Kara's Submission
Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa, ft/ft, Fa/ft, Consensual, Romantic, NonConsensual, Lesbian, FemaleDom, Humiliation, Interracial, First, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Sex Toys, Violent, Cat-Fighting,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A 17-year-old submissive attends the Grand Tournament with her Mistress and finds her life changing dramatically after a chance meeting with Megan's prize kitten, a beautiful tomboy named Swan.

Let me tell you about Megan. She could be a charming, beautiful woman when it suited her, but most often she liked to play the arrogant bitch. At other times, she addressed the world at large behind a mask of cool efficiency, piloting our fortunes through good times and bad. Which of those personas was the real Mistress Megan, perhaps not even she could know for certain.

Three years ago, I'd been seventeen-years-old and a favorite of Mistress Laura, the woman who'd brought me into the clandestine world of catfighting. I'd been modeling at the time, not much of a fighter at all, and so it wasn't my non-existent skills that attracted her eye; she simply had a thing for beautiful young women.

But beauty isn't always the blessing most people assume it to be. I practiced fighting and worked on building a body that wasn't merely pleasing to the eye, but sleek with muscle. I grew stronger and eventually entered the arena against a girl my own age, or slightly younger, actually. I lost my virginity along with my first fight, to a pack sister named Melissa while Laura and her Pride watched.

I never fought again, although I would beg my Mistress often for the opportunity. She loved me, however, and too much for her own good. She kept me in her bed, treating my body to the most exquisite tortures imaginable. Someone might expect such favoritism to cause dissent and jealousy among the other girls in the pack, but that wasn't so. My sisters felt only sympathy for me. Not because of any pain or humiliation I might endure for Laura's pleasure, but because they knew how badly I wanted to fight.

Anyone can be a toy and a great many girls are precisely that. They come and go at the whim of their owners. If they break, they're thrown away with casual disregard. There's nothing special about being beautiful and if I wasn't allowed to at least try and prove myself as a woman, then I was worthless. But that's precisely what Laura had forgotten and she'd elevated me far above my true value.

Something like that doesn't remain a secret for very long. When Megan discovered how precious I'd become to my Mistress, she laid a cunning trap. They're very jealous of each other, the women who rule their packs, and they plot and scheme endlessly in hopes of injuring their rivals. Reputation is everything and through me, Megan thought she detected a weakness in Laura.

There's one grand tournament held every year to determine which Mistress holds dominance over the others. That's the real prize, and the only one that matters, but there are always a great many wagers placed. Great sums of money are won and lost. Likewise the cats themselves may occasionally find themselves won or lost to a hated rival, for none of us would willingly bear the shame of being enslaved by another Pride. Our loyalty is unquestionably to our Mistress, whoever she may be, but our hearts must always belong to the pack that birthed us.

A woman only becomes a Mistress if she is a great fighter. They're the best, and if a Mistress is not, someone is always willing to challenge her for ownership of the pack. At thirty-one years of age, Laura was in her prime. I'd only witnessed one challenge to her position and she'd dispatched the threat with ruthless zeal.

Renee, twenty-eight years old and regarded as the strongest cat in Laura's pack, ended her career sobbing and broken. It's customary for the loser of such a fight to be permanently maimed as both a punishment for failure and a warning to others. It was a custom our Mistress observed with a bone shattering kick to Renee's left knee. She would learn to walk again, but never fight.

Most fights are not so dreadful in their outcome, but exact their toll emotionally. The Grand Tournament is no exception. Laura had won dominance the year previously and everyone expected her to retain her position, although any Mistress could rightly be considered a contender based solely on their individual prowess in the arena. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, the tournament standings are determined by the performance of the pack.

Each Mistress brings with her three cats, one from each of the tiers, and obviously her best. Matches are drawn by random lot with each of the cats fighting three times. As there are nine packs, that makes for twenty-seven matches to be held over a week. Points are awarded for victories and thus each Mistress gains position in the tournament. Only the top two positions are of any importance at the end of the matches.

In the event of a tie, additional matches are held to determine who will vie for the championship. It's in that final match between the top two finishers that one Mistress will actually meet another in combat. By gaining position they will have already proven their ability to select and train the cats in their pack and all that remains is to demonstrate their physical superiority.

Of course, before and during the tournament, a great many games are played between women like Laura and Megan. The atmosphere is pleasant, even carnival-like, with much entertainment to distract the senses. Deals are struck and information passed back and forth, and each Mistress has her agents and spies working behind the scenes. In that sense, the tournament resembles a diplomatic cocktail party as much as anything else. We are a nation within a nation, secretive and jealous of any foreign influence, but not without resources.

As it happened, the Mistresses Laura and Megan were considered to have the most promising tier three cats in attendance. Unlike other violent sports, like boxing in which fighters are classified by weight, catfighting organizes itself strictly by age. Tier three cats are those girls between the ages of fourteen and seventeen, and are generally considered to be novice fighters at best, with more potential than actual skill. They're most often referred to as "kittens" for good reason. Of course, any girl brought to the tournament must be at least competent simply because a single point can become extremely important to the final outcome.

Mistress Laura had brought a girl named Bambi, a deceptive name that fooled no one. She was seventeen and surprisingly petite, but quite attractive as well. Catfighting, it's often said, was born of vanity and I for one believed that to be true. One would be hard pressed to find a cat, or most especially a Mistress, that did not meet the current social definition of beauty. And naturally, the standards of the pack are somewhat higher in that regard.

Bambi had been fighting since before Laura had even heard of the girl. She'd had a troubled youth, to put it kindly, suffering abuse at home and shuffling back and forth between social services and juvenile detention. Laura, like every other Mistress, had deep connections to the various organizations that deal with minors. Bringing a girl into the pack from a happy, respectable home wasn't usually desirable, or even possible, despite whatever potential the child might possess.

Orphans, on the other hand, runaways and delinquents and girls suffering a particular sort of bad luck, they could always be made available to an interested buyer. For that's very much what it was, the buying and selling of teenage girls to women like Laura. All legally done, of course, so long as one didn't peer too deeply into the process. Civil servants, it seems, are woefully underpaid. Three years ago, Bambi had been bought and paid for, and probably for the first time had found herself in an environment where she could happily flourish. That girl loved to fight, and she'd already been very good at it, but Mistress Laura had made her even better.

