Oakland Orgy

The six beautiful and fiercely competitive women, each known for their unique tribbing tactics and seductive allure, gathered around the poolside loungers, their bodies glistening with sweat from the heat of the sun mixed with drops of water from the pool in which they had cooled off before initiating the duels. The sexual tension was palpable as they prepared for the grand finale of the Oakland Sexfight Championship. The rules were simple: no hands, no toys, just pure, unadulterated pussy-on-pussy combat. The last woman standing would claim the title of Oakland Sexfight Champion.

The contestants were a diverse group, hailing from various backgrounds. There was MacKenzie (blonde), a winemaker from Napa Valley known for her precisely timed, ruthless attacks on her opponents' weak points; Beth (brunette curls), a yoga instructor and former gymnast whose flexibility was both mesmerizing and intimidating; Roxy (blue-haired), a bartender with a flair for dirty-talking; Kira (Asian), a professional dancer with moves that could make any opponent quiver; Natasha (tattooed), a photographer who, thanks to her endurance, has already brought several title favorites to their knees; and finally, Isabella (sunglasses), a burlesque performer whose erotic prowess was stimulating beyond imagination.

With a nod from the organizer, the women began to move in, their eyes locked on their rivals. All of them were experienced enough to know that this was not about physical strength but about mental endurance and the ability to manipulate pleasure into a weapon. Each woman approached a lounger, spread their legs, and positioned themselves strategically for the clit-on-clit battle that was about to unfold.

Bodies collided, the wonderful sound of naked skin on naked skin and of wetness filled the air as six pussies touched, the slickness of their desire acting as lubricant for the fierce competition. The grunts and moans grew louder as they pushed and rubbed against each other, their hips moving in a symphony of sexual aggression. As the minutes ticked by, the competition grew more fierce. Sweat glistened on their skin as they fought against orgasm. Each woman brought her A-game, using every trick in the book to push the others over the edge.

The opponents were swapped after each round, whenever an orgasm had determined a loser in each duel. Kira had the fewest orgasms and was the winner. It was a close call, as MacKenzie and Kira almost tied and had to compete in a tiebreaker. But in the final round, MacKenzie's stamina failed her, and she came hard against Beth. Kira ultimately triumphed over her rivals, qualifying for the West Coast Grand Prix, where she'll face the best tribfighters from Los Angeles, San Francisco, San Diego, San José, and Sacramento. A wet spectacle that already fueled her anticipation.

An ecstasy without equal

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Podcast Pleasure

This week's episode of a podcast hosted by a major lesbian erotic film production studio is "Clit-vs-Clit – Sexfighting Girls in the Ring." Holly (brunette), a retired legend of lesbian sexfighting, and Jamie Lynn (red-haired), one of today's top sexfighters, are invited to the event. They both lean into the microphones, eager to share their insights, experiences and, above all, why they love sexfighting so much.

Holly begins by reminiscing about her early days in the sport, "Back when I first started, it was all about the clit-on-clit action. Nothing got the viewers going quite like two women, equally matched in skill and desire, going at it, rubbing their most sensitive spots together until one couldn't take it anymore and submitted." Her voice is smoky and filled with the kind of passion that only comes from years of intense, competitive pleasure.

Jamie Lynn nods in agreement. "It's like a dance," she says, "A dance of desire and dominance. You have to read your opponent's moves, anticipate their next thrust, all while keeping your own arousal in check. It's a delicate balance, but oh so satisfying when you make them scream in pleasure and defeat."

The conversation turns to their favorite tactics. Each description is met with a knowing look and a hint of competitive fire in their eyes. The sexual tension builds as they continue to discuss the art of tribadic fighting. The listeners can almost feel the heat radiating from their words as they delve into the nuances of each move, the importance of timing, and the thrill of victory.

But it's when they start talking about the raw, primal nature of the sport that things begin to get intense. "There's just something about the power, the intimacy of it all," says Jamie Lynn, her voice growing huskier. "It's not just about sex, it's about conquering, about proving who's the better lover." Holly's eyes sparkle with lustful challenge. "Exactly," she purrs, "It's about making your partner cum so hard that they can't fight back anymore. That moment of surrender is pure bliss."

