BAROCCA vs JULIE DC
VS
Gunfight at the K.O. Corral
After her grueling ordeal with Queen Ebony Ayes, Barocca treats herself to a well-deserved vacation at a dude ranch. "I wanted something totally different. For a Brazilian from Rio who spends most of her time in American and Canadian cities, a week on a ranch seemed as different as I could conceive. I even bought myself a hat-a cowboy hat. Does this make me look like a cowboy?"
Well, no. Nothing about Barocca looks like any kind of a boy. But her denim cowgirl outfit suits her perfectly and, as usual, she draws all the male eyes around the place, especially those of a hunky stud ranch hand. Until…
Until another famous femme fighter shows up. A few days into the Bombshell's vacation, who should come busting out of her stall but Julie DC. "I heard about this place from one of the girls I fought over at Double Trouble," Julie says. "She said that if I liked cowboy types, this place sure had a lot of 'em. Just my luck to arrive during a dry spell. There's hardly anyone here this time of year. At first I thought that was good, that I'd have all these hunks mostly to myself. Then who do I see sashaying around the bunkhouse but that South American stripper, Barocca."
Julie wastes no time homing in on a buff looking your stud, a muscular hunk with a dark beard shadow and the physique of an amateur body builder. His deep tan indicates plenty of outdoor activities and the distinct aroma of horse suggests the stables. "Who's that hunk?" Julie unashamedly asks one of the middle-age women guests.
"Oh, he works here. I think his name is…something…Brandon. Arn-"
"Brandin' arn?" the redhead snorts with a laugh. "What a stage name! What, does he burn his initials on all his women?"
"No. I'm sorry. His last name is Brandon and his first name is Arnold. But everyone calls him Arnie. All the women ask about him, even we married ladies."
"Brandon, Arn," she smiles to herself. "I'd love the have his red-hot poker closing in on my ass." Within the hour, Julie has set her sights on Arnie, with his chiseled features and perfect pecs…and prodigious pecker, no doubt.
The comely catfight queens make an obvious effort to steer clear of each other for a while. But both know that they can't avoid each other forever; that eventually their trails would have to cross. That moment comes when Julie notices Barocca paying particularly close attention to the coveted Mr. Brandon at that evening's barbeque dinner.
Several tables are set up for the guests and two a bit farther off for the staff. From one of the guest tables, Julie observes the Brazilian Bombshell delay her entrance so she is the last to arrive. Dressed in a tight bandeau top, a pair of hot pants that show plenty of cheek, and tall platform sandals, Barocca draws every eye as she bends forward to select a rack of ribs and adds an extra helping of barbeque sauce. She scans the tables, sidles over to the ranch hands' table, and politely asks if they'd mind if she joins them, since there's no room at the guest table. One look as her and the hands all make room for their most welcome dining guest. She chooses a place opposite Arnold.
As her table's center of attention, Barocca chats pleasantly with all the cowboys. Locking eyes with Arnie, she strategically drops a big glob of barbeque sauce on her ample bosom. Julie rolls her eyes as all the cowboys scramble to offer the lady some napkins and their personal help in cleaning up the spill. Barocca provides them a free tease show as she carefully blots up the sauce, even the last little trickle that seeps down her cleavage, onto her flat tummy, and pools in her exposed navel.
"What a performance!" Julie steams. She rises and returns to the serving area for a second helping, parading closely past the cowboys' table and glaring at the sloppy slut still daubing at her dark skin. Jealous Julie puts a little extra bounce in her step, her juggs undulating like two beach balls in rough waves. All the cowboys drink in her promenade until Barocca announces that she is out of iced tea. Julie takes notice that they all jump to her rescue…all except Arnie, who seems oblivious to everything except the exceptionally elegant black woman across from him. The bosomy brunette also takes notice of the busty redhead taking notice-instant rivalry.
Arnie Brandon is far and away the guy all the women visitors want to hogtie and smuggle into their bedrooms. One glance at him and their tongues loll out like cattle approaching a waterhole on a hot day. Arnie is used to this, but this time he's got not one but two megabusty fillies, each ready and oh-so-willing to head him toward her corral. "I can't figure out which one to saddle up and mount first," he ponders. "That redhead's udders are spilling out of her little halter. And her full lips could keep a man up all night long. That black babe is just radiating heat from all the way across the room. She's got a great rack, too. Decisions, decisions."
