Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
lowblow emma
Star
- Joined
- Sep 21, 2013
- Location
- London
THE ENTRANCE
As the announcer began my introduction to the crowd, I made my way to the ring. Walking down the aisle, I was in top form, looking good and feeling great. At six feet, my tall frame was topped off with a shaven head that glistened in the bright lights. My muscles, honed from that morning’s workout, were rippling and my dazzling white hipsters and bra set off my ebony skin. I waved to acknowledge the cheers; I was well-known on the pro circuit, had been successful in my recent fights and was popular around the State. With perfect timing, I reached the ring as the announcer came to the end:
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ring Tina Temple.’
I climbed between the top and middle ropes and did a circuit before retiring to my corner for the announcer to introduce my opponent. She was new to the pro circuit; this was her first fight after a successful career as an amateur. I watched her walk slowly down the aisle. She was a head shorter than me and squarer built, pale white like she had never seen the sun, and dressed in a blue costume with high cut legs and a low cut front to show off her bouncing breasts to advantage. The announcer’s final words rang round the hall:
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ring Amanda-Jayne Fable.’
By accident or design, she had not reached the ring when those words rang around the hall. She took the last few steps at a run, leapt onto the apron and vaulted over the top rope. The audience cheered her ostentatious arrival.
This was to be a genuine contest. The outcome was not agreed and there had been no rehearsal, but our agents had had the usual conversation with the promoter who wanted a contest with plenty of action and no conclusion before the eighth round at the earliest. It was generally understood that Amanda-Jayne was outclassed, but it would be good publicity for her first outing and if she managed to get the odd fall, well so much the better for her future career.
With my opponent installed in her corner, the announcer came to his conclusion:
‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is a contest of six five-minute rounds, the best of three falls or submissions or a single knockout will decide the winner.’
The referee called us to the centre of the ring, and gave us the usual crap about wanting a good clean contest, that we had to break when he told us and that we should come out fighting. We touched hands and retreated to our respective corners to await the bell.
ROUND ONE
As the bell clanged, I walked slowly towards the centre of the ring. This is the usual practice. Even if the moves have been rehearsed, the fighters go through the motions of sizing each other up before coming to grips with each other. But not Amanda-Jayne. She stormed across the ring, ducked to thrust one arm between my legs, grabbed me round the neck with the other and hoist me into the air. I anticipated a body slam with possible follow up in the hope of a surprise early fall, but she surprised me again by tossing me over the top rope. Fortunately, if there’s one thing wrestlers are good at, it’s falling, but I was unprepared and landed in a tangle amount the front row of the audience, to the surprise of a large lady whose tub of popcorn erupted over the rows behind.
I scrambled to my feet, aware that this novice had made me look a fool in the opening seconds. Ignoring the pain in my back, I jumped quickly onto the apron only to be met by a forearm smash that send me through the air again, catching my side on the apron and landing land on my ass. What the fuck was this about? Did she want a quick win? If she kept up at this pace, she’d soon be exhausted. Again, I got back onto my feet and, to avoid a second smash, rolled quickly under the bottom rope. But once more Amanda-Jayne was ready for me. She grabbed my feet, dragged me on my back into the centre of the ring, and split my legs before jumping between them. Her hands forced them apart as her broad hips pushed between my thighs, stretching my muscles and tendons. She rolled away, throwing my legs to one side in a contemptuous gesture before standing over me grinning at my surprise and discomfort.
Doing my best not to show that I was already aching from the treatment I had received, I rose carefully to my feet. This time, she came forward more cautiously, which gave me a welcome chance to recover my equilibrium and try to work out a plan for dealing with this aggressive opponent. The rest of the round was taken up with grappling and futile attempts by each of us to get the other into a position for a pin down and fall. When the bell went for the end of the round, I was grateful to get back to my corner for a mouthful of water and a rub down from my trainer.
‘What the fuck’s got into her?’ I whispered.
‘Don’t let it get to you,’ he advised. ‘She just wanted to make an impression and took you by surprise. That’s easy to do, but she’s probably running out of breath and tactics.’
‘I hope so,’ I replied.
‘Remember she’s inexperienced,’ he whispered as the bell rang for the next round. ‘She doesn’t know how to play the pro game. That’s why she’s been able to take you by surprise.’
ROUND TWO
He was right. I knew it. She didn’t understand the importance of pacing herself and settling into the natural rhythm of the contest that all experienced pros understand instinctively. Well, I’d show her I could play her at her own game.
I reached out and she took my hand, interlocking her fingers with mine. Immediately, I pulled her towards me, grabbed her wrist with my free hand, and spun to throw her into the corner post, planning to follow up while she was winded.
That was my plan. It didn’t work. She turned the tables on me, maintaining her grip on my hand and instead I found myself hurtling back towards my own corner, which I hit with a bone-shaking thud that reminded how sore my back and side were from the opening moments of the first round.
But while I was recovering, Amanda-Jayne was acting. That sixth sense that pros develop saved me from the full force of her drop kick aimed at my jaw. I twisted and caught her heels on the side of my face, spinning me round. In an instant, her hands were on my ankles and she was pulling me away from the corner. I grabbed hold of the middle rope, but she shook me free with a sudden jerk, dropping me onto my tits and straddled me with a vicious Boston crab. I tried to push her off, but couldn’t budge her. The referee kept asking if I wanted to submit. No chance. This wasn’t a submission move, but it was meting out further punishment for my back.
