The following is the revised prologue to my book, The Hysminean Rhapsody. It's a completely illustrated catfighting story, with tons of photos that are not processed yet. The prologue below contains just a taste of what's to come. I am almost finished with Chapter One of my book, which I will post here with photos very soon. Please enjoy and please feel free to leave comments if you like it. I would love to hear all feedbacks. Thank you!
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Prologue to the Hysminean RhapsodyHey buddy. Good for you to join me now. Don't mind the dim lights and the smokey air. And the raucous small crowd here, normally they are good-natured, normally. Here, I saved you a front row seat. The fight's not finished, but my girl Monika isn't doing too well. The slender redhead, the one in golden bikini, that's her. No, she is not my lover, but my fighter -- I train her for these catfights at the club. And that tall brunette in silver over there, with her backside facing you, that's Juliana. She's a newcomer from Russia, one hell of a fighter, aggressive, ruthless. She's been punishing my girl for good part of the past half hour.
Come on Monika, move your feet just like we practiced, don't let her corner you against the wall. But my fighter's all worn out. I don't know how much longer her feeble defense can hold out against the onslaught of her tormentor. This is a demolition on the mat. I just don't have the heart to watch it any longer. You have to forfeit the match, Monika, while you are still standing. We talked about this many times before, countless girls forfeit when they can't go on anymore. There is no shame in that. But much as I hate to see her taking abuses like that, I know there is no quitting in this saucy girl. Her indomitable spirit, you can see it in her fiery eyes when she talks to you. I nicknamed her Hysmine, you know, that female spirit of fighting and combat in Ancient Greece.
But this time it's different. She's really outclassed. Look at her clenching her teeth behind those bruised lips, her disheveled auburn hair flying about, and those claw marks on her breasts and belly, she is a wreck. And her legs, those lethal legs, her weapon of choice, now visibly quivering from fatigue. It's just a matter of time before she succumbs. I would throw in the white towel of surrender for her, but this is not a boxing match. Juliana finally catches her, seizing her by her hair, ramming her back hard against the wall in a loud THUD. Watch out for that knee! A little too late. That vicious smash to the gut shatters her. Keeling over, she drops down not too far from me. The poor girl is all curled up, wincing in pain. Her strained face is flushed red with veins popping out on her forehead about to burst. She just got the wind knocked out of her. That dogged Russian doesn't let up. She straddles my beaten girl and holds her by the hair, trapping her head between the legs. Juliana's assertive movement tells me she's going for the kill. Fear flashes across Monika's panic-stricken eyes before her face disappears into the silver panty of her tormentor. The brunette tenses her body, and cinches in her strong thighs. She yanks a handful of that auburn hair, pulling Monika's head up towards her, while sinking down her weight, driving her sex hard onto the face of her hapless foe, burying deep her nose and mouth. I don't think Monika has caught her breath yet after the hard knee to the midriff that toppled her. She flails her limbs meekly. And Juliana is staring straight into her. Is my girl submitting? I can't tell from where I am sitting. But a hint of sneer on the Russian's face suggests she is. That sick bitch is clearly enjoying it and she’s not letting up. Come on Monika, slap her, scratch her, kick her, anything...just BREAK FREE! I hold my breath in empathy, feeling her agony. What must have been only a few seconds feel like an eternity, but Monika, beautiful Monika, her fire finally extinguished as her body goes limp underneath. It's over...
A raw display of savagery, the way Juliana just snuffed her out. They call this move the Amazonian Kiss of Death, as it was purportedly used by the ancient Amazons to smother out their rival in single combat. Such experts of psychological warfare were these mistresses of catfighting. If you survived the move, that is if the victor let you live, you were enthralled to her under the invisible chains we moderns call Trauma. The scent of your conqueror, unique to every woman, would forever linger around your mind. If ever a thought of revolt surfaced, that familiar smell of defeat would have you tremble in your knees. That's when you knew she didn't just beat you in a fight, she owned you — for life. Juliana, you cruel bitch! Why did you have to smother Monika out in such a way? She was already at your mercy.