Fortunately for Mr. Brandon, that tough decision is taken out of his hands. Early in the morning following the barbeque incident, while searching to "accidentally" encounter the virile vaquero, Barocca rounds the corner of the horse barn and bumps smack into Julie. Good thing these city gals come equipped with those energy-absorbing bumpers, even if they're optional extras. The unexpected impact forces the Brazilian Bombshell to hit the hay, her legs agape in a most unladylike pose. Tempers instantly flared like thermite.
"What are you up pokin' around so early for, Barocca?" Julie demands, pleasantly surprised to see the stunning stripper sprawled gracelessly on a horse blanket covering the hay bales that unfortunately cushioned her graceless fall.
"So, you know who I am," the brunette sneers. Picking herself up and brushing herself off, she goes on, "I'm flattered. Well, I recognize you, too. Julie DC. In the flesh." To herself she adds, "And from what I can see, there's plenty of flesh. Jeez, would you get a load of those tits! Each one's bigger than my whole head." Aloud she continues, "DC. Does that stand for Dumb Cluck? Ditzy Chick? D-Cup?"
"Dangerous Curves," the riled redhead replies, leaning against the barn doorway. Julie is dressed in a country girl polka-dot halter that tries desperately to contain her humongous hooters and a denim thong quite similar to Barocca's. All in all, she looks like Daisy Mae on steroids. "Compared to you I got broad curves, as befitting a broad."
"Broad is right," the Latina snorts. "You're kinda chunky, toots. How can you sit up with those watermelons weighing you down? Y'know, you can have too much of a good thing."
"How would you know? You're still working on a training bra, bitch."
"Now, now. Let's not resort to name calling, shall we? I suspect we're here for the same reason, so let's cut the crap. I saw him first and he's mine. I'll be heading back home next Monday and you can have what's left after I get through with him. That is, if he's willing to settle for you."
"Settle! Listen, Barocca. Arnie would just use you as an appetizer-"
"Because yes indeed, I'm so appetizing," the amused Amazon interjects.
"-to work himself up to the main course: me. And I don't give a fuck if you saw him first. I got what he wants and I aim to give him all he can handle." Julie punctuates her defiance with a shove that deposits Barocca on her energy-absorbing rear bumper.
"We can both see where this is leading," the chagrinned charmer observes as she climbs to her feet. "What do you say we mosey around to that little corral around back and settle this our way: woman to woman. They don't seem to use it much and I think it's reasonably clean." Julie just glares at her contemptuously until Barocca prods her in the intended direction with a couple of bust bumps.
Confident that her ample appendages will prevail, Julie snarls, "You're on, bitch. Lead the way."
With a forced air of nonchalance, Barocca strolls to the small corral behind the stable, Julie tagging along like a calf following a heifer. As she walks, the Bombshell whips off her denim miniskirt cover-up and starts untying the straps on her matching bra top.
"Leave it to a stripper to start peeling before we even get started," the redhead spits. "What a whore!"
"Sticks and stones," the brunette chides. "And if you haven't noticed, airhead, this is a barnyard. I don't plan to ruin my vacation clothes by rolling around in horseshit with a bullshitter like you."
"Does that mean we're gonna fight naked?" Julie asks warily, pulling her halter over her head.
"No, at least not at first. But you know how these things go," Barocca replies. "Besides," she thinks, "I can't wait to lay my hands on those huge hooters of hers. I've seen Julie fight on her Double Trouble and Steel Kitten videos. She's big but she's a pushover. She can't take a punch and she's kind of a clumsy wrestler. This shouldn't take long and I may as well enjoy myself while it lasts."
Watching Barocca's taut tush sway seductively just beyond her reach, Julie muses, "Damn, what I wouldn't have given to tangle with this babe on a video. And now here she is, plopped right into my lap by providence. And when it's over, I get to have Mr. Arnie Brandon all to myself as a bonus. Beat Barocca, boink Brandon. Not a bad day's work."
The lusty ladies are so wrapped up in their own dreams of victory and psyching each other out that they are unaware of the creaking wood and the muffled footsteps from the barn's hayloft. There in the shadows, with a perfect bird's eye view, lurks the coveted Mr. Brandon, shirtless with a few wisps of hay clinging to his perspiration coated body. "So these babes are gonna fight over me, he grins to himself. "Hot damn! No matter who wins, I win. And get a load of the tits on those gals. Oh, mamma! Don't let your children grow up to be bottle-fed."
Instinctively Arnie unbuttons the fly on his Levi's 501s and fills his hand. He's glad he doesn't bother with underwear, an observation made long ago by the busty belligerents below. "Take it slow and easy, boy," Arnie cautions himself as the girls, now both topless, start to circle each other in the corral. "I 'spect these two will take a long time to settle their differences, so there's no rush. Just stay outta sight, take slow strokes, and enjoy the show."
