*Introduction*
What can I say about Jane Blonde? Smart, gorgeous, fights like the devil and writes like an angel. And then there's those muscles! You know, if you happen to like muscles, and who doesn't? And they come in handy when you want to tote that barge and lift that bale. Me, I'd rather get a little drunk and land in jail.
Anyway, I must have been a little drunk when I agreed to face her in a wrestling battle. Drunk with an exaggerated sense of my wrestling talents. I think I mostly wanted to get a close-up view of her license to thrill. It's in good order, I can assure you.
You can check that for yourself in this battle.
-Jacqui- (MissConstrued)
Jacqui-
As a college journalism student gaining important experience as an intern for the local newspaper, reporting is what I do. And writing, of course, but you have to report before you have anything to write. So reporting is step one. And when I suddenly found myself in need of a wrestling ring, I did some reporting. I asked around, followed leads. Some might say I snooped.
And lo and behold, I learned one of the editors of the paper is the granddaughter of a famed television wrestler from the 1950s. There was a wrestling school where wrestlers trained. I learned the building still exists and is sometimes used as a locale for television shows. But most important, it still has a ring. I smiled, I cajoled, I flattered, I learned all about the old villain himself. I didn't bribe. I've got ethics, you know. Cajoling and flattering are not bribing.
But the upshot of all this is I was able to rent the place for $50, mostly to cover the lighting for the evening of wrestling entertainment I envisioned. I've done a little wrestling mainly for kicks at a local dive bar, but this is different.
I've been challenged by a chick who thinks I'm just a foxy wrestler, not a real wrestler, not someone who could face her in a real match. Ha! I'll show her. She's got muscles. I've got style. So I sent her an email with directions and the time. I arrived early, flipped on the lights, changed in the old bathroom and strutted down the aisle, slapping hands of imaginary fans. Then slid under the bottom rope and did a bouncy handstand with bouncy legs from teen years of tennis and swimming at the country club.
Looking out over the empty arena, I smiled, strutted around the ring, wearing a neon raspberry sports bra, black booty shorts and black boots to just below the knee. My long dark hair bouncing with each step of my 5'6, 122-pound frame.
Perfect, I thought. The only question now is whether she will show up.
Jane-
Believe it or not, looking like you have just fallen from Mount Olympus can have it's drawbacks. No, looking like a blonde, Amazon Queen is not much of a detriment...until you meet someone who labors under the false assumption that brains always triumph over brawn. Such was the case when a new girl waltzed into my gym and started spouting off, to anyone who would listen, such absurdities such as how Einstein could have beaten Ali. Presumably by talking him to death. I just had to shake my head and laugh. Which, of course, infuriated her even more.
Granted, she did have a decent build and it showed during her workout. She captivated quite a few....until I pulled off my hoodie and began my reps. I knew this wouldn't sit well and gathered perverse pleasure in toying with her. Making her angry and trying to make her lose her composure. This lasted for a few weeks, though the really interesting bit happened only a week ago.
I heard her talking to a "friend" about how she was a trained wrestler. This was the final straw and I called her bluff. Having done quite a bit of wrestling a few years ago, both professional and more...private, I just had to know if she was the real deal or just a poseur. Words were exchanged and, finally, she told me she could find us a real ring and we could have it out. Fine by me.
The text I've been waiting for has finally arrived and I anxiously hop into my Jag and make my way to the old gym. Finding a room, as instructed, I change into my shiny white tanga thong and matching sports bra that looks a size too small. I do up the golden laces of my white midcalves, the golden "O" on the sides gleam under the lights, and make my way out towards the ring. I give you a bemused look as I walk towards the ring, mount the apron and swing my long leg over the top rope, straddling it before stepping completely over it. I adjust the waistband of my thong, letting you take in my 5'9" and 155lbs of my bronzed physique.
"Looks like we're both here. Ready?" I say, giving you a predatory smile.
Jacqui-
Oh great, I put a call in for a wrestler, and I get a stripper instead. I must have missed the first part of the act as it appears she's near the climax with little left to doff. I do hope she's not expecting a tip as I left my coin purse in the car. But maybe she takes American Express. Showing off her height as she swings her leg over the top rope and then straddles it with a slight humping wiggle. Brazen!
One thing I'll say for her, she's tall with long legs. My theory...the longer the leg, the more to punish. It's a shame there is no crowd to admire her dazzling white sports bra that doesn't appear quite up to the task. Damn! I left my iPhone in my purse on a seat in the first row. But after I finish her off, I'll take time to document the result.
We know she can pose and strut and wiggle in her skimpy white tanga thong with the overmatched sports bra. We know she loves the sun. We know she loves to show off at the gym. We know, most of all, she loves to be the center of attention.
Well, she's definitely the center of my attention.
Am I ready?
I nod. And step forward.
Jane-
Doing the most prudent thing as I stand across from you in the brightly lit ring. I size you up. My gaze scanning the darkness that envelops the rest of the old gym, the harsh lights above making it difficult to see anything even if there were something out there. One can never be too careful. Besides, who knows what is out there should the action spill from the ropes. Turning my sights towards your lean frame I take not of your fitness level, defined by your upper arms and thighs. Long, wild, hair framing your confident looking face just above a pair of firm breasts. They heave with each breath, shelving a flat tummy that looks like it's seen it's share of crunches.