Megan's prize, a seventeen-year-old named Swan, had never hit another girl in her life until a young recruiter arranged a fight with the girl at school. I'd never met the girl and got the story second hand. So some of it may be apocryphal, but apparently Swan not only punched the other girl's lights out, but added insult to injury by dropping her panties in front of the whole school and pissing on her helpless victim's face. Maybe that really happened, maybe not, but it's all about the attitude, believe me. While the loser's name is now forgotten, by all accounts Swan quickly grew into a rather cruel and obscenely beautiful kitten.

That was the key for Mistress Megan, that not only could Swan challenge Bambi for dominance in the arena, but that the girl's beauty rivaled my own. I attended the tournament, but only as a decoration. Being women of power, every Mistress had brought along a trophy or two like myself. We were young, desperately pretty and unique in our fragility, and put on display for the envy of all, but with a single exception ... Swan. She was more than a mere bauble to be admired. The girl could fight, as I explained, and that was guaranteed to infuriate Laura.

The drawing of lots is traditionally held at midnight of the first day and it would be impossible for anyone to tamper with the process, but all the same, it did turn out more than fortuitous for certain parties. Bambi would fight Swan in the third match of the third tier, on the third day of the grand tournament. I wasn't present, but it couldn't have taken much prodding on Megan's part to convince my Mistress to accept a so-called friendly wager. "One kitten against another, winner's choice." That was the bet, verbatim and posted in public, as such things are.

It wasn't usual for Mistress Laura to share me with someone else, but it wasn't outside my experience either. The second day of the tournament is for rest and preparation, and all the behind the scenes maneuvering before the matches began the following afternoon. When Laura sent me to bathe and massage Bambi, I was only a little surprised. She wanted to impress upon the girl her personal value to our Mistress and what better way than to offer Bambi that possession which everyone knew Laura treasured most.

This year the tournament was being hosted at the home of a certain Dr. Arthakama, whom I'd only met silently on the arm of my Mistress. Apparently he was a software engineer originally from India, a very wealthy one, who had a genuine passion for catfighting and was willing to make considerable donations in its cause. There are a surprising number of enthusiasts, but only those with something substantial to offer in exchange for the privilege of modest participation are acknowledged. The ordinary men and women who enjoy catfighting as a fetish are wholly unaware of our existence, as it must inevitably be.

I found Bambi standing on the balcony of her bedroom, leaning against a darkened glass railing overlooking Puget Sound. The house was formidable and modern in design, constructed of metal, glass, and concrete with lush, oriental interiors that belied its cold exterior. How many rooms it possessed would be anyone's guess, but there were enough that each Mistress had her own suite. Laura's other two cats, Vicky and Natalie, shared this one large bedroom with Bambi, but they were out for the moment. Perhaps they'd gone to the gymnasium or just on an exploratory tour of the house and its grounds, it mattered little to me.

"Nice view," I offered from the balcony's open doorway.

The entire wall had been constructed of wide, sliding glass doors, six or seven of them, adorned with brightly colored veils of silk that fluttered in the cool breeze. I could smell the water, the salt and faint brine of the ocean, and dark clouds loomed across the horizon. Everything looked blue out there, without any other colors at all, just every shade of blue imaginable.

"What are you doing?" Bambi wondered, turning her head and allowing herself a smile. She wore a white terrycloth bathrobe belted around her slim waist and it did little to hide the shape of her sexy butt.

"Mistress wants me to give you bath," I explained, leaning against the glass and shrugging. "And then a massage and then..." I shrugged, returning her smile " ... we can do whatever you want."

I'd been the official face of Neiman's teen fashion for two years before Laura had found me, so I knew how to make a girl feel special with just a look. For official functions, like the tournament's dinners and various parties, as well as the matches themselves, I always dressed up for my Mistress. She'd spoiled me with a whole new wardrobe in anticipation of showing me off, but this was unofficial and private. I wore the clothes I was most comfortable in, namely a pair of long faded blue jeans and an old Huskies sweatshirt that tried valiantly to disguise my female charms.

"But since we're alone right now," I continued, glancing over my shoulder as if to make sure, "maybe we can do whatever you want right now."

"Fuck," Bambi sighed, shaking her head as her doe eyes wandered across my body.

"We can do that," I agreed with a giggle.

I probably didn't have to tease her that much, but I was enjoying myself. Unlike a lot of my pack sisters, I'd been with guys before, and I much preferred having sex with girls. I envied their freedom, too. Since Mistress Laura had taken me as her lover almost immediately, I had far less experience than I should have had. We were nearly the same exact age, with our birthdays less than a month apart, but she'd probably had sex with dozens of different girls. Certainly all of the older cats delighted in breaking in the new kittens, that was normal and expected, and I'm sure Bambi had amused them in her turn. But they didn't often get a chance to play with Laura's pet.

Bambi had never touched me, but that was about to change as she turned away from one breathtaking view to embrace another.

"Get on your knees," she told me. "No, just leave your clothes on for now."

"Alright," I agreed, keeping my bright blue eyes fixed on hers. A small gust of wind pulled my hair into my face and I lifted a hand to remove it, but Bambi stopped me.

"Leave it alone," she said, untying her bathrobe and shrugging free of it. "I love your hair."

"It's too long," I complained. "I wish it was shorter, like yours."

Most of the cats kept their hair relatively short, simply because long hair like mine could be a real handicap in a fight. Bambi's hair fell just below her shoulders and she usually kept it in a short ponytail. My honey colored hair was long and thick with waves, curling at the ends, and I always wore it loose for my Mistress. I disliked my hair because it made me stand-out so obviously amongst the other girls, which is why Laura refused to have it cut. With one look at me, everyone knew I wasn't a real fighter and even after two years, I still felt the sharp pang of that humiliation every time I looked at myself in the mirror.

I should have been a cat, but the woman's affection had betrayed me. That innocuous remark about liking my hair had been a warning. The older women could regard me with sympathy, but a girl like Bambi wasn't yet experienced enough to understand my suffering. She probably thought that I liked being little more than a sex toy for our Mistress, and unfortunately, I had no choice but to behave as if that was true. Bambi would doubtless appreciate Laura's gift, but she'd think very little of me as a person by the time we were finished.