Barocca almost drools at the sight of Julie's mouthwatering juggs and pancake areolas. The Latina's hormones respond by making her own chocolaty nipples jut forward like mini hard-ons. Both beauties crouch forward slightly, allowing their oversized breasts to dangle and sway temptingly. An unheard moan of sexual appreciation barely emanates from the hayloft.
Julie is not unaware of Barocca's double barrels, either. "Little brown juggs do I love thee," she thinks. "I wonder how sweet the Bombshell's chocolate milk is. Maybe I'll get to find out later."
Cautiously the contenders reach forward and grasp each other's hands for a test of strength. Barocca is mildly surprised to find that Julie has quite a grip, and must bear down to prevent the big redhead from winning this skirmish. Julie also notes that Barocca is stronger than her appearance would lead one to believe. "Her muscles don't bulge, but they're like carbon steel," she admits.
Their struggle soon brings them belly-to-belly and tit-to-tit, their faces grim visages of the effort each is exerting in this opening salvo. Julie can sense Barocca's stiffer nipples boring into her own overstuffed pillows, not an unpleasant sensation under other circumstances, but a distinct distraction at the moment. She presses forward, mashing her opponent's mocha mounds.
With a burst of reserved energy, Barocca releases on hand, fastens onto Julie's other hand, and twists her into an excruciating armbar. Julie's arm feels like it's ready to be dislocated, a sensation amplified every time Barocca cranks it a little harder. The bra-busting redhead sinks to one knee, clutching her throbbing shoulder.
"Praying won't save you, Julie," the Brazilian teases. "You'll have to get off your knees and fight." Barocca adjusts her feet, widening her stance for better leverage.
But before she can take advantage of her improved position, Julie sweeps a leg out from under her tormentor with her free arm. Barocca hits the dirt hard, sending a sharp spasm through her hips and back. Both babes get up and buy recovery time by slowly circling each other. Julie massages her aching arm while Barocca brushes off her dusty duff.
Needing more time, Julie jolts Barocca with a powerful kick to the belly that doubles up the dusky dancer and sends her staggering back with a loud grunt. A follow-up thrust fails to connect as well, but still causes the Amazon to suffer. Julie presses her advantage by clamping a vise-like choking headlock on the Bombshell and wrenching her neck repeatedly. Barocca tries to pull the constricting arm loose, but Julie just increases the pressure.
Aloft, Arnie shortens his stroke to prolong his agony. Although he's concerned that one girl may get badly beaten up, he nevertheless is unwilling to stop the fight. "Damn, I love this," he thinks. "It's terrific having two hot chick fightin' over you, but to have two super hot video wrestlers tearin' into each other like this is outta this world. I never knew I loved chick fights so much."
Barocca's on the verge of blacking out. Her vision is getting dim and the world is starting ever so slightly to spin. "I've gotta break this hold or I won't be able to show my face around here ever again." Inhaling as much as she can-which isn't very much-she reams he elbow sharply into Julie's soft belly. Felling her tormentor's grip relax just a bit, she again rams her elbow into Julie's belly two, three more times before the redhead releases her and stumbles back, clutching her reddening midsection.
Both battlers cough and gasp for a few seconds. "Soft in the belly," Barocca reminds herself. "I saw it in her videos. She can't take much punishment like that." The Brazilian grabs a big handful of Julie's red locks, bends her down, and sinks her heavy leather cowboy boot deep into her belly. Julie goes down on the dirt with a shriek and a thud. Barocca strolls proudly around the corral, regaining her normal breathing and clearing her head while her nemesis writhes on the bare ground, cradling her sore belly.
"I've seen you fight…or what you call fighting, Big Red. I'm not impressed. You play a little grab-ass in that hokey backyard ring, but it's not real fighting. More like dancing. Sure you got those big guns and yes, I'll admit they're bigger than mine. But mine are big enough to get the job done."
The husky redhead keep silent, which the bragging brunette takes as a sign that she's still unable to talk, much less fight. Drawing closer, the Bombshell continues, "You don't stand a chance against me, dearie. Just look at my record: I've never been beaten. Oh sure, I lose a fall now and then, but I never lose the whole fight. Never. So why don't you just pack up and move along, little doggie, 'cause I-"
A headbutt into her abdomen stops Barocca tirade in mid-sentence. Julie launches herself like a surface-to-air missile as the Amazon Queen stages from the blow. With a feral growl, Ms Dangerous Curves arcs a devastating right fist into Barocca's sassy mouth and the blood flies. She follows this with a one-two combination, one to each big brown breast, and her victim coughs up another mouthful of blood, some of which splatters on Julie's jumbo juggs.