Juliana loosens her grip, and Monika's head drops onto the mat. The heartless brunette from Russia gives her a cold glance, before planting that killer ass on her face again. She doesn’t want to leave any doubt of her triumph, as she anchors her weight down and swivels her ample hips atop the unconscious girl, directing her limp head in between. The room falls dead silent with only Juliana's panting breath. Everyone is stunned over this sequence of domination that only a professional fighter could dish out to my Monika. There was no screams of pain, no muffled cries of surrender, just pure cold-hearted brutality. Juliana wanted to make a statement, and she has impressed.
And there lies my sorry Monika, in a heart-rending loss. Her face engulfed under those round cheeks of Juliana's bottom. She's done, out cold. Never have I witnessed a catfighter being put out with such authority — until now. Probably the most humiliating beatdown in club history, and my girl is on the receiving end of it. A nauseating feeling. We don't get many KOs here, since this is an amateur club. Most girls submit long before their breaking point. But, this fight — people here are going to rub it in my face for a long time to come. And Monika, my fighter, I just can't erase from my mind that last look in her eyes, right before she succumbed. It was a look of despair — and lament, if I know her well, and I do. A lament on how she let herself down, and how she let me down. But it's okay, you foolhardy girl. You did your best. I knew from the day that dreaded Russian strut into my gym that she was out of your league. She was taller, stronger, and most of all, professionally trained. I could tell from her springy steps. She was looking for trouble, and she had you marked out, to make a name for herself by beating you, my Monika, the champion at the fight club. But you, headstrong as always, ignored my advice and fell straight into her trap.
As my mind swirls in these thoughts, the exploding sound of a nice round of applause snaps me out my stupefaction. Juliana is flashing her victory smile to everyone in the room. Then why is she still suffocating Monika? Come on bitch, get off her already. We all know you won, be satisfied! But the Russian brunette doesn't budge. Her eyes wander across the room, before finally fixating on mine. Her cocky look disgusts me. What do you want from me? Yes, you've proved your point. You are better than my best catfighter, I admit it. Now just let her go! But Juliana remains ensconced. Instead, she reaches back, finding the knot that fastened Monika's golden panty around her hip. Oh no you are not going to do that, you fucking slut. She’s out cold for god’s sake! Now I finally realize, this Russian isn't out to beat Monika, she wants to humiliate my champion.
Doing exactly what I feared, she pulls on that bikini string with only the tips of her fingers, slowly loosening the knot as if unwrapping, for everyone, a precious gift. All this she does without taking her gaze off me, taunting me, showing me in her own way how much she wants me to regret for passing on her. God I want to wipe that smirk off her face! She came to my gym months ago, asking me to be her trainer, and I shunned her. Bitch, I didn’t reject you because you can't fight. I turned you down because you were up to no good. And you showed your true colors tonight.
This wicked woman has now unfastened Monika's bikini string on the other side. And she slips her hand under the detached panty, reaching for that intimate spot. I turn my head away, can't bear a look. But that cursed wall of mirror on the far side, it reflects all the evils this bitch is doing to my champion, between her sprawled legs. Monika's bikini bottom droops dangerously loose from all that finger activity, just barely veils over her private. All this is turning Juliana on too, as she reflexively gyrates a little atop Monika's face. She turns her head, following the direction of my stare and catches my eyes in the mirror. Damn, there is no getting away from this she-devil. Her demonic gaze in the reflection sends chills down my spine as she violates my Monika at her most vulnerable. This is a personal affront. I am so sorry, Monika. It is me she wants now, and she is using you to get in my head.
Things just take a turn for the worse. Juliana's temperament changes quickly. That sensual look on her face suddenly becomes malicious as she digs her claw in deep, her forearm quivers with power. I wince at the thought of the pain Monika must feel in that ultra-sensitive area, but the pitiful girl hardly twitched a finger. She’s utterly decimated. Please, Juliana, don't hurt her anymore. I am sorry she insulted you before the fight. And I am sorry I brushed you off. Please. End your cruelty. Just release her from your torment...