You give me a nod and, again, displaying confidence I would not have expected step forward. I crouch and raise my arms shoulder high. Flexing my fingers, I move forward and quickly try to lunge in hard and fast. Raising up to my full height before stomping my left boot in front of me, I try to snake my right arm over your left shoulder, slapping my hand to the back of your neck, while my left hand makes a bee line for your right bicep.
I figure I'll start with something basic, like a Collar and Elbow tie up to get us going.
I'm sure she can handle it, she seems capable....at least she *thinks* so.
Let's see if she's correct.
Jacqui-
If I'd had more time, I would have rented a bell to properly begin the festivities, and there's something about a loud CLANG!! that sends a chill up my spine. Instead, the match begins with a simple question, "Ready?" and a simple nod. Nothing that happens from now on will be that simple.
We each quickly move out, mirror images of each other in posture, slightly crouched with our arms outstretched. But the mirror breaks as we go for our opening moves. I see you coming hard at me, and I know you want to lock up. And I know I have no intention of engaging in a test of strength with someone much taller and stronger. You don't have to prove you can muscle me to my knees. I know that. That's where brains come into play.
I'm the daughter of a doctor. His friends call him "Bones" Taylor. He's an orthopedic surgeon, which accounts for my teen years at the country club. But more important, he has given me tips on where to strike a wrestling opponent. Go for the outside of the knee, he says. That pushes the knee inwards and causes pain on the inside of the knee.
A good kick can bring swelling and instability, which may pay off both now and later in the match.
Sure, I could go for a kick to the stomach, but that's soooo overdone in wrestling. And your abs might hurt my foot.
So, as you reach for my shoulder and neck, I duck and fire a swift kick of my right boot....aiming for the outside of your left knee.....
Jane-
The heat from the bright lights seems almost palpable as we circle in a sea of humidity. I never mind working up a good sweat, though, especially while punishing a rookie and showing her where her place is while she's in my ring.
Yes, I said "my" ring. Even though I didn't pay a dime to acquire it, I consider it "mine", because I'm in it. One of the first things my old trainer used to tell me was "When you step into a ring, any ring, make sure you claim it for your own." That's my intention as we move in and start to lock up.
Grabbing for your upper body seemed like a good move, at the time, but when you duck out of my grasp and give me a swift kick to the outside of my left knee, the pain tells me it wasn't so smart. Instantly, my hands slide from your upper body and I drop to my right knee. Both hands grabbing for my throbbing knee while my face, contorted into a visage of pain, helps tell the tale.
I grit my teeth as I kneel before you and shake my head, rubbing my left knee with my left hand as I send my right hand up. The fingers clawed and grabbing for the waistband of those tiny, black, booty shorts, I flex my considerable muscle and try to pull you right into me while lowering my head.
It might look like I'm praying but, in reality, I'm trying to pull you in close so i can ram my head into that flat tummy of yours. Always one to try to take advantage of positioning, I'm also curious as to whether those flat abs can take the impact of a blonde, Amazonian, battering ram.
Jacqui-
The kick felt so good, right on target and smashing into your left knee. How much did it hurt you? I don't know, but I'm sure it stung and maybe hampered your mobility some and that's what is needed when facing the Olympus in white. And there you are...felled like a giant oak, dropped to one good knee while both hands rub the other. So the score so far in this battle, you're on a knee and I'm standing tall, my wild dark mane hanging to my waist.
But am I smiling? Well, maybe a little as you are a sight to see. But only a tiny smile because I'm thinking. What next? Against a taller, stronger foe, you have to move, move, move. Strike and move like a guerilla. Never stand and fight superior firepower. That's a losing battle. I'm on my toes, my bouncy legs moving to my right, hoping to get around behind you.
A hope that is dashed when you reach out, grabbing my waistband, pulling at me with strong, angry hands as I look like I'm running in place, legs moving, but not gaining traction. Hair flying, but I'm not going anywhere.
So I have to stand and fight. But at least I'm standing and you're on your knees. And I see your head, lowered and aiming at my stomach, leading with a mane of gold. I want your right hand away from my shorts and quickly make a fist, slamming the heel of it down toward your hand...almost a diversionary tactic...as my right knee comes up hard, aiming for the sweet spot under your chin.
Jane-
My knee throbs and pain lances up and down the side. It has hurt worse, I am just hard pressed to remember, exactly, when. My pearly white teeth clenched, fighting against the pain, as I try to pull you in close. You refuse. I figured as much, so when you slam a fist down to dislodge my hand from your too small shorts, I allow it to fall away instead of fighting you on that front.
Instead, I slide my right hand down that long leg, cupping my fingers around the leather clad calve of your left leg and I tug. Hard.
My left hand shoots out and my flat palm aims for that toned tummy of yours, just as your chambered right leg snaps up and hammers me in the chin. "UHHFF!" My aforementioned pearly whites click together and I see stars. My head snapping up as I fall to my back, rolling to my left side and propping up on my elbow. I try to massage away the pain with my right hand while looking over to see your situation.
Jacqui-
Just before my right knee collides with your chin, I feel your fingers slide down my other leg, clutching my calf, tugging upwards. And as my knee finds your chin, I have no time to celebrate as I'm toppling backwards, aided with a good shove from your palm against my tummy. My mouth flying open, eyes wide, palms out to break the fall just as my firm buns meet an even firmer mat and I let out a squeal of pain, wincing as the mat wins that one.
Only my palms out behind me keep me from toppling all the way to my back, my hair touching the mat as I manage to stabilize into a seated position with my legs stretched out in front of me. My flashing brown eyes, alert to any imminent danger, quickly appraise the moment. You're down, propped on an elbow, obviously not at full strength after the knee to the chin.
