hands away, but Lauren held firm. Still squeezing. Still twisting. Still digging her nails in deep, and dragging them hard. To the sight of Claire’s failed gambit of escape, and the obvious pain on her face, Lauren demanded: “Give, bitch….”

For a moment the brunette said nothing -- did nothing, other than lay there and writhe beneath her rival, her tugs at the latter’s wrists having grown almost pathetic in their weakness. At the feeling Lauren poured all she had into her attack sensing that her victory was imminent, but just as a flood of endorphins from such a thought flooded her body, Claire stirred. Claire fought back. Claire attacked, sending a hard, thudding fist into Lauren’s exposed ribs.

With a slapping echo, the blow landed hard, and when it did, it knocked all the air from Lauren’s body, causing her hands to stop their tortuous work, and instead act as only a brace so she did not collapse forward. As such a transition of offense to stabilization occurred, Claire struck again, aiming a second punch to the same exact spot. The second was followed by a third, and then what would have been a fourth, had Lauren not wilted and fell forward, collapsing on Claire, her hands falling to the brunette’s sides. Finally free from the blonde’s attack, Claire half-rolled beneath her rival to the left, and then rolled with all the momentum earned fully to the right, taking Lauren with her in a switching of positions.

Suddenly Claire found herself once again in control of the fight, and atop her foe. There the brunette laid for a brief moment, with her own two silk-covered thighs together between the opened legs of her rival, their pubic mounds met, matched, and pressing together at the tip of their still panty-covered valleys. Not wanting Lauren to recover, Claire leaned up, back, and then drove a another hard punch into the blonde’s stomach, and then another. With each of those strikes, the brunette found her own bra drooping, dangling, and sliding down her arms restraining her movement, the clasp on the back having broken. Quickly she arched her back, lifted her arms, and let the bra fall to the floor. As she did that however, she was forced to keep herself balanced only by the pressure of her own clit against Lauren’s. Such an unexpected side effect of their positioning that caused both women to let loose from their lips small gasps of pleasure, even as Lauren writhed beneath her rival in pain.

To Lauren, in her state of momentary tummy-struck oblivion, the sound meant nothing, as it was one she barely heard, and the feeling one that only barely registered in her conscious mind. But to Claire, the sound from both she and her rival was confusing, exciting, shameful, and most of all, hate-inducing. Why was this turning on her on…? This fight…. This struggle…? This bitch who was trying to pry her away from David…? Why had she already let those sensations push her into giving up her perfect chokehold. To those questions, the brunette had no answers, but that would not stop her. In fact it drove her.

Don’t just hurt the cunt, but beat her, break her, Claire thought to herself, her own tits aching, and face bruised from her rival’s earlier blows. And so the brunette moved to do just that, reaching her hands down, and placing them about Lauren’s throat as she laid their recovering from the punches to her ribs and stomach. Then and there the brunette encircled, wrapping her fingers around the soft pink flesh of her blonde foe’s neck, fully intending on strangling her rival until she either gave up or passed out.

Without words Claire began, her hands tightening and arms locking at the elbows. Like a sudden flash of lightning, Lauren’s glazed over eyes focused, and her mouth, which had been letting loose low, painful, and near-airless groans, bent into a visage of terror. Without pause her hands moved to Claire’s wrists, and just as had happened before in the opposite, the blonde in desperation pulled. As she did, Lauren bucked, wildly, panicked, and with each such act, jammed the tip of her sex into Claire’s.

“Fuck…” Came the brunette’s reaction in a hitching, lust-drenched mutter, one that escaped her lips just as her eyes closed in an effort to withstand the pleasure, without letting it distract her from strangling Lauren. But as each wild, unintentionally sexually debilitating buck came, Claire found herself collapsing forward -- only able to cling to her choke, but nothing else. In an effort to escape the effects of such a lucky and likely unintended counter-attack, the brunette used her legs to drag herself down, and her sex away from her rival’s. For a moment it worked. For a moment the bucks, though still ongoing, no longer landed on her most sacred and sensitive bundle of nerves. But just as that relief took effect, and Claire once again began to focus on the task at and in her hands, her eyes shot open in both shock, panic, and pain. As though she had lowered herself away from the clit-to-clit stimulation which had been threatening to end her moment of dominance, by doing so she had put her abdomen right between Lauren’s thighs. Thighs which clamped closed like a vice, locking at the ankles behind the brunette’s back.

