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CougarGirl
Star
- Joined
- Nov 5, 2013
Terri and Ted had never intended to have a wrestling theme for their bar, not until they stumbled on a disused gym that was the ideal size and in the perfect location. The previous tenant had abandoned a lot of equipment, including a ring that immediately suggested both a theme and an additional attraction: customers could amuse themselves by wrestling if they wished, with waiters acting as referee and time keeper.
Nor had the couple intended to have a resident wrestler. It just happened that Bertha wandered in on the opening night and became at first a fixture and then a feature. No one knew her real name. She got called Bertha because of her size – she was big, so Big Bertha. She spent the first couple of hours sipping her drinks at a corner table. No one approached her; she wasn’t the sort of person you wanted to share a drink with. Then a drunk goaded her and started calling on her to join him in the ring for a bout. She ignored him to begin with, but then just shrugged and climbed into the ring, standing in the centre of the mat waiting for him to attack. And when he did, she just side stepped, tripped him and kicked his ass so hard he flew through the ropes and landed on a table.
The next night she came back and was challenged again, by the same guy, except this time he wasn’t drunk.
‘This time we’ll do it properly,’ he shouted across the bar, stripping off his shirt and slacks to applause and whistles from his friends.
Bertha sauntered across and climbed into the ring before removing her dark blue t-shirt and faded denims, to reveal a tanned and toned body with heavy thighs, broad hips sporting a pair of black lace panties that were fraying around the hems, strong arms, and small breasts supported by a bra that had once been white but was now greying. No one whistled at her.
Again she let him make the first move, which was more cautious than the previous evening. They grappled for a few minutes, which neither seemed to mine, until she picked him up, lifted him over the top rope and deposited him gently outside the ring. He didn’t come back.
By the anniversary of the club opening, she had been in training and taken to wearing an array of costumes that set off her muscular frame. By the second anniversary, she had bulked up, becoming more muscular and attracting attention for her body as much as for her wrestling. The club’s website invited customers to try their luck against the club’s resident wrestling champion.
By the third anniversary, she was still undefeated. The club was packed that evening, with regulars and strangers. A few people got into the ring to try a few holds with each other, but no one challenged Bertha. Not until midnight. As soon as the clock behind the bar had struck, a tall man rang the bell by the ring and, standing on the apron, called out to Bertha.
‘My name’s Wilson and it’s time this club had a new champion. What do you say, Bertha? Want to take your chances with me or are you sitting out this evening?’
Bertha did not move. She seemed to be weighing up whether he was worth the effort of walking from her seat to the ring. Eventually, slowly, without saying a word, she rose and strolled over. The bar went silent, as the stranger stood on the bottom rope and raised the middle one for Bertha to climb into the ring. He followed and began to undress, discarding his shirt to exposure a bodybuilder’s physique. His impressive abs, pecs and biceps drew appreciative whistles. When he revealed muscular legs and a tight ass clad in skimpy red trunks that barely covered his assets, he received cheers of delight.
Bertha barely gave him a second glance as she disrobed. She stood maybe a head shorter but her body was in every way as impressive. And tonight she was sporting a new outfit, light blue against her dark tan, consisting of a lowcut bra and a thong that cut her powerful buttocks.
A waiter climbed into the ring and called the fighters to the centre to discuss the terms of combat.
‘Six rounds with the usual one fall, one submission or a knockout to decide?’ he enquired.
Both fighters nodded, shook and retired to opposite corners to wait for the bell. As soon as it rang, they approached each other and began to circle, sizing up their opponent. The man moved first, cautiously reaching out a hand for Bertha’s. She grasped it and was soon spinning across the ring to crash into a corner with a force that shook the ring and seemed to shake the whole bar. Wilson didn’t follow up and Bertha seemed barely to have registered the impact. This time she reached out to him and, with his hand firmly in her grasp, she sent him spinning into the same corner, with the same effect. So far, honours were even.
Each having tested the other’s strength, they locked hands and engaged in a contest of pushing and shoving, leaving the customers, and possibly themselves, unsure whether one was really coming off worse or just trying to lead the other to believe that. Their hold was finally broken when Wilson relaxed his pressure, causing Bertha to crash into him and give the chance, which he took with apparent relish, to plant a loud kiss on her lips. Her response was a slap that rang across the bar, leaving a clear red mark on his cheek. His grin suggested that it was a price worth paying.
