Parent-Teacher Confluence

In a blink, words of dominance and control turned to horror, as sharp blue fingernails dug deep into Riya's bushy, black-haired pussy. Not just into the outskirts, or the exterior of her labia, but further, harder, and as deep as they could possibly go.

At that moment, so much of Riya wanted to just cling to her choke. To hold onto the two ends of her enemy's squeezing bra, and finish this -- FINISH HER! But as Katie's claws stabbed past and through the moist, raven-haired exterior of her Indian enemy's sex, Riya could do not but shriek, so intensely in fact, that it came without a sound. In that agony, Riya released her choking grasp and began to keel over, leaning into Katie now, in opposite of only a moment before.

But Katie, still blind and broken from the after-effects of asphyxiation, could not resist collapsing at the sudden application of weight. She, in her suddenly resurgent glory, collapsing to all fours save for a single hand, as her rival collapsed atop her back, and then rolled off into a heap on the floor. But as all of this transpired, one woman falling to her knees and the other to her back to the side, Katie never let her newly applied claw falter. Keeping it well-place, and deeply-dug, her digits even further inside, even as Riya's hands moved to wrist and began to pull, desperately.

Needing to taunt this woman who had moments before mocked her so cruelly, Katie began, but her bruised and reddened throat gave her nothing but a croak, and a wheeze, as she did so. "I caaa..." She offered with a deep, hoarse cough. "...caaaaaannn..." She tried again, before her still burning lungs seized on her, and demanded she abandon the attempt. But with that abandonment, and stolen voice, Katie found rage. One that had moved from smolder, to flare, to inferno, and now past. Pushing her to hate this woman, this perceived invader, and personified reminder of her husband's betrayal, even more than before.

Those emotions, as if gasoline and gunpowder made into one, pushed Katie to raise up to her knees again, and with her free right hand, grab at Riya's now sweaty brown hair. That grip she then used to pull the olive-skinned woman's upper body off of the floor, leaving her in a sit. A sit which would have lasted only a second, before giving into collapse, had the blonde teacher not lifted her powerful right leg and propped it behind Riya with a bent knee. With her misery-struck enemy stable, Katie then moved in, both with her fingers, digging them as far as they would go and then inches further, but also with her own face, which she moved closer to Riya's.

Those faces. Their faces. At that moment, were a tale of two stories. One of pain and agony, and the other of malice and joy.

No, god! No! Please! Let me go! Uggghhhhnnnn!! Riya wanted to say -- wanted to cry -- wanted to BEG, as she whimpered and moaned at her enemy's touch. But as her mouth stood open quivering, and tears began to flood from her onyx-hued eyes, she could give nothing. Offer nothing. Her words, like Katie's taken from her, not by absent breath but by present pain. A pain which tore at her very center. Her womanhood. The first sensation of any kind, in that most sacred of areas, produced by anyone other than herself, in so very long.

And though Riya, as she leaned heavily against Katie's bent leg, buried and impaled at the furthest reaches of the two woman's spectrum of war, the blonde, even as she recovered, found herself at the other. On her mind: one thought. Vengeance! The word ran on a loop in her mind, as she leaned in closer, the lips of her opening mouth pressing to Riya's tear-and-mascara-stained cheek, as she began not to bite -- not to chomp -- but almost nibble. Her tongue extending to take and taste the tears that flowed. Their salty essence like manna from heaven, after the humiliating oblivion the clawing blonde had just drug herself back from.

This had all come to pass because of Riya's son, his grades, and Ms. Saunders' unfair treatment of him. And though that was the spark and the kindle, at that moment, neither woman, even his mother, could even remember his name. For their battle had become something else. Something more akin to a purging. Not of one emotion, but all of them combined. A sharing and satisfaction -- an inflicting and incinerating of every fear, every hate, every worry, and every longing that the two lonely women had allowed to build within themselves since they were parted from the men they had each believed to be their soulmates.

Despite that unison of unknown and unspoken purpose, the two women could not have been more at odds, at that moment. And could not have hated each other more. Riya using every ounce of strength and groan-heightened focus to survive and endure, as Katie's fingers pushed deep into her shamefully wet sex, before latching on, digging in, and then dragging out. A suffering that drove Katie wild, as her taunting nibbles on her enemy's cheek became harder and nastier. Her teeth catching and jaw clenching, just as Riya's hands moved from the blonde's wrist to her bare breasts, hoping that perhaps offensive squeezing and pinching might do, what defensive prying had not.