It seemed like for ever before she dropped my legs and stepped away. I intended to lie there for what I hoped would be a chance to recover before getting up, but she was not done. She dropped beside me, with her elbow digging deep into my sore muscles. If I thought that she was done now, I was wrong again. She was on her feet pulling my wrists with her feet on the back of my knees in a surfboard. My back felt like it was breaking. I needed to get free but she was too heavy for me in my weakened condition.
Eventually she let me go, as if bored with inflicting the pain, leaving me to stagger to my feet wondering what she had in store next.
I didn’t have long to wait. She dodged to her left, then her right, then dropped into a roll, ending up by my feet, which she grabbed toppling me onto my back, before starting a dizzying spin with me inches above the mat. I tried twisting and pulling to get free, but all I could do was wait for her to release me. When that moment finally came, I sailed across the ring and crashed into my own corner post before collapsing. She was about to follow through when the bell went.
Since I was already in a heap in my own corner, I only needed to take the bottle and swill out my mouth while my trainer wiped the sweat from my head and shoulders. Across the ring, Amanda-Jayne looked as fresh as the moment she had vaulted into the ring.
‘Has someone got to you?’ my trainer hissed.
‘What do you mean?’ I had no idea what he was talking about.
‘There’s been a lot of bets on her to win. Big money. From people who don’t waste money. Are you sure you’re not taking a cut to throw the contest?’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. No way would I do that. No way would I have agreed to being tossed around like a rag doll. My expression told him what I thought.
‘OK, OK,’ he tried to back track. ‘I’ll try to find out what’s going on.’
ROUND THREE
Seconds out, round 3. What delights did Amanda-Jayne have in store for me?
I should have known better than to expect her to pull the same trick twice, but when she dodged, weaved and rolled again, I jumped over her. At least, that was my plan. She caught my feet and twisted me, this time onto my back and rolled my legs over my shoulders, using her weight to hold me in position.
I expected her to try to pin my shoulders to the mat for a fall, but she didn’t. Her weight was wrong for that. She was using a hold that pro wrestlers use when they both need a breather. It looks like a series of attempts at a fall, which never get beyond the count of two. Was she perhaps finally running out of energy?
Then I felt her hands on the waist of my hipsters. This hadn’t been discussed. Most of the girls are up for a bit of stripping, but it’s always agreed beforehand and we wear a thong to ensure our modesty. But having no warning, I was wearing only my hipsters. If she pulled those down, my most private property would be on public display.
‘No’ I hissed at her. ‘No.’
But she took no notice. With a quick jerk, my hipsters were dislodged leaving my buttocks exposed. The first blow stung my pride more than my flesh, but then they rained down hard and fast. I screamed at her to stop and writhed to try to free myself but to no avail. I couldn’t stop the tears flowing, not just from the pain, but from the anger and humiliation. This wasn’t wrestling, it was punishment, public punishment.
Again I was spared further embarrassment by her boredom. With a final jerk to pull my hipsters round my knees, she pushed me away. I scrabbled to cover myself as cameras flashed around me. Those photos would follow me for the rest of my career.
Now I finally saw my chance. I started to pull up my hipsters, but instead of bothering to get then firmly back in place, I launched a drop kick. She was turning towards me as it landed. Encumbered by my costume, it wasn’t delivered full force, but it was enough to knock her off balance and for me to follow up for a quick fall. In a trice, she was on her back with my full weight pinning her shoulders. There was no way she could escape. I was in the lead, albeit against the run of play, giving me a psychological boost and shaking her confidence.
She was weary for the rest of the round, making sure not to take any risks. By the time the bell went, I felt I was at last getting the upper hand.
‘It’s about Todd,’ my trainer whispered as she mopped the sweat off my head.
‘Todd? You meant Todd Turner? The one who got hard?’
‘Yep, that one. She’s his girlfriend.’
Now I understood.
TINA v TODD
I’d better tell you about my contest with Todd. It was mixed gender so it was fixed; they all are or the men would always win. We were rehearsing and he got a boner.
‘Not been getting it regularly then?’ I teased him.
‘Actually,’ he panted, ‘yes I am, new girlfriend.’
‘So,’ I gave him a friendly squeeze, ‘what’s with this then?’
He blushed. Can you believe a guy who earns his money in tight shorts grappling with nearly naked men and women actually blushed?
‘It’s you,’ he eventually confessed. ‘I’ve always had a thing for you, always found it difficult to fight you without it showing.’
Now you may never have wondered why male wrestlers don’t get boners more often in mixed gender contests. Well, partly it’s because they’re concentrating. Partly because they may be of the opposite persuasion to their opponent –in other words, gay. But mostly because they make sure to drain those balls before a contest. A lonely wank or the warm hand of a close friend usually does the trick and lets them get through. But sometimes, it just doesn’t work and with Todd it looked like being one of those times.
‘Make sure you get it off just before you come out,’ I advised him.
Well, I don’t know whether he did or not. But in the second round he began to get stiff. Nothing too obvious, but I could feel it when we clinched.
‘Help me’ he pleaded.
So as discreetly as I could, I got my hand onto his balls and gave a hard pull and a tight squeeze. He grimaced and grinned his thanks as he finally backed off.
We got through the next round OK, but then the pain must have worn off. He was getting obviously bigger by the second. Only the first few rows noticed at first, then it became larger and more obvious.