When the bell rang for the end of the round, he delivered a stinging slap across Bertha’s retreating buttocks. She neither flinched nor broke her stride, seemingly obviously to the assault.
As soon as the bell had sounded, the bar erupted into a flurry of activity, as customers ordered fresh drinks, and a frenzy of conversation as they discussed what they had just seen. General opinion was that this would be fun. Seasoned observers thought that Bertha might have more of a contest than normal on her hands. Some suggested that Wilson might have the hots for Bertha; they might even have some history.
The start of the next round came with a change of pace. Wilson suddenly sprang into a flying drop kick that connected with the point of Bertha’s chin and knocked her flat on her back. She sat up, shook her head and pulled her legs under her. Making as if to rise, she launched herself at Wilson legs and knocked him down, following up by landing on his chest in an attempt to pin his shoulders for the winning fall. But the referee had no time to get on the deck before Bertha had been flicked off with such power that she was sent rolling under the bottom rope. Immediately, she was on her feet and back in the ring to be met by the man advancing towards her to engulf her in a bear hug, trapping her arms by her sides and lifting her off her feet. She merely looked down on him with contempt. Seeming to give up, he tossed her casually onto the ropes, spun and met her with a backhanded chop to the throat as she bounced back. For the second time in the round, Bertha was on her back, her legs splayed in surprise. Everyone noticed the man’s gaze was fixed on her thighs and, no doubt, on what lay between them concealed by the pale blue material of her thong. This time he stayed well clear as Bertha rose to her feet.
As they circled, keeping well out of each other’s reach, those closest to the ring thought they detected a growth in his red trunks. Bertha didn’t notice; her eyes were locked with her opponent’s. Judging the moment right, she sprang to deliver a powerful drop kick, but he twisted and leant back just in time for her to sail past his chest and land in a tangle in a corner. Once again, Bertha suffered the ignominy of getting to her feet as her opponent hovered. The bulge in his trunks seemed to be growing as the round progressed.
The chance for it to grow larger was interrupted by the bell, which was followed by more frantic ordering of sufficient drinks to see everyone through the third round. The general opinion was that Bertha had met her match and those who thought that Wilson had the hots for his opponent now formed a strong minority. Whatever the outcome of the match, they said, their encounter wouldn’t end in the ring.
When the bell rang for round three, Wilson clearly intended to take up where he had left off in round two. He launched a swift attack across the ring that Bertha didn’t seem to care about. She let him crash into her, before spinning with her arm under his to throw him over her right hip. As he landed, she dropped onto his shoulders for her second attempt at a fall, but he simply put one hand between her legs and the other on her chest. With a loud grunt, he hoisted her into the air and tossed her backwards to land on her chest. With a swivel and a roll, he was in position to straddle her hips and pull her legs up in a classic Boston.
The couple now found themselves in a stalemate. Wilson wouldn’t let go, while Bertha wouldn’t give in but couldn’t free herself. Both were glistening with sweat when Wilson finally broke the hold and stepped back, Despite her aching arms and a sore back, Bertha was able to take advantage as she rose from her low position by thrusting an arm between Wilson’s thighs and then getting her other arm round his neck, which allowed her to lift him off his feet before dropping him in a full body slam that made the ring quake. Again she followed up by dropping on him for a quick chance at a fall, but again he tossed her into the air and rolled away, leaving her flat on her face with her buttocks just inviting another smack, which he duly delivered with gusto.
Neither got the upper hand for the rest of the round and, by the time the bell rang for the third interval, even Bertha’s most loyal fans were openly recognising that her best hope was to last out the contest for a draw.
Round four opened with the fighters grasping each other necks, which Wilson turned to his advantage by getting Bertha into a twisting wrist lock. She immediately rolled out and reversed the tables on Wilson, who did the same in return, emerging with a stronger grip that he used to lever Bertha’s wrist and shoulder. This wasn’t a submission move, but it was weakening her left arm. With a sudden jerk, Wilson released his victim and immediately ducked under her left arm, took hold of her round her waist and lifted her into the air before a base of the spine drop on his upraised knee.
Those with good vision or glasses now noticed another bulge developing.