"Kiss me first," she said. "Do you like my body, Kara? Am I beautiful?"

"Yes," I whispered, touching my lips to her muscular thighs. "I've always thought so."

"Hmmm..." She smiled, using her left hand to guide my kisses closer to her clean shaven sex. Cats are always kept smooth, a tradition I'd learned to appreciate since joining Laura's pack.

My hands moved up and down Bambi's legs, marveling and the taut flesh beneath her soft, bronzed skin. Our home was in Vancouver, hardly the best place to achieve such a wonderful tan, but among the pack's resources was a small chain of salon's dedicated to that purpose. Like all of the catfighters, Bambi spent a great deal of time and energy on her body. Not sculpting it like a true body builder would, but training for endurance and agility, as well as strength. After three years, she had a sleek, predatory figure that any girl would be proud to own. Seeing her that way, clothed only in the glory of her potential realized, made me feel very ordinary by comparison.

I kissed her left hip and then the right, near the front where Bambi's pelvis joined her thighs. I teased her with my tongue and bee-stung lips, filling my too small hands with her firm, generous ass. Even there she felt hard and unyielding, although the seventeen-year-old girl had all the shapely curves anyone could desire. There was nothing masculine about Bambi, or any of the others, except perhaps a natural dominance that most outsiders would have found uncomfortable at best.

"Kiss my pussy," she said, tugging at my hair with her fist. "Tell me you love my cunt."

"I love your cunt," I quickly replied, covering her vulva with my open mouth and wriggling my tongue across her plump labia.

Bambi spread her legs a fraction wider, giving me more room as I kept my face tilted upward. I gave her my eyes and kneaded the solid meat of her ass while we fucked. That's what we were doing, fucking, and I kept my tongue stiff as I pushed it inside her tight, buttery hole. She held my head with both hands, smiling and licking her lips, thrusting against my efforts to bring her off. The girl's tart flavor filled my mouth immediately and I didn't hesitate to swallow Bambi's arousal. I loved the taste and couldn't get enough of it as my own body had quickly warmed to the task.

Beneath my clothes, I felt my nipples stiffen and throb with excitement. As much as I resented my place in Laura's pack, I had to admit that I did enjoy having sex as much or more than any teenage girl. I only wished for a little more variety, since my Mistress most often kept me for herself. It can be frustrating, almost stifling to be surrounded by so many attractive women, to see them pumped with lust and smell the sweaty musk of their passion spilling from their pores. Fighting and fucking are two sides of the same coin for women like Laura and her cats, and for me as well.

Our sex would have been better if Bambi and I had fought first, but we both knew that the smallest bruise to mar my otherwise perfect complexion would have angered our Mistress. Not that I stood a chance of beating the girl, but that's not the point. I would have given her my best and gladly savored the sting of humiliating defeat, and painfully surrendered my ass, cunt, and mouth to whatever punishment Bambi could have devised. It's the victor's right to rape her fallen opponent to the amused envy of the pack. They would offer equal opinion on her ability to fuck as well as fight, urging the girl to climax upon my fallen form.

It was a good fantasy, my favorite for the moment, and I had to resist the desire to massage my drooling sex through my jeans. I had a fire burning deep in my belly as I closed my pursed lips around Bambi's clitoris, so wonderfully long and erect like a tiny, pink cock. I flicked it with my tongue, feeling her tense and even shivering beneath the shadow of her approaching orgasm. I'd become so well practiced at such things that I sometimes took my considerable skills for granted. Spending countless hours worshipping Laura's body with my mouth, dining on her pussy every single day for nearly two years, had turned me into a genuine artist. For the moment, Bambi was my canvas and I brought her off quickly, jamming my right thumb inside her cunt even as I nipped her sensitive clitoris with my teeth.

"Fuck!" she gasped with a sharp explosion of oily juice, pulling me hard against her pussy and grinding with mindless abandon. I knew she'd like the pain.

After taking the edge off, as Bambi called it, we adjourned to our bath. She sat on the toilet, pissing while I undressed. Although the owner of the house had come from India, as I mentioned, he seemed to favor the Japanese attitude toward bathing. There was a rather ordinary shower, a large one behind etched glass, but rather than a bathtub, the room was dominated by a deep, circular hot tub already filled. Nearby a simple faucet with metal buckets and ornate water scoops waited patiently. It took me a moment to find the controls, but soon enough the gas heated tub began to grow warm.

I'd been to Japan twice and had the benefit of my experience, but Bambi didn't care for the idea of taking a cold bath before being allowed to soak at leisure.

"That water's freezing!" she complained, hugging her knees as she sat on a stool. I only smiled and poured another scoop over her shoulders.

"It's supposed to be cold," I told her. "They say it's good for you."

"Brrrr..." She shook her head and shivered.

"You big baby," I teased. "Relax a little. I have to wash you all over. Lift your arms."

"I just don't like being cold," Bambi said, pouting as I began washing her body with brisk, soapy hands.

I knelt on the tiled floor, letting my breasts rub her back as I reached around the girl. She had smaller tits than me, but they filled my hands nicely and especially enjoyed how firm and heavy they seemed. I'd grown up quickly, reaching five-foot-ten shortly after my fifteenth birthday and adding another inch shortly after that. My breasts, along with every other part of me, had kept pace and I'd been rather pleased with myself at the time.

I'd been the envy of my classmates, being a 10th grade sophomore standing 5'11" and 126 pounds, with 36-24-35 measurements. I only knew such vital information because for a model, it's precisely that. Vital. I didn't do runways, nothing like that, although I sometimes considered going to New York and looking for work. That's a tough market though, even for a sixteen-year-old girl who looks like Venus, and in the Pacific Northwest, I was a big fish in a small pond. I made enough money working between San Francisco and Vancouver.

Too much money, as it turned out, and that's how I ended up with Mistress Laura.

"What do you mean," Bambi asked. She sat across from me in the nearly scalding water of the tub as I told her about myself.

"It turned out that my agent had a little gambling problem," I explained, closing my eyes and trying not to move too much. "He basically lost every dime I had, but that's not the worst part."