"Hey, bitch, you're bleeding all over me." Wiping a handful of blood off her bosom, Julie smears it onto Barocca's face. "Here. Keep it to yourself."
But stepping within arm's reach of Barocca at a time like this is not a wise move. The egotistical ecdysiast belts the big girl with a roundhouse right of her own, sending Julie reeling back across the corral. In hot pursuit, Barocca sinks a kidney punch into Julie's back and the big babe buckles. A boot aimed at Julie's belly find her bountiful boobie instead, but Barocca finds that an acceptable substitute. "Besides," she muses, "With knockers as big as those, they're just natural targets. Hell, it'd take a real effort to avoid hitting them."
While the Brazilian Bombshell is lost in thought, Julie has been plotting strategy. She backhands the stripper, backing her off a few steps. Then the two wildcats wade into each other with fists flying. Blood is flying, too, from each girl's face. Barocca bashes Julie's nose and gets both sides flowing. Every headshot Julie lands sends a spray of blood from Barocca's mouth. "I wonder how many teeth this bitch'll have left when this is done," the redhead wonders.
"Damn, this is better than any bar fight with guys that I've seen," Arnie thinks. He's so into this mayhem that he pops his cork and hardly notices. Now that's a one-track mind. But he's so riveted to the big-busted brawlers below that his erection doesn't flag in the least and he keeps pumping away for all he's worth. Although it's still cool with the rising sun just above the horizon, this secret witness is drenched with perspiration.
Their faces a bloody mess, the fighting felines shift to battering each other's bodies, with their swollen, heaving bosoms getting extra special attention. Julie's tits are as red as her hair from the pounding they're taking. Barocca's darker skin hides the damage better, but the pain is just the same. "Fuck, her tits are tougher than I figured," the Amazon curses. "I though sure I'd have her begging for mercy by now."
"Son of a bitch! This is one tough cookie," Julie admits to herself. "I'm giving her my best shots and she just keeps coming back with more. She may be slim, but she's all muscle."
But nobody realizes better than Barocca just how close she is to calling it quits. That thought is so repellant to her naturally assertive personality that she tackles Julie to the ground just to stop the punching fest. They roll around the barnyard snarling and clawing, and getting a generous coating of dirt and grime all over their hard bodies. Not as slimy as a mud fight, but filthy enough. Eventually sheer fatigue overtakes them and they disengage. Julie props herself against the crude wooden fence while Barocca climbs onto a hay bale to catch their breath and rest.
"This ain't over yet, bitch," Julie heaves. Reaching for her discarded halter, she wipes most of the dirt and blood from her face. She indulges herself with a tit massage to soothe the ache in her bazookas.
"What are those, 45s?" Barocca gasps, indicating Julie's juggs. She picks up her discarded denim bra to wipe herself down and remove a layer of grime from her angelic face. It'll wash out.
"They're so swollen, they feel like 90s right now," Julie jests. "We certainly have the big guns, don't we? No wonder we're naturally rivals." Taking in the dirt that covers her sweaty body and assessing her opponent's crusty carcass, she asks, "Hey, when we started, wasn't one of us white?"
Barocca flops back on the bale, lets the soiled bra drop, and laughs, "As I recall, yes…and I think it was you. It's hard to tell now. I must admit, we look a lot like twins." With a low moan she begins massaging her throbbing titties, noting happily that her perky nipples can still come to attention.
"Hey, Brandon. You up here?"
"Pipe down, Jess. Get over here" Arnie calls in a hoarse whisper, motioning his partner to join him.
"What the fuck're you doin'," Jess whispers back, receding into the shadows next to the loft door.
"Watchin' a hell of a catfight," Arnie explains. He points to the topless titans sprawled out in the corral and explains the situation to Jess. As Arnie summarizes, Jess whips out his dick and drinks in the sight of two of the bustiest women he's ever seen at the dude ranch…or anywhere else for that matter.
"You mean to tell me that those two big-tittie broads are beating the shit outta themselves over you?" he gapes. "Well, I'll be a suck-egg mule. Fuck, man! I heard the guys say a couple of big busty babes checked in while I was gone, but I thought they were pullin' my dick or raggin' me on about two fatties. But…Damn! They must be porno actresses or strippers or somethin', don't you think? I mean, look at the guns those mammas are packin'." Squinting at them to get a better view, Jess asks, "Which one you rootin' for? The roan or the black?"
