I knew exactly what I wanted for my 18th birthday, and my mother just smiled when I told her that I wanted her to take me to the catfight club. The theme was high-class women settling their differences in, well, catfights, and to get in the door you had to not just be willing to fight any challenger, you needed to look the part, with a nice dress and shoes the very minimum. Elegant makeup, carefully coiffured hair, and expensive jewelry (or at least expensive-looking; nobody cared if it was real or cubic zirconia) was encouraged. My mother and sister took me out to get dolled up in a blood-red dress that left my shoulders bare, a strapless black bra, frilly black panties, stockings, and high-heeled shoes the same color as my dress. They took me to the salon and my slightly wavy black hair got styled into a thick braid down to the top of my butt. Then jewelry - gold hoop earrings, a silver chain around my neck holding a large red jewel in a cage, and flashy rings on my fingers. Finally, makeup - a intricate smokey eye effect applied to my dark, almond-shaped eyes, a hint of rouge, and lipstick the same color as my dress and shoes. I checked myself out in the full-length mirror in the master bathroom. I’m pretty dark (from dad - mom’s lighter), and I really liked how the color of the dress set off my skintone. I also thought it did a pretty good job making the most of my B-cups; I knew I wouldn’t be able to match my opponent in the bust department, but they looked nice. I was a little uneven on the heels - something to work on.
Now I’d already picked out the person I wanted to fight; my mom’s old enemy, a woman her age named Tabitha. They’d tangled more times than my mother could remember; I’d seen my mother nursing black eyes and split lips, and I’d seen her floating around the house on a cloud of happiness for days after coming out on top in a scrap with her.
You could attend starting the club at 18, but you couldn't drink any of the flutes of champagne waitresses circulated with until 21; I had to settle for sparkling grape juice, reminding myself not to drink it all in nervousness- the signal that you wanted to fight one of the participants was throwing your drink in her face.
I’d never met Tabitha, but I didn’t have any trouble picking her out of the crowd; she was one of the palest women I’ve ever seen, her almost milk-white skin glowing under the light from the overhead chandeliers. She stood about 5’7” in her two inch heels - a not insignificant height advantage as I was only 5’3” in my own high-heels - with a curvy hourglass figure, double D’s on proud display in her low-cut dress. Her long, straight black hair came down halfway down her back in a thick waterfall. (“Dyed,” my mom whispered in my ear. “She’s got a few grey hairs she can’t stand.”) She had large facial features - big blue eyes framed with heavy purple eyeshadow, a long elegant nose, rouged cheeks and a wide mouth with lipstick the same purple color as her eye makeup. Her black dress showed a wide valley of cleavage in front and her bare back (although you couldn’t see much of that with her hair in the way). Her outfit was finished with stockings, black spike high-heels, a huge gold necklace with three bright blue diamond-shaped gems set in the center, and several flashy rings on her long fingers.
She noticed me staring at her and shimmied up to me. She threw a nod at my mother: “Who’s this? Your little girl, darling?” She turned to me with a friendly smile on her face and held her hand out for me to shake. I grabbed her hand and squeezed, shaking it up and down.
“Elena Alvarado.” My mom had fed me the next line: “You must be Flabby Tabby!”
“Excuse me?!” She released my hand like it was burning her, then looked back at my mother. “Is this rude little pig your daughter?” My mom nodded with what I can only describe as a shit-eating grin on her face. “Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” Tabitha leaned in close to me, her plum-scented perfume tickling my nose. “Listen, darling. Your whole family is trash. Your mother is trash, and you're trash." She leaned back and looked me up and down with a snort. "And doesn't your mother have enough money to get you something better than these rags, sweetie?" She picked distastefully at my dress. "And your hair!” She tucked a few stray strands of my hair behind my ear, then gave my face a squeeze. “And that little rat face of yours, darling! Ugh!"
That was enough, and I threw my sparkling grape juice right in her face, relishing her look of complete shock. This was the challenge, and she accepted it by rocking me with a face slap, the noise of the impact turning heads all around the room. It also set my ears ringing, and the next thing I knew Tabitha had me in a headlock, dragging me to one of the fight suites, sets of private rooms where women could settle their differences without interference. She pushed the door to one open with her hip, then threw me in, releasing the headlock. I hit the plush carpeted floor on my back and got up to my feet. We were in a luxuriously decorated sitting room; through an open set of large double doors I could see a richly decorated bedroom dominated by a huge four-poster bed, and behind that I could just make out a large bathroom. I didn't have time to look any closer as Tabitha closed and locked the door behind her, then turned to face me.