And I just have sore buns. I think I'm better off, but I need to act quickly before the blonde colossus rises with the evil intent of colossilizing me.
So with a quick shove from my palms, I bounce to my feet, take two bouncy steps and leap over your head, tucking my knees in for a cannonball dive, hoping to land my sore buns onto your side.
Jane-
A loud *BANG!!* echoes in the empty gym as your firm ass lands on the canvas. The ropes shake as you hit, but you land with your palms down and are already on the move as soon as you land. Quickly you bound up to your feet and go on the move.
Meanwhile, I'm still lying on my right side with my left hand rubbing my now throbbing jaw. A hard knee up into it wasn't the most sporting thing but, that's fine....I can play that game, as well.
My crystal blue eyes widen as I watch you rise and bounce over to me. A quick leap has you airborne and you're tucking in like some wannabe gymnast. I have no idea where you're going, but I do know that I don't want to be here when you land. Forcing my body to move, I start to roll towards the direction you came, wanting to ensure that your landing isn't 5'9" of blonde, tanned, Amazon, but the stained canvas, instead. Twisting a few times as I roll out from under you, I slide up and twist on my right hip, getting to my knees before I slowly start to stand. My eyes flashing while you bounce off the old, unforgiving, boards.
Now, it's my turn. I move as quickly as I can, my left hand reaching out for that long hair and looking to snag a handful before trying to "help" you back up to your feet.
Jacqui-
Using my athleticism and bouncy legs to go airborne over your head, my teeth clenched, eyes glowing in anticipation of splashing the blonde Olympus with my aching buns. I know they'll ache even more when I land on you, a small price to pay for the devastation you'll suffer from the cannonball smash, maybe not the most stylish dive but, screw the judges, I'm in it for the results.
I'm already thinking about my next move, grab her left leg and work that knee, weakened from the opening kick. Keep her on the defense. Kick, jump, move, move, move.
The cannonball lands not on flesh, but on the harsh boards. Firm, aching buns smashing into firmer, hard flooring. My mouth flies open and some undecipherable word shoots out, a word nobody's ever heard before, but they wouldn't need a dictionary to know the meaning. It's pain! Shooting from my buns up my spine and back down to buns quickly numbing.
Seated awkwardly on the dirty, old canvas....stunned by the harsh landing, my palms rubbing my buns as I try to restore feeling. And I quickly realize I've got to do something fast. I'm not executing my strategy. I'm not kicking or jumping. I'm not move, move, moving. I'm sitting, rubbing my buns.
When my hair is suddenly in your clutches and I'm yanked rudely to my feet, a harsh, ugly amazonian yank. And I haven't kept her on the defense.
Jane-
My left leg and, more precisely, the left knee, lets out a pulse of pain in protest of me spreading both muscled limbs and planting my boots. Forcing them to help bear the weight of bringing you up, by your hair, as I face you. My face twisted into a mixture of annoyance, pain, as I muscle you up those long legs and to your boots.
My left hand still in your long, wild, hair, I grab your left wrist with my right hand and try to fling it over my left shoulder. The right arm swinging back as I crouch, then forward and trying to shoot between those aforementioned long legs. Looking to grab a handful of that tight ass as I rise, quads flexing while I prepare to hoist your 122lbs cleanly off the canvas and spin you around into body slam position. If I'm able, I bring you around, making a show of it for a non existent audience.
Carrying you around the ring, almost effortlessly, though you cannot see my teeth gritting against the pain in my left leg. Then, as I try to bring us to the middle of the ring, I cup the back of your head with my left hand as I start to shove my right arm forward. Dropping down to my left knee, I extend my muscled right thigh and attempt to drop your back right across it in a hard backbreaker. "Haaaaaaa!" I grunt out, hoping to help realign your spine.
Jacqui-
My moment of calm, sitting almost like a Buddha, is rudely interrupted by your grip on my hair, and up I come, my hands reflexively reaching for my long, dark mane, trying to find the offending hand, hoping to yank it away. On my feet, I see the problem. You! And you're angry and working, flinging my left arm over your shoulder in a cascade of well-orchestrated movements that quickly have me off my feet and hoisted upwards, my boots kicking the air, my left hand grabbing at your hair, not to yank but to hang on for dear life and provide some stability.
My eyes wild and worried as you have no trouble showing me off to the imaginary crowd, my fleshy parts jiggling and shaking as I writhe helplessly aloft and in your clutches. Paraded effortlessly around the ring...on display. And I know...what's now up will soon come down...and not in a nice way. I scrunch my eyes closed and brace myself for the impending slam, tucking my head in, pulling my elbows against my breasts, holding my breath, praying for the best.
Unanswered prayers! You quickly drop to your left knee and bring me down back first over your waiting right thigh. Arghhhhhhhh!!! My gasp echoes in the empty room as I land with an ugly THUD! My back bent harshly over your knee as I settle in to an arch, the bare skin of my back against the bare skin of your muscled thigh. My long black boots dangling on one side of your thigh, my burnt raven hair dangling on the other side, brushing against the mat. Both palms pressed against my forehead, trying to ease the pain in my back.
The two loudest sounds in the ring. My guttural moans and the scary popping sounds from my spine.
Jane-
"Up you come Princess!" I grunt as I get you in position. The bright lights above casting a light glazing on my lightly tanned skin as I work to get you in just where I want you and find that my hard work pays dividends.......in your pain and suffering. I feel your body tense, preparing for a hard impact on that back and it does come, just not how you might expect.