After having secured her leg scissor, Lauren then flexed her entire body, and straightened herself, in the process dragging the brunette’s choking hands away from her throat. Then, even as, just like before, Lauren coughed and sputtered, desperately searching for air, she squeezed her thighs together with all her might. Such pressure caused Claire not to whimper but to SCREAM out in pain, her air being expelled from her, and her insides being crushed by the blonde’s tight muscular legs. As she suffered, the brunette brought her two hands down to Lauren’s thighs and pushed with all the strength she could, but found that her rival’s taut legs moved not an inch, and instead tightened in long, agonizing pulses.

Not content with only her devastating leg scissor, Lauren reached out for her pain-wrecked rival and cruelly took two handfuls of the brunette’s hair. Then, with such grips, yanked back HARD, bending Claire’s body awkwardly to the side once, and then again -- with each such torturous tug causing the brunette to whimper in pain. Through all of it, Claire pushed down against Lauren’s thigh, hoping that suddenly her rival’s legs would weaken and she could somehow escape. But the blonde held strong, squeezing hard and yanking viciously at her foe’s hair. The sum total of that punishment drained Claire, leading her once pushing hands to relent, and then, almost rest against Lauren -- all of the brunette’s focus spent merely on surviving -- on enduring the hold.

“Give up, Claire! Or I swear I’ll keep you between my legs until David comes home and fucking finds us like this!” The blonde shouted, with anger-built frothy spittle flying from her mouth with every word.

“Ffffuck y-yo-UGGGHHHH” Claire tried to reply, but found her words broken, as Lauren punished her with another, horrific squeeze. It was then that Claire’s eyes closed, and tears began to roll down her face. Then when her back arched, and she collapsed to the side, dropping back to the carpeted floor, Lauren’s thighs never ceasing their crushing.

The true hopelessness of her situation began to dawn on Claire. It was over…. David was lost…. She had challenged her rival and lost. And now, all that was left was to run, crying from that rival’s home, humiliated, broken, and defeated…. As those terrible questions began to echo in her mind, she found herself squeezed again, and then yanked hard to the side so ferociously that her silent tears turned into wild sobbing. As she cried there, held firmly between her rival’s thighs, the world began to shrink. Her heart began to ache. And her every thought became consumed by one last, final thought of escape.

Her pushes had done nothing to dislodge Lauren’s legs. Her squirming had taken her nowhere and quickly. Due to her nearly identical build when compared to the blonde’s, she could not power her way to her feet. She could not reach Lauren’s hair or face. In fact all she could reach was….

At the very second the thought crossed her mind, she acted, reaching with both hands, and with every nailed-finger, looking to gouge them into Lauren’s sex, just as Lauren had done to her before. But the blonde having been expecting it, and waiting for it, in fact, took her hair from the brunette’s hair, reached out, and grabbed Claire’s wrists. No, no, no, thought the brunette as her hands’ advance was suddenly halted, and her last glimmer of hope was seemingly snuffed out.

So proud of herself, and so confident in her victory was Lauren, that she then loosened her leg scissor, and maneuvered herself over and then atop the brunette in a straddle of her stomach. But there the blonde did not stay long, as she immediately began to scamper up the brunette’s body, the former still holding tight to the latter’s wrists. Her intent was to finish off rival by sitting on her face, and sealing her nose and mouth shut with the lips of her pussy. All it would take was gently shifting her silk black panties to the side. If you asked Lauren why she would risk her victory, why she would try to finish off her rival in such a personal way, she could not answer with anything other than with: it just felt right.

Claire was so weak at that moment -- so broken by the still lingering pain of the blonde’s leg scissor that she could barely resist Lauren’s advance. And instead, beneath her rival, so just laid there, appearing to give in to her fate of being smothered out by and in her rival’s pussy. But just as Lauren was a second away from reaching the face that was to be her throne, Claire whipped her arms back over her head hard and kicked her legs up and forward, doing both with all the strength she could find within herself.

Lauren, still holding tightly to Claire’s quickly thrown wrists, and with the added force of two hard knees driving into her back, the blonde went flying forward. Doing so with such momentum that she was not only tossed off of the brunette, but then head-first into the base of a large grandfather clock that stood against the wall. A clock which began to chime with a deep, bass-filled bell at the impact, despite it not being the hour to do so.

The fortuitous blow was devastating and left Lauren not concussed or unconscious, but as close to both as one could be without being either. In that state, and at the bottom of the clock she laid. Not moving, only groaning, unable to do more. Finally free from the legs, hands, and attacks of her rival, Claire too remained and rested on her back, gasping for breath.

