To the Last Breath

"Te estoy ... rompiendo ... perra." Jasmine taunted in a broken and near-breathless voice, feeling as if her opponent was about to completely give way beneath her. The taunt, meant to convey strength, betrayed the opposite to Darrisha, who in it discovered the effect that the heat and lack of air had begun to have on her opponent. Such a revelation provided to the chocolate doppleganger some hope of eventual escape and reprisal. Despite that momentary glimmer, however, the busty black girl found herself far more worried about not only the deep aching she felt in her overwhelmed and battered tits, but also the angle at which she began to slide down the wall of the dressing box. From those realities the brazen seductress realized that she could no longer push her chest up or outward, or take much more of the pain that she suffered with every moment of tit-to-tit contact with her foe. Such dilemmas left her with two options: escape the hold by any method she could, or submit, thereby conceding the superiority of her Latina rival. Desperate, Darrisha did the only thing she could think of, thrusting her still bikini-bottom-covered womanhood out and up, slamming it into Jasmine's.

"Fuck fight me ... bitch..." Darrisha spat through her exhaustion, before again thrusting her sweat-covered womanhood into her opponent's, each such attempt having the result of the girl's chocolate-covered body sliding further down the rubber wall of the dressing box, and deeper into the Latina's breast to breast press. A press the Latina refused to break, and a challenge she refused to accept, knowing that she had only moments left before fatigue took her, and that by which time she either needed to have defeated her enemy, or risk passing out atop her. With those dwindling grains of sand in mind, Jasmine let herself drop to her knees into a straddle of her opponent. A drop which sent her upper body slamming down into Darrisha's with violence, the latter being firmly stuck beneath the Latina, in a terribly painful position. To her credit, the black seductress continued her futile attempts at engaging Jasmine's sex, but within only a few pain-filled moments, found herself at the point of breaking.

"Submit, bitch! ¡Ríndete!" Without even waiting for a reply, the Latina pulled her body up, a move met with a loud sucking sound as the two women's sweat-covered bodies separated, and then slammed it back down, crashing her tits against those of her enemy's. So much pain the maneuver caused, that the young black girl bent forward and sunk her teeth into the sweaty caramel-covered skin of Jasmine's neck, not hard enough to cause pain, but with just enough force to keep her from pulling back for another devastating blow. The bite worked, in that it kept the Latina, in her completely exhausted form, from pulling back, but it served as a signal that she who so willingly resorted to such a tactic was only moments away from submission. With that knowledge as fire and fuel, Jasmine took both hands, no longer needed to keep Darrisha pinned, and violently grabbed at the her tits. Then, while she squeezed and mashed at the sore and bruised breasts of her rival from the sides, the Latina continued her onslaught, rubbing her own un-wounded tits at their front. As if such torture was not enough, Jasmine made a point to drive her erect nipples into those of her victim, driving them back into her body again and again, the beautiful or terrifying sight of it only clouded as sweat began to drip into both of their fatigue-glazed eyes. The violent and vicious attacks finally forced the proud black girl to release her holding bite, and whimper:

"I give ... please ... please stop..." The plea of submission did indeed bring an end to Jasmine's attack, who released her hands from her defeated rival's broken tits, placing them instead on her shoulders, as she pushed herself up from her upper body lean. There she sat, saying nothing at first, instead simply gazing into the eyes of her battered opponent, their combined sweat pooling together at the meeting of their straddled position. Their eyes spoke of so many emotions: hate; weariness; appreciation; jealousy; regret. And though all of that was conveyed and understood, without even a further word being said, Jasmine still needed to hear it.

"Tell me Ronaldo is mine." Because the words had been spoken, without their mutual gaze being broken, Jasmine was able to see the pain the command stirred in Darrisha, who laid defeated beneath her, and the internal struggle that took place within her as she mustered the courage to speak.

"He's yours... I'm sorry. I ... I shouldn't have tried to take him from you." The words, as soft and as remorseful as they were, were all Jasmine needed to hear before she stood up from her straddle, and turned to the door. Then, after fixing her bikini top, she reached for the lock on the door, expecting to simply open it and head back to Ronaldo, the man she had kept through her victory. And though that was her expectation, it was not her reality, as her effort-weakened fingers found the door, through all of the pressure put on it earlier, was broken, and the lock unwilling to budge. Her calm, pleased demeanor quickly gave way to panic, as she realized that she and her defeated rival might be stuck together in the incredibly hot dressing box, with little to no air. It made sense, the door having been so mistreated, when Darrisha had pressed Jasmine into it with all of her might, forcing it to bend and warp, beneath the weight of the Latina's tits. As that explanation took shape in her mind, and after she had given up on freeing the handle, Jasmine reached up to the vent, trying to pry it open, despite the state of its handle, which she had broken off earlier in an attempt to keep their war hidden.