"What's the worst part?" she wondered, the way everyone always does and I smiled.

"He was my dad, too."


"So I was sixteen anyway and a friend of mine, this other girl who modeled, she turned me onto her agent," I continued. "The first thing we did was file for emancipation, and that was a no brainer. I think my dad kind of hated me for it, but..."

"That sucks," Bambi decided. "So you were still modeling, right?"

"Yeah, but it was all messed up," I sighed. "I didn't know what I was doing. I had to live by myself and pay my own bills, tell myself to clean my room and go to school, and I thought it would be nice not having my dad tell me what to do all the time."

"I wouldn't know," she said, giggling. "I never had anybody. How did you end up with Laura?"

"Well, I started going to parties and drinking and drugs and that whole stupid cliché, which really sucks. It's true though, so I guess that's why. But anyway, I was really stoned one day. This guy gave me something, I didn't know what it was, but I ended up totally fucking up the shoot and everyone was pissed. Heh! I was pissed."

We shared a grin through the steam and it wasn't the first time I'd told this story to someone, but I usually didn't.

"I hit one of the assistants, this ugly girl who did wardrobe, I just..." I shrugged. "I don't know. I just wanted to beat her face, you know? I never hit anyone before, but I hit her like ten times before they pulled me off. I think I still got scars on my hands, see?"

I held up my fingers, turning them as I leaned forward.

"She had some hard fucking teeth!" I said, laughing at the memory. I wasn't proud of it, though, nothing like that.

"Should have hit her in the stomach," Bambi suggested. "Or in the tits, that always hurts."

"Yeah. I should have," I agreed. "After that, it got pretty hard finding a job. I got arrested for possession of narcotics, not for beating up that girl. She never pressed charges, but I got busted a couple days later for DUI and I had some coke in my purse and it was all fucked up."

"Sounds like it."

"And that was pretty much the bottom," I sighed. "My lawyer gave the judge a sob story about my dad and all that, so I ended up with probation and seventy hours of community service and that's how Laura met me. I was checking in with my probation officer and she was a serious dyke, by the way."

"They all are!" Bambi giggled. "Fucking juvi's the worst. They're all dyke pedophiles."

"Really?" I asked, and she gave me a knowing nod. "Anyway, it turns out my probation officer knew Laura and gave her a call, saying she had this completely fuckable, sexy, ex-model who loved to punch out wardrobe girls sucking dyke pussy under her desk right that very moment and Laura should get her catty ass downtown and adopt me!"

"Right!" We were both laughing, because of course the woman hadn't said anything like that.

But it wasn't so far from the truth, either, as we both well knew. My probation officer had called Laura, but not only her. Several other Mistresses were on speed dial for a lot of people working in the various corners of social services. They were paid finder fees, for lack of a better term, and most often paid extra to lose annoying paperwork. I could have easily ended up in a different pack, and I often wondered how that might have turned out, but Laura had been the first one to answer her phone. When she saw me, well ... It was love at first sight, as they say.

"I'm thinking about taking off for awhile," Bambi said an hour later, which took me by complete surprise.

We'd been talking non-stop, mostly about ourselves as we got to know each other, and I enjoyed it immensely. Bambi and I had known each other for almost two years, but that didn't make us friends. Until today, we'd hardly spoken at all, despite not only living together, but even going to the same school. She was a catfighter and I was something else, a part of the pack, but not really one of them. That difference had defined every aspect of our relationship, until today. We were talking and becoming friends, discovering to our mutual pleasure that we liked each other.

"You mean, leaving the pack?" I asked, blinking down at the girl as I straddled her thighs. "When?"

I had her naked on one of the beds, face down and groaning softly. I'd covered Bambi with warm, scented oil from her neck to her feet, and was in the process of working those hard, toned muscles of hers into melted butter.

"As soon as I turn eighteen," she replied. "Or, ummmm ... That feels good."

"Or what?" I insisted. leaning into her shoulders with my stiff fingers.

"Or when I graduate," she said. "Next June, probably. I have about eight thousand dollars saved up from my winnings. I'll have even more by then, especially after I beat that Swan bitch tomorrow."

"Where will go?"

"Around the world," she said, turning her head and smiling. "You could come with me."

"You mean like on a cruise or something?" I asked, giggling at the silliness of it, but her dark eyes were serious.

"No, not a cruise," she snorted. "Backpacking around the world, you know? Just going wherever we want. I've got guidebooks and everything. People do it all the time."

"You're serious about it," I said, narrowing my eyes and trying to work out the logic of what she was suggesting.

"I've been thinking about it a long time," she agreed, and then grinned as she rolled over, catching me before I could fall off the bed.

We lay side-by-side, with Bambi's arms around me as my hard nipples pressed against her breasts. Our tummies touched, our hips and thighs, and her cunt couldn't have been more than a few inches from the ache deep inside my own. She kissed me for the first time right then, after I'd fucked her pussy with my tongue on the balcony. After I'd washed her asshole with my mouth and fingers, lapping at her anus as the girl bent over the edge of the hot tub and held my face between her cheeks. We'd had sex, several hour's worth, and now we were making love.

I opened my mouth for her tongue and worked my left leg between hers. I hunched my hips, grinding my pussy against Bambi's thighs while she stroked my back. I'd brought her off five or six times already, most recently with my oily hand carefully planted inside her cunt. I'd fisted the girl to orgasm, much the way I often did it for our Mistress, and now I wanted to cum as well. It wasn't going to take me very long, not with Bambi's tongue filling my mouth and her warm and sweetly scented body pressing against mine. I might have been five or six inches taller than she, but we must have been close to the same weight, and I felt small and helpless in her arms.

My heart felt ready to burst and this was what Laura had been trying to give me for so long and couldn't. I didn't love my Mistress, but Bambi had sparked that most desirable emotion to burning life. Perhaps it was only infatuation? If so, I didn't care, and that seems to me only an excuse for other, more painful reasons relationships fail. People are never infatuated with each other until it's gone, I've noticed. They're only in love and I wanted that more than anything else in the world.

"I don't have very much money," I sighed some time later, after a long, and very satisfying sixty-nine with Bambi.