"You little tramp," she barked. "I'm going to teach you a lesson your mother obviously didn't!" We took off our jewelry, then squared up; Tabitha struck first with a vicious slap to my left cheek. I slapped her back as hard as we could; the traditional opening for these fights is to go toe to toe and exchange face slaps and backhands until one fighter couldn't take it anymore. After a half dozen blows it became clear to me that I was going to be the fighter who couldn't take it anymore; we might have been about even in strength, but Tabitha had a lifetime of experience on me, and each one of her expertly applied hits left me gasping. One particularly nasty backhand left me reeling and she came in for the kill, burying a right-handed punch in my stomach. I gasped and had to lean against her to stay standing; she pushed me off her with a hard shove and I fell down, landing hard with a grunt on my butt. Tabitha grabbed a handful of my long hair with her left hand, twisting it in her fist so I was looking up at her, and she nailed me with one last massive slap, releasing my hair as her hand smacked into my face with enough force to lay me out on my back.
"What's the matter, little girl?" she teased. "Are you done already? I'm barely even warmed up."
"Fuck you," I mumbled.
"Such language, darling!" she scolded. She pulled me up to my feet, punching me in the stomach again to forestall any resistance, and dragged me through the bedroom into the bathroom, shoving me so I was at one of the double sinks. She picked up a thick bar of soap and told me to open wide. I shook my head and tried to turn away from the sink, but she got my left arm in a hammerlock, pulling my wrist up behind my back. The pain was agonizing, and when she told me to open my mouth again I did in the hope that she'd ease up, which she did, just a little. She stuffed the bar of soap in my mouth, laughing as I gagged on it and tried to spit it out. She held it steady as the disgusting bitter taste permeated my mouth. I felt myself starting to cry in embarrassment. "Look at yourself!" she ordered me. “You’re a mess!” I did, and she was right; I was a mess, my eyes puffy from crying, my cheeks bright red where she'd landed her slaps, my mouth foaming and drooling from the bitter soap she'd forced between my lips. I took a deep breath and then shot my right elbow back into her stomach, and the hard tip sank into her soft tummy as she gasped, losing her hammerlock. I turned and used my momentum to land the hardest slap I could, the loud smack of my hand on her face echoing around the small room. Tabitha shrieked and fell down on her side; I took a step back and slammed the tip of my high-heeled shoe into her stomach. This knocked her over onto her back, wailing and holding the spot I'd hit. I copied her earlier taunt, straddling her and leaning down until we were face to face: "You done already, you old bitch? I'm ju-" I stopped short and she'd reached up into my dress and was squeezing my pussy. With a gasp I grabbed her arm with both hands, but I couldn't pry her away; pain shot out of my crotch, weakening my body as a laughing Tabitha worked the hold. I sank down to my knees with a squeak of helpless agony, slumping backwards against the cabinet under the sink.
"You talk a lot of shit, little girl," Tabitha scolded me. "You need to be able to back it up." She'd gotten to her knees and we were facing each other; she added a mean choke with her free hand. I locked both of my hands around her neck in return and squeezed as hard as I could, but I was weak from her attack; her pussy claw and single-hand choke were already wrecking me, and she just snarled as I failed to do much damage. My hands fell away from her neck and she laughed, releasing me and getting to her feet. She kicked me in the stomach and I screamed weakly as the tip of her shoe hit my belly button. It was too much, and I slumped over on my left side. A gloating Tabitha rolled me onto my back and started stripping me, unzipping my dress, lifting my body up off the thickly carpeted floor as she pulled my dress off and slammed it into the garbage. I managed to roll over and back her off with some wild kicks, but not far enough; she stalked me as I started getting up, and I'd only made it to my knees when she came up behind me and unsnapped my bra. I reached behind my back to try and stop her, but she whipped it off and danced away from me with it. I made it to my knees and faced her as she tossed my bra aside, leaving me in just my bottoms, stockings and shoes. She put one hand on her hip and ogled my bare chest with a smile. "You call those sad little things tits?" She pulled the straps of her dress down, then unhooked her own bra with a smile, her huge boobs flopping free. She cupped them with a taunting smile, then winked and blew me a kiss. "How about these, sweetie?"
How about them indeed. I came close and applied a double nipple twist, and I guess I got her good; she screamed in agony as I got both her hard nipples between my fingers. She threw a blind slap that I ducked under, and I nailed her left breast with an uppercut slap, her big tit flying up and hitting her in the face. She stumbled back covering her chest and I followed, landing a hard punch in her tummy that bent her over. I braced my hands on her back and lifted my knee into her chest, feeling her tits pancake between my leg and her ribcage. Tabitha wailed and I grabbed a handful of her long hair, yanking it back so she was looking right at me, and started slapping her face with my free hand.