He pleaded with his eyes for me to do something, so in the end I did the only thing I could think of, I backed him a corner and gave him a quick knee hard, high and fast, into his crotch. He slumped against me and, as I stepped away, he slipped to the floor, managing to get to his feet just before the count of ten with his bulge diminished and a damp stain on the front of his trunks.
That saw us through to my inevitable victory and I thought no more about it. but it seemed like he hadn’t told his girlfriend the truth. Well, how could he?
ROUND FOUR
Confidence is a funny thing. With just the right amount, you can achieve wonders beyond your expectations. But too little or too much can be fatal. I bounced away from my corner fully expecting to continue my success from the previous round.
Naturally Amanda-Jayne took me by surprise by rushing me and clasping her arms around me, pinning mine to my sides as she crushed the breath out of me. I stayed calm and tried some psychology.
‘Is this really all about what happened to Todd?’ I whispered in her ear. ‘Are you doing this because he got the hots for me? Is that it?’
‘Bitch,’ she hit back. ‘You couldn’t beat him fairly, so you smashed his nuts. COW.’
What the audience was making of this I had no idea.
‘You poor deluded girl,’ I told her. ‘It was all fixed. He was always going to lose. He begged me to bust him because he was too embarrassed to show his boner. Didn’t you understand?’
She began muttering to herself. I could barely catch what she was saying, but it sounded like she was repeating over and over: ‘I’ll make you pay’.
I was still held tight in her grip. Despite being shorter than me, she was holding me low enough down my body to lift me off the ground from where she tried busting me on her knee, but I got my feet to the ground and managed to topple her over so that she was now vulnerable to a second fall. She released her grip and I managed to get my arms free so that I could use my hands to press her shoulders onto the mat, but she slipped her arms under mine and began to fumble with my bra.
‘Leave that,’ I warned her. ‘This isn’t a strip tease. What are you, a closet lesbian?’
Her response was to unfasten the clasp and pull the straps over my shoulders, letting my small tits fall out. More cameras flashed. Damn. I released the pressure on her shoulders and tried to keep hold of my costume, but it was entwined in her fingers and she was able to wrench it free. I reached out to retrieve it, but she got her knees up so that she could throw me off. By the time I was on my feet, she was waving my bra around her head. I didn’t bother trying to cover myself. That would have looked ridiculous and given her a chance to get an equaliser. Nor was I going to make a fool of myself by chasing her around.
‘Are you going to play with that or fight?’ I shouted over the cheering of the crowd.
With that she let it fly, out of the ring and over the heads of the front row spectators. Did she intend to have me naked by the end? She would have a fight on her hands if that was what she had in mind. But that thought was my undoing. With my eyes following my clothing rather than watching my opponent, Amanda-Jayne sprang forward, executed a quick roll to get behind me and grabbed me around the waist, crushing my tender back muscles. With one heave, I was off my feet and suspended over her shoulder in a backbreaker. She sauntered around, tossing me up and down,, ramming her shoulder in my spine as I came down, before tossing me over the top rope. One flick of the rope sent me onto the mat and another Boston crab. I screamed in pain and as the referee’s face appeared close to mine, I whispered: ‘Yes, I submit.’
I spent the remainder of the round protecting my back as best I could, waiting for the comfort and relief of a quick massage from my trainer when the bell sounded.
ROUND FIVE
So as we began the fifth round even. Me with a fall to my credit and she with a submission to hers. And that submission was down to my carelessness, allowing myself to get distracted. It was time to up my game.
I decided to have a go at her tactics. I rushed towards her, then suddenly dropped, just in time to miss the forearm that flew inches over my head. With her off balance, I rose under her arm and pulled her onto my shoulders, before twirling her in a dizzying disorientating spin. Giddy myself, I tossed her into the air and raised my knee that contacted with her gut as she fell.
As she clattered to the floor, I dropped on her, knocking whatever breath she had left out of her lungs and trying for a fall. She pushed me off easily enough, but I rushed her again as she was climbing to her feet, and ran full tilt into the corner post, crushing her again and again.
Sure she was winded, I took hold of her by the waist and retreated to the centre of the ring, where I dropped so that my knee rammed the base of her spine. Still maintaining my grip, I pushed her onto her back and pinned her shoulders to the mat. She got free after several close calls with the referee’s hand raised for the final THREE. But she was weakened and shaken.
As I rose to my feet, I was sure this would be the final round. I could tell. We were a long way short of the eight rounds minimum that the promoter wanted, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I stood close over her as she took her time before standing up. And when she did, she was met with a forearm across her chest that sent her back onto the ropes. Right, I thought, time for you to take a walk outside the ring. I took hold of her legs and toppled her backwards over the top rope. She grasped the top rope frantically to stop her fall, but that only had the effect of causing her to crash her back into the edge of the apron. Welcome to pro wrestling girl. Feel the pain.
With me in the ring, I had the upper hand. She’d have to get past me before she would get safely back into the ring and I had no intention of letting her do that. None at all. Wherever she walked, left or right, I moved menacingly so that I towered over her. She’d have to fight me to get back into the ring and fight from a low position of disadvantage.
Or so I thought. Because she didn’t want to get back into the ring. She was just waiting for me to get close enough. Close enough for her to grab my feet. As if in slow motion, I felt myself airborne and sliding under the rope until my back was across the edge of the apron. I knew what to expect and she gave me no quarter, using her full weight to drive my back hard against the edge, reaching through the ropes to smash my face with her forearm.