But my nightmare would not end. The Russian begins to slowly pull on Monika's dangling bikini bottom, stripping away her last ounce of pride and dignity. I see in the mirror's reflection her tight slit between those ivory thighs. It's clean-shaven, but burning red from all that rough handling. No one ever got stripped nude in this fight club before. Never. These are amateur fighters we have, not porn stars. They have real jobs during the day. Monika works as a personal trainer in my gym. It's bad enough these male (and female) perverts gawk at her perky breasts and tasty buns all day long. But many are in the crowd tonight. How can she look them in the eyes tomorrow? So please Juliana, I am begging you, stop your games, show her some mercy: cover up her body.
But Juliana holds that panty in her hand and raises it high in the air like a trophy, displaying it for all to see. It's a personal gift I gave to Monika right before her fight with Nicola. And she wore it when she beat her for the championship. I was so proud of my Monika that night. Does Juliana know this? Is she toying with me? I would snatch it back if I could, but club rules, no interference until winner walks off the mat. No, she couldn't have known all this. She brings Monika's panty in front of her, examines it closely before gently brushing it against her own nose, taking in a deep breath, savoring the scent her captive. I’ve heard from other travelers that Russian catfighters like to do that: laying claim to the intimate items from their defeated foe, souvenirs of their conquests.
Our eyes meet again. Hers, proud and prickly, ever so eager to confront me. Mine must be debilitated, as I slouch low in my seat. Not sure which one of us would stir more sympathy from an onlooker: the enfeebled look I wear, or Monika's crushed body. We are both beaten. But Juliana chooses to torment me further, rubbing salt on my wound. She twirls Monika's panty with her fingers and flings it across my face, like a piece of garbage unworthy to be her souvenir. Yes, with that simple toss, she trashed away Monika, and everything about her past: her trainings, her victories, her prestige at the club, and most of all, ME. The Russian has made it clear: from now on, Monika the fighter is no more. There is only the nude girl she trounced on, Juliana's bitch.
I quickly catch the panty. No one else must get a hold of it. It's soaking wet, drenched in Monika's sweat. That pungent scent of hers, familiar to me during each workout, when she caught me in a headscissor, or when she sat on my throat. It might put off some people, but I’ve grown very fond of it. It's part of the special bond we've developed over the years, a bond between a trainer and his fighter. So I clasp her panty tightly in my hand, desperately trying to hold onto the memory of that intimate past we shared. Tomorrow everything will change. Fighters, they are a special breed. All the good ones, they are proud and boastful. It's their pride that gets them going, allows them to overcome intolerable pains. Each victory adds to it, and each defeat chips away at it. But there is a breaking point, beyond which a fighter loses that fiery spirit for good. Juliana, you’ve broken my champion. And when she wakes up tomorrow and watches herself in video replay, you will have broken her for good. She will never be the same fighter again. I really hate you, Juliana! At these thoughts, my heart sinks low and tears swell up in my eyes.
Juliana must have taken notice. She finally dismounts from Monika’s face, drags her by her arms and lays her in front of me. She proceeds to fold her limp body in half, with her ass raised high up in the air above her head. Kneeling from behind, Juliana spreads Monika's thighs wide apart again, exposing full-frontal her shame to me, and to everyone else in the room. At such close range, we can detail out every crease and fold of that pink pussy. And Monika's stretchy fuck-hole, easily yielding to Juliana’s fingers, brazenly opens wide under the harsh halogen light, giving away her innermost flesh. The room suddenly seems too bright to me. I blushed. My face is burning. I don’t know why. We fucked a few times over the years, yes, but Monika is not my lover, nor my significant other. Yet I still blushed. Am I empathizing with her, the embarrassment she would’ve felt if she were conscious? It’s a good thing her unruly hair spreads all over her face, hiding her identity. Is it because I don’t want other men (and women) to get close and personal with her the way I have access to her? Their prying eyes infuriate me. I want to poke all of their eyes out for looking at my Monika! Why do I feel such possessive impulse over her? … Could it be over these years my heart has grown more attached to her than I realize? … Is she more than a fighter to me? ... Maybe, just maybe, I LOVE her? No, it can’t be… My head is spinning, drowned in the process of self discovery.