As each laid there on the carpeted floor, only feet apart, broken by the other. They each began to wonder if they would survive this. This brutality. Neither had ever had a physical altercation with another person in their entire lives, and now…? Now they two were locked it what almost seemed to be a battle to the death with each other for a man they both loved. Neither obeying any unspoken rules or holding back attacks that might be too violent or deadly. And though that thought terrified them both, neither let it stop them. Neither let it deturre them, from slowly, painfully dragging themselves back into the fray.

“Get up….” Demanded Claire defiantly as she began to push herself off the carpet, even though her languished, toneless voice betrayed her own exhaustion.

“Fuck you….” Lauren responded with no more vibrant a tone, as she too pressed herself up, her legs quaking from fatigued muscles, and her head still aching.

To their knees each made it before crawling towards and then reaching out for each other. Instead of quickly grasping and grabbing, the two women’s hands and arms passed in transit, and then softly draped over each others shoulders. There, using each other almost as a crutch, they brought themselves to their feet, their foreheads meeting and pressing together as a brace.

“Why don’t you just give up…?” Claire asked as her glassy eyes locked with her rival’s. Such a connection occurred just before she found her question punctuated by her own grunt, brought about by a fist, driven deep into her stomach by Lauren. “UGH!”

The blonde responded as each leaned into the other, the tips of their noses again touching, and their lips only centimeters apart. “Because I love David…. Why don’t you give-UGHHH” But even in that closeness, Claire found a way to deliver her own punch into Lauren’s gut, just before she finished speaking.

“If … you … loved him, why did it take meeting me … to fight for him.....” Claire’s words were slow, broken by exertion, but biting -- cutting. Hearing them and their truth, caused Lauren to strike again, using all the strength she could muster to throw a hard, hooking punch, again into Claire’s stomach.

With a loud “oomph” and no more, Claire began to slump forward, only help up by her press against the blonde’s body. And though at that moment it was Claire suffering from the blow, Lauren began to stagger backwards, not even strong enough to maintain her balance under the weight of her rival’s collapsing body. Had Lauren been allowed to continue her off-balance stumble, it is likely Claire would have fallen face-first to the carpet. Instead however, the brunette too mustered the energy to strike, and in a like manner, sent a hard, thudding punch into Lauren’s stomach. The blow sent both women down to their knees in a clump, each leaning against each other, absolutely ruined by their battle, their heads coming to a gentle rest on the their rival’s shoulder.

In that position, kneeling before and leaning against one another, the two began to bring their arms back, and then swing them forward with all the force they could. Taking turns throwing their fists into each others soft and now bruised abdomens. Again and again they struck, each blow taking from them a little more wind and a little more energy. In the silence that surrounded them three things could be heard, the sounds of knuckles slapping against flesh, groans and whimpers of pain, and then … after not too many strikes, sobbing -- from each of the two rivals.

One might think that with such a sound, the fever would break -- the madness. That finally these two women would realize that whatever David was, he wasn’t worth this. That they would forgive each other, abandon their feud, and embrace in peace. And though both Lauren and Claire did embrace, it was not for such a charitable reason. No, for instead the two wrapped their non-punching arm around their rival, but only to keep them there -- to keep them close, so that together they could finish this. Each believing that whichever one of them were to finally fall from this cruel hug of pain and anger would likely be done for.

In that certainty, as each cried on the others shoulder from pain, anger, and frustration, they delivered one deep punch after another to the others exposed tummy. Each cursing, threatening, and promising each other defeat and ejection from David’s life in soft, windless whispers, spoken as each woman’s lips pressed to their rival’s ear.

Purgatory it could be called, a punishment for their sins with and against David, each taking the role of judge, jury, and executioner to dole out this long, painful embrace of jealousy and malice. An embrace into which both women sank, lower and lower, no longer even able to keep upright with the others help. And though each expected to fall apart, and in so doing to separate, each being forced to find the strength, somehow and someway, to stand or reengage, they instead fell together. The two landing not with one atop the other but on their sides, bodies pressed together.

Both in utter exhaustion and panic, they reached for their rival’s hair, and buried their fingers deep. With that grasp they each pulled and yanked, trying with whatever reserves they had left to roll the other to her back so she could be mounted. And though roll they did, neither stayed in one place for long, both failing to remain on top long enough to take control.