Anyone who thought Bertha was finished, had a surprise in store. Despite the pain that must still be throbbing through her wrist and shoulder, and the jarring she had just taken to her back, she again took advantage of rising from a low position to deliver a forearm smash that threw Wilson into the ropes. As he bounced back, she ducked, kicked his legs and used his momentum to deposit him on his face. In the instant, she was standing on the back of his thighs and had her hands under his chin, pulling him up and backwards in a spine cracking surfboard. Wilson’s response was to press his hands under his shoulders and slowly force his arms straight, his muscles visibly straining and his trembling with the effort until eventually he was able to dislodge Bertha and topple her to the mat. Instead of retreating to recover, he moved in and hoisted her in a power lift above his head where he held her as he twisted around, displaying her and his control for the whole bar to see. Then he dropped her so that she fell across the top rope, from where a quick flick threw her onto her back. With her still shocked and shaken, it was easy for him to grab her ankles and use his weight to pin her legs over her shoulders.
The referee had reached the count of two when the bell rang. Even those standing by the bar couldn’t miss the bulge in Wilson’s trunks as he retired to his corner.
There was immediately controversy among the tables. Some argued that the time keeper had rung early to save Bertha, others that she had timed it to perfection and knew she didn’t need to expend unnecessary energy to escape.
Round five, with the contest approaching its half-way point, began with some mutual sparing, each looking for an opening. Then Wilson made his move. Feinting to his left, he changed direction and reached out for Bertha’s left wrist. She tried to pull back, but too late. Wilson took hold with both hands and spun her round making as if to throw her into a corner, but at the last moment he kept hold, pulling her back towards him and wrenching Bertha’s shoulder. Those at ring side tables heard her groan. Including Wilson who maintained his wrist lock and levered her shoulder against the joint, forcing her to the floor.
With his opponent on her knees, he let go with one hand to grab her left ankle and began to spin, faster and faster, before releasing the ankle and, as Bertha’s legs swung away, arresting her momentum by pulling back on her arm. This time everyone heard her cry. She was in pain and in trouble. He was softening her up; it looked like he was planning on a submission. But no one could imagine a woman of Bertha’s strength giving in.
Still holding her left wrist, Wilson dragged his victim to the ropes, leaned hard on the top rope and pulled up the middle so that he could force Bertha’s hand between them, leaving it trapped as he released the ropes. As Bertha struggled to free her hand, he took hold of her feet and heaved back. For a while she hung poised in the air until she finally managed to tear her hand free of the ropes. At that precise moment, Wilson let go, leaving her to drop on her shoulder. He was on her as she landed, twisting her arm to turn her face down, pressing his knee in her upper back and once more levering the shoulder against the joint.
The sweat was running down Bertha’s face, the muscles of her arm and shoulder straining to resist his torture. She seemed unable to find a response, no way to get out of his moves, no way to avoid his manoeuvres, no way to counter attack. Again, she was saved by the bell.
Bertha lay where Wilson left her, her chest heaving, her face etched with pain as she tried to ease her injured shoulder. The drinkers were quieter than before. They seemed to sense that something momentous was happening. That their champion was being outmatched and outclassed. It looked as if survival was her only option. They couldn’t see how she could hope to turn the tables and emerge victorious.
But one thing was now obvious to everyone. Wilson wasn’t just aroused, he had a full blown boner that was putting a considerable strain on the thin material of his trunks. As one mature lady at a table close to the ring remarked: ‘If that thing blows, we’ll get drenched.’ Her companion replied more thoughtfully that women were lucky that their feelings weren’t so obvious. It wasn’t clear whether she was speculating about how Bertha might be feeling or talking about her own reaction to Wilson’s display of brutal power.
Bertha hadn’t returned to her corner when the bell went for the start of the sixth round. She just rose from her knees and waited. Everyone in the bar waited too, expecting a further assault on her shoulder, but Wilson took them by surprise. This time he went for her right arm, threw her against the ropes and, following up, leapt over the top rope, grabbing hold of her neck as he went and pulling her backwards. Bertha managed to stay in the ring, but at the cost of having her back bent over the ropes with the full force of Wilson’s weight.
As she staggered away from the ropes, Wilson rolled back into the ring and pulled her down into a backbreaker across his knee, pressing hard on her thighs and chest, one hand resting on her right breast. Keeping up the attack on her back, he rolled her off his knee to land face down, allowing him to dig his knee deep into the centre of her spine. But as he began to rise, Bertha at last took the initiative. Twisting and rolling, she knocked him off balance, and rolled his legs over his head as he landed, leaning on them with all her weight to hold his shoulders to the mat. Several times the referee got to TWO and each time Wilson raised his shoulder just enough to stop the count.