And out there, Juliana is laying claim to my property. No! Monika is mine! You won't take her from me! My thoughts are defiant, but on the mat, there is the reality. And reality stings. It's a tug of war for Monika, and she is in control. I can only watch as she fondles Monika's private, skimming her fingers across those ridges and crevasses, then up the slushy mound before kissing the jewel that sits atop. Heading back down, she glides along the fringe of the deep chasm and turn the corner upon reaching the edge. Three times she sweeps back and forth, before wandering over and twirling around that dark abyss, the depth of which she will plumb only when the time is right. She has taken into possession everything in her fingers' path. My body grows weak with each of her strokes, pushing me ever closer to the brink of despair. And when she plunges in and gives a long hard lick with the flat of her tongue over the entirety of her marked domain, I crumbled. She has broken me. Light-headed, I collapse from my chair and drop onto my knees in front of Juliana. Hearing only my own ears drumming, I turn paler than death. A trembling seizes over me. My heart relinquishes its hold on Monika, and surrenders itself.
Juliana rises over me, holding my hair at her waist level. She lifts my face and our eyes meet for one last time. But mine shirk away at once. Instead, I stare blankly into her flat abs, packed with muscle. And her silver bikini, giving off a slight sheen under the dim lights, is wedged high into her slit from all the punishment it dished out. I shudder at the thought of that breathless face-sit. Suddenly, I realize I hate everything here: the stench in the air, the glaring lights, the loud murmurs of the people who used to be my friends. And most of all, I hate Monika, the cause of all my misery. Lying supine on her back, snoozing like Sleeping Beauty...no, more like a sleeping whore, with her ass high up like that, legs spread far apart over her head. You had it easy Monika! Juliana smothered you out early. But look what she is doing to me. I am here suffering for your mistakes. You deserve to be owned. I hate you!
Still holding me by my hair, Juliana cannot resist slapping contemptuously Monika's inviting ass with her free hand. Twice. And she turns around to check my reaction. But I have none. I don’t seem to mind anymore. I am hers and she’s hers, what does it matter. Now gratified, Juliana stamps her foot firmly atop Monika's pussy, and forces my lips upon her toes. A fusillade of camera flashes showers the three of us as Juliana poses for the Polaroids. Finally she skips off the mat to sign autographs, leaving alone Monika and I, frozen in our places. Salty tears begin to stream down my cheeks, almost blinding my vision. But I can still make out, through those veils of degradation, the arrival of the medical personnel. Taken aback by the ungainly sight that is Monika, they unfold her with haste, lift her lifeless body onto a stretcher, and carry her out the room. As she fades into a blur, I collapse onto the mat, slipping into oblivion...
...
...
Hey buddy, where am I? Yes, I remember now. Thanks for staying with me. You don’t want to know what I’ve just been through. So you like catfights? Come, there is a bar around the corner. I will buy you a drink and we can talk more. I am going to need a few shots of whiskey. Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Stefanos, and I am Greek. I was born and raised in Athens before immigrating here as a teenager. I will be turning 33 in just a few days. Damn, I think I will spend my birthday with Monika. I suddenly miss her very much.
Anyway, how did I get hooked on catfighting, you ask? Well, that's a long story. Here, grab a beer first. You know we Greeks are always very proud of our long history. When I was growing up, just like all the other young boys my age, I was fed a healthy dose of Ancient Greek epics and mythologies. “Courage and honor, temperance and perseverance, heed those lessons from the Iliad and the Odyssey." My father used to always tell me, "These books will guide you for the rest of your life." But whenever my mind roamed free, it tended to only dwell on scenes like when Athena destroyed Aphrodite in front of her lover Ares and brutalized those tasty tits; or when Hera bitch-slapped her step-daughter Artemis and taught her a lesson in obedience; or when Odysseus conquered that sultry enchantress Circe and fucked her hard in her own palace for a year before being dragged away by his crew. I guess I didn't take in the right lessons my father wanted me to learn. But it wasn't just the classics that captured my fancy. There was a comic shop down in the Piraeus (the port city of Athens) that I used to go quite often after school and on weekends to buy comic books with my lunch money, and read them afterwards by the seaside. I remember one fateful Saturday morning that forever changed my life. I went down to the Piraeus as usual, flipping through my favorite comic in the shop when I heard a hoarse voice from behind me.
