Violent Sexfight (NC-17)

I suppose I was a stereotypical college boy.  Just barely twenty-one, I was more interested in drinking and chasing girls than in reading books or learning calculus.  So I was pretty bored one Thursday evening sitting in a friend’s apartment actually trying to cram for a midterm.  Macro-economics simply was not holding my interest. 

My buddy Dave had been to class much more than I had, and he always took much more thorough notes than I ever did.  At the moment, Dave and his roommate Bryan were out playing pool, and I was making myself at home with their food and Dave’s notes.  I was stretched out on their sofa, staring blankly down at Dave’s pages of cramped scribbling, when Paige came through the door.

To say that Paige and I didn’t get along would be a colossal understatement.  She seemed to hate me, as a matter of fact.  She was Bryan’s girlfriend, though she probably wouldn’t appreciate that term: “girl” was too belittling.  Paige was a graduate student in English literature, and although she was only three years older than me, she liked to think she was twice my age in terms of maturity.  In my opinion, she was simply twice as uptight as I was.  Both of us spent a lot of time at Dave and Bryan’s apartment, and both of us hated the fact that the other was so often there.

Paige and I were opposites in almost every measure.  Her dark hair and fair skin contrasted sharply with my deep tan and blond locks.  I was over six feet tall and athletic; she was barely over five feet and seemingly abhorred sports.  I often laughed loudly at the crudest of jokes; Paige tended to smirk to herself cynically about esoteric ironies.   Given all these differences, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to annoy her whenever I got the chance.  Given the choice between studying for economics and bugging the hell out of this uptight girl...well the choice was obvious to me.

“No poetry slams to mope around at tonight?” I asked.

Paige’s eyes flicked up at me briefly.  Her lip curled slightly but she didn’t respond.  This was a challenge!

“So, I’ve been trying to figure this out.  Are you just in graduate school because English majors can’t actually work in any real jobs?”

“Yep, that’s it, Tarzan,” she said, without looking up.  “I’ll never find a job.  I’m just biding my time until some big studly business major marries me so I can bear his children.”

“I’m thinking that’s going to be a long wait,” I replied.  “And anyway, you’d have to have sex before you could have children.”

And then she said something I didn’t expect.  “The kind of sex I have would probably kill you, baby.”

Paige stared at me, a challenge glinting in her eyes, while my jaw must have gaped for a moment.  Then I snorted with laughter.  “Just what kind of sex do you have?  There’s not much that can slow me down in bed, Paigey-Waigey.”

She looked toward the ceiling for a moment, a smile beginning to slide across her lips.  Clearly she was trying to decide how to answer.  Just as I was about to prod her, Paige spoke.  “Well, Tarzan, it happens that a few years ago I got into sex-fighting.  Yeah, I can tell by the blank stare of confusion that you don’t know what I’m talking about.  Imagine a wrestling match, a battle of the sexes, in which the winner is the person who makes the other one cum.”

I couldn’t contain my giggling.  “You mean you try NOT to cum?  Why would anybody do that?”

“It’s a hard concept for your little-bitty brain, but try to follow along.  You ought to be in control of your body, right?  That means controlling weather or not you have an orgasm.  If someone else can make you have an orgasm, against your will, then she has taken that control from you.”

I was bouncing on the sofa in gleeful amusement.  “Oh my god!” I yelped.  “First of all, this is obviously all bullshit.  Second of all, I don’t care if I’m in control or not: if I’m with a woman and I cum, then everything’s good.  And third, how could such a little squirt like you ever fight a man?  Do you do this with Bryan?”

“In fact, Tarzan, I beat Bryan every time.  Size and strength don’t always matter.  Yeah, that’s right, laugh, but I control him sexually.  Have you ever wondered why he seems to do everything I say?”

“Because he’s pussy-whipped?”

Paige smiled.  “Yes.  Exactly.  He’s literally pussy-whipped.”

For a moment she stared at me, drilling holes through me with her gaze, as I sat uncharacteristically silently and tried to take this all in. 

“You’re shitting me.  No way you could beat any man.”

Paige shrugged.  “Believe what you want to.  I know I’d have you cumming all over yourself in no time.  But, whatever.”

She had me hooked, we both knew it.  Even so, I was still processing this crazy talk.

“But why wouldn’t I want to cum all over myself?  How would that not be me winning?”

“Tarzan, you’re not paying attention.  You control your own body, right?  Well, in sexfighting, I’d prove that wrong.  I’d prove that I control your body.  I’d turn your body against you.  Sure, every once in a while if you get off on the loser, when he can’t stop you, that’s pretty dominant.  But being unable to defend yourself from someone making your body do something...well, that’s really becoming a bitch.”

“And you think you could do this to me?” I asked.

“Honey, I know I could do it to you.  I would make you cum, cry, and beg.”  Paige had a predatory look.  At this point we knew both knew we were going to fight.  Or have sex.  Or something.  I was still confused.

“Shit, Paigey-Waigey, I can’t wait.”  I stood up and stepped forward, towering over her as she still sat.  “How do we start?”

Before I realized she had even moved, her small hand was locked onto my balls in a death grip.  Even through my jeans her fingers squeezed harder than I could ever have imagined.  I dropped to my knees and found myself staring into her laughing face.