Their words are like a siren's call to each other's desires. The air in the studio crackles with lust as they lean closer, biting their lips, and begin to undress each other with their eyes. "Let me show you," Holly whispers, her eyes dark with pleasure. And with that, the podcast takes an unexpected turn as the two champions of the sexfighting world begin to demonstrate their moves live on air.

Their bodies intertwine, grinding together in a passionate battle of wills. The podcast audience is treated to the sounds of their wet, hungry kisses and the slap of flesh on flesh. Holly surprises Jamie Lynn with a swift move, pushing her onto her back and straddling her. "I've been waiting for this," she says, her voice thick with arousal.

Holly smirks down at her, her eyes never leaving Jamie Lynn's. "You think you can beat me?"

"I know I can," Jamie Lynn says. Both laugh with joy and disbelief that they can finally test each other’s skills.

Their hips begin to rock, their pussies sliding together in a slick, sensual battle. They moan into the microphones, their breathing growing ragged as they each try to outlast the other. The podcast turns into an auditory feast of sexual sounds: wet, rhythmic grinding, gasps of pleasure, dirty-talking, and the occasional whimper of defeat.

Flaming red inferno of wet lust

It was a sultry summer evening on a sun-kissed Greek island, and the beach bar was bustling with life. Two fiery redheaded backpackers, Rachel and Laura, had stumbled upon the same little paradise by chance, both seeking a break from their solo travels. Their chemistry was palpable as they shared tales of their adventures over sweet cocktails, their laughter mingling with the salty sea breeze.

As the night darkened, the flickering torches made their red manes shimmer in a beautiful scarlet. At first, their conversations were playful, a dance of flirtatious jibes and shared laughter. But as the drinks flowed, their conversation became heated, and the playfulness gave way to a combative tone. They discussed everything from the most beautiful beaches they'd visited to the best selfie spots.

The argument began innocently – a debate about the authenticity of the local cuisine – but soon escalated into a heated exchange. Each insult became more personal, each remark sharper than the last. Their voices rose, attracting the attention of the other guests, including two elegantly dressed British women seated at a neighboring table. Victoria and Penelope were seasoned travelers themselves with a taste for the unconventional. Something about the pure passion in Rachel and Laura's argument fascinated them. They leaned closer, sipping their wine as the tension between the two redheads grew thicker than the humid sea air.

The argument now turned to their looks and then to their skills in bed. Each claimed to be the better lover, capable of bringing any woman to her knees. Victoria and Penelope, amused by the spectacle, decided to add substance to the war of words.

"Ladies, it's clear that you two have a considerable disagreement. Now, we don't want to further bother the other guests and risk glasses being thrown next. Therefore, we have an offer for you."

"We have some experience with disputes like yours. Sure, in the heat of an argument, you sometimes say things you don't mean and may even regret later. But there's a fire burning inside you, as red as your hair, that needs to be nurtured. You want to prove who's truly the better one in bed? Fine. Then you should do just that."

Laura and Rachel, their fingernails almost digging into the wooden table in anger, looked irritated, their urge to pounce on each other and start a sand fight having been abruptly interrupted.

"Listen, if you're interested in competing your womanhoods in a civilized manner, like real women, then come to our sailing yacht in the marina tomorrow morning. We offer you the chance to indulge that tickling sensation you feel inside, in a wet and boisterous way."

"Or you can fight right here and now like two schoolgirls, at the expense of your dignity. It's your decision."

The two elegant ladies emptied their wine glasses and strutted off into the darkness, holding hands, their summer dresses fluttering in the warm breeze. Rachel and Laura watched their barefoot trail in the sand before turning their attention back to each other.

"So, do we settle this now or tomorrow, stupid cunt?"

"You know what, I'm curious. I can wait until tomorrow to put you in your place, bitch."

"Oh, I'm so scared. See you at the marina, if you dare."