A gritting of my perfect teeth accompanies my drop down to my left knee. The flash of pain worth it to hear your loud groan as your back contorts in the most unusual way across my outstretched thigh. Your body compressing down into a backwards C before trying to resume it's normal shape, I make sure my left hand is quickly fastened to your chin while my right clamps down on the inside of your right thigh. Raising up a bit more on my knee, I push down with both hands, flexing my arms while my developed triceps pop under my tanned skin. Perfectly manicured fingers curl around your chin while the others sink into that toned inner thigh.
Really wanting to work that back, I look to bend you a few more times. Really wanting to bend that spine and return the favor of pain you gave me earlier, I give you one more proooooolonged bend. "Feel good, Princess?" I grin, listening to your groans and the snap, crackle, popping of your back before I release your chin and inner thigh and raise my arms above my head. Clasping my fists together, my firm chest wobbles as I snap my arms down, aiming my double axe handle shot right for that flat tummy of yours.
"Haaaaaa!"
Jacqui-
My worst fears are realized as I find myself in the clutches of the Amazon queen, stretched out over your powerful thigh with your left hand pressing down on my chin and your right pressing down on the inside of my right thigh, your nails sinking deep. My back curved rudely over your thigh, ungodly muffled sounds come from lips as my chin is pressed down hard, exposing my curved throat, making it hard to swallow or speak. Much of my body open and vulnerable as you have easy access. You work slowly, methodically...adding pressure in increments. My right hand grips your thigh, hanging on for something to grab, and each added pressure makes me reflexively grip your thigh tighter, a gauge of how much I'm hurting.
My eyes scrunched closed in pain and the fear of more pain. My thighs tremble for the same reason. My left hand claws at my scalp line, wrapping my hair around my fingers, making a fist, yanking at my own hair, my mouth flying open, then wider with each bounce of your thigh or push of your hands. It's revenge, I know. For the kick of your knee. For the knee under your chin. For every slight, real or imagined, over our short history. You want me to feel it. And I feel it!!
Then the extra long bend, drawing out the torture. My eyelids fluttering as I nearly black out, my nails so tight into your thigh, the popping sounds so loud, gasping for breath, my tongue hanging out. Sweat beads everywhere, a sheen on my forehead, tiny bubbles on my thighs, my tummy glistens in the lights.
Now the taunt...."Feel good, Princess?"
When suddenly your hands leave my chin and my thigh, and I hungrily gulp air, eyes blinking. A quick shake of my head. Is it over? What? Did I submit???
No! It's not over.
I let out a godawful gasping scream as your double axe handle slams into my tummy, my head jerking upward, eyes wild, hair flying, mouth agape. I feel the muscles in my tummy begin to cramp.
Every match has a mood. You're in no mood for mercy. I'm in no mood to submit.
Jane-
A gleam in my blue eyes as I dismissively shove you off my thigh after watching your body jerk and twitch. The double axe handle shot having done it's work, your body reacting as I wanted. Hurting and vulnerable. That tight tummy offering some firm resistance to my blow, but nothing I can't work on as we progress through this exploratory exercise between the ropes and under the hot, searing, light.
Both of us dressed in a minimalist manner, I get a good view of the lines and curves of your body. Your meager gym time paying off good dividends with the help of some fortunate genetics, it would seem. I watch as you drop to the canvas and I slowly stand. Taking a short hop, I let gravity reclaim me and I come down hard. My right boot stomping the thinly canvassed boards while my left is aimed for that flat tummy. "Saaaaaa!" I shout in effort as I take another leap, stomping the same boot to the boards while the left, this time, aims for your bouncing chest.
If I can manage to keep you in this very compromised positioning, I bend, my left hand going for that long, wild, damp hair to bring you back up to your feet. "No pea for you to sleep on, Princess." I grin as I attempt to then grab your right wrist, twist my body, and look to whip you across the ring and the far ropes. My blonde hair now damp from sweat, the light glazing on my tan skin intensifying as I look to punish this young upstart.
Jacqui-
The double axe handle slams hard into my tummy, bringing my head up instantly, my body quivering from the blow and then dropping again into the arch. My mind a blur of scrambled thoughts, first and foremost hoping that you don't repeat the treatment. As I have no defense for it and how many can I take? I don't want to find out.
Draped over your thigh, my body glistening in the lights, I fully realize I'm simply a prop at the moment for your demonstration of power wrestling. It's your show and I have a front row seat. Normally a good ticket, but I'd rather be farther back, somewhere among the spectators where I could cheer and clap and marvel at your prowess.
Then a shove from your strong arms drops me to the canvas, plopped on my back with my legs crossed at the calves. Wincing into the overhead lights, I slide my right hand lightly over my sweaty tummy, gingerly kneading my aching muscles, when you appear over me, looming like a menacing nightmare. Then a stomp! that echoes through the room and shakes the boards just before your left boot heads straight for my already tenderized tummy. My eyes wide, shaking my head in protest as I blurt, "No! No!" and raise my palms in a plea for mercy.
A plea that falls on deaf ears as your boot stomps into my tummy, my head again jerking upward, my mouth unleashing a torrent of undecipherable sounds, my eyes snapping shut. Then another stomp of the boards as my head drops back to the canvas, my eyes blissfully closed as the next stomp slams into my boobs, crossways to hit both, and a scream echoes in the room as I roll to my side, curling up, my elbows cradling my breasts, squeezing my eyes shut as tightly as I can.