She'd buried her face between my thighs and brought me off twice, but I'd managed to hold my own, coaxing the girl to give me her bright cum at least five times in quick succession. My new girlfriend, I discovered, was very orgasmic and it had been a fun contest. In the catfight arena, Bambi would best me with only modest effort, but the bedroom had long been my personal hunting ground. I just didn't often get a chance to prove it to anyone but Laura.

"I have money," Bambi replied. "I told you that."

"Yeah, but I don't want to go if you have to pay for everything," I said. "That wouldn't be fair."

"How much do you have?" she asked, and I liked that about her. Bambi didn't keep trying to insist on anything the way a lot of people do. She listened to what I said.

"Maybe a thousand dollars," I replied. "Laura gives me an allowance, since I don't fight or anything. I probably should have tried to save more, but I didn't plan on running away."

"Hmmm..." Bambi smiled at my joke, and played with my hair as we lay together, still comfortable on that damp bed. "Once we're eighteen, it's not running away. And you're emancipated anyway, right? A legal adult?"

"Yeah, but you know what I mean," I said. "She owns me."

"Laura owns all of us, but as long as we come back..." Bambi shrugged. "It's not like we'd be leaving forever. Just for a year, maybe."

"I'll ask her," I decided, and the more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Laura would agree to let me go with Bambi.

It wasn't unusual for a girl to take off for awhile. Very few of the cats were owned the way I was, despite what Bambi had said, but the bonds that held us to Mistress Laura's will were the same. After entering the world of catfighting and embracing it the way all of us did, we were enslaved by a fear of exile. A cat could never leave one Pride for another, for example, because no other Mistress would have her. An exile was shunned completely, cast out of our small, exclusive community with nothing but the clothes on her back and the scorn of her former sisters.

For myself and a perhaps a dozen others scattered among the various packs, we were slaves in a truer sense of the word. In my case, I'd taken the Vow of Submission and sworn an oath before the pack to serve its Mistress faithfully in whatever capacity she required. At the time, I'd been enthralled with my new life and couldn't imagine wanting anything else. I still felt that way, although the newness had worn off and I occasionally entertained small desires that would never be realized. That's true of anyone, though, regardless of who they are what their lot in life may be.

"Yeah," I told myself, and Bambi after several minutes of silence. "As long as she knows I'm coming back, she'll let me go."


"She might even give me some money, if I ask her ... nicely," I whispered, wanting to tease the girl. "Do you think I should?"

"It's up to you," Bambi said, shrugging without a hint of jealousy. "Is she going to be mad?"

"About leaving? Probably." I giggled. "More about losing you than me, though."

"No," Bambi sighed, teasing my cheek with her thumb. "I've seen the way she looks at you, Kara."

"How does she look at me?"

"The same way I do," she whispered, kissing me again.

"What's going on here?" Natalie asked, interrupting our make-out session with a grin. "Sexy oil wrestling? And you guys didn't tell anybody?"

"What oil wrestling?" Vicky asked, entering the bedroom and looking quite surprised when she saw us. "Fuck! What's Kara doing here? Why do you get to fuck her?"

"Jealous?" Bambi teased the woman, pulling me closer with a possessive hug.

"It's that stupid bet she made with Megan," Natalie said, switching to a pouting, baby voice. "Our widdle kitty is all special now, isn't she?"

"Fuck you," Bambi said, ignoring their laughter. "Just for that, I'm not sharing either."

"As if you would!" Vicky snorted, rolling her green eyes.

They only left my body for second, if even that long, and it wasn't a secret that she had something of a crush on me. I'd largely ignored her interest, mostly because neither of us could do anything about it. Only rarely did our Mistress give me to one of her cats, and always as a reward, or in this case a tool intended to boost Bambi's spirits before an important match. Of course, there were always hidden motives to consider when dealing with any Mistress and I could easily think of a dozen reasons why Laura would put me in Bambi's bed.

To annoy Vicky would be a good reason. She stood closest to challenging Laura's leadership, although I didn't think she would anytime soon. But being almost thirty and the tier one alpha, Vicky was the strongest cat in the pack. I'd only seen her lose one fight and that to a Mistress that she'd somehow offended, but I didn't know all the details. As a general rule, it was better to be seen and not heard in the presence of a Mistress. Being Laura's personal slave, I came into contact with the other Mistresses more often than the cats, and I never said a word unless one of them addressed me directly, and even then I looked to Laura for permission to speak.

The real catfighters, however, didn't always observe the niceties of social custom. They thrived on conflict, so perhaps it's understandable. In any event, Vicky could usually get away with being impertinent and she tended to dominate the pack in Laura's absence, as was her right. If I'd been any other girl, say a friend from school that Bambi had invited over, Vicky could have taken me right then and there. I might have protested, and perhaps Bambi would have complained, but it wouldn't have done us any good. The woman would have fucked me over any and all objections.

Unfortunately for her, I belonged to our Mistress, and that gave Bambi a rare taste of power and privilege beyond her station.

"Lick my asshole again," she told me. pushing me away as she rolled onto her stomach. "Kara's face and my butt, have you ever seen such a perfect match?"

Bambi smiled over her shoulder as I decided to sit comfortably on her back. I straddled the girl with my naked butt near her shoulders and my knees bent, bending forward and prying her glistening butt cheeks apart with my thumbs to reveal Bambi's rosebud anus. Natalie had disappeared into the bathroom, but Vicky had a good view as I tossed my damp hair over my right shoulder and out of the way. I pressed my nose against Bambi's pussy, breathing deep the intoxicating scent of her recent orgasms. My tongue lapped eagerly over and around her asshole, teasing my sexy girlfriend's puckered flesh until I finally had to worm the tip past that soft, rubbery ring and find her rectum.

"Christ, she's beautiful, isn't she?" Bambi sighed. "Have you ever had your ass eaten by a real model, Vicky?"

"Fuck you.," the woman replied, undressing to reveal her magnificent body. Vicky could have been a contender for Miss Olympia or something, except her muscles weren't just for show.

"You should try it," Bambi continued, thoroughly enjoying herself. "I always thought a girl like Kara would have to be stuck-up, you know? Like you'd have to be Prince fucking Charming just to cop a feel of her tits ... Have you seen her tits, by the way? Oh, I forgot, all you've ever done is seen her tits."

