Brawling Mothers

By Julia Vargas

Emily and Aarti have a minor car crash while traveling with their babies. The two young single mothers feel an immediate hatred for each other, which will lead them to fiercely battle each other in a catfight in which both will try to prove who is the better woman and the better mother.
The two rivals will engage in a nasty duel full of trash talking and racial slurs, while cruelly hurting each other trying to milk the rival's breasts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julia Vargas
• Release date: Apr 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215615454

Julia Vargas

Julia Vargas likes martinis, high heels and brawls with babes as hot as her. She writes stories about sexy tough hotties engaged in intense battles against other sexy tough hotties, using fiercely every part of their bodies. And if they have to use every inch of them (including some parts that prudish people would blush just by reading their names), they'll use them. So their stories are full of heated duels in which the babes bump into each other fiercely, and they catfight, fistfight, titfight or sexfight, depending on the tastes and needs of the girls (often all of them).

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Brawling Mothers

By Julia Vargas

Brawling Mothers

Copyright 2023 Julia Vargas

Cover by Julia Vargas, Photo by Arsham Hagani, Pexels.

This is a work of fiction that should not be read if you are under 18 years old.

It involves adults engaged in sexual acts that may include fetishes as sexfights, catfights and titfights. If this type of fiction offends you or it is forbidden in your country, I strongly ask you not to continue reading.

This novel contains abundant examples of racial abuse, racial slurs and hatred between races, which do not reflect the author's vision but the characters´. This story and the views expressed belong to the realm of fiction. In any case, if you are not comfortable with this type of strong, profanity-laced language or violent stories that explore the conflicts between two women who hate each other passionately, it is probably best not to read any further.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Brawling mothers

By Julia Vargas

BRAWLING MOTHERS

Sweet little Paul started to cry in the back seat of the car when they were still twenty minutes away from home. He demanded his mother Aarti's milk with urgent sobs.

Aarti Chopra looked at her son through the rear view mirror. 

Easy, Paulie, be calm, we'll be home soon.

Paul was about to turn one year already, but he was still exclusively breastfed and asked for it whenever he felt hungry or restless. Aarti was proud to give him the best thing she had: her milk. Although her parents often suggested that it might be a good time for Paul to start drinking formula, Aarti refused to consider it. 

As long as she could, she and Paul would share that sacred bond of a mother feeding her child the milk her own body produced. In addition to the immunological advantages of breast milk, Aarti did not want to give up those moments of extreme intimacy while her child suckled, both at peace, the mother caressing her son’s hair or cheek. At 26 years old, Aarti felt that her son was the most important thing that had ever happened in her life and would ever happen to her. 

Paul cried again, demanding his nourishment. Aarti looked at him once more. 

Just a little more patience, honey. We’ll arrive in a few minutes.

Paul seemed to calm down and his face softened. When Paul was angry, his face was more reminiscent of his father, Benjamin. 

Aarti hadn't seen Paul's father for almost a year now. Benjamin had dumped her a month and a half before Paul was born and he had never gotten to know his son.

Aarti knew that Benjamin had left her for a pale blonde co-worker. Jennifer, the blonde, was the exact opposite of Aarti. Aarti was Anglo-Indian and her skin was the colour of milk chocolate; her curly hair was black as a raven's wing. Her lips were voluptuous. Her body was sultry, full of curves. The blonde, on the contrary, had very white skin, speckled with freckles. She had a duck face, narrow hips, and hardly any ass. Only her tits were big and full, heavy and creamy white. Perhaps they came from surgery, though whenever Aarti unhealthy imagined Jennifer fucking Ben she visualized her riding him with her tits sagging, as if she were part of a savage, primitive tribe that never knew what a bra was. 

Aarti suspected that Ben wasn't even in London, but had moved to Manchester to be with that milky white blonde with the big pale boobs he had met at a few congresses.

She hated Ben for this, but she knew that if Ben offered her to come back, she would spread her legs to him immediately.

Ben had given her the best years of her life, and sex with him was amazing, mind-blowing.

Since he had disappeared from her life, Aarti had not had any sexual partners. First, she had devoted herself body and soul to preparing for Paul's birth; then, during his first few months, she had fully dedicated herself to her precious, half-breed son, hoping that at some point Ben would come back into her life, if only to meet her offspring. Fantasising about the moment when Ben would knock on the door, after a couple of months Aarti had gone back to the gym to get in shape, lose weight and feel more confident. She still held onto the ten pounds she had gained during pregnancy, but Aarti looked sexy when she looked in the mirror. Her butt had grown bigger and harder, and her legs had lost their flab and were now firm. Thanks to breastfeeding, her boobs were bigger than ever: she had gained two breast sizes.

Aarti was sure that when Ben came back to meet her son, she would have no trouble getting him back. Even if she kept dating that blonde cow, Aarti could get Ben to stay with her.

Jennifer couldn’t compete with her new taut, sultry body.

Aarti hadn't been with any man after Ben, not even for one night. And even though she was sexually frustrated after so many months without feeling a hard cock in her tight, hungry pussy, Aarti would stay that way, pure, to welcome Ben the way he deserved. She relieved herself by thinking about him, masturbating daily with dildos or her fingers, or using the pillow.

But those remedies were not enough.

The sex between Benjamin and her had always been very intense, very passionate. To think that Ben was experiencing something similar with a white slut like that blonde freckled Jennifer…

Sometimes, when Paul was asleep, Aarti would turn on the television to watch homemade sex videos she had recorded with Ben. She liked to watch the contrast of their skins touching: Aarti's brown body against Ben's white body. She liked watching Ben grab her hair from behind as he banged her hard, his white cock entering her mocha pussy over and over again, his pelvis colliding with Aarti's sumptuous chocolate-coloured ass, pounding her and making her wail with ecstasy.

She liked to watch herself sucking her lover's big hard cock.

She liked watching Ben suck her brown tits with relish, licking her big stiff nipples.

You'd like my knockers a lot better now, Ben, she moaned sometimes as she licked her own big nipples. Since she'd been breastfeeding, she had bigger boobs, as big as that blonde pale cow's, and her nipples had grown too. 

Sometimes she tasted her own milk and thought it was delicious. Ben would love to suck it for sure.

She wished Ben would come back. She'd prove to him that she was better than that white slut at everything. If he came with her, she would slap the bitch, Aarti would bald her, she would bite her white soft tits… She would scratch her while she squealed, she would squeeze those big veiny udders until they were empty globes, she would tear her silicone off. 

She had never been in a serious fight; just a few teenage brawls, or brief catfights in some club, pulling hair with some young girl as drunk as