Moments later, your strong fingers are in my cascading raven tresses and I'm yanked upwards, my elbows still tight around my breasts, slightly bent over from the stomp to my tummy as you grin, taunt and grab my wrist and twist your Amazonian body to propel me on a journey, an awkward, gawky trip across the ring.
Everything hurting.
I open my eyes and see the ropes coming at me and I desperately reach out, grabbing them with both hands just as they slam against my aching breasts. I hang on tightly to the top ropes to keep from collapsing.
Suddenly I have a wild, crazy, desperate thought as I spot you out of the corner of my eye. Coming after me. As you see me clutching the ropes, hanging on, looking toward the seats. Like a sitting duck. An easy target. I can almost picture the evil smile on your face. But I have a plan.
I wait. Til just the right moment. When you're a mule kick away.
I snap it out. Aimed for your left knee!!
Jane-
I continue battering that lean, firm, body of yours. My boot soles helping me taking out my naked aggression towards this young, brash, upstart and leaving a satisfied smile on my face in the meanwhile. The ring ropes shake hard each time my boot pounds your body and your body slams into the old, unforgiving, boards. My own breasts bouncing under their minimal confines even while I hammer your proud mammaries with the underside of my footwear. While I could stomp the shit out of you, that wouldn't be quite sporting and befitting one of my stature, so I decide to bring you back up. The hard way.
Fingers gripping that damp, raven, hair and your scalp has to be screaming as I "help" you back up to your feet. Up you come, still doubled over a bit from the rough work I just did on your core, I'm determined to punish you even more. My gaze going towards the far ropes. My hands grabbing your wrist while I twist, pivot, and shoot you across the ring for the strands across the way. I expect you to turn and take them with your back, then realize your training must have been quite lacking when you slam into them, chest first. All the ropes around the ring shake wildly as your 122lbs collides with the ropes. You do have the presence of mind to latch your arms around the top rope to hold on and negate momentum to the point where you don't propel yourself backwards or flat to your back.
You're through. Done. You want to submit to me, but your misplaced pride will not allow it. I shrug and start moving towards you. "Tell me when this starts to hurt, Princess, so I can....AWWWWW!!" My soliloquy interrupted as you quickly snap that left leg back and the boot slams hard into my still throbbing left knee. I howl and drop to my right, grabbing my left knee with both hands before falling to my left side and bringing my leg up. My arms wrapping protectively around that left knee as I hug it close to my chest. My right leg straight out, I shake my head as my body rocks back and forth. Pain lancing up and down my leg as the bright lights shine off my glazed, bronze, skin. "Ahhhhhhhfuckk..." I moan while million ice picks seem to stab just under my kneecap. Not knowing or, at this point, caring where you are, all I can do is moan and grit my teeth as I blink slowly up into the hot ring lights above through a curtain of stringy, sweaty, blonde hair.
"Oh...God...." I moan, then realize I'm not in the ring with a higher power, but a demon. A demon hell bent on some payback.
Jacqui-
For the love of mules! We've learned so much from them. How to be a glorious ass, for instance. But the best thing ever, how to kick backwards. That kick felt so good, the solid contact, the little give at the end, a sign I hit your knee, then it shifted under impact. And I hear you crumple, 155 pounds of beautifully etched Amazon goddess sinking to the old, gritty canvas. Crying out in pain. So unseemly!
It perks me up, and I so needed perking. I let go of the ropes and turn, life quickly surging back into my body as I see you moaning on the canvas, holding your injured knee. My brown eyes light up as I brush stray, sweaty strands of hair from my glistening face.
Now! This is the time!
I ignore every agony in my body as I see my chance. My opening kick pays off and the Amazon queen is down and hurt. Moments ago, I was on the brink of defeat. Stretched out over a powerful thigh, an Amazonian double axe handle driving into my abs like a sledgehammer. The blonde goddess could have finished me with another axe handle, two at the most. I'd have been screaming my surrender, begging her to stop.
But she was too proud, too vain, too eager to put all her power game on display. Haughtily shoving me to the canvas and stomping me twice, once to my tortured tummy, once to my shapely breasts, as I writhed at her feet. Maybe more stomps would have finished me, but she was too much of a showoff. There were more talents to display, more diabolical ways to punish me. So she yanked me to my feet and sent me heading toward the ropes in a show of Amazonian power.
Then the mule kick! The game changer.
I won't make her mistake. I'm going straight for the kill! I'm striking a blow for everyone who ever dreamed the impossible dream, fought the unbeatable foe.
I take the two steps to loom over you, then raise my right leg, one of the few parts of my body you haven't damaged, and SLAM a stomp toward your left knee, hoping to hear screams and also drive your knee from your protective arms. So I can grab your left boot, yank it toward me and TWIST it with both hands.
With vengeance in my heart and a raging fire in my eyes.
Jane-
Pain.
It sears my kneecap, feeling as if an explosion just took place under the bone. The sensation lances up and down my muscled limb, delivered precisely from a foot encased in supple leather. That matters little, now, while the thing that matters most is protecting the limb. I know you will be coming right back after it. Given the skill set you've shown thus far dictates it. I try to fight past the pain, teeth gritting while I try to force my body to move. It doesn't. It rebels, only concentrating on getting rid of the pain and not wanting more. Granted, it has suffered pain before, but not in a long while.