She giggled happily at her teasing and I have to admit that Bambi's words almost made me laugh. She'd probably pay for it later, after the tournament ended and we were back home, but for the moment Vicky could only jill off while she watched us.

"Mmmm..." Bambi sighed, squirming as I slipped a finger past my tongue and inside her hot, clasping ass. "Fuck my ass, Kara. That feels so good. Uh-huh ... Like that, really deep."

I lifted my face, wet with spit and flushed as I caught my breath. Vicky had gotten comfortable on the bed nearest ours, sitting up with pillows between her back and an ornate headboard with a bamboo motif. I smiled at her while I squeezed Bambi's butt with my left hand and pumped two fingers into her rectum with the right. The woman had her long, powerful legs spread so that I could see her cunt.

Vicky had the sort of lean, pale vulva that a lot of extremely muscular women seem to develop as they shed their natural body fat. Completely devoid of hair, I could see distended veins rising from the hollows of her thighs, around her pussy, and over her hips. Her stomach was flat and chiseled with muscle, a genuine washboard that gave way to the small, sharp cones of her breasts. They were pointed with dark nipples that seemed much too large by comparison, being long and thick and obviously excited.

With her broad shoulders, flat chest, and narrow hips, it wasn't difficult to imagine Vicky as a man, especially given her penchant for dressing in men's clothing. But not even a Brooks Brother's suit could disguise her true, female nature. The woman had a very pretty face. Not beautiful, she wasn't stunning the way I could be when given enough time and effort, but attractive and decidedly feminine. With her forest green eyes and short red hair, a smattering of freckles that Vicky hadn't yet outgrown, her countenance seemed completely at odds with her formidable figure, but only at first glance.

Watching her masturbate while I fucked Bambi, I could find nothing disagreeable to my senses. I almost wished Bambi had given me to the woman, and I eyed Vicky's enlarged clitoris with growing interest. Her vulva might have been thin, but the flesh inside had become engorged with lust. Her labia grew thick and ruddy as Vicky pulled them outward, and I'd seen her that way before, of course, many times after a match or when she took another girl in the practice arena. Now she was showing off for me alone.

I licked my lips, dragging my eyes downward just long enough to gather saliva in my mouth and let it drip onto my fingers as they stretched Bambi's anus. I couldn't forget about her, after all, and she offered me a low moan of pleasure as I added a third finger, the smallest one, and continued my efforts to loosen the girl enough to eventually take my fist.

But Vicky kept stealing my attention. Her pussy lips must have been an inch long, probably double that as she pinched and pulled them wide to display the coral meat inside. Her inner labia were smaller, of course, and bright pink as they parted reluctantly to show me a hint of hole. As I mentioned, however, Vicky's clitoris was the real prize. Even when she wasn't excited, her clit was pronounced and obvious, but now it pushed outward like a penis the size of my thumb. She could actually hold it between her thumb and finger, stroking her clitoris while she jerked her hips and bounced her butt off the bed. And even better than that, Vicky could fuck a girl with it. Not very deeply, but enough to make the point, and most often after a match, that was her favorite way to celebrate victory, by raping the loser with her straining clitoris.

Physically, I suppose it felt little different than grinding with any other girl, but it's the psychology that counts. The humiliation of being taken against your will, for nobody loses a fight on purpose, that's what catfighting is really about. The actual combat is just a means to an end and the idea of Vicky forcing herself onto me, of pinning me down with my legs over her shoulders as she thrust her stiff clitoris into my cunt, was a thrilling idea. Even if she could only get a fraction of an inch past my labia and into my vagina, it would be enough crush my ego.

"Ow ... Ohhhh ... Yes!" Bambi hissed and shuddered, drawing her legs upward to get on her knees and elevate her ass. "Slowly ... Slow ... Sloookay!"

I'd used more oil before tucking my thumb close to my palm and pushing my hand into her rectum. The position was somewhat awkward as I had to lean over and bend my elbow, but I wanted to keep facing Vicky. I wanted to watch her watch me, and I wasn't going to fist Bambi's ass very deeply, anyway. Once I felt the velvet walls of her rectum wrapped around my fingers, I closed them, making a real fist inside the girl.

She grunted and groaned, shivering as she clutched the bed sheets and otherwise remained still as a statue. I reached beneath her, now that I had some room, and rubbed her pussy as I rotated my fist, letting the odd shape and unexpected contour do most of the work. Her ass fit me like a gelatin glove, hot and firm, but so incredibly soft at the same time.

Vicky must have been close to cumming as she worked three fingers in and out of her cunt rapidly. She liked to play with her nipples, too, using her other hand to twist them. All the while her eyes darted between my face and my wrist where it emerged from Bambi's well-stretched anus, as if she couldn't decide which vision would best satisfy her growing urgency.

I took that as a compliment and I probably climaxed before either of them, although Bambi's orgasm followed hard on my heels. She gushed across my fingers and I caught as much of her juice as I could, bringing my hand to my face and smearing bitter-sweet girl cum across my mouth, chin, and cheeks. I wanted to wear the girl even as my own fluids spilled across her shoulders and down her neck.

A moment later, while Bambi was still high on adrenalin and endorphins, I gently pulled my hand from her asshole, admiring the momentary gape of her raw, red anus. Vicky must have found a second orgasm, judging from her stiff posture and wide, shining eyes, and I let her watch me clean my fingers one by one, savoring Bambi's unique flavor while we slowly came back down. It had been a good fuck, another in a long afternoon full of them, but made better by Vicky's unexpected presence. She'd want me more than ever now, and resent Bambi because of it, which was perhaps what our Mistress had hoped for all along.

"What did I miss?" Natalie wondered, entering the bedroom wet and pink and naked from her bath. She had a towel, but was using it to dry her hair.

She was twenty-one or maybe twenty-two years old by then, and a college student at the University of Washington. A natural blonde, too, although she didn't have the pubic hair to prove it, just the attitude. I liked Natalie a lot, almost everyone did, and most people would never guess her to be a catfighter. She looked like a cheerleader, to tell the truth, and the only reason she wasn't was that it would have taken up too much of her time. Laura allowed her cats a lot of freedom, especially the best ones, but not that much, and Natalie would rather fight than dance anyway.