"Shit, man, I don't care. Whoever wins, I'll get the fucking of my life, I'm sure of that." Thinking it over a little more, Arnie said, "I think I want the black to win. The roan pulled in just yesterday and the black's leavin' Monday. I checked when I noticed 'em both givin' me the once-over last night. I could see right off they were gonna come after me. So the black-her name's Bacardi or somethin' like that-she's only got a few days left. But the other one-Julie, I think-she'll be stickin' around a while longer. So if I play my cards right, I can fuck 'em both."
"What d'ya mean play your cards right? You don't have to do a thing. They're doin' all the hard stuff." Glancing at his tumescent hard-on, Jess adds, "Speakin' of hard stuff, I wouldn't mind keepin' an eye on whichever one loses this fracas. I mean, until the other one checks out, y'know?"
"Yep, you can be the consolation prize, until she's healed enough for me to take over. Hey, I think they're fixin' to go at it again. Don't make a sound."
While the guys are admiring the view, the girls are feeling each other out (figuratively) for any sign that the other may be ready to throw in the towel. Barocca probes first. "You must want that cowboy cock awfully bad to take the beating I'm meting out to you. You sure Arnie is worth it?"
Julie retorts, "You've seen that huge bulge in is jeans. What do you think? Unless he carries a wad of rolled-up sweat socks down there for the laundry, I'd guess that hogleg's worth everything we've dished out to each other." Julie slips off one of her sneakers and shakes the barnyard debris from it.
Barocca winces, "Ow! This hay's sticking me in the ass." Removing the offending strands, she smiles. "I don't think these guys carry their dirty laundry around with them I their jeans, honey. No, I 'reckon' that's the genuine article in there. And I want it. After I'm gone, you can help yourself to what's left."
"I don't 'reckon' I can wait that long, sweetheart. I want it, too, and I want it now. I didn't come here to spend a week pokin' cows. I came here to get poked by a cowpoke. And that one's the only one I've seen who's even decent looking. After I whip your ass, I may allow you a pity fuck just before you leave…but you'll have to ask nicely," Julie insists.
"Then I 'reckon' we'll just have to move along to the next round. That's what we came here for, isn't it?" Barocca says, getting to her feet and hitching up her belt for action.
"You don't have to tell me twice," Julie sighs as she tugs on her sneaker and climbs to her feet.
That shoe adjustment should have tipped Barocca off to what Julie has planned, but she's not thinking as clearly as she usually does. So it comes as a complete shock when Julie fires that dingy white sneaker into Barocca's crotch. Her thighs clamp shut, trapping the intrusive foot and the crashes down on both knees. Julie tugs her foot free, losing the sneaker in the process. She yanks it free from the victim's legs and sits down to put it back on as Barocca sits back on her heels hoping the pain will subside.
"I don't think Cowboy Brandon's gonna want to fuck your busted-up old cunt," she sneers at the beleaguered black beauty. "You'll be too tender down there. And I strongly doubt he'll settle for just a blowjob no matter how good you are." Having replaced her shoe, Julie returns to the agonized Amazon, places her toe on Barocca's shoulder, and pushes the black Queen onto her back. The Brazilian is in no condition to offer even token resistance, so Julie unsnaps the black girl's denim thong and roughly yanks it off. Then she grabs both of her ankles and spreads them wide, opening her juicy pink pussy for all to see. Then the redhead alternately stomps the backs of Barocca's long meaty thighs.
"You absolutely certain that desperado's dick is worth all this?" she asks Barocca. The struggling stripper gives serious consideration to shouting out her submission then and there. But she just can't let this overstuffed sausage humiliate her in a fight and steal her man. "Will I be able to even stand after all this stomping?" the black Queen wonders. Julie keeps up a steady rhythm of slamming her soft-soled sneakers onto Barocca's thighs and the busty Brazilian flinches just before each moment of impact.
"You sure you like the black?" Jess asks. "She doesn't seem to be doin' much.
"She's still on her break," Arnie reassures him. "She'll go back to work in a few minutes. I bet these bimbos can beat each other all day long and still have plenty of pep left."
For the icing on the cake, Julie abruptly switches gears and aims a stomp at Barocca's vulnerable pussy. But her victim's instinctive flinch moves the target out of harm's way and Julie comes down hard on the bare ground a few inches lower than expected. That causes the roughhouse redhead to lose her balance and stumble forward, dropping the dancer's damaged legs, and careening into the fencepost. That impact drives the wind from her lungs and after long moments of no respiratory activity, she begins gasping for air.