Seeming tired of getting nowhere, Bertha released him and stepped back, but as he stood, she moved fast, jumping to get her hands behind his neck and her feet in his stomach, so that she could roll back and, with a powerful thrust from her thighs, flip him over her head. They were so close to the ropes, that he landed with his feet entangled, allowing her to continue the attack by pulling him clear and trying for another fall, again using her weight. but as before she was unable to keep his shoulders down for that magic count of THREE. Finally, she rocked back on her heels and threw his legs aside with a look of disgust at her inability to secure that final count.
Wilson rolled away and rose with his eyes on Bertha and a broad grin on his face. He still looked fresh while her shoulders slumped dejectedly and her chest heaved from the exertion. It came as no surprise when he cannoned towards her and managed to get hold of her left arm as she skipped back. Forced to twist and double over by the pressure on her shoulder, she had no option but to go where he pushed her, which was towards the ropes, where again he trapped Bertha’s wrist between the top two ropes, just as the bell rang. He immediately stepped back, but made no attempt to free her, earning some jeers for his lack of sportsmanship. Two customers climbed up to help release her and gave her encouragement. She grinned at them, but retreated to her corner where she squatted like a wounded animal.
Wilson still clearly had the upper hand, albeit that he hadn’t yet been able to clinch victory. At the tables the reduction in the bulge in his trunks was noted and taken as a sign, forlorn perhaps, that Bertha might be getting at him more than he was showing.
Round seven got off to a slow start, with neither fighter willing to take the initiative, until with one of his lightning fast moves Wilson dived at Bertha and got his left arm between her legs and his right arm round her neck. He tried to hoist her into the air for a full body slam or a backbreaker over his knee. She struggled and resisted, but eventually he got her level with his chest. Even then Wilson didn’t have a secure hold. Bertha used her strength to try and force him to fall backwards, giving her a chance of a fall. He staggered a couple of times but managed to avoid falling. Although she didn’t succeed, her constantly shifting weight kept him off balance until he final fell back against the ropes.
And that was Bertha’s downfall, literally. Wilson shifted his left hand into her crotch, twisted to his right and toppled her over the top rope and out of the ring. She would have been safe if he had let go, but he didn’t, catching her left arm in the hook of his right. Her scream as he arrested her fall before her feet touched the floor told even her staunchest supporters that the end was near. Wilson rolled her arm along the rope, leaving her right arm flailing hopelessly as she tried to get a grip on the ropes and her feet desperately fighting to get a purchase on the apron. And all the time his cock was growing, pushing first outwards and then upwards, threatening to force its head out of the waistband. Bertha screamed and cursed, her face red with the effort, sweat dripping from skin as she fought for survival in the contest. The move was illegal but the referee didn’t intervene, perhaps sensing that it was best to get this over with as soon as decently possible. Everyone held their breath, customers moved away from their tables to get a better view, only to be pushed out of the way by others. Finally, dangling and swinging like a rag doll, Bertha at last succumbed to the inevitable.
‘Submit,’ she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘Please, I submit.’
Wilson immediately relaxed his hold, easing her gently to the floor and held the ropes for her to climb back into the ring.
The time keeper rang the bell frantically to signal that the contest was over. Wilson had won. But he hadn’t finished. As soon as Bertha was safely on her feet inside the ring, he grabbed her left arm again, forcing it up her back.
‘You know what you’ve got to do, bitch.’
She shook her head, but another wrench on her shoulder changed her mind.
‘Yes,’ she cried, ‘I know, I will, must stop, please stop.’
He released her arm, which dangled by her side. Sinking to her knees, she reached up with her free right hand, eased Wilson’s trunks over his swollen purple cock and bowed her head. Leaning forward tentatively and starting from its base, she began to lick along the length of his shaft. As her tongue reached its bulging cock lips, she opened wide and lowered her head to take him down her throat. As her head bobbed rhythmically, Wilson moaned and his knees started to buckle until he took Bertha by the hair and pulled her head away just in time for a jet of hot cum to shoot over her face, followed by another, and another until he sank to his knees, his balls drained and his energy spent.