Cursing myself for my carelessness again, I used what leverage I could get from the bottom rope to haul myself back into the ring at the cost of course of more damage to my lower back. As my hips cleared the apron, I felt Amanda-Jayne hands tugging at my hipsters. I pulled my knees up quickly to prevent her disrobing me, but her loud laugh told me that she was just teasing.
One mistake in a round was one too many and I wasn’t going to make a second. I was quickly onto my feet despite the pain and caught her as she was rolling into the ring from the other side. A swift pull brought her clear of the ropes, twisting her onto her back as she slid across the mat, which allowed me to pin her for a quick change of a fall. The referee began to count:
ONE
She struggled to free herself, but I had her secure. The referee slammed the mat for the second time:
TWO
I could feel her panic. I was one second from victory. Then the bell went.
FUCK
ROUND SIX
My confidence was high as the sixth round began. I walked away from the corner with my trainer’s words ringing in my ears:
‘You’ve got her. Just keep your nerve.’
But it wasn’t my nerve I needed to keep, it was my balance. With one of her signature swift strikes, she had got behind me, elbowed me in the small of the back, spun me round and delivered a slap across my face that sent me spinning away with her following to ram me into the ropes. Feeling her hands on my ankles, I let go of the rope and landed on my chest. Keeping hold, she spun me again, throwing me up and at the ropes. I tried to grab hold as I sailed through, but became entangled and was left dangling from my right wrist with my back against the apron. She vaulted over the ropes and began lashing my tits with both fists. The referee followed her and got between us.
I don’t know who Amanda-Jayne’s kick was aimed at. But with the referee between us, her leg passed between his, the top of her foot smashing into my crotch and the top of her shin crushing his balls. Our howls mingled as he collapsed to the mat and I slumped, held up only by the ropes. With the referee now out of action and me at her mercy, she threw herself on me in a frenzied assault. Her fists pummelled my tits and her knee ground into my clit. The time keeper rang the bell frantically to call her off, but she took no notice. I was only spared by my trainer grabbing her around the waist and tossing her into the front row of the audience before freeing me from the ropes.
I took my time to get back into the ring. With the referee’s attention elsewhere, no one was counting how long I was out.
Surprisingly, my opponent stood back to allow me time to regain both the ring and some composure, before hurtling herself at me in an attempt to get to my injured wrist. Thankfully I managed to keep it out of her grasp and even managed a weak attempt at a fall. She just threw me aside. It was as if she was just playing with me, letting me seem to get the upper hand only to have it snatched away.
The sound of the bell came as a relief.
ROUND SEVEN
As I walked towards Amanda-Jayne I knew I was defeated. It was just a matter of time. She had humiliated me. I’d been beaten physically and bested tactically. Psychologically I had no means of resisting what she was throwing at me. Amanda-Jayne knew it too. She must have read my expression, pleading for her to get this over with, not to prolong it any longer. But she wasn’t going to put me out of my misery that quickly.
We began to grapple, each with a hand on the other’s neck. Each pushing and pulling, watching for a chance to get a neck hold. Then she simply released me, dropped to her one knee, put her arms under my buttocks and hoisted me into the air before dropping me onto her knee. Pain shot through my crotch as she swiftly twisted me onto my chest and pulled my legs as she lay across my back. The referee was on the mat beside me in an instant.
‘Submit?’ he asked.
I gritted my teeth and shook my head. I wasn’t ready yet. To tell the truth, I didn’t have the courage to give in so quickly. Amanda-Jayne must have sensed my reluctance, because she released my feet, rolled me over and lifted me over her shoulder, letting me tangle there as she walked around the ring showing her power. This was a repeat of the lead in to my submission in round four. Expecting to be tossed onto the ropes again, I braced myself for the pain. But she had another idea. She carried me back to my corner, where she tossed me into the air to land with my back across the post. Before the pain had shot the full length of my spine, she jumped on top of me, forcing my head and legs downwards over the fulcrum of my lower back. This was an illegal move, so the referee couldn’t call for a submission, but he didn’t have time to intervene, because almost immediately my opponent jumped off and pulled me after her to land again on my back with a slam that shook the ring.
Now, now I thought, this is where she’ll finish me off. But I was wrong again. She just stood back and let me get slowly to my feet before rushing in to sweep me of my feet and drop me onto her knee, back first naturally. This time, she followed me down, grabbing me from behind, and pulling my arms back with her knee against my spine.
I was sweating now and desperate for that final move when I could submit with some dignity and not make it so obvious that I was just throwing in the towel. But again she let me go. I managed to get to my feet before she struck again, from behind, knocking me face down, sitting on my back and pulling hard on my feet.
The referee didn’t need to ask this time. I just nodded and he raised his arm to signify my submission, patting Amanda-Jayne on the shoulder as a sign of victory. She released her hold, but didn’t back off. Instead, she grabbed hold of the waistband of my hipsters and half-carried, half-dragged me to the edge of the ring, where she bundled me through the ropes.
I didn’t bother climbing back into the ring. As I limped away to my dressing room, I heard the announcer behind me calling for a big round of applause for the new sensation on the circuit, Miss Amanda-Jayne Fable.
IN THE DRESSING ROOM
I say dressing room. Actually it was a small office with my name on the POSTIT note on the door.
I had just slumped into the only chair in disgust, when the door flew open and Amanda-Jayne stormed in.
‘Right,’ she spat, kicking the door shut and throwing the bolt, ‘now let me show what I’m like when I’m really mean.’
