BAROCCA vs TOCARRA
VS
WHINING AND DINING

Barocca was seated on a comfy couch in the Green Room of a TV studio. She and several other women were there to participate in a series of syndicated talk show interviews to be aired the following week. A number of different shows were being taped in the same studio but on different sound stages, and all of them shared the large Green Room. The Green Room is the generic name used throughout the TV industry for the waiting area where guests can relax while waiting to be called to the set for their segment.

The Brazilian beauty was made up for TV and her hair was teased to perfection. She was spilling out of a low-cut white evening gown with spaghetti straps straining to support her ample bosom. On her feet sparkled clear platform heels augmented with a gazillion tiny shards of imbedded metallic tinsel. At 5’10”, the statuesque stunner hardly needed any height augmentation, but they looked dazzling as they peeked from beneath her gown.

She wasn’t due on stage for another 30 minutes so Barocca leafed through a magazine while sipping a complimentary claret—through a straw. That seemed gauche, but it was better than having to summon the make-up artist for a last-minute touch-up after she’d smeared her lipstick all along the rim of the long-stemmed glass. Those glasses don’t hold much and after a few sips Barocca had to pour herself a refill.

A moment later she was joined by another guest who was appearing on a different show with a similar theme. Toccara Jones swept through the door in a swirl of her blue V-neck evening gown. “You must be Barocca,” she beamed. “I’m Toccara Jones. Maybe you’ve seen me on TV?” The big woman plopped heavily down on the couch just as Barocca was bringing the straw to her lips.

SPLAT! Toccara’s landing bounced the couch cushion and the red wine sloshed out of the glass, splattering all over Barocca’s snowy gown.

“You fat bitch!” the Bombshell sputtered, leaping to her feet for a better look at the wet red stain spreading across her gown. “Look what you’ve done! You’ve ruined my dress!”

Toccara was back on her feet, too. “Who you calling fat, you pumped-up cow? I’m sorry about your old dress, but that’s no reason to start calling people fat. And I’m not fat, honey. I’m a real woman…not some anemic skin-and-bone skank with phony titties.”

Words failed the usually articulate Barocca, who simply hauled off and slapped Toccara as hard as she could across her face. The immediate result was a long red lipstick smear on Barocca’s hand and Toccara’s cheek. The next result was Toccara stumbling into the coffee table on which the wine was served. She dropped onto the table, upsetting the bottle and dumping some of the claret onto her own dress. Now she knew exactly how Barocca felt—about the ruined gown and the person responsible for ruining it.

With a snort Jones shot up and backhanded Barocca, who fell back onto the couch, landing on a wet spot. In a flash Toccara was on top of her, bitch-slapping the Brazilian Bombshell and streaming curses. Toccara Jones is nearly Barocca’s height, standing 5’9”, but outweighs her 160 to 135. While Barocca is slim and stacked, with her 40-21-36 figure and F-cup bosom, Toccara outguns her with her 46-30-46 figure and G-cup gazongas. She’s not fat; she’s more of a hefty honey…especially compared to Barocca.

What Barocca lacks in sheer bulk, she more than makes up for in raw ferocity. The ruined dress was bad enough, but the slapping detonated her fuse. With Toccara kneeling on top of her, Barocca grabbed two big handfuls of hair and yanked her tormentor’s head from side to side until Toccara screamed in pain and retreated.

Getting back on their feet, Barocca stumbled on the wine bottle, falling face-first into Toccara’s big soft chest pillows. Jones couldn’t resist this golden opportunity to pull the Bombshell out of her boobs by her hair. She yanked a hank and Barocca yelped in pain. “You fuckin’ whore!” Toccara snarled. “You just couldn’t wait to bury your face in my bosom, could you?” After another yank, she shoved Barocca away with both hands firmly on her bazookas. That damn wine bottle got under the Brazilian’s foot again and she stumbled to the floor, landing on her ass. That gave Jones a good laugh.

If the fire in Barocca’s eyes had been real, it would have set off the sprinklers. She muttered a curse, gritted her teeth, stood up, and kicked that fiendish wine bottle across the room and against the snack counter that was filled with all sorts of tasty goodies. Now not only was her gown stained, but it was also ripped, the side seam split up to her knee. That allowed her enough freedom of movement to walk up to Toccara and knee her hard in the abdomen.