My bright blue eyes flare as I see you approach, toned leg lifted, then driven down....once again, supple leather pounding on my knee. My body bucks as I let out another long and loud moan. My arms fall away, hands grabbing my own hair as you did earlier. Pulling at my blonde mane in the throes of pain. My face contorted under my forearms as I feel you grab my left boot and jerk my leg out straight. Eyes going wide as I sit up, my palms flat on the canvas and I gasp. "No!"
You twist my boot, forcing me to roll or suffer more pain. I wind up on my chest with my palms flat on the canvas once again. My broad, etched, back gleaming under the lights. My firm rear flexing and clenching with each movement of my legs. I shake my head while my free right leg slowly kicks up and down, the toe of that boot rhythmically banging the old boards.
I'm hurting and in trouble, but it's not over yet.
Not by a long shot.
Jacqui-
My flashing brown eyes bore in on yours as my strong fingers clamp onto the heel and toe of your boot. And I see your fear as you know what's coming. I hesitate a moment to revel in the scene, the blonde goddess at my mercy, stark terror in her eyes. But I want more! And with a vigorous TWIST of your boot, I get it. Pain!!! Your body bucking, your hands pulling at your own hair in a desperate bid to somehow ease the pain. I know that need, the impulse to grab at your own hair and tug wildly. And I'm delighted that you know it, as pain eventually brings even the mighty to heel.
Your face contorted, no evil grin, no smirk. No taunts. No "Princess." Only agony.
With a firm grip on your heel, I slide my free hand along your boot, gently, almost lovingly, as my fingers savor the tactile sensation of fine leather. The goddess doesn't buy cheap boots. Then back to business with a sharp TWIST to my left, forcing you to start rolling to your right, then reversing with a sharp TWIST to my right, rolling you in the other direction til you are face down with me standing over you, a delighted smile on my face and a boot in my grip.
Even face down and moaning in pain, your power comes through, the muscles in your back gleaming in the lights. Your buns flexing and clenching, on display in the tanga thong that hides so little. A droolable sight, hypnotic, and I know those clenching buns are as deadly as they are stunning. Word gets around. The last sight some have seen before waking up.
And I think I know what you're thinking. Call it wrestling radar. Two arms palm down, one leg, hurt and in my grip. That leaves one leg. And I'm not the only one who knows about mule kicks. So I quickly take a step to my left, putting more distance between me and your right leg. Then drop to my knees, your boot still in my hands as I aim to bend your leg back toward your hip and press your boot hard to the canvas.
Jane-
The oddest things run through your mind in times of stress. The old gym is fairly quiet, save for the banging of flesh and bone on old, canvassed, boards, your grunts as you continue punishing me and my moans and yelps of pain as a result of your efforts. I believe it was Archimedes who said something to the effect of "Give me a big enough lever and a place to stand and I can move the Earth." It seems you are applying a practical application of that quote as you use my thick, muscled, leg to twist my body one way, then the next. Settling for me on my stomach, my firm breasts mushrooming from under me as I moan into the old, stained, canvas, I pound my fist into the boards in frustration before letting out with another long moan as you make pain course up and down my leg.
"Ah, shit. No. My...leg..." I groan louder, shaking sweaty hair from my face. The temperature under the hot ring lights seemingly rising quickly.
A quick glance over my shoulder and I see the concentration and almost jubilation at the prospect of attempting to tame an Amazon. You relish in giving me pain. I can't blame you, though, as pain is a part of this lifestyle just as much as building a body for it. Yours is lean muscle with thick, springy, legs that you like to employ in unorthodox ways. I have found this out first hand and still need to be on my guard, even as you punish my left leg and looking, no doubt, to make it useless later in the match.
Again, I shake my head. My face masked by a curtain of sweaty, blonde, hair and hiding an obviously anguished look. Flat on my tummy as you drop. The resulting *BOOM!* of your knees hitting the boards and the shaking of the ring ropes tells me, almost as much as the pain in my leg, that it was a quick and heavy drop. I howl again as you keep that grip on my leg and drop my left leg to the boards, my right spread wide and away. The searing pain now tells me your goal as I feel my boot being bent over and towards my head. The pain shudders my body with the odd side effect of firming up my large nipples. I feel a brief flash of panic wash over me, then it dissipates.
Another quick glance over my shoulder tells me what I need to do. My right leg spread wide and on the toe of my boot, I push my upper body off on my palms, just a bit before twisting my torso to my right. Taking a deep breath, I swing my right leg around as I twist my upper body, aiming the side or heel of my right boot for your head in a desperate bid to escape the certain debilitating hold.
Jacqui-
The goddess in white groans as I work your already damaged knee and I sorely wish there were a crowd to enjoy my work, cameras to record it for posterity. Your posterity is on delicious display, the muscular buns serving little purpose other than as a place to hang a tiny swath of white cloth. And just for fun, I reach over and give your left bun a swift smack, not because it would punish you, though it would surely sting and leave a temporary red mark, but because I felt like it. And it would get in your head.
Bending your leg back and pressing your boot down hard against the canvas is having its desired effect as your moans attest, but I have another little goody for you. I work my left leg out from my kneeling position, raise your boot up and slip my leg under your knee, getting just the right fit. Then press down hard, working your inner knee against my sharp shinbone. Pleased with this lovely hold, I smile and softly say, "That should do it."
Then I go to work hard as no submission is quickly forthcoming. Everything now is focused on a single goal. Your submission.