As the announcer began my introduction to the crowd, I made my way to the ring. Walking down the aisle, I was in top form, looking good and feeling great. At six feet, my tall frame was topped off with a shaven head that glistened in the bright lights. My muscles, honed from that morning’s workout, were rippling and my dazzling white hipsters and bra set off my ebony skin. I waved to acknowledge the cheers; I was well-known on the pro circuit, had been successful in my recent fights and was popular around the State. With perfect timing, I reached the ring as the announcer came to the end:
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ring Tina Temple.’
I climbed between the top and middle ropes and did a circuit before retiring to my corner for the announcer to introduce my opponent. She was new to the pro circuit; this was her first fight after a successful career as an amateur. I watched her walk slowly down the aisle. She was a head shorter than me and squarer built, pale white like she had never seen the sun, and dressed in a blue costume with high cut legs and a low cut front to show off her bouncing breasts to advantage. The announcer’s final words rang round the hall:
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ring Amanda-Jayne Fable.’
By accident or design, she had not reached the ring when those words rang around the hall. She took the last few steps at a run, leapt onto the apron and vaulted over the top rope. The audience cheered her ostentatious arrival.
This was to be a genuine contest. The outcome was not agreed and there had been no rehearsal, but our agents had had the usual conversation with the promoter who wanted a contest with plenty of action and no conclusion before the eighth round at the earliest. It was generally understood that Amanda-Jayne was outclassed, but it would be good publicity for her first outing and if she managed to get the odd fall, well so much the better for her future career.
With my opponent installed in her corner, the announcer came to his conclusion:
‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is a contest of six five-minute rounds, the best of three falls or submissions or a single knockout will decide the winner.’
The referee called us to the centre of the ring, and gave us the usual crap about wanting a good clean contest, that we had to break when he told us and that we should come out fighting. We touched hands and retreated to our respective corners to await the bell.
ROUND ONE
As the bell clanged, I walked slowly towards the centre of the ring. This is the usual practice. Even if the moves have been rehearsed, the fighters go through the motions of sizing each other up before coming to grips with each other. But not Amanda-Jayne. She stormed across the ring, ducked to thrust one arm between my legs, grabbed me round the neck with the other and hoist me into the air. I anticipated a body slam with possible follow up in the hope of a surprise early fall, but she surprised me again by tossing me over the top rope. Fortunately, if there’s one thing wrestlers are good at, it’s falling, but I was unprepared and landed in a tangle amount the front row of the audience, to the surprise of a large lady whose tub of popcorn erupted over the rows behind.
I scrambled to my feet, aware that this novice had made me look a fool in the opening seconds. Ignoring the pain in my back, I jumped quickly onto the apron only to be met by a forearm smash that send me through the air again, catching my side on the apron and landing land on my ass. What the fuck was this about? Did she want a quick win? If she kept up at this pace, she’d soon be exhausted. Again, I got back onto my feet and, to avoid a second smash, rolled quickly under the bottom rope. But once more Amanda-Jayne was ready for me. She grabbed my feet, dragged me on my back into the centre of the ring, and split my legs before jumping between them. Her hands forced them apart as her broad hips pushed between my thighs, stretching my muscles and tendons. She rolled away, throwing my legs to one side in a contemptuous gesture before standing over me grinning at my surprise and discomfort.
Doing my best not to show that I was already aching from the treatment I had received, I rose carefully to my feet. This time, she came forward more cautiously, which gave me a welcome chance to recover my equilibrium and try to work out a plan for dealing with this aggressive opponent. The rest of the round was taken up with grappling and futile attempts by each of us to get the other into a position for a pin down and fall. When the bell went for the end of the round, I was grateful to get back to my corner for a mouthful of water and a rub down from my trainer.
‘What the fuck’s got into her?’ I whispered.
‘Don’t let it get to you,’ he advised. ‘She just wanted to make an impression and took you by surprise. That’s easy to do, but she’s probably running out of breath and tactics.’
‘I hope so,’ I replied.
‘Remember she’s inexperienced,’ he whispered as the bell rang for the next round. ‘She doesn’t know how to play the pro game. That’s why she’s been able to take you by surprise.’
ROUND TWO
He was right. I knew it. She didn’t understand the importance of pacing herself and settling into the natural rhythm of the contest that all experienced pros understand instinctively. Well, I’d show her I could play her at her own game.
I reached out and she took my hand, interlocking her fingers with mine. Immediately, I pulled her towards me, grabbed her wrist with my free hand, and spun to throw her into the corner post, planning to follow up while she was winded.
That was my plan. It didn’t work. She turned the tables on me, maintaining her grip on my hand and instead I found myself hurtling back towards my own corner, which I hit with a bone-shaking thud that reminded how sore my back and side were from the opening moments of the first round.
But while I was recovering, Amanda-Jayne was acting. That sixth sense that pros develop saved me from the full force of her drop kick aimed at my jaw. I twisted and caught her heels on the side of my face, spinning me round. In an instant, her hands were on my ankles and she was pulling me away from the corner. I grabbed hold of the middle rope, but she shook me free with a sudden jerk, dropping me onto my tits and straddled me with a vicious Boston crab. I tried to push her off, but couldn’t budge her. The referee kept asking if I wanted to submit. No chance. This wasn’t a submission move, but it was meting out further punishment for my back.