“First I suppose we should get undressed,” she said, licking her lips.  She released my aching sac and slid out of the chair, pulling off her baggy blouse and flowing skirt.  I caught my breath for a moment, and then turned to face her.  Her body, which had always been hidden under her bohemian clothing, was surprisingly sexy: creamy white skin on a wiry frame.  She still wore her black lace bra and panties.  Her hips were womanly but not too broad; her breasts were fuller than I would have imagined.  Her fingernails and toenails were painted black, of course. 

“Are you just going to stare?  Do I have to undress you myself?” she asked. 

I smiled in spite of myself and quickly stripped off my jeans and shirt.  Thrusting my pelvis forward, I taunted her: “Try that again, Paigey.”  I wouldn’t let her take me by surprise again. 

“You’re the big stud athlete.  I’m just a little girl.  Why don’t you come get me?” she countered. 

I couldn’t see any reason why not to.  Cautiously I approached her.  As I got close I suddenly shot down toward her legs, executing a double-leg sweep.  In no time she was on her back and I was kneeling between her spread legs.  I easily held them wide and leaned forward.  “This shouldn’t take long,” I grinned, sticking my tongue out.  “I’m good at this, by the way.”

Paige didn’t reply.  She didn’t struggle too much as I dove into her pussy, tongue first.  But then, like a bear-trap, her legs suddenly slammed shut, her thin white thighs hammering my ears with more force than I would have imagined a petite woman could generate.  She squeezed my skull mercilessly for a few seconds, then suddenly rammed her heels into my shoulder blades violently, once, twice, three times.  These kicks stunned me.  I reached over my shoulders to try to grab her ankles, but she once again tightened her legs in a vice.  My nose was pressed into her black panties, and I could smell her powerfully female scent.

“What’s the matter, Tarzan, don’t you want to lick me to orgasm?” she cackled.  My ears were mostly covered by her thighs, but I could still hear her taunts.

I wasn’t going to let a little woman overpower me.  I figured desperate times called for desperate measures...so I reached forward and seized her boobs and squeezed.  I heard her squeal, but then, amazingly my hands were forcibly removed from her chest and my wrists and arms burned in pain.  Apparently Paige knew some Tae Kwan Do or Krav Maga or some such, because she had grasped the outer edge of both my palms and seemingly effortlessly rotated my arms outward in an excruciating manner.  I had to have about three times the arm strength that she did, and yet tears were welling up in my eyes as she torqued both my arms. 

“Don’t do that again, Tarzan, or I’ll get pissed off.”  Thankfully she let go of my hands and resumed her squeezing punishment.

I still didn’t give up.  Next I worked my way to my hands and knees and tried to back out of her headscissors.  Paige was tenacious, though, and remained clamped onto me as I crawled backwards around the apartment.  Finally I managed to slip my head loose from her vise-like thighs. 

I sat on the floor, dazed and panting, rubbing my ears and cheeks, trying to regain my composure.  Now my dander was up.  I didn’t care about the sexfight; this was now just a fight. 

A fight that I was losing.  Before I could completely regain my bearings, Paige had circled behind me and twisted my right arm into a hammerlock.  Again, the idea of this was highly improbable, given that I was so much stronger than she was.  Somehow, though, I wound up with my right wrist thrust up high in between my shoulderblades.  My elbow flashed with pain.  I lunged forward to try to lessen the intensity but this only allowed Paige to push me to my chest and straddle my lower back.  With one hand she grasped my hair and pushed my face into the carpet with all her weight, while with her other hand she continued to wrench my arm. 

“Having fun, Tarzan?” she asked. 

“Fuck you, bitch,” I snapped.  “I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Calm down, Tarzan.  You asked for this.  Speaking of bitches, you’re about to become my bitch.  This is where we get to the sex part of sexfight.”

“Fuck you,” I said again, petulantly.

“Not exactly,” Paige giggled.   The lilting, feminine tone of her voice infuriated me.  But I couldn’t break free as Paige swiveled about, maintaining her hammerlock on my right arm, and planted herself on the back of my head.  She bounced a couple times, her hundred pounds slamming my head into the floor.  I squirmed helplessly but succeeded only in rolling to my side.  This seemed to play right into Paige’s plans.  My left arm was now pinned underneath my body, my right arm was still twisted behind my back, my head was sandwiched between her thighs and crushed beneath her weight.  Only my legs were free, but with them I could simply thrash vainly.  Then I felt her small, strong hand on my cock.

I squirmed desperately.  No use.  She was right: it was supremely humiliating to have my body respond to this little woman’s touch.  I willed my penis to stay limp, I commanded it not to stiffen, but Paige controlled me.  Within seconds I was on the verge of ejaculation.  I tried thinking of the most unsexual images I could.  Sweat ran off her bottom and her thighs over my face; I could barely breathe underneath her; my arm ached and throbbed; and my cock was hard and on the edge of bursting. 

When I finally came the orgasm was so powerful that my whole body spasmed.  My toes pointed and curled, my back arched, and I inhaled so sharply that I thought I would pass out underneath her ass.  As Paige rose off my body I could hear again, and her laughter was the dominant sound.  I felt her rubbing her small foot around my crotch and stomach and then she forced her toes into my face.

“Lick off your cum, bitch,” she commanded, her voice feminine and girlish and intimidating.  I did as she said.