An otherworldly glow in my eyes, my neck muscles straining, a rivulet of sweat sliding between my breasts and out the bottom of my neon raspberry sports bra, my wild raven hair hanging stringy in my eyes as I work you. My hands, nearly cramping in effort, twist your boot back and forth, pressing with all my strength to bend your knee against my shinbone and punish you beyond your limits. I feel your body twist as you take a deep breath, and I sense it's your last gasping quiver before screaming your submission.
I didn't see it coming.
The THUNK!! The white heel of fine leather slamming into my temple near my right ear. Setting off shiny, sparkling fireworks, my mind spinning wildly out of control. My hands quickly go to my head, palms pressing against both sides of my temple, trying to hold my head steady to avoid vertigo.
A jangle of thoughts whirring through my mind. Memories from years ago even. The time I led a band of four friends on a midnight raid of our country club pool, scaling the fence, stripping down for a naked swim, leaving five bras tied together hanging from the high dive as our mark.
And my mother's scolding words. "You just don't have your head screwed on right."
That's how it feels right now.
Jane-
Pain.
There's just no two ways about it, at this point. I'm hurt and in trouble. The smaller, spring legged girl with the wild raven hair has managed to do what so many could not.
Hurt me.
My desperate gambit was successful in getting you off me and my leg, but that is about it. I find my teeth gritting as I roll a few feet away from you and grab my left leg, once again, hugging it to my bountiful chest and against my already sweat soaked sports bra.
"Athena help me.......fuck...." I moan and curse as I roll back and forth, knowing I cannot spend too much time attending to my own wounds if I want to put this dangerous diva in her place. Forcing myself up on my hip, then up to my knees....more weight on my right, of course, I try to stand. My right quad flexing as it is forced to take most of my 155 lbs, I step down on my left leg. An exploratory test to see how much weight it can take...which I find is not much. New pain stabs into the kneecap and I drop back down, shaking my head. "Aaaahhhh!" I let out another groan as I drop back to my knees, rubbing my left kneecap. This bitch has really done a number on it. I need a respite. Time to let my gym enhanced body try to start repairing itself.
So, it is time to use a page from Nikki Prime's book. I need you compliant. I need to get into your head. I need to rest. Hopefully, this could be my salvation.
I gingerly knee walk over to you, my hands going from my left knee to your shoulders to try to push you down flat on the canvas. That strong, supple, body hopefully compliant as I try to put your back to the canvas. Facing your feet, I raise up a bit....mostly on my right knee before scooting in close. My knees trying to frame your face before I attempt to drop my round and firm glutes right on your face. Giving my small thong a quick adjusting, hiking it up higher on my hips while I try to grab your wrists and pull your arms out wide. Then, try to secure a seat on your pain addled face, even if just for a moment. The maneuver, hopefully, serving two purposes. One. It keeps you under me, compliant, and a bit humiliated as I introduce your pretty face to my treasured nethers. Secondly, and most importantly, it gives me a chance to rest and recuperate.
Either way, a Queen needs her throne and, hopefully, you have just fulfilled that role....if only for a slight respite.
Jacqui-
The white leather heel rattled my mind, my palms clutching my temple as I try to steady my head and prevent vertigo. Eyes tightly closed as each invasion of light makes me wince. Still on my right knee with my left leg outstretched in front of me and no longer a torture device under your knee. A few moments of blackness and a level head will solve this problem, I know. I've had this sensation before and know how to deal with it. Deep breaths and ride it out.
You're somewhere. Not sure where and likely moving very slowly with only one leg working well. I know I've hurt you, but you escaped with a punishing kick. Escaped, but not anywhere near full Amazon strength. If I could only get that knee again....
I hear you moving, cursing, still moaning in pain. And I'm thinking we're both damaged and weakened, neither a serious threat to the other. But that will change. How soon and who will be the first to recover? An unknown.
A soft curse escapes my lips when your hands startle me, gripping my shoulders firmly from behind and I panic, knowing your arms are still Amazonian strong and I'm not yet ready to open my eyes. Trouble! Little more than an instant and I'm on my back, my right leg thankfully popping free and not trapped under my buns.
I force myself to look up, brave the lights, risk the vertigo. I gently open my eyes, fearful of the light. The first thing I see? The red spank mark where I slapped your left bun. As I got into your head. The hypnotizing red spot quickly lowers, zeroing in on my face, the focus fading to a red blur as your buns close the distance and land. With a slippery, muscled roundness that darkens my world, ending my light problem.
Then you quickly capture my wrists, pulling my arms out wide to my sides, my fists clenched tightly. A muffled gasp, a quick squirming twist of my hips, the heels of my black boots bouncing uselessly.
Blushing in the dark.
You're in my head, you're in my soul.
Jane-
I drop you flat and quickly take my throne. My firm ass cheeks nestle in and compress down on your pretty face. Educated hands snap out, snaring your wrists and I flex my impressive biceps pulling your arms out wide. A slow gyration of my hips have my firm glutes grinding down on your face and, hopefully, cutting off not only your sight, but your oxygen source, as well. Then another as I let out a low, satisfying, groan.
"Auuuuuggghhh!" My eyes closed and teeth gritting. My earlier cries of pain and suffering, along with your grunts of exertion, are now replaced with my groans of arousal, your muffled gasps, and the rhythmic banging of your boot heels on old, canvassed, boards. "Shhh..shhhh....don't struggle Princess." I lightly coo down to you, watching your lithe body writhe on the canvas. Lightly bucking and slightly twisting while my ass punishes you for an inferior genetic pool.