It seemed like for ever before she dropped my legs and stepped away. I intended to lie there for what I hoped would be a chance to recover before getting up, but she was not done. She dropped beside me, with her elbow digging deep into my sore muscles. If I thought that she was done now, I was wrong again. She was on her feet pulling my wrists with her feet on the back of my knees in a surfboard. My back felt like it was breaking. I needed to get free but she was too heavy for me in my weakened condition.
Eventually she let me go, as if bored with inflicting the pain, leaving me to stagger to my feet wondering what she had in store next.
I didn’t have long to wait. She dodged to her left, then her right, then dropped into a roll, ending up by my feet, which she grabbed toppling me onto my back, before starting a dizzying spin with me inches above the mat. I tried twisting and pulling to get free, but all I could do was wait for her to release me. When that moment finally came, I sailed across the ring and crashed into my own corner post before collapsing. She was about to follow through when the bell went.
Since I was already in a heap in my own corner, I only needed to take the bottle and swill out my mouth while my trainer wiped the sweat from my head and shoulders. Across the ring, Amanda-Jayne looked as fresh as the moment she had vaulted into the ring.
‘Has someone got to you?’ my trainer hissed.
‘What do you mean?’ I had no idea what he was talking about.
‘There’s been a lot of bets on her to win. Big money. From people who don’t waste money. Are you sure you’re not taking a cut to throw the contest?’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. No way would I do that. No way would I have agreed to being tossed around like a rag doll. My expression told him what I thought.
‘OK, OK,’ he tried to back track. ‘I’ll try to find out what’s going on.’
ROUND THREE
Seconds out, round 3. What delights did Amanda-Jayne have in store for me?
I should have known better than to expect her to pull the same trick twice, but when she dodged, weaved and rolled again, I jumped over her. At least, that was my plan. She caught my feet and twisted me, this time onto my back and rolled my legs over my shoulders, using her weight to hold me in position.
I expected her to try to pin my shoulders to the mat for a fall, but she didn’t. Her weight was wrong for that. She was using a hold that pro wrestlers use when they both need a breather. It looks like a series of attempts at a fall, which never get beyond the count of two. Was she perhaps finally running out of energy?
Then I felt her hands on the waist of my hipsters. This hadn’t been discussed. Most of the girls are up for a bit of stripping, but it’s always agreed beforehand and we wear a thong to ensure our modesty. But having no warning, I was wearing only my hipsters. If she pulled those down, my most private property would be on public display.
‘No’ I hissed at her. ‘No.’
But she took no notice. With a quick jerk, my hipsters were dislodged leaving my buttocks exposed. The first blow stung my pride more than my flesh, but then they rained down hard and fast. I screamed at her to stop and writhed to try to free myself but to no avail. I couldn’t stop the tears flowing, not just from the pain, but from the anger and humiliation. This wasn’t wrestling, it was punishment, public punishment.
Again I was spared further embarrassment by her boredom. With a final jerk to pull my hipsters round my knees, she pushed me away. I scrabbled to cover myself as cameras flashed around me. Those photos would follow me for the rest of my career.
Now I finally saw my chance. I started to pull up my hipsters, but instead of bothering to get then firmly back in place, I launched a drop kick. She was turning towards me as it landed. Encumbered by my costume, it wasn’t delivered full force, but it was enough to knock her off balance and for me to follow up for a quick fall. In a trice, she was on her back with my full weight pinning her shoulders. There was no way she could escape. I was in the lead, albeit against the run of play, giving me a psychological boost and shaking her confidence.
She was weary for the rest of the round, making sure not to take any risks. By the time the bell went, I felt I was at last getting the upper hand.
‘It’s about Todd,’ my trainer whispered as she mopped the sweat off my head.
‘Todd? You meant Todd Turner? The one who got hard?’
‘Yep, that one. She’s his girlfriend.’
Now I understood.
TINA v TODD
I’d better tell you about my contest with Todd. It was mixed gender so it was fixed; they all are or the men would always win. We were rehearsing and he got a boner.
‘Not been getting it regularly then?’ I teased him.
‘Actually,’ he panted, ‘yes I am, new girlfriend.’
‘So,’ I gave him a friendly squeeze, ‘what’s with this then?’
He blushed. Can you believe a guy who earns his money in tight shorts grappling with nearly naked men and women actually blushed?
‘It’s you,’ he eventually confessed. ‘I’ve always had a thing for you, always found it difficult to fight you without it showing.’
Now you may never have wondered why male wrestlers don’t get boners more often in mixed gender contests. Well, partly it’s because they’re concentrating. Partly because they may be of the opposite persuasion to their opponent –in other words, gay. But mostly because they make sure to drain those balls before a contest. A lonely wank or the warm hand of a close friend usually does the trick and lets them get through. But sometimes, it just doesn’t work and with Todd it looked like being one of those times.
‘Make sure you get it off just before you come out,’ I advised him.
Well, I don’t know whether he did or not. But in the second round he began to get stiff. Nothing too obvious, but I could feel it when we clinched.
‘Help me’ he pleaded.
So as discreetly as I could, I got my hand onto his balls and gave a hard pull and a tight squeeze. He grimaced and grinned his thanks as he finally backed off.
We got through the next round OK, but then the pain must have worn off. He was getting obviously bigger by the second. Only the first few rows noticed at first, then it became larger and more obvious.