"Reading that American trash again, boy?"
I turned around, it was the owner of the shop, a portly old man in his seventies with a distinctively long grey beard. Papa Aoidos, that’s what we all called him because he was so good at telling stories (I never found out his real name).
"Wonder Woman is my favorite comic, Papa Aoidos!" I didn’t think his comment was fair.
"Then you must know her origin, Stefanos. Where is she from?”
"Of course, she is an Amazon from Themiscrya.” That was too easy for a big fan like myself.
"Do you know the real history of these Themiscryan Amazons?” The old man pressed on.
I didn’t think I understood his question. "No...you mean these female warriors actually existed?"
“Yes, of course they did, in ancient times, long before recorded history, before even the Trojan War, during the dark ages of myths and legends. Have you heard of the Attic War, my boy?"
"No…” I wasn’t sure whether I should be embarrassed for my ignorance.
“Young man, you really ought to know the history of your own people better." He grew a little impatient, “Do you ever wonder why there is no mentioning of the Athenians in Homer’s epics when we were the strongest polis in Ancient Greece?"
“I don’t know, Papa Aoidos. I never thought about that.” I got a bit tired of the old man’s didactic tone, but something about the fighting Amazons aroused my curiosity.
“It's because Attica was ravaged by those cursed Themiscryan Amazons some two hundred years before the Trojan War, in a brutal conflict that was later termed the Attic War. So when Agamemnon rallied the Greek troops at Aulis, Athens was only a tiny village at the time, but a shadow of its former glory." The old man explained and was eager to tell me more, "Melissa, look after the shop for me, would you? I have much to teach this young lad here."
Melissa, his granddaughter, was doing her homework by the counter. She was about my age, a very pretty girl with long shiny black hair. She always wore a short tank top and a pair of fit blue jeans that accentuated her features really well. I had a secret crush on her back then, but I was too shy a boy to talk to her. As the old man clasped my hand and pulled me out of the shop, she gave me a sweet but mischievous smile, teasing at my misfortune of having to be her grandpa’s latest target.
"Come boy, let's go to the seaside where we can have some peace.” The old man grabbed his cane at the front door and urged me on. I followed as he lumbered down the street faster than I’d ever seen him. Luckily the oceanfront was only one block away. Arriving there, we sat down by the ruins of the ancient Themistoclean Wall. It was a really secluded place back then, unlike the tourist trap it is today.
I let the old man catch his breath a bit before asking, “So Papa Aoidos, who are these Themiscryan Amazons, and why did they attack Athens?"
“My dear boy, these golden-haired female warriors made up the largest Amazon tribe in the ancient world. They named their city Themiscrya, built along the Thermodon River in modern day Turkey. So you see, the animosity between Greece and Turkey goes way back for over three thousand years. It all started at the sacred Eleusinian Games (in Eleusis just west of Athens), when Prince Diokles of Athens lost his wrestling match against the Amazonian Queen Parithyia. Entranced by her beauty and power, the foolish prince was overcome by lust. However, his attempt to rape the queen next day was thwarted, and he was brutally castrated by her for his transgression. Thoroughly disgraced, Diokles turned his infatuation for her into a sickly obsession for revenge and humiliation. Through much scheming and connivance, he laid his hands on the queen’s loincloth with the help of a mysterious sorceress. Standing before the Athenian crowd, the prince dangled her leopard-skin undergarment as a trophy of victory, and boasted a fantastical tale of how he challenged Parithyia to a wrestling rematch and utterly conquered her before stripping her naked and deflowering her. The Amazonian Queen was livid when she heard the news in the Piraeus where she stayed. For five centuries since the founding of the Amazon nation around the Black Sea, no man had ever laid eyes on an Amazonian queen in nude and lived to talk about it. The Amazons viewed the chastity of their queen as divine authority. To be defamed by Diokles and to lose her intimate garment to him was the ultimate humiliation for Parithyia. Teeming with rage, she picked up her bronze sword and stormed out the tent before her trusted companion Hekate reminded her how vastly