The punching had ended, but their sobbing continued, as the intensity of the moment, and their own frustration at being unable to put the other away continued to mount. In that seemingly unreachable purpose, the two aligned and straining body to body, eyes locked in a hateful gaze, their tears began to drip onto each others faces, and even into each others eyes as they rolled. Closer and closer they pulled, as their thighs and calves coiled around each other and then released. It seemed at that moment they might be bound together by hate like that for eternity. But suddenly, as that fear crept into their minds, Claire softened entirely, and her dry lips lowered and pressed to Lauren’s.

The blonde, on her back and in shock, desperate for a moment of respite herself, and honestly turned on by every moment of this struggle, gave herself to the kiss. Her muscles abandoning their tension, her fingers, which had been dug deep in Claire’s hair releasing as her hands moved down to Claire’s thighs. As all occured, the blonde’s legs too relented and released from the brunette’s, as the blonde began to settle into her passion.

Claire, in all ways seemed to be going through the same transformation, as their kiss intensified, with tongues parting lips in search of one another. Breaths even more broken and ragged than before, as excitement seemingly began to take them both. Their bodies both literally quaking from fatigue and excitement.

In that moment of finally released lust and desire, Claire began to crawl forward, her hands moving to Lauren’s breasts to squeeze them, as her sex drug over her rival’s. In response, Lauren offered only soft, passion-drenched moans, as the tears began to dry from both women’s eyes.

Anyone watching would have thought that finally these two rivals had become something else. That they had abandoned their desire for David, agreed to share him, or at least had decided to find another way to solve their dispute. But just as Lauren was sure of those assumptions exactly, Claire’s slow, methodical, crawl, became a quick, forceful clamber. The brunette breaking their kiss and mounting her rival, before the blonde had even opened her lust-shut eyes. Lauren, when finally she realized what was happening panicked and began to try and wriggle free, but she found no room to do so. For during Lauren’s moment of carnal cravings, her arms had been placed in just the right spot to have Claire’s thighs come down and pin them beneath her.

“You bitc….” Lauren tried to cry out at the woman atop her, but before the sentence could even be finished, Claire’s left palm pressed to her mouth, and right index and thumb came down in a pinch on her nostrils. The smotherhold was tight, inescapable, and completely suffocating, and in it Lauren suffered. Writhing beneath the brunette, desperate to free herself, but with the fatigue and pain that had already ravaged her body, her efforts were little more than squirms. It was then that tears, once again began to fall from the blonde’s eyes, as Claire looked down at her, in full control.

“I’m sorry…..” The brunette whispered, just loud enough for her captured rival to hear. And though, it was a sign that somewhere in Claire, she felt guilty about not only her trick, but also perhaps the entire affair and trying to steal David, it was something else too. A clear statement that despite that guilt, she wasn’t going to let go. Wasn’t going to release this smother, not until she had won. Until David was hers. Until Lauren agreed she was leaving….

With bulging eyes, and veins becoming visible in her forehead, Lauren fought bravely, trying to press Claire off of her, to bridge, to do ANYTHING to free herself and not lose -- to somehow keep David…. But as the seconds continued to click by, and her lungs began to burn -- as the sand in the hourglass poured from one glass half to another, it became clear it was over. Her defiant eyes, filled with fire beneath the tears, cooling until in them all Claire could see is fear -- terror, even. And that’s when Claire asked: “Do you give…? Will you leave David…?”

At their hearing, Lauren’s body seized, and her crying intensified, but then, after one last frantic attempt at escape, knowing she had no other choice, the blonde nodded as her eyes closed. In an instant Claire released her smother and rolled off of her rival. Lauren, desperate and half-unconscious, gasped for air and coughed hoarsely, before fully giving into her sadness and despair.

No words came from Lauren, or sudden attacks, no instead she just sobbed, burying her face in the back of her forearm as she lamented all she had lost. Claire, for her part, sat in a kneel a few feet away, breathing deep and nursing her wounds. On the brunette’s face was no smile, or celebratory smirk, no instead she wore her own morose expression. Not having wanted to hurt Lauren, or even to fight her, doing it only to save them both pain, and a lifetime of David jumping from one to the other, cheating on both of them with the other.

In that sad scene they remained, until finally, Claire helped Lauren up, and together they packed the defeated blonde’s things. Neither speaking, and the blonde’s eyes never drying, as these two women, fresh off a violent, vicious battle, worked together to make good on the terms of their agreement. One victorious and regretful. The other defeated and distraught. Neither a true winner, in this game of wants, desires, and the wayward David.