He pleaded with his eyes for me to do something, so in the end I did the only thing I could think of, I backed him a corner and gave him a quick knee hard, high and fast, into his crotch. He slumped against me and, as I stepped away, he slipped to the floor, managing to get to his feet just before the count of ten with his bulge diminished and a damp stain on the front of his trunks.
That saw us through to my inevitable victory and I thought no more about it. but it seemed like he hadn’t told his girlfriend the truth. Well, how could he?
ROUND FOUR
Confidence is a funny thing. With just the right amount, you can achieve wonders beyond your expectations. But too little or too much can be fatal. I bounced away from my corner fully expecting to continue my success from the previous round.
Naturally Amanda-Jayne took me by surprise by rushing me and clasping her arms around me, pinning mine to my sides as she crushed the breath out of me. I stayed calm and tried some psychology.
‘Is this really all about what happened to Todd?’ I whispered in her ear. ‘Are you doing this because he got the hots for me? Is that it?’
‘Bitch,’ she hit back. ‘You couldn’t beat him fairly, so you smashed his nuts. COW.’
What the audience was making of this I had no idea.
‘You poor deluded girl,’ I told her. ‘It was all fixed. He was always going to lose. He begged me to bust him because he was too embarrassed to show his boner. Didn’t you understand?’
She began muttering to herself. I could barely catch what she was saying, but it sounded like she was repeating over and over: ‘I’ll make you pay’.
I was still held tight in her grip. Despite being shorter than me, she was holding me low enough down my body to lift me off the ground from where she tried busting me on her knee, but I got my feet to the ground and managed to topple her over so that she was now vulnerable to a second fall. She released her grip and I managed to get my arms free so that I could use my hands to press her shoulders onto the mat, but she slipped her arms under mine and began to fumble with my bra.
‘Leave that,’ I warned her. ‘This isn’t a strip tease. What are you, a closet lesbian?’
Her response was to unfasten the clasp and pull the straps over my shoulders, letting my small tits fall out. More cameras flashed. Damn. I released the pressure on her shoulders and tried to keep hold of my costume, but it was entwined in her fingers and she was able to wrench it free. I reached out to retrieve it, but she got her knees up so that she could throw me off. By the time I was on my feet, she was waving my bra around her head. I didn’t bother trying to cover myself. That would have looked ridiculous and given her a chance to get an equaliser. Nor was I going to make a fool of myself by chasing her around.
‘Are you going to play with that or fight?’ I shouted over the cheering of the crowd.
With that she let it fly, out of the ring and over the heads of the front row spectators. Did she intend to have me naked by the end? She would have a fight on her hands if that was what she had in mind. But that thought was my undoing. With my eyes following my clothing rather than watching my opponent, Amanda-Jayne sprang forward, executed a quick roll to get behind me and grabbed me around the waist, crushing my tender back muscles. With one heave, I was off my feet and suspended over her shoulder in a backbreaker. She sauntered around, tossing me up and down,, ramming her shoulder in my spine as I came down, before tossing me over the top rope. One flick of the rope sent me onto the mat and another Boston crab. I screamed in pain and as the referee’s face appeared close to mine, I whispered: ‘Yes, I submit.’
I spent the remainder of the round protecting my back as best I could, waiting for the comfort and relief of a quick massage from my trainer when the bell sounded.
ROUND FIVE
So as we began the fifth round even. Me with a fall to my credit and she with a submission to hers. And that submission was down to my carelessness, allowing myself to get distracted. It was time to up my game.
I decided to have a go at her tactics. I rushed towards her, then suddenly dropped, just in time to miss the forearm that flew inches over my head. With her off balance, I rose under her arm and pulled her onto my shoulders, before twirling her in a dizzying disorientating spin. Giddy myself, I tossed her into the air and raised my knee that contacted with her gut as she fell.
As she clattered to the floor, I dropped on her, knocking whatever breath she had left out of her lungs and trying for a fall. She pushed me off easily enough, but I rushed her again as she was climbing to her feet, and ran full tilt into the corner post, crushing her again and again.
Sure she was winded, I took hold of her by the waist and retreated to the centre of the ring, where I dropped so that my knee rammed the base of her spine. Still maintaining my grip, I pushed her onto her back and pinned her shoulders to the mat. She got free after several close calls with the referee’s hand raised for the final THREE. But she was weakened and shaken.
As I rose to my feet, I was sure this would be the final round. I could tell. We were a long way short of the eight rounds minimum that the promoter wanted, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I stood close over her as she took her time before standing up. And when she did, she was met with a forearm across her chest that sent her back onto the ropes. Right, I thought, time for you to take a walk outside the ring. I took hold of her legs and toppled her backwards over the top rope. She grasped the top rope frantically to stop her fall, but that only had the effect of causing her to crash her back into the edge of the apron. Welcome to pro wrestling girl. Feel the pain.
With me in the ring, I had the upper hand. She’d have to get past me before she would get safely back into the ring and I had no intention of letting her do that. None at all. Wherever she walked, left or right, I moved menacingly so that I towered over her. She’d have to fight me to get back into the ring and fight from a low position of disadvantage.
Or so I thought. Because she didn’t want to get back into the ring. She was just waiting for me to get close enough. Close enough for her to grab my feet. As if in slow motion, I felt myself airborne and sliding under the rope until my back was across the edge of the apron. I knew what to expect and she gave me no quarter, using her full weight to drive my back hard against the edge, reaching through the ropes to smash my face with her forearm.