In a way, the change in tactics worked to end the nail-first assault. As only seconds after Riya's fingers tightened around Katie's alabaster breasts, did the latter suddenly shift. Suddenly lift and then round. Releasing her devastating claw hold, so that she could then stand in part, and then a moment later, lower herself atop her enemy's lap. The teacher's naked ass coming to a rest between Riya's legs, as the powerful thighs of the former began to wrap around the Indian mother's abdomen.

A second or two after, without warning or word, those same coiling legs straightened like wrought iron bars and tightened like a vice, locking together at the ankles behind Riya's back. At the feeling, the brunette's hands dropped from the blonde's breasts, and she screamed out at the torment. The sound of that shriek coming as a soundtrack, as the agonized mother leaned back in her enemy's grasp, and reached for the thighs of the same. With those hands applied, Riya pushed desperately -- pitifully, as her ribs began to bend and her insides felt as if they might explode.

With both hands free, and her wind returned, Katie launched a hard, stinging slap, which landed with an echoing clap against Riya's tear-stained cheek, before taunting. "You got what, now...? Huh...? Bitch!?" Before Riya could even respond or even process the call back to her previous comment -- one that felt like it was hours ago, a second slap landed hard. Then a third, and a fourth. Each heavier than the last.

As every breath was at that moment squeezed from her body, Riya felt as if the slaps might continue on, one after another, until she could no longer count them, or remember when they began. But just as that pain started to feel like the new permanent state of her ongoing hell, those same hands which had slapped, grabbed. They two seizing on Riya's naked breasts, just as her own had on Katie's moments before. Somehow, counter-intuitively, the pain of that new attack seemed lessened -- ebbed almost, when added atop all others. The crushing squeeze of Katie's mile-wide thighs. The lingering ravaging of her possibly bleeding inner-sex. Her forehead from the keyboard tray being slammed into it when the two together fell from the teacher's desk. Even Riya's toes still hurt, despite the length of this exhausting battle. Lost, and spiraling in that haze of anguish, the Indian mother could still hear her enemy's taunts.

"Cry for me, you curry-munching cunt! CRY!!" And though, at that moment, she did cry. And though she had already been crying for minutes on end. Something about the demand -- the insult struck at Riya's very soul. It, like a dagger, piercing the last recesses of unwounded space that remained. Then, like a tiny cinder finding some new, undiminished accelerant, her fire to fight back was not just rekindled but whirled and whipped into such fire and heat that the squeezing blonde teacher found herself completely overwhelmed in an instant. One, in which the Indian mother, driven by rage and hatred, brought her head forward with such force, that when the tip of her brown hairline slammed into Katie's forehead, the latter collapsed backward, nearly blacking out as she fell.

In that battle to remain conscious, Katie could focus not on maintaining her painful leg scissor or keeping her hands on Riya's beautiful brown breasts. An inability matched and equaled in her enemy, who expended her everything in that brutal, and unexpected headbutt. One which left even she dazed and confused -- broken and battered, and in shape to do not but collapse next to her foe. Each on their back. Their chests heaving as they searched for air and energy, both together and for the first time in so long ... apart.

It was then, as each of the two thick-thighed and nude women laid next to each other -- each ruined -- each decimated -- each resting, though not by choice.

In that fatigue-forced ceasefire, seconds turned to minutes, as they side-by-side, gasped and groaned, their upper lips as parched as the Sahara, and their lower lips as wet as the sea. Neither able to move or even look to each other, their entire minds focused on nothing but just continuing to breathe and maintain their will in a war this bereft of mercy or restraint.

But as one moment drifted into the next, Riya's right hand and Katie's left drifted. With that drift, came a touch. A soft, accidental brush, but it was enough. Enough for them to search and then find, lacing the fingers on those hands together, as each used their newly discovered grip on the other to pull themselves up. As they raised, they together moaned out in exhaustion, their bodies ravaged by pain and passion, as well as the fatigue of their fight. Due to precisely that, they wobbled as they reached their knees, leaning against each other just to keep from collapsing. Their sore breasts meeting and pressing, with still hard nipples stabbing into each others wounded, and hue-opposed areolas.