Barocca has seen none of this and wonders why her foe isn't finishing her off. Hearing the raspy respiration and seeing the redhead clinging to the fence for support, the naked Nubian struggles to her wobbly legs and gamely goes after the gasping girl. Stumbling toward her tormentor, she is overcome by a sadistic impulse and punches Julie in the belly. The bosomy babe's diaphragm still is out of sync with her lungs and she can't draw a full breath. Barocca hammers away relentlessly.
Before Julie can collapse, Barocca hiptosses her onto the dirt. Julie is limp, making it easier for the Bombshell to apply a figure-4 leg lock. "I hope this is hurting her as much as it's hurting me," the black beauty wishes.
Julie writhes in utter agony. "What the fuck? I thought I damn near crippled her with those stomps. Now she's breaking my knee with this leglock."
"See? What'd I tell you?" Arnie comments. "Don't ever sell that gal short."
Finally Barocca can no longer stand her own pain and releases her prey. Her legs almost numb, Julie lies helpless as the bare-ass Brazilian scrambles up and walks lead-footed toward her head. But there's nothing wrong with the redhead's arms and she suddenly sweeps Barocca's feet out from under her. The black girl lands ass-first on Julie's still heaving bosom and the two of them lie almost motionless for almost ten seconds.
Julie pushes the saucy siren off her chest and makes it to her feet. Grabbing Barocca by both breasts, she hauls the Bombshell roughly up and smashes her in the face with a flagging right. This one catches Barocca in the left eye and she almost blacks out. But she can still see well enough to nail Julie on the nose and start the blood flowing again on one side. Spreading her long talons wide, Barocca clamps down on those two enormous pink cannons that are now covered entirely with large purple bruises. Julie screams and mauls Barocca's breasts, but the black babe clearly has the stronger grip.
The dripping blood soon causes Barocca to lose her grip on Julie's big boob and she breaks off the assault and pulls herself free. In a flash the redhead grabs the Amazon's right arm and spins the dancer into a hammerlock, reaching around from behind with her left to clutch her swollen right breast again and squeeze some more. Barocca's unfettered left arm is almost totally useless. Her nemesis is in complete control.
Julie escalates her double threat hold into a triple threat by tightening her left arm into a bearhug and bending back, lifting Barocca off her feet. The brunette cries out, more in frustration than in pain. Julie bounces her up and down to increase her torment. "I'm gonna make you give up, Barocca. I can't think of anything that will humiliate you more than being forced to quit."
Gritting her teeth at the unbearable torture she's enduring, Barocca thinks, "I'll never give up. Never. Oh shit, I think she's gonna break my ribs. Maybe I can fake out this big bimbo. I'm a better actress than she is. And now I have to be." With a dying groan, Barocca mumbles something unintelligible and lets her head drop gradually as though passing out.
"What's that?" Julie asks optimistically. "Was that your surrender? Do you submit, bitch?" She wags Barocca from side to side like a limp rag doll. No sign of life. She lowers her victim-and her guard-eager to claim victory. As soon as Barocca's feet touch the ground, the Bombshell abruptly stiffens and snaps her head back. A headbutt in reverse. Her matted ebony mane does nothing to soften the impact on Julie's face and the stunned stunner drops her prey and staggers back, stumbling over a hay bale.
Back in the loft the guys have both climaxed again watching the fight seesaw between the busty brawlers. "Arn, with these two, we're gonna be goin' around with all-day hard-ons," Jess chuckles. "I wouldn't mind that so much 'cept then all the other gals'd come buzzin' around. Even the ugly ones."
"And I don't think I'd be as good at beatin' them off as I am beatin' myself off," Arnie laughs. "I'll tell you one thing. Whoever wins this spat ain't gonna be good for nothin' 'til tomorrow, that's for damn sure. Look how beat-up they both are." They wipe their gooey hands on the back of their jeans and go right back to pumping like a pair of oil derricks.
Down in the corral, Barocca yanks Julie up by her hair, swings her around in two complete circles, and lets her fly into the side of the barn. The impact knocks down a couple of rakes leaning against the wall. The redhead goes rigid and falls flat on her back. Her breathing is so heavy that she sprays blood with each exhalation. Her face looks as though she's wearing a red bandana over her mouth. Julie becomes aware that the pain throughout her entire body is so intense that she's begun to cry. The humiliation causes her to blush but she can't help herself. She opens her tear-filled eyes to a blurry vision of Barocca looming overhead. At least she thinks it's Barocca; the face is obscured by two extra large wet black tits heaving with exhaustion dripping perspiration on her bloody face.