"Don't think I won't be there. You'll go down!"

On the morning in question, Laura and Rachel were already standing at the entrance to the marina, arms crossed, not even looking at each other. Penelope and Victoria strolled up a little later, cheerfully greeting their new acquaintances from the previous evening.

"I'm glad you could make it."

"Apparently, our offer was too tempting to refuse, am I right?"

"We assume you're aware of the kind of fight we're offering you."

"If not, take a good look now..."

Victoria and Penelope shared a long, very long French kiss, grabbing each other's breasts, the nipples of which peeked out briefly from behind their bikini tops. They seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely and almost fell over. But they recovered and adjusted their bikinis.

"So, that's what it's all about. You two fuck. Whoever lasts longer without cumming wins and can call herself the better lover."

"You still have the opportunity to turn back if that's too hot for you. We'll have fun without you."

Rachel and Laura already knew that the invitation from the previous evening wasn't intended to be a mere brawl. Penelope and Victoria's words had made that abundantly clear. Despite their argument, the two red-haired beauties couldn't deny their sexual attraction. Their bodies were fit, their breasts perky, and their lips – both those around their mouths and those between their legs - were full. So they were anything but averse to having sex with each other. If they could escalate their rivalry in the same breath – what were they waiting for?

They steered their small yacht, the "Wildcat," into a bay on an uninhabited, remote rocky island. No other boat was visible on the horizon. Obviously, this wasn't Victoria and Penelope's first time here.

"So, ladies. For the next hour, consider the Wildcat your property and us your guests. Anything you like can be your battlefield. Have fun and let it rip!"

Laura and Rachel wasted no time. They went to the bow of the Wildcat, removed their bikinis, and sat facing each other with their legs spread. They began to gently play with themselves, caressing their labia and stirring their clits. When their fingers were sticky with the flowing nectar, which they reinforced with willing and determined looks, they moved closer, crossed their legs, and pressed their dripping vulvas and swollen clits together before they began to rub them together.

Loud moans echoed off the rocks. Rachel and Laura tribbed like two nymphs in heat. Their wet pussies slapped together, causing their arousal to rise immeasurably. Equally full of desire, Penelope and Victoria quickly lost their composure and began masturbating, so that soon all four women were moaning in unison. So it went on, orgasm after orgasm, until Laura and Rachel, sweating and completely at their physical and sexual limits, finally fell onto their backs, panting for composure.

Who had won? In their frenzy, no one had even paid attention. But ultimately, everyone was a winner, because it was crystal clear that this had only been the beginning – the beginning of a sexual rivalry that hadn't even come close to reaching its full potential.

Pleasurable love-hate relationship

Megan (brunette), gritting her teeth, pushed her hips forward, the wetness of her pussy smacking against Holly's with a feral intensity. "You think you're gonna win this, bitch?" she snarled, her eyes narrowed with a fiery determination.

Holly (red-haired), equally as fierce, matched her opponent's rhythm, their legs intertwined in a fiery scissor lock. "You're the one who's gonna be begging for mercy," she shot back, a smug smile playing on her lips as she felt Megan's clit throb against hers.

Megan's breath hitched, but she didn't let it show. "Mercy? You're the one who's gonna be crying out for it, slut." She pushed harder, their wetness making slick, squelching sounds with every collision.

Holly's eyes rolled back in pleasure, but she didn't relent. "Is that all you got?" she taunted, her voice dripping with challenge. "You can't even handle a taste of my pussy power."

"Power?" Megan spat, her hips moving in a blur as she tried to overpower her opponent. "This is just the fucking appetizer. You haven't seen anything yet."

Their bodies, slick with sweat and desire, glided against each other as they fought for dominance. The room was filled with the scent of their arousal, mingling with the sound of their harsh breaths, the wet slapping of skin on skin and the lustful moans of two lesbians who had found their perfect match.

Their pussies ground together, the friction building to a crescendo as they both chased their orgasms, their insults becoming more and more intense.