Too tired to pull apart and re-engage, each of the two women clung to their grasp on the others hand. They together keeping their fingers laced, as with their unbound hands they began to slap at each others bodies, even as their chins came to a rest on each others shoulders.

"Fff-uck you ... you racist ... bitch..." Riya sputtered out through quick, seizing breaths. Sounds which came as each delivered, slow, hard slaps to each others thigh and ass.

"Ddd-ot-head ... cunt... OoooOo..." Katie replied with no force or fire, her words ending in a pained moan, as Riya's palm landed in a particularly stinging slap.

"Owe..." Came a similar betrayal of pain, as the blonde unleashed a similarly effective strike. But as each felt the sting of the others slaps, being unleashed without defense, their free hands set out until they found. Each taking the others hand into their own, and lacing their fingers together, like those on their opposite.

For a moment, as they tightened their grip, they just remained. Not striking or cursing -- not biting or baiting. Each hoping that after this next breath, their energy would return. But one breath after another came, and the two warring women remained as they were. Tired. Broken. Wounded. And though one might think that it would be then that sense would hit them. That modesty and maturity would seize back control from the madness they had locked themselves in. But instead, as their damp, bushy pubic hairs tangled and tugged. And as their bruised and battered breasts pressed and pressured their opposing pair out to their sides, Riya pushed with her left hand.

In an instant, Katie pushed back with her right, and then before either knew it, they found themselves driving into each other. Testing each other. To see what either had left. To find what strength was left in their ravaged bodies. The two women, at that moment, beginning to lean harder, and with their floor-bound knees, scoot back farther. Bringing to bear not just the force created by their hands and arms, but as much of their thick-framed weight as they could muster.

Despite that constant and increasing pressure, and the toll it began to take on each of them, each of the two seemed to be reviving. Recovering. The moments of more subtle and less fast-paced action letting both catch their, at this point, fifth wind.

Relying on that newly found fire, the two women together began to stand, even while their hands remained clasped and arms continued pushing. Each of the two enemies lifting one leg and then the other, with their soles pressing, and calves flexing, with seemingly matched intent on bringing their test of strength up from their knees, so that it might be waged on their feet.

But three-quarters of the way up, and just as Katie was at her most vulnerable, Riya shot up her left knee, as hard as she possibly could, slamming the cap of the firing limb into the blonde's clit. The blow was crushing and sent the blonde crashing back down to the floor -- not to her knees, but her ass, and then with a low, wounded groan, her back.

With her opponent -- her enemy, floored and flailing, her hands reaching down to protect her poor, wounded clit from any further damage, Riya pounced. In as much a pounce as her weary body could muster, she dropping to her knees after a stumble, her thighs coming down on either side of the blonde's effort-flushed cheeks.

With Katie's face mounted, there next to her own desk, Riya thought about it, for the briefest of seconds. Sitting on her face. Just, putting out the racist bitch's already dim flame in a slow, grinding, lounge of a sit. And though the thought was tempting, and tasty, as the thought lingered on her mind, and perhaps soon at the tip of Katie's tongue, the mother thought better of it. Knowing that her best asset -- her most potent weapon, just like Katie's, was her thighs. And that applying those -- wrapping those once again, around the woman who squirmed beneath her, would give her the best chance of victory if such a thing could even be earned after all this.

Whether it could or couldn't, after all this pain, and all this destruction of each other, Riya clenched, flexing her brutally strong thighs against Katie's cheeks. And when she knew she had her enemy secured, the nude, olive-skinned mother rolled -- onto a thigh, and then her back, pulling her child's tormentor with her as she turned.

Katie, in a brief flash of resistance, tried to escape, pressing her palms to the floor as they moved. But as soon as she has raised herself even an inch, Riya's legs flexed hard and locked together at the calves behind Katie's head. At that moment, it sounded like it came in one, gathering, symphony of sound. Soft, pathetic whimpers, the sound of bones creaking within the blonde's neck and skull, and then ... the most beautiful sound Riya had ever heard. The sound of Katie begging for release, or at least that's what she assumed it to be. Not a word of it intelligible, as each was spoken directly into the triumphant mother's black-bush-covered sex.