Toccara Jones had no background in catfighting or femme fighting. With an explosive “OOOF!” she folded in half and crumpled. Barocca caught her before she was halfway down, cupped her chin, and blasted a solid right fist into her jaw. Ms Jones slammed against the Green Room wall, took a deep breath, and shook her head. "Son of a bitch!” Barocca thought. “Any other girl, a blow like that would’ve knocked her out cold. This dolly can really take a punch. I wonder if she can dish ‘em out, too.”

While the Bombshell was lost in thought, Toccara used the wall to propel herself into Barocca. They crashed against the opposite wall and fell entangled to the floor. This was the snarling feline part of the catfight, with both women clawing at each other’s dresses and tresses, kneeing each other, and squealing with feral anger. What Jones lacked in combat training, she compensated for with blind rage. Tocarra used her weight advantage effectively, but Barocca found it not to be an insurmountable obstacle…especially when she could manage to roll on top of her.

Within a minute of the first splash of wine, the ladies were in tatters, their make-up ruined, and their carefully arranged hair now hopelessly snarled. Their gorgeous gowns were only shreds that quickly fell from their writhing bodies. Barocca’s dress precluded her from wearing any sort of bra, but Toccara’s superstructure demanded one, in this case a lacy black trifle that the Bombshell relished ripping apart. As soon as their breasts were completely exposed they became inviting targets of the hellcats’ grasping fingers. Barocca’s implants provided a measure of protection from Toccara’s powerful grasp, but not when she twisted or pulled at them. The Bombshell knew just how to sink her sharp talons into Jones’s jumbo juggs to inflict maximum agony on those all-natural knockers. The buxom babes provided each other overwhelming opportunities for titty torture.

Barocca was canny enough to have her arms on the inside, between Toccara’s, as they squeezed and crushed each other’s mouthwatering melons. That allowed her to break Jones’s grasp by simply using her own arms to push Toccara’s aside. Then Barocca went for the hair again, using it to drag her opponent to her feet. While the hefty honey squinted her eyes in pain, Barocca scanned the room for something to use as a weapon or to humiliate her victim. The room was a shambles…except for the far wall…where the snack counter was.

The Brazilian hauled Toccara by her hair over to the counter, paused to make her selection, and then plunged Jones’s face into a large bowl of onion dip. Reflexively Toccara lashed out with her arms and an elbow caught Barocca in the belly. That earned the devil with the blue dress another dip in the dip. The Bombshell laughed evilly, “Now for the first time I fully understand the term ‘dip shit’.” Toccara sputtered and spat dip, but managed to twist her way out of Barocca’s grasp.

The facial had spattered a sizable amount of dip onto Barocca’s boobs. She wiped some up with her finger and tasted it. “Mmmm, not bad at all,” she smiled. That smile vanished when Toccara gut-punched her not once but three times in rapid succession. The Brazilian was bent over gasping when her adversary shoved a bowl of cottage cheese into her face.

“Large curds,” Toccara observed, “for a large turd!” Barocca wiped the muck from her face and flung it at Jones.

Salsa was next on the menu, but Toccara’s aim was a little off and most of the spicy sauce wound up on Barocca’s upper balcony. What didn’t drip off her distended nipples oozed between her deep cleavage and drizzled to her navel and toward her pussy. While Jones chuckled at that sight, Barocca dipped her hands into two small bowls of vanilla pudding and smeared that goo all over Toccara’s face, chest, and hooters.

Both of the near-naked nymphs spied the yogurt array at the same instant and pelted each other with a colorful display of fruit-flavored desserts. Barocca was soon coated mostly with blueberry yogurt, while Toccara got the majority of the strawberry. Then the Brazilian Bombshell buried a fist deep into Jones’s belly and hooked another across her jaw, toppling the big babe onto a leather armchair. She leaped onto her fallen foe and latched onto Toccara’s slimy tits.

All Toccara had to do was slide off the chair—quite easily with all the slippery food on her—and take the battle to the carpet. There the girls found better traction. Jones planted her foot solidly and planted a solid right into Barocca’s face. That sledgehammer stunned the Brazilian and she blacked out for a millisecond. She returned to consciousness with a few moments of double vision, but she could clearly see Toccara looming over her and preparing to lift her off the floor.