Bertha wasn’t seen at the club again, which surprised no one. But nor was Wilson, which did surprise some. There were rumours that they had been seen around together. Some even said they were husband and wife. But no one knew for sure. By the fourth anniversary, Terri and Ted had removed the ring to make way for more tables.
Nor had the couple intended to have a resident wrestler. It just happened that Bertha wandered in on the opening night and became at first a fixture and then a feature. No one knew her real name. She got called Bertha because of her size – she was big, so Big Bertha. She spent the first couple of hours sipping her drinks at a corner table. No one approached her; she wasn’t the sort of person you wanted to share a drink with. Then a drunk goaded her and started calling on her to join him in the ring for a bout. She ignored him to begin with, but then just shrugged and climbed into the ring, standing in the centre of the mat waiting for him to attack. And when he did, she just side stepped, tripped him and kicked his ass so hard he flew through the ropes and landed on a table.
The next night she came back and was challenged again, by the same guy, except this time he wasn’t drunk.
‘This time we’ll do it properly,’ he shouted across the bar, stripping off his shirt and slacks to applause and whistles from his friends.
Bertha sauntered across and climbed into the ring before removing her dark blue t-shirt and faded denims, to reveal a tanned and toned body with heavy thighs, broad hips sporting a pair of black lace panties that were fraying around the hems, strong arms, and small breasts supported by a bra that had once been white but was now greying. No one whistled at her.
Again she let him make the first move, which was more cautious than the previous evening. They grappled for a few minutes, which neither seemed to mine, until she picked him up, lifted him over the top rope and deposited him gently outside the ring. He didn’t come back.
By the anniversary of the club opening, she had been in training and taken to wearing an array of costumes that set off her muscular frame. By the second anniversary, she had bulked up, becoming more muscular and attracting attention for her body as much as for her wrestling. The club’s website invited customers to try their luck against the club’s resident wrestling champion.
By the third anniversary, she was still undefeated. The club was packed that evening, with regulars and strangers. A few people got into the ring to try a few holds with each other, but no one challenged Bertha. Not until midnight. As soon as the clock behind the bar had struck, a tall man rang the bell by the ring and, standing on the apron, called out to Bertha.
‘My name’s Wilson and it’s time this club had a new champion. What do you say, Bertha? Want to take your chances with me or are you sitting out this evening?’
Bertha did not move. She seemed to be weighing up whether he was worth the effort of walking from her seat to the ring. Eventually, slowly, without saying a word, she rose and strolled over. The bar went silent, as the stranger stood on the bottom rope and raised the middle one for Bertha to climb into the ring. He followed and began to undress, discarding his shirt to exposure a bodybuilder’s physique. His impressive abs, pecs and biceps drew appreciative whistles. When he revealed muscular legs and a tight ass clad in skimpy red trunks that barely covered his assets, he received cheers of delight.
Bertha barely gave him a second glance as she disrobed. She stood maybe a head shorter but her body was in every way as impressive. And tonight she was sporting a new outfit, light blue against her dark tan, consisting of a lowcut bra and a thong that cut her powerful buttocks.
A waiter climbed into the ring and called the fighters to the centre to discuss the terms of combat.
‘Six rounds with the usual one fall, one submission or a knockout to decide?’ he enquired.
Both fighters nodded, shook and retired to opposite corners to wait for the bell. As soon as it rang, they approached each other and began to circle, sizing up their opponent. The man moved first, cautiously reaching out a hand for Bertha’s. She grasped it and was soon spinning across the ring to crash into a corner with a force that shook the ring and seemed to shake the whole bar. Wilson didn’t follow up and Bertha seemed barely to have registered the impact. This time she reached out to him and, with his hand firmly in her grasp, she sent him spinning into the same corner, with the same effect. So far, honours were even.
Each having tested the other’s strength, they locked hands and engaged in a contest of pushing and shoving, leaving the customers, and possibly themselves, unsure whether one was really coming off worse or just trying to lead the other to believe that. Their hold was finally broken when Wilson relaxed his pressure, causing Bertha to crash into him and give the chance, which he took with apparent relish, to plant a loud kiss on her lips. Her response was a slap that rang across the bar, leaving a clear red mark on his cheek. His grin suggested that it was a price worth paying.
When the bell rang for the end of the round, he delivered a stinging slap across Bertha’s retreating buttocks. She neither flinched nor broke her stride, seemingly obviously to the assault.