"You're just a desperate little slut, aren't you?" Megan said, her voice dripping with spite. "You're nothing but a cheap, worthless whore."

"And you're the one who's all talk," Holly retorted. "You can't even make me cum, let alone win this."

Their movements grew erratic as the pleasure began to overwhelm them. Megan's face contorted in a mix of anger and lust, her eyes locked on Holly's. They slammed their pussies together with a ferocity that made them both gasp. Their clits were swollen and sensitive, each touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through their bodies. They were both so close to the edge, but neither was willing to give in.

"Fuck…cum for me, bitch," Megan demanded. "Cum for me and…admit that I'm better…than you…oh god…"

"Never," Holly hissed back, her hips trembling wildly. "I'll break you before…you break…me…fucking cunt…fuuuck..."

The Battle for Room 282

In the dimly lit hotel corridor, the sound of heels clicking against the floor echoed like the ticking of a time bomb. The tension was fiery as two figures approached each other, their eyes locked in a focused gaze. They were Robin and Elly, the city's most sought-after lesbian escorts, whose rivalry had reached a boiling point. Both were known for their talent to turn any woman’s head and give her the night of her life, but tonight, they were about to settle their territorial dispute in the most primal way possible.

The door to Room 282 swung open, revealing a plush suite bathed in a soft light. An explosive atmosphere of desire and competition hung in the air as the women stepped inside, their eyes never leaving each other. They had both received texts from the same high-profile client, and neither was willing to back down.

"This is my client, Robin," Elly snarled, her voice dripping with contempt. "You always steal from me!"

"Steal?" Robin retorted, her eyes flashing. "You can't blame me for these rich bitches preferring my soft pussy over yours."

This room was to be their battleground, the sight of the opponent sneaking out of the hotel room defeated and exhausted the ultimate price. Elly, a self-confident Hungarian, stripped off her dress in a dramatic flourish, revealing her perfectly shaped body. Robin, a raven-haired Asian seductress, mirrored her, letting her dress pool around her ankles to reveal her own allure.

Their naked forms stood in stark contrast to the opulent surroundings, a tableau of passion and anger. They approached each other, their breaths quickening as their bodies collided. Fingernails raked over skin, leaving trails of goosebumps and a hint of pain that only served to fuel their desire.

"You're going to learn your place," Elly hissed, pushing Robin onto the bed.

Robin, not one to be dominated, rolled them over, her thighs trapping Elly beneath her. They writhed and grunted, their breasts pressing together as they grappled for supremacy. Their hands roamed, exploring, seeking weaknesses and pleasure points.

"This isn't about the client," Robin panted. "It's about who's the best, am I right?"

"And we're about to find out," Elly agreed, her legs wrapping around Robin's waist.

Their mutual hatred grew with every touch, every kiss, every bite. They rolled across the bed, their bodies entwined in a dance of passionate combat. They fought to outdo each other, to bring the other to a shuddering climax first, to prove their sexual prowess.

"I'm going to make you scream," Robin whispered, her voice dark with need.

"Not before I make you beg," Elly countered, while they were still struggling for the upper hand between the chaotically scattered bedsheets.

With a growl, Robin sat back on her knees, her eyes blazing. "Fine," she said. "Let's make it interesting."

"You're right, for once. Open your legs! This must be fought clit on clit," Elly agreed with lustful impatience.

They positioned themselves, knees bent, pussies touching. And with a nod of understanding, the battle began. The room was immediately filled with the arousing sounds of their intimate struggle, the slap of wet labia on wet labia. Elly's hand found Robin's hair, pulling it as she ground her hips upwards. Robin gritted her teeth and fought back, her fingers digging into Elly's thighs. They were lost in the moment, their rivalry peaked in the face of their mutual need.

As they reached climax, the hatred and anger melded with satisfaction, creating a volatile cocktail that shook them to their very cores. They came together, their bodies shuddering in the aftermath of the tribadic contest.