“Had enough?” the dark mistress asks, prodding her with the toe of her boot. “Or are you too stupid to know when you’re licked? Oh, look. You’re crying. You big baby, can’t you deal with a real woman? Can’t you take it? You’re a pussy. A crybaby pussy!”
Feeling a rake handle under her hand, Julie defiantly spits, “Fuck you, bitch!” Gripping the wood shaft, she swings it in a wide arc just as the Bahamian bends down to pick her up. The rake breezes harmlessly over Barocca’s head. When she realizes how close she just came to getting cold-cocked, the dusky diva’s face morphs into a mask of fiery rage.
She grabs the business end of the rake, pulling the big-titted tigress to her feet in the process. Julie’s tears are washing some of the blood away so she now looks like she’s streaked with war paint. After a short tug-of-war, she wrests the rake from Julie’s grasp and turns the weapon against her. Barocca lays the long wood handle against the side of Julie’s head with a CRACK that the guys in the loft clearly hear. The reeling redhead is out before her voluptuous body collapses onto and rolls off of a hay bale, her grit-coated legs splayed open. “She looks like a cheap whore,” Barocca snorts. “Julie DC. DC for Defeated Crybaby.” Then a demonic impulse overwhelms her and she kicks Julie in her unprotected crotch. “No…DC for Demolished Cunt.”
With Julie DC safely out of the picture, Barocca takes stock of herself. “I look like shit!” she assesses. “Naked. Covered with sweat and dirt…probably some horseshit, too. And I’m still smeared with blood…mostly hers I guess. My hair must be a fright. And-Ow!-yep, my eye’s swollen shut. Oh yeah, the guys’ll really go for me. I’m their dream girl.” Shifting her gaze to Julie, still inert beside the bale, the Brazilian Bombshell adds, “At least I look better’n her.”
The conquering catfighter casts around for her discarded clothes, blinking a few times to clear her vision. “Oh shit, only one good eye and it’s not all that good. Gotta find my clothes. I can’t go back to the house looking like this.” Barocca spots her miniskirt and quickly wraps it around her waist. She remembers wiping her face with her bra a few minutes ago, but can’t seem to locate it now.
As if on cue, Arnold Brandon moseys out of the barn, his fly closed but his plaid shirt unbuttoned to reveal his hairy chest and six-pack abs. Barocca isn’t so exhausted that she fails to admire this macho display. She suddenly remembers to cross her arms demurely over her exposed bosom. Arnie’s expression projects the innocence of a fresh-laid egg.
“Why, good heavens, ma’am,” he stammers. “What ever happened to you? You get thrown by a horse?”
Stealing a quick glance at Julie, Barocca bats her eyes…well, her good eye…coquettishly and flashes her best attempt at a sheepish grin. “I guess you could say that. I mean, I had a little accident in the corral. I fell down a few times and got all dirty. Just look at me. I’m afraid I’m a complete mess.”
Whipping off his shirt and wrapping it around her trembling shoulders, gallant Arnie volunteers, “Well, don’t you worry none, Miss… Miss…”
“Bar-r-r-rocca,” she purrs, rolling her “r” like Catwoman and melting into the broad-chested cowboy’s cradling arms. “Oh, you’re so nice to give me your shirt. I’m so embarrassed. I don’t know where by top went.” Embarrassed. Right. Barocca is a big girl, 5’ 10”, but Arnie’s extra long shirt hangs down just far enough to cover her meaty mud-caked brown hams. “Roped me a big one,” she sighs to herself.
Offering a surprisingly clean handkerchief, he gently wipes off her face. “Barocca. That’s a strange name…beautiful but unusual. What kind of name is that?” He truly admires the big black babe’s abrupt transition from snarling tigress to blushing sex kitten. What an actress.
“I’m from Brazil,” she coos. “It’s Portuguese.” Arnie was down to her neck now and she hoped he’d continue in that direction. “I must be covered from head to toe.” With an impish giggle, she pushes “You must think I’m a dirty girl.”
He wants to say, “I know you’re a filthy girl,” but he’s smart enough to say, “Oh no, Miss Barocca. This sorta thing can happen to anybody. Just part of ranch life, I ‘spose.”
Fixing him with a seductive stare, she arches one eyebrow and asks, “Have you ever fallen off a horse before?”