I landed a half dozen hugely satisfying slaps to my opponent's swelling face before she stopped me with a knee between the legs. I didn't see this coming and froze in shock as pain radiated from my crotch. Tabitha, snarling, put her hands on my shoulders and landed an even more painful follow up knee lift. My legs turned to jelly and I sank to my knees, then fell forward onto my face with a sobbing gasp, holding my aching crotch. Tabitha grabbed my shoes off my feet, then tried to get my panties off; I held on to them for dear life, and we struggled over them for a second before they ripped, sending Tabitha backwards with a surprised scream. This gave me enough time to roll over and get up, but I was still hurting pretty bad as a furious Tabitha advanced on me. She launched a quick slap and I tried to get my forearm up to block it, but my reflexes were dulled by the pain and she landed her hit with authority, turning my head with the blow. She followed up with a gut punch that had me gagging, then she braced her thigh behind mine and pushed my shoulders, dumping me to the ground. I was thankful for the carpet as the back of my head impacted the floor. Tabitha loomed over me, hands on her hips; without a word she kicked off her shoes, then shimmied out of her dress, down to just her panties and stockings. She reached down for me and I had a thought of trying to uppercut-slap her crotch, but she was too fast for me and I missed my chance. She pulled me into a headlock, bending me over, dragging me over to the shower, roughly throwing me into it.
"You filthy girl!" she shouted. "I'm going to get you cleaned up." She turned the shower on, keeping an eye on me as she checked the temperature; I didn't have the strength to move and concentrated on my breathing, hoping to bide my time to recover. Before that, though, Tabitha got behind me, wrapping her left arm around my torso. In her right hand she'd grabbed the detachable showerhead and turned it on me, spraying my skin with warm water. This actually felt kind of nice, and I had no idea what her plan was here until she moved the showerhead, activating the pulse setting and then aiming it straight at my bare pussy. To my shock I was squirming in no time as she directed the warm water jet into my crotch. I was a little sore from her earlier knees, and the warm water felt amazing as she seemed to know just where to aim it. I felt her licking my neck as she worked the showerhead, her other hand cupping my left breast and tweaking my nipple. My hope that I could hold on and recover quickly shattered as tingling warmth spread out from my crotch. I turned my head and leaned back and Tabitha kissed me, her tongue running around my lips, then slipping into my mouth. I felt my hips starting to buck, seeking more sensation. She broke the kiss and I started cumming, my body shaking in her grip as she held me in place through my climax. After I'd finished she eased up her grip and I slid down her body until I was laying on my back on the floor of the shower, looking up at her. She was smiling down at me, not a nice friendly smile, but the arrogant grin of a hunter who'd trapped her prey. She turned the shower off, then peeled the soaked stockings off my legs. She told me to stand up, and I tried, but I only managed to get to my knees, my arms hanging over the lip of the tub. She pulled my wrists behind my back and tied them tight with one of my stockings - clearly not her first time doing this as she made a tight knot I couldn't undo. She pulled me out of the shower, leaving me laying on my chest, then planted one of her pale, manicured feet in front of my mouth, her toenails painted the same royal purple as her fingernails.
"Kiss my foot," she purred. I didn't have any choice and planted a dainty little smack on her big toe. Apparently this wasn't what she was looking for and she shoved her toes into my mouth, laughing as I gagged on them. She got bored of this and picked me up, draping me over her shoulders and carrying me into the bedroom. She threw me down on the bed, ordering me to get on all fours. I did, and she started spanking me, clearly enjoying the groans or shrieks she drew out of me with each ringing hit of her hand on my wet ass. "This is what you deserve," she told me in between hits. "You bad little girl. This is for your own good, do you know that? You should thank me, darling." She punctuated this with a particularly hard swat.
"Thank you!" I sobbed. "Thank you!"
"Hmmph. Roll over." I did as she told me, totally in her power now. She peeled off her panties with a smirk, then straddled my face, her front towards my feet. I could guess what was coming next as she slowly lowered her crotch until it was an inch from my face, her powerful musk filling my nose. I stuck my tongue out and went to work; I'd never really done this before and wasn't 100% sure what I was doing, but Tabitha seemed to be enjoying it. One of her hands buried itself in my hair, pulling my head up into her crotch, and the other went between her legs as she played with her clit. I figured I’d gotten the right spot when I heard her deep panting turning into rapid moans, and I licked her pussy with long tongue strokes there until she started cumming; she moaned for me not to stop and I didn’t until she almost fell off me with the force of her climax.
For a few minutes we just lay there next to each other, Tabitha contentedly panting, me a little less comfortable with her juices all over my face and my wrists still tied behind my back. Eventually she looked over at me: “Do you give up, sweetie?”
“I gave up twenty minutes ago,” I gasped.
“Mmm, all right. Roll over.” I did and she finally released me, untying my wrists, then giving my sore ass a playful slap. She set about getting dressed, which was the victor’s privilege; the loser, me, was free to go, but I wouldn’t get my clothes back; I had to make the Walk of Shame, dressed in just a towel from the bathroom. I slunk back to the main room, my face flushing as everyone knew what had happened to me. My mother swooped in, putting her coat around me, then took me home to lick my wounds. It took a week for the swelling to go down, and a few days after that I was hankering for another visit to the club.