For a moment, they lay there, their sweat-covered breasts swaying in the rhythm of their heavy breathing. Then, with a snarl, Robin pulled away. "The client is mine," she said, her voice low and angry. But Elly was not ready to concede. She rolled Robin over, straddling her. "Not yet," she contradicted determined.

Their battle raged on, their bodies tangling in a passionate frenzy as they sought to outdo each other once more. The night was long, and the hotel walls trembled with their cries of pleasure and rage.

In the end, it was not clear who had won. They lay together, spent and satisfied like never before, their bodies entwined like serpents. The client was forgotten as they realized that sometimes, the most intense rivalries could lead to the most intense passion.

Poem

In this aqueous arena of lust and desire,

Where the soft whispers of passion do conspire,

Two warrior goddesses of love did meet,

Their eyes locked in a dance, both fierce and sweet.

With breasts like marble sculpture so fair,

Their pussies, the weapons none could compare.

Clothed in the armor of midnight's embrace,

They circled each other with a knowing grace.

Clits standing proud, like warrior's swords drawn,

They clashed and collided, in a fiery dawn.

Their battleground wet with the nectar of lust,

Each touch a declaration, each move a thrust.

Round and round they went, in a frenzy of delight,

Their lust for each other, a glorious fight.

Their bodies entwined in a tapestry of need,

Their pussies clashed, as the rhythm did proceed.

With teeth bared and eyes flashing, like stars in the sky,

They strived to conquer, to reach that high.

They took turns to dominate, to yield,

In a dance as ancient as love itself they wield.

The air thick with the scent of desire,

Their moans grew louder, their libido rose higher.

They grinded and rubbed, in a rhythm so wild,

Their battle of sex, like a storm unmiled.

Until finally, in a crescendo of bliss,

They reached the peak, with scream and hiss.

Their orgasms crashed, like waves on the shore,

Their rivalry settled, forevermore?

Their pussies, once locked in fierce rivalry's dance,

Now rested, their clash reduced to mere prance.

For in this match, no woman could be best,

But they went toe-to-toe, in the ultimate test.

A Lesson in Tribadic Humility

"What a rush! That was...absolutely exhilarating! I can't believe this bitch actually tried to outdo me in a sexfight. The look on her face when she realized she couldn't match my moves...priceless. She strutted into the club tonight with that smug smile, thinking she had the upper hand just because she's been bragging about her so-called "skills" in bed. But I've seen her dance before, and I knew she was all talk.

The way our bodies moved against each other, the heat, the passion...it was like we were in a dance battle, but with a much more intimate prize. She was good, no doubt about it. The way she teased and taunted me with her eyes, the way she used her pussy on mine, trying to throw me off balance - it was a nice performance. But I had my own moves up my sleeve, and I wasn't about to let her win without a fight.

I could feel her energy, her confidence, as she slammed her clit against mine, but I remained unfazed. I knew that in a trib, it's all about stamina and creativity. So, I waited for my moment, my heart racing, my skin slick with sweat, our legs entangled in a dance of dominance. And when she least expected it, I switched up the rhythm, took the lead, and didn't let go.

Her eyes grew wide as I pushed back, my thighs pressing into hers with a newfound force. She tried to regain control, but I was relentless. I watched her face as she began to lose her composure, her breaths turning to gasps, her eyes glazed over with passion. That's when I knew I had her. With a final, powerful grind, she buckled under the pressure, her body quivering with pleasure. And there it was - the sweet sound of her submission, the ultimate proof that I was the better woman in every sense.

As she lay there, panting and spent, I couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. But it wasn't just about winning; it was about proving to myself that I'm not just good at dancing - I'm untouchable. I can't wipe the smug smile off my own face. She had her chance to prove herself, and she fell short. I showed her tonight that she shouldn't mess with me lightly, in the most intimate dance-off we've ever had."

Hüttenschlampen - Ski lodge sluts

Tension reigned in the remote but luxurious ski lodge in Ischgl. Luna and Stella, the two lesbian prostitutes in the resort hotel, stood on the gallery above their break room amid velvet and silk cushions scattered across the floor. Both wore sheer negligees that only vaguely covered their breasts and the curves of their hips. Their lips were glittered with sensual gloss, and their gaze held a defiant challenge.