“Sure, I’ve been bucked off spirited mounts lots of times, when they get real excited.”
“And what do you do then?”
“I just climb right back in the saddle and hold on tighter.”
“M-m-m-m-m,” Barocca smiles with an involuntary shiver of anticipation.
Cranking up the country boy accent, he changes the subject. “Listen, I can let you in the back way, so’s nobody’ll see you when you ain’t at your best. I mean, you’re a fine lookin’ filly. You just need a little washin’, brushin’, and a good rubdown. No big deal.”
Arnold daubs at Barocca’s upper breasts now, struggling to maintain the boyish naiveté while trying not to drool over those luscious mocha latte mounds. At least he doesn’t have to worry about popping a boner. After four huge shotgun blast orgasms in the loft, his dick has retired for the rest of the day. Besides, his skin on his stroked-out penis has begun to chafe.
“I didn’t know there was a back entrance,” Barocca fibs, having checked that out within minutes of checking in. “And you’re certain nobody will see me? I mean, half naked and all?”
“I guarantee nobody’ll know a thing. ‘Cept me, of course, and your secret is safe with me. Won’t tell a soul, I swear.” Shifting gears once more, Arnie says, “You don’t mind if I look in on you a little later…after you’ve had a chance to freshen up, do you? Y’know, it’s part of my job here to make sure the guests are OK…satisfied, y’know? I can get you whatever you want or need.”
Brushing against his crotch, Barocca is way ahead of him. “I’m sure you have everything I need right here,” she muses. Her angelic face disguises the devilish gaze as the sexy siren gushes, “How can I ever thank you? You’re saving me from so much embarrassment. I’m so grateful.” With a teasing peck on his cheek, Barocca turns and indicates her desire to be escorted back to the main house. Arnie zeroes in on the finest ass in femme fighting as it undulates temptingly beneath his shirttail.
“I’ll be delighted if you drop by later to check on me. Right now all I want is a nice hot soaking bath. I want to get all this grime off me and wash my hair.” That’s no lie. “Why don’t you stop by in…oh, say two hours? I oughtta be all cleaned up by then. You won’t recognize me,” she giggles again.
With an unnoticed leer, Arnie thinks, “Darlin’, after all this, you’re burned into my memory like a brand on cattle. I ain’t never gonna forget what you look like.” Instead, he says, “Oh, I think I’ll know you, all right. And I’ll be there right on time. Anything to keep our guests happy. ‘Specially the pretty ones like you.” He neglects to add, “Aw, shucks, ma’am.”
Back in the corral, this scene is replayed almost verbatim between Jess and the groggy Julie. He has to time himself carefully so Arnie and that black gal will be out of sight when he sneaks Julie in the same back way. Jess also has the foresight to bring a stable blanket for Julie. His shirt is woefully inadequate for her needs.
“I’m not exactly sure what happened,” Julie exclaims, with a certain amount of truthfulness. Jess plays dumb and slips a supportive arm around her shoulders and tucks his hand under one of her mammoth mammaries. The wrung out redhead pretends not to notice. “Oh-h-h! My leg. I don’t think I can walk very well. Hold me closer, Jess honey. You’re gonna have to help me all the way into my room.”
“Anything for a lady in distress,” he plays along. Jess is amazed at how turned on he and Arnie got watching these two busty beauties wale the tar out of each other. He came three times and still feels like his nuts are about to explode like two hand grenades. Jess is pretty sure Julie will be out of commission for the rest of the day. He promises to look in on her before lunch. After all, he happened onto the scene after the battle had begun, when the girls were already covered with dirt, so he’s eager to see how the roan looks hosed off.
Julie feels a lot better already. Limping alongside her cowboy crutch toward the back of the main ranch house, she muses, “This Jess ought to be good physical therapy until that bitch Barocca leaves. Then I’ll have a clear shot at that Arnie, too.”
Within fifteen minutes, aching winner Barocca and sore loser Julie DC are soaking their beaten bodies in relaxing and soothing hot baths and deciding on which bedclothes to wear for their solicitous visitors. Down in the bunkhouse, Arnie and Jess are showering and deciding whether to shave clean or leave a touch of manly stubble. The girls have no such question; they’re both shaving close.
As the hour for their medical check-ups approaches, each busty beauty contemplates a rematch with her newest rival. And each is determined too emerge the winner. Moments later, each lusty lady’s reverie is interrupted by a knock at her door.
BACK TO THE CELEBRITIES
TO BAROCCA 