outnumbered they were in Attica. The prudent Hekate finally convinced the raging queen to return to Themiscrya first so she can raise an army to reclaim her honor. Meanwhile in Athens, Diokles capitulated under the pressure from his father Creon, the wise king of Athens, who thought it foolish to bring death upon thousands of people over such senseless pride. The prince sent an apology and invited Parithyia to discuss the terms of peace on neutral ground. The place chosen was Delos, a sacred island to the Hysminai in the middle of the Cyclades. The high priestess on the island forbade the landing of an army that would otherwise sully the holy ground, so Parithyia was accompanied only by Hekate. For days, nothing was heard from the negotiation, until finally news traveled to Themiscrya that their queen had disappeared and Hekate was captured alive by the Athenians. Enraged at the betrayal by the Greeks, the Amazons assembled their troops and summoned all their allies across the Black Sea. They elected the young Marpesia, sister of Parithyia, as their new queen and leader of the coalition. A thousand ships were launched across the Hellespont, as the Amazons formally declared war on Attica and our glorious city Athens. Thus began the brutal Attic War that lasted for six excruciating years. These golden-haired savages were ruthless. Thousands of our bravest warriors fell under their spears and arrows. But the impregnable high walls of the city withstood their repeated assaults. King Creon pleaded for mercy and peace. Yet even when Prince Diokles was slayed by Marpesia in single combat, the allied troops could not be appeased. Finally, it was through the betrayal of Lady Semele, the half-sister of Diokles, that our city fell to the enemy. The massacre that followed was known to the ancients as the Rape of Athens. For seven days, houses were burned, temples were looted, women and girls were taken as slaves while young boys were slaughtered. The streets were ladened with withered up corpses of men drained empty of their male essence. Oh, the carnage we suffered. It was the worst destruction brought upon our city in its entire history..." The old man looked to be shaken up a bit, as if he had lived through the experience.
Mesmerized by the tale, I was anxious to learn more. "Papa Aoidos, please tell me more about the war, and how they fought. Why did Lady Semele betray the Athenians? And what happened on Delos? Did the Amazons find Parithyia?" I bombarded the old man with questions.
“Slow down, my boy. Six long years of war, six long years of sweat, tears, and blood, of love, lechery, and destruction, of honor, betrayal and grief, oh how do I even begin? It would take weeks and months to tell the whole story. Perhaps some day in the future if fate allows, I shall narrate the story to you in full. But for now, how about I recite to you the Hysminean Rhapsody instead?"
"What is the Hysminean Rhapsody?”
“It is an epic poem that took place in the aftermath of the war. When the Amazons sacked Athens and freed Hekate from her imprisonment, she recounted to them her ordeal, and the leaders of the alliance formed an expedition back to the sacred island of Delos in search of their lost queen Parithyia. These were ten greatest female warriors surviving the war, led by their new queen Marpesia. The poem recounts their confrontation with the priestesses of Hysminai, the ensuing conflicts and their ultimate demise on Delos.” Pausing here for a moment, the old man hesitated as if regretting a bit his hastiness in offering me the tale. He looked me straight in the eyes, and asked, “My dear Stefanos, this is a sombre epic that reveals only the darkest nature of women, with their uncontrollable lust, envy, and rage. You will never look at the fair sex the same way again. Are you sure you are ready to hear what is beyond your age?"
His words only added fuel to my fire. I nodded my head eagerly, innocent of what was to come. But there was a long break of silence. We just stared blankly off into the distance, where the deep blue Aegean glimmered under the morning sun. Cool ocean breeze brushed gently against our faces. Amidst the ancient ruins of that bygone world we sat, lulled by the soothing sound of waves crashing repeatedly into those ageless shorelines. Time itself seemed to have stopped.
Sudden squawks of two squabbling seagulls above our head broke the tranquility. As if yielding to a divine omen, the old man finally let out a long sigh, and with his husky voice, embarked us on our journey to the captivating land of catfighting.