Meanwhile, as the Latina struggled to earn them both escape and oxygen, Darrisha eyes watched, running up and down the body of the woman who had bested her. Every similarity. Every mirrored curve. And the thought that a body so incredibly alike to her own had beaten her, began to turn her wounded heart cold, and her failed reserve replenished. She could have won. She should have won. If only Jasmine had been willing to accept her challenge to a fuck fight. She stole her victory! She was not the better woman! Ronaldo or no, the young seductress could not stomach the thought have been beaten. Not when their womanhoods had not yet fully tasted of one another. With those desires and denials driving her mad, and as Jasmine began to pay less and less attention to her, Darrisha scootched to the side unnoticed, and then reached up from the sweat-and-sand-covered floor of the dressing box, and yanked her rival back into the fray.

Jasmine, still beside herself with panic and confusion - having completely written off the chance of further conflict, did not respond in time, within a blink finding herself sitting face to face with her ebony rival, the broken and stuck door to the box to their left. Despite her eyes growing wide with shock, the Latina did not even have an opportunity say a word, before her now resurgent opponent had placed them into a sitting scissor position, with left leg under right, and vice versa.

"What are you doing!? I beat you!" Jasmine spurt out, unsure what was going on, or why her seemingly-bested enemy was unconcerned about the state of the door, or the temperature within the box, though she left such concerns unsaid."

"You beat me for Ronaldo, and this isn't about him." Darrisha explained as she reached down and moved aside her thin bikini bottoms, just as she thrust her sex forward, slamming it into her rival's still-covered cunt.

"But the door!?" Jasmine responded, still without a counter attack. "We're going to suffocate in here!"

"Then I'll die having proven that my body is better than yours!" Again with her statement came a thrust, this time letting it linger on contact, rubbing her clit against the Latina's, trying to coax and entice her into a response.

"Ok, fine! I'll fuck fight you, puta, but you have to help me with the door!" Even with her terms came no return, even as she could feel the black girl's clit rub against hers.

"Deal!" Seeing the sense in it, and desperate to earn her rival's participation, Darrisha reached left left hand up to the door's lock, where it met Jasmine's, each girl trying to pull and bend the lock open once again. It was at that moment, that the Latina finally fought back, using her free hand to move her own bottoms to the side, before matching her rival's lusty slow clit grind with one of her own. The feeling of their womanhoods finally coming together, unencumbered and mutual in engagement, caused both women to release wild and impassioned moans. But just as they began to fully begin their conflict anew, the oppressive heat and lack of oxygen took to them again, robbing them of their energy and stamina. It was in that state that they battled, unable to muster full thrusts or slams, instead relegated to slow grinding, and fencing, using the most minute of movements to inflict pleasure upon one another. And yet, even that less exhausting form of trib began to drain them, as each woman tried desperately to gain enough air to continue, gasping between every moan, and struggling to pull the lock open between every shudder of pleasure. Sweat began to pour more heavily now than ever from each, with a pool of it covering almost the entirety of the floor beneath them, as the temperature in the box grew and grew, now reaching well over 110.

The fatigue they felt, and the suffocation that began to take both, did nothing but intensify the feelings of pleasure welling within them, as each knew that this battle, and whatever orgasms might be drawn might be the last acts taken by they two. In that hopelessness, they ground against one another, dodging and parrying, stabbing and sliding with their clits, their eyes beset by the stinging pain of dripping sweat and their lungs burning from a deadly lack of oxygen. Finally, they each without conscious thought gave into it, dropping their hands from the lock, which neither had even budged in their half-focused attempts, instead using them and their free hands to pull themselves closer to one another, as they set to pouring out their last ounces of effort. Effort which they released upon one another, as they lined up their clits for one final time, and pressed. It was glorious. It was incredible. And though it was close, closer than either would have wanted or expected, Jasmine released first, not a blink before Darrisha, both women orgasming wildly, their bodies shuddering and shaking as the blackness took them, their minds drifting together off into heat, exhaustion, and suffocation born unconsciousness.

Suddenly Jasmine awoke, as their felt her body being drug out from the dressing box, and heard the sweet and concerned voice of Ronaldo, calling her name.

"Jasmine? Nena? Are you ok? Qué ha pasado?" As Jasmine opened her eyes, she saw him kneeling above her, and Darrisha slowly waking at her side, as each laid in the gravel outside the box.

"Take us home, Ronaldo." The Latina sputtered out, coughing, only barely able to think given her state.

"Both of you? To our house?" Ronaldo asked, confused and unsure of what she meant.

"Yes..." As she whispered her response, she used a hand to find and take Darrisha's, who did just the same, both girls clinging to one another in their broken, scared, and nearly dead state.

As they slowly recovered, Ronaldo did as he was told, wrapping both women in beach towels, before loading them into the backseat of his car. And though he said nothing, and asked less from that point on, he would from time to time take a look into his rear view mirror, and find both his girl, and the girl who tried to seduce him leaning against one another in a shaking heap, their tongues dancing in each other's mouths. The sight brought a smile to his face, and a few more pounds of lead to his foot, as he gleefully drove the unlikely pairing home.