Even stark naked she didn't appear overly athletic, and certainly not dangerous, but she'd earned her place as the top cat in her tier, and definitely one of the best in the whole pack. How and why Natalie had joined the pack was something of a mystery, but the story I'd heard was a that some guys had gang raped her when she'd been fifteen and the experience had traumatized her, as it would any girl. Whether that was true or not, Natalie wouldn't say, but she talked all the time about a baby boy she'd had in high school. She claimed that the baby was with her grandparents in Florida and as soon as she had enough money she planned to go get him. But Lindsey, another cat and Natalie's best friend, once told me that Natalie's parents had made her get an abortion.

Whatever the truth might be, when it came to fighting, I think she remembered being raped and was determined not to go through anything like that ever again. She could be a little insane sometimes and all I knew for certain was that Natalie would be the very last girl in the world I'd ever want angry with me, but I'd have sex with her in a heartbeat. By all accounts, she could fuck even better than she could fight. As long as the other person didn't have a penis, of course.

"What did you miss? My pussy," Vicky decided, crooking a finger at the younger woman. "Come here. I need to fuck something bad."

"But I just took a bath!"

"I think I need a bath," Bambi sighed, and I giggled in agreement.

As much as I would have enjoyed cuddling in our hopelessly stained, damp bed, the hour was getting late and we had a dinner to attend. I'd have to look my best for Mistress Laura and so I'd need at least an hour to get ready, after thoroughly washing the oil and girl goo out of my hair. I didn't even want to look in a mirror. Good sex often has that effect on me for some reason, but I do love it dirty.

"You're going to talk to Laura, right?" Bambi asked, unhappy to see me leaving.

She didn't quite trust me enough yet, and I didn't blame her. It would be very easy, and much more usual, if our afternoon together had been a one-time deal. To actually believe it might not be wasn't easy for either of us and it would all depend on what our Mistress decided.

"I will," I promised. "I just need to wait for the right time. Don't worry."

"Okay," she sighed, maybe wanting to say more, but it wasn't necessary.

I offered the girl a smile and left for the suite I shared with Laura, hoping no one saw me along the way. I hadn't even bothered putting on my clothes, although it occurred to me that I could have showered in Bambi's room. I only would have had to take another one, though, and the suite wasn't too far away, just down the hall and up the stairs. It wasn't that I didn't want to be seen in the nude, this was a catfight tournament after all, but my appearance wouldn't impress anyone. Not to mention the outrageous reek of sexual abandon that wrinkled my nose. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, mind you, but hardly one that I'd willingly share with a stranger.

Much like the rest of the house, even the hallways possessed a certain exuberance for lavish detail. The regular spacing of closed doors, each with a brass plaque announcing the name of the room behind it, suggested a hotel, but that's as far as the comparison went. The red carpeting seemed too thick and soft for a hotel, not to mention the long, narrow rugs that had been laid down. They were of the knotted, oriental sort, Chinese or Turkish, perhaps, and itchy beneath my bare feet.

The walls were paneled with some dark wood, warm and polished, and decorated with framed black and white photographs of places and people unknown to me. Between the bedroom doors were tables of intricately woven wicker, sometimes accompanied by matching chairs, sometimes not. A few of the tables were adorned with flowers in crystal vases, others with small, glowing lamps, and some with ashtrays, magazines, and perhaps a telephone. The only natural light came from large windows at either end of the hallway, which was very long, as I may not have mentioned. Perhaps a hundred feet? Much more than that, probably, as it isn't always easy judging such distances and I'm certainly no architect.

"Oh!" I hadn't realized the next door on my left was opening until someone stepped out of it and I nearly ran into her.

"Whoops... 'scuze me," she said, but only before getting a proper look at me. "What happened to you?"

I felt my face redden as she laughed lightly, looking me up and down as I stood there with my clothes bundled in my arms. She must have been about the same age as me, sixteen or seventeen, with a short blonde ponytail and sky blue eyes. She had a small mouth and dimples, and a pert, upturned nose, and a tiny cleft in her chin. I thought she bore passing resemblance to a young Jodie Foster, but I liked her a lot and it wasn't unusual for me to make that connection when confronted with tomboy blondes.

Especially the very attractive ones, because this girl wasn't merely pretty; she had the sort of beauty that hits you like a fist the first time you see it. The sort of beauty I possessed, usually, and I immediately regretted not taking that shower.

The fact that she wore what must have been a catholic schoolgirl uniform didn't help. She had the white blouse, plaid skirt and knee high socks, even a burgundy necktie worn loosely around her collar. The only things out of place were the spiked heel ankle boots on her feet and the well-toned muscles of her arms and thighs. I'd been around catfighting long enough to recognize a wolf in sheep's clothing when I saw one and this girl was a nothing but a bully looking for a victim.

"You look like a refugee from World War Sex," she decided, holding up a hand as I tried to move around her.

"I have to go to my room," I said. "Sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Wait," she said, growing a real smile. "I know you. You're what's her name's little bitch, right? Laura? Is she your Mistress?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "Look, I really have to go."

"You used to be that model, um ... The Kara Kollection!" she said, snapping her finger. "I bought one of your bras once."

"Huh?" I blinked at the girl.

"At Neiman's," she explained. "It looked a lot better on you than it did on me. I love your tits."

"Stop it!" I snapped, pushing her hand away. She'd just reached out and grabbed my left breast, giving me a squeeze.

"No." she said, slapping my hand and cupping my breast once more. "Who were you fucking, huh? Your breath is really bad."

"Please," I whispered. "My Mistress is going to get mad if I don't get back to my room."

I didn't try to push her away, but remained still as she continued to fondle my breast. Her thumb briefly played around my swollen nipple, but for the most part she seemed quite content to cup my tit and squeeze, pushing and pulling my firm flesh as she searched my face for a reaction.

"I don't care about your Mistress," she replied. "I've got one of my own. She'd be pretty pissed if I just let you go without making friends first. So how about it? Who were you fucking?"