For a girl who didn’t look particularly muscular, Toccara Jones was tremendously strong. She hoisted the svelte Latina like a feather, spun her crosswise across her chest, and tossed the Bombshell over the wine table and back onto the couch where this scrap began. Fortunately, Barocca landed on her back and easily scrambled out of the way when Toccara charged at her. She spun the strawberry G-cupcake around and plopped her face-first onto the carpet before jumping on Jones’s back. Barocca had to admire Toccara’s fine mass of ass, a sight to behold even when covered with food fight residue.

“That certainly is a booty-ful sight,” she admitted before paddling that rotund rump. Barocca wondered, “How many guys would give their left nut to do what I’m doing right now? This is one fabulous fanny, no doubt about it. I’d love to have a derriere like Toccara’s.” Then she felt Jones’s right hand clamp down tight on her left breast and wrench her off her perch.

This time Toccara lifted Barocca into a bearhug. She squeezed like a python until the blueberry muffin thought her ribs would shatter. She was vaguely aware of being transported in addition to being crushed, but was in too much agony to open her eyes. Thus it was only a minor surprise when she felt her own ass plopping down on a trayful of various bagel spreads. Jones gave Barocca a couple of good twists to smear the cream cheese and other schmears all over the Brazilian’s scrumptious tushie. While the Bombshell squirmed on the gooey toppings, Toccara grabbed her undulating udders underhanded and used her strong thumbs to invert Barocca’s dark nipples—a most excruciating experience.

“I hear you’re mighty proud of these titties, Barocca. How do they feel right now? Compared to my watermelons, yours are just pitiful prunes, all dark and shriveled with a hard pit of petrified plastic inside. Real tit-men like real tits…like mine. Don’t you agree?” She pressed her thumbs harder and tears welled in Barocca’s eyes. “What’s this? Is Barocca baby crying? Maybe baby is hungry. Goodness knows, you’ve hardly touched any of your food. Maybe mama better breast-feed baby.”

Grabbing a handful of Barocca’s hair in back, Toccara towed the bedraggled Brazilian to a small settee that had miraculously managed to avoid being too badly damaged in the melee. She threw—no, she powerslammed the gasping Bombshell onto the cushion and rammed her gigantic jugg with its stiff nipple into Barocca’s face. Toccara kept pressing until Barocca thought she’d suffocate. At last she opened her mouth, accepted the massive mammary, and began sucking.

“Holy shit!” Barocca gasped, choking slightly on the warm fluid. “Toccara’s lactating! This bitch is full of milk.” She grasped the big brown jugg and nursed greedily, a thread of the slightly viscous fluid trickling from the corner of her mouth. In short order Toccara began moaning with sexual ecstasy. Her erect nipple seemed to be at least an inch long in Barocca’s welcoming mouth as she pressed her thick lips gently against the dark areola and sucked eagerly. Jones rolled her eyes back into her head and gave a huge sigh. That’s the moment Barocca knew she was once again in control.

Drawing the nipple and its surrounding fleshy udder deep into her mouth, the Bombshell bit down sharply. Toccara howled in anguish and jerked her juicy jugg from the tender trap Barocca had set. “You fuckin’ whore!” she yelped, falling to the floor and cradling her maimed mound. The vengeful vixen showed no mercy. Barocca dropped knee-first onto Toccara’s pubic mound. Jones let out an ear-piercing shriek and folded herself into the fetal position. But Barocca wasn’t finished yet. She pulled Toccara up by her hair, steadied the big girl, and head-butted her as hard as she could. Jones stiffened, rolled back on her heels, and crashed to the carpet.

Only then, as Toccara lay in a motionless heap, did the bedraggled Barocca notice the crowd that had gathered in the doorway. Drawn by the pandemonium and the screams, they stood with mouths agape staring at the devastation. Grinning maniacally at the other women, all dressed for their TV appearances, the lusty Latina roared, “Who else wants a piece of me?” and took a menacing step toward them. With frightened shrieks, they fled in both directions down the hallway, seeking safety and protection from this horrible food-encrusted Amazon.

The only one who stood his post was a cameraman balancing a portable news camera on his shoulder. “Congratulations, babe,” he smiled. “I got most of your battle on tape. But I think it needs a big finish…like a good dessert to top it off.” He pointed to a wheeled cart near the snack counter and Barocca immediately got the hint. She stepped to the cart, picked up a heavily frosted white cake, and sneered, “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.” At the signal from the cameraman, she dumped the cake with a loud SPLAT onto the face and heaving chest of the inert Toccara Jones.


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