The Other Rumble
The Wife VS The Mistress
The Wife portayed by Nona Gaye vs The Mistress portayed by Michael Michele

Standing, staring out of the large bay window of the hotel; she just had the worst argument of their marriage; not the loudest, not the longest but the worst. She revealed to him a loss of confidence in him, she still loved him but she no longer possessed that child-like belief in him and this was her mistake. He told her that he did not come to loose and she replied, "neither did I" but she was not sure for the first time in their marriage.

This woman, the one she was told about by friend and foe alike, the one she read about in the press the one with whom he disrespected her and her children with. This one, was not a "one night stand" some casual fling, a groupie, this other woman was a real threat. She was young, beautiful, smart, attentive and ambitious; a Louisiana Creole by way of California who like many others had fallen prey to his charm, his celebrity and no doubt tasted the forbidden fruit a fruit that should have been only his wife's.

The wife went into the bathroom, disrobed in front of the full-length mirror; she wasn't the same skinny little girl that she was in Jr. High not even the same woman he married. After three kids and the rigors of being the married homemaker of a celebrity who was gone most of the time all of the aforementioned had taken their toll on her, she had gained 40 pounds. Still she had curvaceous and firm hips and glutei, with full breasts; the flesh glazed remnant of a six pack, the sturdy yet attractive legs of a hard working mother and wife. Nothing to throw a stick at, her lovely cinnamon hued face was still child-like and her near straight jet colored hair was still alluring, as she never ceased to get complements from the opposite sex on them. Yea, still sexy to most men if they could see through her long baggy conservative garb but not to him, not anymore not to the one who counts, her only true love since childhood. Of coarse he was surrounded by models, beauty queens, starlets and "hospitality coordinators".

When she met her husband she was Jr. High School aged, he was 17 going on 18 and she had been in love with him ever since. Now she was back in Jr. High again vying for his attention but things were different now she was like those little girls that she despised so much, the undignified ones who would humiliate themselves over a boy. "One of them, me?!" Never!" she always thought. Alas now she understood the desperation that caused their foolishness; so she acted as if she was in a dream and did what she would not do in reality until now.

'Ring' "Front desk how my I help you?" "Is this the Mrs.?" Said a friendly African voice.

"Yes this is his wife"

"Welcome back ma'am, what can I do for you?"

"Thank you"

"We are having a private gathering and we realized that there was someone we neglected to invite"

"And who was that ma'am"

"That pretty young lady from the Hospitality committee"

"I know just the one ma'am"

"You do? I see"

"I will be happy to invite her for you"

"Thanks you are so kind and could I prevail upon you to do one more thing?"

"Anything ma'am"

"Tell her it will be an out door event so she should wear something suitable not too dressy"

"Very good ma'am and what time will you be expecting her?"

"Oh ASAP we need to get started right away but we can't start without her"

"Yes ma'am right away"
'Click' they hung up.
She thought to call back and cancel her insane request but that Jr. High thing had a hold of her, had a hold of her better judgment, a hold of her common sense.

A half-hour had passed, a knock came at the door it was her. The mistress was 5"10", 36-24-36 a perfect athletic "home wrecking machine as opposed to his wife who was 5'8" 38-33-38. The mistress had yellow skin; black wavy shoulder length hair, natural green eyes, high cheekbones and a small straight nose and thin lips. She was wearing a cutoff top, Capri pants and sandals.

"Hello, hello anybody here?" "Champ" SMACK! The wife attacked with a crushing blow to the young Creole's jaw; dropping her to the floor.

Standing above her fallen rival straddled she reached back and closed the door and said "Is that what you call him, Champ?" "Is that what you call my husband you nasty little B!%@#!?"(Delivering a kick as she released the expletive from her full voluptuous lips)

"Uhhhh!" cried the light skinned beauty. Immediately she knew what was happening it was the same old thing; she was being jumped by some jealous sista' over a no good man. But this was one man she wanted, so this time she was going to accept the challenge. Even though the wife was on her like Hot Fudge on French Vanilla Ice Cream the mistress was talking trash, "Is that all you got B!%@#?!

The wife was mounted on her back punching her in the back of her head and raising slightly to knee her in the back and sides; the mistress kept her head protected and endured the body blows. The wife was looking for a verbal submission via humiliation and pain so she gripped the back of her fallen opponents neck and began to rip at her beautiful curly locks leaving remnants on the carpeted floor. Then alternating punishment by scraping the smooth butter colored skin from the dazzling Creole's back leaving bloody red scars. The mid-south belle screamed not in surrender but in outrage and frustration she was just awaiting the opportunity to strike back! The wife grew weary from her assault leaned back and loosened her grip the mistress struggled to a lying down position still underneath her assailant.

The mistress bridged and the wife double leg locked her and choked her with one hand and grabbed her hair with the other. The intensity of the battle was less physical than psychological; they were spitting in each other's faces and cursing one another. The mistress wrapped her hand around the long braided ponytail of the wife pressing her knuckles against the side of her head restricting the wife's neck movement. This did not distress the wife though painful; she was content to grip the Creole vixen's mane similarly and rip away. Great pleasure was derived from trying to tear out the mistress' hair because she knew her locks would be one of her husband's favorite features.

They rolled and grappled for a while and eventually worked they're way to their feet; the wife used her weight to drive the light skinned girl; into the wall. She felt the bulkhead give upon impact. "Ughh!" Her head made sharp contact also. The mistress did not loose her composure she merely started attacking and defending with her legs. Between the two of them the wife carried more weight and delivered more punishment yet the mistress was undaunted seeming to absorb the pain awaiting an opportunity to gain the upper hand.

As they continued the mistress began to speak, " You know what? He is tired of two things" The wife could not believe she was presuming to advise her concerning her husband so she kneed her in her stomach. "Mmmmm! It's the face and the p()$$%!"

"What?" growled the wife.

"Yea b!%@#! he is tired of waking up with the same old face and any man is tired of going to bed every night to the same old stretched out p()$$%!" The mistress suddenly thrust her hand into the wife's shorts clawing her womanhood. The wife shrieked and responded by sliding her hand into the mistress' shorts and returning the favor. Both women let out unintelligible sounds as they sought to give each other hysterectomies. Their thighs and butts began to quake, their eyes full of tears and their resolve now fully tested.

"Your face and your old @$$ P()$$%!" she kept repeating. The wife could think of nothing other than this taunt and finally it broke her, she began to whimper then falter and released her lower grip reaching for the mistresses wrist in order to give a pleading squeeze for mercy.

"No B!%@#! Say it! Say he is mine!" demanded the mistress. The wife had lost physically and had lost the heart to fight but she would not give her the satisfaction of a verbal submission.

The younger girl spun the wife around then slammed her against the wall then applied a front face lock cutting of the wife's air yet never letting go of her now throbbing vagina. The mistress followed the wife as she sunk to the floor taunting her and tearing at her. The wife was beaten in her body and in her heart but still she refused to verbally submit so she took the rest of the assault grunting and gagging until defeat's slumber over took her. Though family, friends, in-laws, the public and the press were all on her side in a year's time she would no longer be Mrs. Muhammed Ali for she had lost the 'other rumble in the jungle'