Cursing myself for my carelessness again, I used what leverage I could get from the bottom rope to haul myself back into the ring at the cost of course of more damage to my lower back. As my hips cleared the apron, I felt Amanda-Jayne hands tugging at my hipsters. I pulled my knees up quickly to prevent her disrobing me, but her loud laugh told me that she was just teasing.
One mistake in a round was one too many and I wasn’t going to make a second. I was quickly onto my feet despite the pain and caught her as she was rolling into the ring from the other side. A swift pull brought her clear of the ropes, twisting her onto her back as she slid across the mat, which allowed me to pin her for a quick change of a fall. The referee began to count:
ONE
She struggled to free herself, but I had her secure. The referee slammed the mat for the second time:
TWO
I could feel her panic. I was one second from victory. Then the bell went.
FUCK
ROUND SIX
My confidence was high as the sixth round began. I walked away from the corner with my trainer’s words ringing in my ears:
‘You’ve got her. Just keep your nerve.’
But it wasn’t my nerve I needed to keep, it was my balance. With one of her signature swift strikes, she had got behind me, elbowed me in the small of the back, spun me round and delivered a slap across my face that sent me spinning away with her following to ram me into the ropes. Feeling her hands on my ankles, I let go of the rope and landed on my chest. Keeping hold, she spun me again, throwing me up and at the ropes. I tried to grab hold as I sailed through, but became entangled and was left dangling from my right wrist with my back against the apron. She vaulted over the ropes and began lashing my tits with both fists. The referee followed her and got between us.
I don’t know who Amanda-Jayne’s kick was aimed at. But with the referee between us, her leg passed between his, the top of her foot smashing into my crotch and the top of her shin crushing his balls. Our howls mingled as he collapsed to the mat and I slumped, held up only by the ropes. With the referee now out of action and me at her mercy, she threw herself on me in a frenzied assault. Her fists pummelled my tits and her knee ground into my clit. The time keeper rang the bell frantically to call her off, but she took no notice. I was only spared by my trainer grabbing her around the waist and tossing her into the front row of the audience before freeing me from the ropes.
I took my time to get back into the ring. With the referee’s attention elsewhere, no one was counting how long I was out.
Surprisingly, my opponent stood back to allow me time to regain both the ring and some composure, before hurtling herself at me in an attempt to get to my injured wrist. Thankfully I managed to keep it out of her grasp and even managed a weak attempt at a fall. She just threw me aside. It was as if she was just playing with me, letting me seem to get the upper hand only to have it snatched away.
The sound of the bell came as a relief.
ROUND SEVEN
As I walked towards Amanda-Jayne I knew I was defeated. It was just a matter of time. She had humiliated me. I’d been beaten physically and bested tactically. Psychologically I had no means of resisting what she was throwing at me. Amanda-Jayne knew it too. She must have read my expression, pleading for her to get this over with, not to prolong it any longer. But she wasn’t going to put me out of my misery that quickly.
We began to grapple, each with a hand on the other’s neck. Each pushing and pulling, watching for a chance to get a neck hold. Then she simply released me, dropped to her one knee, put her arms under my buttocks and hoisted me into the air before dropping me onto her knee. Pain shot through my crotch as she swiftly twisted me onto my chest and pulled my legs as she lay across my back. The referee was on the mat beside me in an instant.
‘Submit?’ he asked.
I gritted my teeth and shook my head. I wasn’t ready yet. To tell the truth, I didn’t have the courage to give in so quickly. Amanda-Jayne must have sensed my reluctance, because she released my feet, rolled me over and lifted me over her shoulder, letting me tangle there as she walked around the ring showing her power. This was a repeat of the lead in to my submission in round four. Expecting to be tossed onto the ropes again, I braced myself for the pain. But she had another idea. She carried me back to my corner, where she tossed me into the air to land with my back across the post. Before the pain had shot the full length of my spine, she jumped on top of me, forcing my head and legs downwards over the fulcrum of my lower back. This was an illegal move, so the referee couldn’t call for a submission, but he didn’t have time to intervene, because almost immediately my opponent jumped off and pulled me after her to land again on my back with a slam that shook the ring.
Now, now I thought, this is where she’ll finish me off. But I was wrong again. She just stood back and let me get slowly to my feet before rushing in to sweep me of my feet and drop me onto her knee, back first naturally. This time, she followed me down, grabbing me from behind, and pulling my arms back with her knee against my spine.
I was sweating now and desperate for that final move when I could submit with some dignity and not make it so obvious that I was just throwing in the towel. But again she let me go. I managed to get to my feet before she struck again, from behind, knocking me face down, sitting on my back and pulling hard on my feet.
The referee didn’t need to ask this time. I just nodded and he raised his arm to signify my submission, patting Amanda-Jayne on the shoulder as a sign of victory. She released her hold, but didn’t back off. Instead, she grabbed hold of the waistband of my hipsters and half-carried, half-dragged me to the edge of the ring, where she bundled me through the ropes.
I didn’t bother climbing back into the ring. As I limped away to my dressing room, I heard the announcer behind me calling for a big round of applause for the new sensation on the circuit, Miss Amanda-Jayne Fable.
IN THE DRESSING ROOM
I say dressing room. Actually it was a small office with my name on the POSTIT note on the door.
I had just slumped into the only chair in disgust, when the door flew open and Amanda-Jayne stormed in.
‘Right,’ she spat, kicking the door shut and throwing the bolt, ‘now let me show what I’m like when I’m really mean.’