As soon as the bell had sounded, the bar erupted into a flurry of activity, as customers ordered fresh drinks, and a frenzy of conversation as they discussed what they had just seen. General opinion was that this would be fun. Seasoned observers thought that Bertha might have more of a contest than normal on her hands. Some suggested that Wilson might have the hots for Bertha; they might even have some history.
The start of the next round came with a change of pace. Wilson suddenly sprang into a flying drop kick that connected with the point of Bertha’s chin and knocked her flat on her back. She sat up, shook her head and pulled her legs under her. Making as if to rise, she launched herself at Wilson legs and knocked him down, following up by landing on his chest in an attempt to pin his shoulders for the winning fall. But the referee had no time to get on the deck before Bertha had been flicked off with such power that she was sent rolling under the bottom rope. Immediately, she was on her feet and back in the ring to be met by the man advancing towards her to engulf her in a bear hug, trapping her arms by her sides and lifting her off her feet. She merely looked down on him with contempt. Seeming to give up, he tossed her casually onto the ropes, spun and met her with a backhanded chop to the throat as she bounced back. For the second time in the round, Bertha was on her back, her legs splayed in surprise. Everyone noticed the man’s gaze was fixed on her thighs and, no doubt, on what lay between them concealed by the pale blue material of her thong. This time he stayed well clear as Bertha rose to her feet.
As they circled, keeping well out of each other’s reach, those closest to the ring thought they detected a growth in his red trunks. Bertha didn’t notice; her eyes were locked with her opponent’s. Judging the moment right, she sprang to deliver a powerful drop kick, but he twisted and leant back just in time for her to sail past his chest and land in a tangle in a corner. Once again, Bertha suffered the ignominy of getting to her feet as her opponent hovered. The bulge in his trunks seemed to be growing as the round progressed.
The chance for it to grow larger was interrupted by the bell, which was followed by more frantic ordering of sufficient drinks to see everyone through the third round. The general opinion was that Bertha had met her match and those who thought that Wilson had the hots for his opponent now formed a strong minority. Whatever the outcome of the match, they said, their encounter wouldn’t end in the ring.
When the bell rang for round three, Wilson clearly intended to take up where he had left off in round two. He launched a swift attack across the ring that Bertha didn’t seem to care about. She let him crash into her, before spinning with her arm under his to throw him over her right hip. As he landed, she dropped onto his shoulders for her second attempt at a fall, but he simply put one hand between her legs and the other on her chest. With a loud grunt, he hoisted her into the air and tossed her backwards to land on her chest. With a swivel and a roll, he was in position to straddle her hips and pull her legs up in a classic Boston.
The couple now found themselves in a stalemate. Wilson wouldn’t let go, while Bertha wouldn’t give in but couldn’t free herself. Both were glistening with sweat when Wilson finally broke the hold and stepped back, Despite her aching arms and a sore back, Bertha was able to take advantage as she rose from her low position by thrusting an arm between Wilson’s thighs and then getting her other arm round his neck, which allowed her to lift him off his feet before dropping him in a full body slam that made the ring quake. Again she followed up by dropping on him for a quick chance at a fall, but again he tossed her into the air and rolled away, leaving her flat on her face with her buttocks just inviting another smack, which he duly delivered with gusto.
Neither got the upper hand for the rest of the round and, by the time the bell rang for the third interval, even Bertha’s most loyal fans were openly recognising that her best hope was to last out the contest for a draw.
Round four opened with the fighters grasping each other necks, which Wilson turned to his advantage by getting Bertha into a twisting wrist lock. She immediately rolled out and reversed the tables on Wilson, who did the same in return, emerging with a stronger grip that he used to lever Bertha’s wrist and shoulder. This wasn’t a submission move, but it was weakening her left arm. With a sudden jerk, Wilson released his victim and immediately ducked under her left arm, took hold of her round her waist and lifted her into the air before a base of the spine drop on his upraised knee.
Those with good vision or glasses now noticed another bulge developing.