Unintelligible or not, Riya continued to squeeze, tighter and tighter. She, the presumed victor, relenting just long enough to spread her own thighs, and allow Katie's nose and mouth to slip deeper into her waiting and wanting sex. With her there. With her enemy ideally placed to serve, Riya demanded just that. The taboo nature of wanting someone she hated more than words could convey to please her forgotten, ignored, or instead, used as fuel for her own uncontrolled and growing passions.

"Fucking, lick me, cunt! Eat me out, right here on the floor of your FUCKING classroom!" Riya demanded with a glee-tinged ferocity. She finally had her. The racist bitch who had dared fight her. Who had dared mess with her child. A bitch who at that moment was trapped, buried, face-first in Riya's burning sex.

If it were just that -- just where she had her -- just a well-applied headscissor, Riya would be cautious. Careful. Nervous that at any moment the tables might turn. But in every way that one might be, Katie, trapped there between muscle-etched thighs, appeared broken. Her body soft and without resistance. Her hands, with fingers spread, resting softly on Riya's pain-inflicting thighs. Her lips and mouth not shouting or cursing anymore, but instead, if what the dominant mother felt could be believed, timidly beginning to do as was ordered -- to lick. To please...

Into that intoxicating dominance, one inflicted upon a woman who had not moments before been at the very height of control in this struggle, Riya sank. But even as she did, she let up not a single bit. Still squeezing. Still torturing. Still owning the bitch between her thighs. And though she didn't relent in force, she did so in focus. Not noticing as one of Katie's hands left her thighs. Too entranced by the sensation of her enemy's tongue lashing against her clit to worry where that hand went. Too lost in the feeling of her rival whimpering into the sex she earlier tore at, to wonder what that hand might be doing.

But then it came.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!" Like a lightning bolt of pain that made Riya's eyes go wide, and her whole body spasm with the same.

"BITCH!!" Came a shouted insult from Katie, as her face pulled out from between Riya's thighs, which with rapidity came unclenched.

"SNAP" A subtle but telling sound followed, as the pencil that the blonde teacher had stabbed deep into Riya's right thigh broke upon exit, it having been driven cruelly into the Indian mother's flesh and muscle.

At that moment, with both speed and desperation, Riya tried to sit up, to get to her fresh pencil-caused wound. Wanting. NEEDING to check to see what damage had been done. But as she raised up, Katie dove forward and down upon, thereafter pinning Riya to the classroom floor. Not with shins or hands, but with her naked white ass, which landed on equally unclothed brown breasts.

"FUCK YOU! GET OFF ME!" Riya cried as she tried to press Katie off of her, she being more focused on her leg and the wound it had suffered, than fighting back or resisting Katie's fresh offensive. An offensive which began, with one heavy, deliberate slap ... and then another, just as before.

Unlike before, however, as palms landed and the sound of flesh hitting flesh rang out and echoed off the walls, they did not stop. Not after three or five -- ten or twenty. Each of the strikes coming as their deliverer's own reserves began to truly run out. Her every labored breath coming deep and hard, with none giving her the oxygen she needed. And from that lack, at a time of such need, the blonde began to wobble atop her foe. A foe who did not speak or strike back. One that just laid there, as hand after hand rained down upon her.

"Give..." Katie demanded as Riya's body became still beneath her. Asking for her enemy's submission, even as her own vision blurred from exhaustion.

"Beg me..." The blonde added as she looked down for the first time in the last ten slaps. There finding Riya's tear-stained face. Her bloodied lips trying to form words, but without success or sound. She being too far gone -- too battered -- too broken.

And though she would have loved at that moment to hear it — to bathe in the sound of her enemy's tearful submission, she wanted one thing more. A thing she took, as she pushed through her own crippling exhaustion, and drug herself forward to take her rightful seat on Riya's battered face.

"Wake..." Katie stuttered after a single word, before finding the barest whips of focus and wind. "Wake up, bitch -- we're not done here..."

If she, Riya, as she laid there below her enemy, could link words to meaning, or meaning to response, she would agree. She would understand. That she was done, in every way the word could mean but one...