Like a bolt of lighting from Zeus itself, it strikes, in some sexfights, a moment where one rival stops. Talking, pushing, fighting, fucking…. They are not wounded, or regretful in that moment, instead, it is lust that takes them. Lust that drives them to give in – to lay back – and to enjoy, as their enemy draws every last drip of cum from their body. And though as the battle ends, and their womanhood breaks as water upon rock, they feel not but pleasure. It being only afterward that they cry – afterward that they realize what they allowed their foe to do to them. Such a thought and memory do they take with them into a sinking depression, until they finally, with time, move past all that they have lost, or work up the courage and nerve to ask for a rematch.