Anyone who thought Bertha was finished, had a surprise in store. Despite the pain that must still be throbbing through her wrist and shoulder, and the jarring she had just taken to her back, she again took advantage of rising from a low position to deliver a forearm smash that threw Wilson into the ropes. As he bounced back, she ducked, kicked his legs and used his momentum to deposit him on his face. In the instant, she was standing on the back of his thighs and had her hands under his chin, pulling him up and backwards in a spine cracking surfboard. Wilson’s response was to press his hands under his shoulders and slowly force his arms straight, his muscles visibly straining and his trembling with the effort until eventually he was able to dislodge Bertha and topple her to the mat. Instead of retreating to recover, he moved in and hoisted her in a power lift above his head where he held her as he twisted around, displaying her and his control for the whole bar to see. Then he dropped her so that she fell across the top rope, from where a quick flick threw her onto her back. With her still shocked and shaken, it was easy for him to grab her ankles and use his weight to pin her legs over her shoulders.
The referee had reached the count of two when the bell rang. Even those standing by the bar couldn’t miss the bulge in Wilson’s trunks as he retired to his corner.
There was immediately controversy among the tables. Some argued that the time keeper had rung early to save Bertha, others that she had timed it to perfection and knew she didn’t need to expend unnecessary energy to escape.
Round five, with the contest approaching its half-way point, began with some mutual sparing, each looking for an opening. Then Wilson made his move. Feinting to his left, he changed direction and reached out for Bertha’s left wrist. She tried to pull back, but too late. Wilson took hold with both hands and spun her round making as if to throw her into a corner, but at the last moment he kept hold, pulling her back towards him and wrenching Bertha’s shoulder. Those at ring side tables heard her groan. Including Wilson who maintained his wrist lock and levered her shoulder against the joint, forcing her to the floor.
With his opponent on her knees, he let go with one hand to grab her left ankle and began to spin, faster and faster, before releasing the ankle and, as Bertha’s legs swung away, arresting her momentum by pulling back on her arm. This time everyone heard her cry. She was in pain and in trouble. He was softening her up; it looked like he was planning on a submission. But no one could imagine a woman of Bertha’s strength giving in.
Still holding her left wrist, Wilson dragged his victim to the ropes, leaned hard on the top rope and pulled up the middle so that he could force Bertha’s hand between them, leaving it trapped as he released the ropes. As Bertha struggled to free her hand, he took hold of her feet and heaved back. For a while she hung poised in the air until she finally managed to tear her hand free of the ropes. At that precise moment, Wilson let go, leaving her to drop on her shoulder. He was on her as she landed, twisting her arm to turn her face down, pressing his knee in her upper back and once more levering the shoulder against the joint.
The sweat was running down Bertha’s face, the muscles of her arm and shoulder straining to resist his torture. She seemed unable to find a response, no way to get out of his moves, no way to avoid his manoeuvres, no way to counter attack. Again, she was saved by the bell.
Bertha lay where Wilson left her, her chest heaving, her face etched with pain as she tried to ease her injured shoulder. The drinkers were quieter than before. They seemed to sense that something momentous was happening. That their champion was being outmatched and outclassed. It looked as if survival was her only option. They couldn’t see how she could hope to turn the tables and emerge victorious.
But one thing was now obvious to everyone. Wilson wasn’t just aroused, he had a full blown boner that was putting a considerable strain on the thin material of his trunks. As one mature lady at a table close to the ring remarked: ‘If that thing blows, we’ll get drenched.’ Her companion replied more thoughtfully that women were lucky that their feelings weren’t so obvious. It wasn’t clear whether she was speculating about how Bertha might be feeling or talking about her own reaction to Wilson’s display of brutal power.
Bertha hadn’t returned to her corner when the bell went for the start of the sixth round. She just rose from her knees and waited. Everyone in the bar waited too, expecting a further assault on her shoulder, but Wilson took them by surprise. This time he went for her right arm, threw her against the ropes and, following up, leapt over the top rope, grabbing hold of her neck as he went and pulling her backwards. Bertha managed to stay in the ring, but at the cost of having her back bent over the ropes with the full force of Wilson’s weight.
As she staggered away from the ropes, Wilson rolled back into the ring and pulled her down into a backbreaker across his knee, pressing hard on her thighs and chest, one hand resting on her right breast. Keeping up the attack on her back, he rolled her off his knee to land face down, allowing him to dig his knee deep into the centre of her spine. But as he began to rise, Bertha at last took the initiative. Twisting and rolling, she knocked him off balance, and rolled his legs over his head as he landed, leaning on them with all her weight to hold his shoulders to the mat. Several times the referee got to TWO and each time Wilson raised his shoulder just enough to stop the count.