"Ah!" I hitched a sharp breath as her fingernails suddenly pierced my soft skin. Instinctively, I tried to jerk my body away from the pain, but that only made it worse.

"I'll rip your fucking tit right off," she growled.

"Bambi!" I gasped, reaching for her wrist with the thought of removing her hand myself.

She wasn't about to let me do that, however, and before I knew what was happening she yanked me forward, as if trying to keep good her promise. I'd never felt anything so painful in my life. Her fingernails drew blood and I almost imagined I could feel my body being torn, but of course it wasn't. She'd pulled me off balance, however, forcing me to turn and bend over, and give her other hand the perfect opportunity to grab me by the hair.

I'd been in precisely two fights in my entire life. The first one, when I'd beaten up that poor wardrobe girl, had been more of a violent tantrum than a real fight. My second, after arriving at Mistress Laura's house, had largely consisted of getting slapped around and finger fucked, and being taught the valuable lesson that I wasn't in Kansas anymore. Every girl gets her ass kicked the first time she enters the pack. Since that day, because my Mistress valued my beauty far more than my fighting potential, I'd never even practiced fighting with another girl.

Now I desperately wished I had.

At least she'd let go of my breast, but only because she had a firm grip of my dirty hair. My scalp burned as she pushed me into her room. When I stumbled and lifted my arms in an effort to keep my balance, she slapped my ass. I heard the door slam shut and she must have kicked it, but I was too busy protesting to pay much attention. It was unthinkable to be treated this way.

"I'm not a fighter!" I told her, half-screeching the words as she jerked my head back. At the same time she kicked the back of my left knee, just hard enough to make it collapse unexpectedly and I dropped to the floor.

"No kidding!" she replied, giggling. "My dirty socks put up more fight than you do."

"You're going to be in so much trouble for this," I panted, thinking the girl had to be insane.

I had a silly thought and tried to take her by surprise, throwing my right elbow back as I twisted my hips, hoping that I'd hit her someplace that hurt. That probably would have been a bad idea, and I ended up missing her completely in any event. She didn't retaliate, which surprised me, but released her grip on my hair instead.

That confused me and I didn't move right away. I knelt erect near the center of a bedroom very similar to the one I'd left just a few minutes before. I'd lost my clothes, of course, dropping them in the hallway, but that was the least of my concerns. I looked down at my left breast and saw five short, deep scratches leaking thin rivulets of blood. Four of them were evenly spaced around the top and the fifth wound, courtesy of her thumb, had been inflicted just below my nipple. They hurt, too. Like most cats, this girl kept her nails just long enough to be filed into sharp points, and probably applied a thick coat of nail hardener just to make sure they didn't chip or break when she needed to claw some poor girl's tits to ribbons.

"You're in so much trouble," I repeated with a sigh, shaking my head. "You don't have any idea who I am, do you?"

"I know exactly who you are," she replied, circling around me with an infuriating smile on her pretty face. "Kara, the little model who couldn't. Mistress Laura's personal whore. I heard she had a little party last night for the raghead who owns this dump. Did he fuck you or just watch?"

I glared at her for a long count of ten.

"Fine." She shrugged, and then slapped me so hard across the face that my teeth rattled.

The room went momentarily dark with vivid splotches of color exploding behind my eyelids, and when I woke up I realized I'd landed face down on the floor. I couldn't have been out for more than a second or two, but my head throbbed and my eyes were wet as she helped me back onto my knees.

"There ... That's better," she decided. "Now where were we? Oh! You wanted to tell me about that party last night. I'm sorry. I get so distracted sometimes. Go ahead, Kara. Please continue."

"He, uh..." I gingerly felt around my cheek and jaw with my fingertips. "He fucked me."

"That's it?" The girl frowned, standing in front of me with her hands on her hips. "What else? Come on, I wanna know. Did he have a huge cock? Did you suck him off? Did he fuck you in the ass?"

"Just let me go," I said. "I won't tell anyone. Okay? We'll just forget about it and..."

"Oh. You don't kiss and tell," she sighed. "I get it. So you actually like being a whore, huh?"

"I'm not a whore," I muttered, refusing to look at the girl. I hated her smile.

"I wouldn't know, myself," she continued, ignoring my protests completely. "I've never had to fuck anyone I didn't want to ... Oh, wait. Maybe you wanted that goat herder to fuck you. I didn't think of that."

"What's your point?" I wondered, glancing upward to catch her eyes with mine. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I just wanted to get to know you better," she replied. "That's what we're doing, right? Getting to know each other?"


"I'll tell you a secret, Kara," she said, leaning over to take my hair in her fist once again.

"Ow!" I winced as she jerked my head back. I had to lift my chin, staring up at the girl as she bent her mouth close to mine. Our noses were practically touching and all I could see were her eyes, deep and blue and sparkling with mischief.

"You're going to be my whore pretty soon," she breathed. "Open your mouth."

"Ah!" I had no choice as she tugged sharply against my burning scalp.

The girl spit into my mouth, spraying her thin saliva onto my tongue, and smiling at it for a few seconds before letting me go. I made a face and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, giving her my injured eyes. I had no idea what she'd been talking about and I didn't care.

"Our first kiss," she said, teasing me. "Did you like it?"

"No!" I spit onto the carpet to make my point, but the girl only laughed.

"Go on," she said with a jerk of her head. "Get out of here."

I blinked at her, and looked over my shoulder as if to ensure the door hadn't somehow disappeared. I wondered if this wasn't some kind of trick. Maybe she only wanted me to stand up so she could knock me down again. As strange as it all seemed, I wouldn't have put it past her. She'd put me through all that juvenile torment just to let me go?

"You look disappointed," she said with a grin. "Sorry, but your lesbian rape fantasies will have to wait for tomorrow. I have better things to do."

She wiggled her fingers as I rose warily to my feet, shooing me away.

"Do you have a name?" I wondered, pausing at the open door. "Not that I care, but my Mistress will."

"Ohhhh..." She replied to my threat with a theatrical shiver. "I thought you would have figured it out by now, Kara. No wonder you're a whore."

"Right." I gave her the finger and pulled the door shut behind me with a very unsatisfying thud. At least no one had stolen my clothes, they were laying right where I'd dropped them.

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