"I'm telling you, I'm the best!" whispered Luna with a slight Southeast Asian accent.

"No, Luna, it's me!" replied Stella firmly.

Both knew what the evening would bring. They had often received praise from clients, but in reality, everyone clamored for the best. So Stella, with blonde hair and cat-like eyes, decided to take the initiative. She gently but firmly pushed Luna into the soft pillows. Luna smiled wickedly, enjoying Stella's dominance and waiting to see what would happen next. Stella leaned over her, kissing Luna passionately. Her hands moved up from Luna's waist, tenderly caressing her bare breast. Luna moaned softly, feeling the warmth emanating from Stella's fingers. With every touch, the desire seemed to grow within her, and she knew she had to show what she was capable of.

Luna gently pushed Stella away and reversed the roles. Now she was the one calling the shots. She kissed Stella's neck, loosened the lace of her negligee, and revealed her full breasts. Stella moaned and Luna knew she was good. But so was Stella. They rolled around midst the soft pillows, body to body, nipples to nipples, struggling for the upper hand as their tongues danced in their mouths. The parquet flooring creaked softly, as the room filled with the sounds of desire and both girls were breathing heavily, their breasts trembling to the rhythm of pleasure.

Now all the horniness was released as their smooth, slippery pussies slid over each other with quick movements. They grabbed their own breasts while the pleasant tingling sensation from their fencing clits grew more and more intense. The contrast of Stella's light skin on Luna's darker skin, while the mixing moisture between their legs created an erotic slapping sound, was a feast for all the senses. The moans turned into screams as their lust reached heights they had never experienced before and were overwhelmed by the fierceness of their arousal.

They collapsed under their simultaneous orgasm. A hard-fought draw that gave the fight a deserved, fair result. Neither Luna nor Stella could claim victory, but neither of them had ever been so satisfied. They sat up next to each other, legs wide open to cool off their overstimulated pussies. They sipped the ice-cold champagne they had prepared and shared a quick kiss as a sign of gratitude for this fantastic match. Now all that was missing was a shared shower to clean their sweaty bodies after this exhausting duel and to round off this evening full of Sapphic extremes.

Pièce de résistance

In the city's competitive real estate market, two realtors named Camila and Elena were the crème de la crème. Both were sharply dressed in power suits that whispered ambition with every step they took. Their high-heels clicked rhythmically on the gleaming floors of their office. The two women were at the top of their game, but they had one thing in common: a lack of affection for each other. Their rivalry was as palpable as the humidity that clung to the city's skyline.

Their boss, a business-oriented woman named Charlize, knew this all too well. She had a knack for pitting her agents against each other to drive up sales. One fateful afternoon, she called them into her office and announced that they would be co-listing the pièce de résistance of their careers: a multimillion-dollar penthouse apartment. The prize was not just the hefty commission but also the title of the office's number one agent.

The day before the viewing, they inspected the property together. Armed with clipboards and pens, they jotted down notes without even looking at each other. They were dressed even more provocatively than usual, with their skirts barely reaching their hips. After a few minutes, Camila and Elena bumped into each other in the middle of the living room and exchanged contemptuous glances. Their eyes met and never left each other. They stood with their legs wide apart, their arms on their hips to symbolize territorial dominance. The conflict was now irreversible.

Not a word was spoken. Elena began to unbutton her blouse. Camila followed suit without hesitation. An invisible force seemed to have taken control of the situation, for they undressed to the point of complete nakedness, as if this had been their intention from the beginning. With pleasure and visibly aroused, they pressed their ample breasts against each other. But the nectar began to flow impatiently between their legs, so they went out onto the balcony together. There, their thighs opened, and above the city's rooftops, the two busty, curvy brunettes vigorously wrestled with their clits. Camila and Elena's screams and moans echoed through the urban canyon as they took their professional rivalry to a new, steamy, wet level.