Seeming tired of getting nowhere, Bertha released him and stepped back, but as he stood, she moved fast, jumping to get her hands behind his neck and her feet in his stomach, so that she could roll back and, with a powerful thrust from her thighs, flip him over her head. They were so close to the ropes, that he landed with his feet entangled, allowing her to continue the attack by pulling him clear and trying for another fall, again using her weight. but as before she was unable to keep his shoulders down for that magic count of THREE. Finally, she rocked back on her heels and threw his legs aside with a look of disgust at her inability to secure that final count.
Wilson rolled away and rose with his eyes on Bertha and a broad grin on his face. He still looked fresh while her shoulders slumped dejectedly and her chest heaved from the exertion. It came as no surprise when he cannoned towards her and managed to get hold of her left arm as she skipped back. Forced to twist and double over by the pressure on her shoulder, she had no option but to go where he pushed her, which was towards the ropes, where again he trapped Bertha’s wrist between the top two ropes, just as the bell rang. He immediately stepped back, but made no attempt to free her, earning some jeers for his lack of sportsmanship. Two customers climbed up to help release her and gave her encouragement. She grinned at them, but retreated to her corner where she squatted like a wounded animal.
Wilson still clearly had the upper hand, albeit that he hadn’t yet been able to clinch victory. At the tables the reduction in the bulge in his trunks was noted and taken as a sign, forlorn perhaps, that Bertha might be getting at him more than he was showing.
Round seven got off to a slow start, with neither fighter willing to take the initiative, until with one of his lightning fast moves Wilson dived at Bertha and got his left arm between her legs and his right arm round her neck. He tried to hoist her into the air for a full body slam or a backbreaker over his knee. She struggled and resisted, but eventually he got her level with his chest. Even then Wilson didn’t have a secure hold. Bertha used her strength to try and force him to fall backwards, giving her a chance of a fall. He staggered a couple of times but managed to avoid falling. Although she didn’t succeed, her constantly shifting weight kept him off balance until he final fell back against the ropes.
And that was Bertha’s downfall, literally. Wilson shifted his left hand into her crotch, twisted to his right and toppled her over the top rope and out of the ring. She would have been safe if he had let go, but he didn’t, catching her left arm in the hook of his right. Her scream as he arrested her fall before her feet touched the floor told even her staunchest supporters that the end was near. Wilson rolled her arm along the rope, leaving her right arm flailing hopelessly as she tried to get a grip on the ropes and her feet desperately fighting to get a purchase on the apron. And all the time his cock was growing, pushing first outwards and then upwards, threatening to force its head out of the waistband. Bertha screamed and cursed, her face red with the effort, sweat dripping from skin as she fought for survival in the contest. The move was illegal but the referee didn’t intervene, perhaps sensing that it was best to get this over with as soon as decently possible. Everyone held their breath, customers moved away from their tables to get a better view, only to be pushed out of the way by others. Finally, dangling and swinging like a rag doll, Bertha at last succumbed to the inevitable.
‘Submit,’ she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘Please, I submit.’
Wilson immediately relaxed his hold, easing her gently to the floor and held the ropes for her to climb back into the ring.
The time keeper rang the bell frantically to signal that the contest was over. Wilson had won. But he hadn’t finished. As soon as Bertha was safely on her feet inside the ring, he grabbed her left arm again, forcing it up her back.
‘You know what you’ve got to do, bitch.’
She shook her head, but another wrench on her shoulder changed her mind.
‘Yes,’ she cried, ‘I know, I will, must stop, please stop.’
He released her arm, which dangled by her side. Sinking to her knees, she reached up with her free right hand, eased Wilson’s trunks over his swollen purple cock and bowed her head. Leaning forward tentatively and starting from its base, she began to lick along the length of his shaft. As her tongue reached its bulging cock lips, she opened wide and lowered her head to take him down her throat. As her head bobbed rhythmically, Wilson moaned and his knees started to buckle until he took Bertha by the hair and pulled her head away just in time for a jet of hot cum to shoot over her face, followed by another, and another until he sank to his knees, his balls drained and his energy spent.
Bertha wasn’t seen at the club again, which surprised no one. But nor was Wilson, which did surprise some. There were rumours that they had been seen around together. Some even said they were husband and wife. But no one knew for sure. By the fourth anniversary, Terri and Ted had removed the ring to make way for more tables.