My grip on your wrists controlling your arms, I now decide I need them secured and out of my way. Bending the toned limbs, I try to stuff your wrists between my calves and the backs of my thighs, using my weight to help keep them pinned and useless. Again, my left knee throbs and, again, I grit my teeth against the pain as I struggle to secure your arms in a bent back position. The pain has me thinking of only one thing, at this point, payback!
If I'm able to secure your arms, I gyrate my hips once more, trying to squeeze and drive any remaining vestiges of oxygen from your lips and nostrils. If that doesn't succeed, I think I know something that will. Leaning forward, just a bit, my left palm planting down on your firm, left, breast for support, I cock my right arm back and fire my fist in. Aiming for your toned tummy in a jackhammer like swing, I do it again if the first succeeds. Then, another. Each shot, if I can get them off, causes my knee to throb and makes me want to punish you even more. My fist looking to drill in deep while your body bucks hard, I blow sweat slicked, blonde hair from my face.
Were I a generous sort, I'd offer you the chance to give up this fool's folly of besting me and get straight to your worshiping my muscled physique. But, I'm not and you wouldn't, even if the opportunity was presented.
You're just too stubborn and, now...for the moment, you're mine.
Body and soul.
Jacqui-
I am owned.
Flat-out flattened out. My face the focal point, buried in rounded muscular buns that offer no light and little air, the rest of my body the supporting cast, writhing, twisting, squirming, thrashing, a sideshow to the main event. My face.
My wild raven hair, tamed, lying limp and quiet around me. My fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists that have nothing to hit as they are pressed by strong hands against the gritty canvas. Even that isn't enough for you as you lift my arms and secure my wrists upward between your calves and thighs. Cuffed.
Trapped, panicky. Writhing as your hips dance a slow, undulating Macarena that finds every nook and crevice on my face. My nose now a pug, pressed snugly against muscled buns.
~Every move you make.
~Steals every breath I take.
"Shhh..shhhh....don't struggle Princess." The Princess taunt, back once more. Boring into my mind, deep and twisting.
The dizziness building.
And as your show settles into my slow, rhythmic defeat, I feel you lean forward, your left palm drops onto my left breast. The nipple taut from a heady mix of fear and lust. I tense up. Now what?
Aggghhh!!! I let out a muffled scream as your fist slams into my tummy. My legs jerk upward and my head tries to, pressing even deeper into the slippery buns tight on my face. My fingers dig into your calves as my whole body tenses, trembling. I feel sweat sliding over my face, coating my lips with a taste of salt, but whose sweat and whose salt? My teeth clenched in anticipation of the unknown.
I feel you rearing back again. The jackhammer! And it's all repeated. My muffled cry, my legs jerking upward, the drop of my heels back to the canvas, my face burying itself even deeper. My stomach muscles now cramping and quivering from fear.
I want no more.
Too weak to scream, I desperately tap the fingers of my left hand against your inner left thigh. Nobody answers. With my last ounce of strength and a gentle darkness fast approaching, I push my hand a tiny bit farther.
So I can reach your wounded knee. Tapping my fingers lightly against it. A surrender to the knee that I owned.
Tapping weakly.
Til the tapping stops.
Jane-
For the first time, since this match began, I allow myself a bit of a.....smile. Veiled behind a sweat slicked curtain of drenched, blonde, mane, but there all the same. I pull back my right arm, drilling another stomach shattering shot deep into that breadbasket of yours. Your legs jerking upward, your head wanting to do the same but held down my glutes formed in the sweaty caverns of gyms around the country. The way your body reacts to the hard, well placed, blows is like a graceful dance. My knuckles connect with flesh and muscles and, as Newton said, "For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction." Your reaction is, indeed, opposite to mine.
I'm smiling while you're whimpering up into my ass crack.
My left hand, meanwhile, flattens your left orb into your chest as I lean in on it for support. I lick my lips while I continue slowly and sensually undulating my thong split ass into your face. "There are some that would kill to be where you are now, Princess. Consider yourself lucky." I coo down while your bucking and writhing start to subside. Giving my thick quads a flex, just to make sure your hands are nice and secure, I cock back and drill one more shot to that flat tummy before sliding my right hand to rest across from my left and on your firm tit.
I sit back, still grinding my hips....never stopping as it's the main way you know you are mine. My hands now working on your tits, fingers kneading solid tit flesh while my barely clad nethers use your face as grinding post. My mouth slowly opens, freezing in a silent "O" while I try not to get lost in the moment and make things messier for you than they already are.
Suddenly, I'm aware of a light tapping at my knee. I glance down to see your body barely writhing now and I've seen the symptoms before. You're on your way to the realm of Morpheus. A place I've sent many who dared challenge their divine Goddess. Then, almost on cue, your body ceases to move. You are out and I smile. My hands go from your firm globes to the hem of your small sports bra, tugging it up as I raise off my haunches and stand.....pulling your top off as I go and leaving your impressive chest bare under the hot lights.
I glance down at your sweat slicked form. Such high aspirations and such preparedness. All for naught in the end. Your bare, heaving chest a sight to behold and I drape your sports bra over my shoulder while gingerly raising my left leg and putting my boot sole to your face. Pressing on your right cheek to pin your left to the canvas, I strike a double bicep pose and smile for a nonexistent audience before painfully hobbling to the ropes and slowly getting out of the ring.
"Next time, Princess. Don't challenge a Queen."
I limp back to the locker room, leaving a divine sacrifice for the clean-up crew in the morning.
****
