textfiles/sex/EROTICA/I/indecnt.txt

Archive-name: Amazon/indecnt.txt
Archive-author: as chronicled by Mike Shoemaker
Archive-title: DOMINION:  An Indecent Proposition


     Tom Bradley crouched low, measuring his opponent, and sensed
the match was almost over.
     His adversary, Whip Smith, swayed with exhaustion and
glistened with sweat, having suffered several power moves and
debilitating holds.  At six feet two inches and 244 solid pounds,
Bradley's height and conditioning lent him a visible advantage as
the match pressed on.  The crowd of over fifteen thousand shouted
and shifted as the grapplers studied one another.
     Smith summoned his remaining strength and lunged, but
Bradley ducked under his clumsy offensive and moved behind him.
Smith rebounded off the ropes, and took a flying dropkick from
Bradley, which sent him down.  Moving in on the dazed man, he
jerked Smith to his feet, then pulled him into his arms.  The mat
shuddered as Bradley body slammed him hard to the mat.  He lay
dazed and incoherent, shifting his arms and legs as Bradley
climbed to the top of the turbuckle.  With a smile and wave to
the crowd, he leaped; his elbow slammed into Smith's sternum,
forcing the air from his lungs.  The crowd roared its approval as
Bradley hooked a leg and covered Smith for the three-count.

     "Lookin' good, my man."  Tiger Jackson high-fived Tom as he
returned to the dressing room.  "'Course, Smith ain't exactly a
contender, but you put 'im away pretty well."
     "Yeah, I thought so, too."  Bradley took a towel from a
nearby stack, and began wiping sweat from his arms.  Other
wrestlers passed between the lockers and suited up as they
prepared for their matches.  "Besides, I pinned him two and a
half minutes faster than you did."
     "Hey, I was pacin' myself.  All that counts is who took home
the winner's share."
     "True."
     "You gonna hang around?"  Jackson secured the knot on his
striped bandana.  "I got a match with Crusher King comin' up.
Even a boy wonder like you might learn somethin'."
     Tom pitched the towel into a hamper, then shook his head.
"Nah, I'm gonna shower and go home.  I wanna catch my highlights
on ESPN."
     "Whatever.  Later, buddy."  Jackson waved and left the
dressing room.
     Bradley slipped out of his tights and boots, and wrapped
himself in a fresh towel.  Though he'd won the match, Smith's
initially vigorous performance had left him looking forward to a
strong water massage.  He was nearly to the showers when a voice
behind him called out, "Bradley."
     He turned, a little annoyed at being stopped short of his
destination.  Leonard Harris, match promoter and notoriously poor
dresser, shook a handful of contracts at him and said, "You were
sharp out there, Tom.  You got potential."
     "I've got more than potential, Harris, and you know it.  If
you'd set me up with someone important for a change, the rest of
the world would know it, too."
     Harris straightened the lapel on his polyester sportjacket,
and walked closer.  "Yeah, well, that's what I'm here to talk
about," he said, lowering his voice.  "See, the fans are warm to
you right now, and I know you can pull a good crowd.  Most of the
singles titleholders are booked up for a while, though--"
     "Then why are you talking to me?  I'm tired of waiting."
     He held out his hands in a "keep it down" gesture, then
leaned closer.  "Let me finish.  The singles belts are busy, but
I can probably swing a tag team match with the state titlists.
If you're interested, that is."
     "Tag team?"  Tom shifted on his feet, a little surprised.
"I don't have a partner."
     "Find one.  Unless you'd rather--"
     "I'll get a partner.  And I'll take the shot."
     Harris gave the kind of smile Bradley associated with used
car salesmen, just after they'd locked their jaws on a choice
deal.  "Great.  Just understand that I can't wait around forever.
I need you and your partner to sign the papers by next Tuesday."
     "No problem."
     They shook hands; Harris' palms were characteristically
damp.  "I'll be waiting.  You got my card."
     As steamimg water beat down on his body, Bradley considered
his options.  Being new to the area, he hadn't acquainted himself
with many wrestlers, leaving him with a small pool to choose
from.  The ones he knew were committed to other partners, or just
not good enough to credibly challenge for the title.  The
champions, a pair of intimidating masked men called the
Marauders, were rampaging through the region like a force of
nature, and the chance of generating a successful team strategy
with a near-complete stranger was slim.
     Troubled with these thoughts, he re-dressed and left the
arena, to the private parking facility to the rear.  He stopped
next to a weather-beaten Mazda and fumbled around for his keys.
The thought of a title match pleased him for more than just
professional reasons; after all, he'd make more money from a
championship loss than he would from a win over a lesser-quality
singles opponent.  He might even be able to buy a newer used car
after the bout.
     Bradley looked up as a sleek black Lamborghini rolled toward
him, its engine purring with restrained power.  He passed a
lingering glance over the glossy, aerodynamic countours of its
body, and hoped he'd one day know the special thrill of owning so
elegant--and expensive--a vehicle.  It slowed as it neared, then
stopped behind his car, blocking him in.
     He pulled his duffle strap higher onto his shoulder as the
car shut off, and the door on the driver's side slid up and open.
A strikingly beautiful woman emerged, and turned toward him.  Her
height struck him at once--she was eye-to-eye with him in her
heels--as did her strong, well-toned physique.  The neckline of
her skintight miniskirt was cut for a suggestive peek at her
ample cleavage.
     "Mr. Bradley?"
     He smiled.  "That's me.  What can I do for you?"
     She walked to him, the heels of her hip-high boots clacking
on the asphalt, and extended a hand.  "Hello.  My name is Ava
Winchester.  I've been looking forward to meeting you."
     Her grip was surprisingly strong.  "Thanks.  I'm flattered."
     She looked away briefly, a cool summer breeze playing
through her thick brown hair, before meeting his eyes again.  "I
saw your match tonight, and I'd like to compliment you on the
victory.  You were impressive."
     "Thanks again.  I'm happy with it."  The more he examined
Ava's delicate face, and her strong, supple body, the more he
hoped he'd be occupied with something more interesting than
SportsCenter that evening.  "Nice car."
     "Thank you."
     "I don't guess you'd consider a trade."  He patted the roof
of his Mazda, and said, "With a paint job and a rebuilt engine,
this one would get you around."
     She smiled, her brown eyes sparkling in the glow of the
overhead halogen light.  "I'll pass."  An awkward silence
followed, as she fumbled with her hands and exhaled.  He
considered asking her out for a drink, but decided to wait until
she'd made her intentions plain.  He could tell she wasn't a
groupie, but he doubted her sole reason for approaching him was
to praise his victory.  "Mr. Bradley," she said finally, clasping
her hands.  "You're probably going to laugh at what I'm about to
suggest, but I have an offer for you to consider."
     Tom didn't like the sound of her statement.  He'd heard the
same thing too often from well-meaning churchgoers trying to herd
in the strays.  "Offer away."
     "I'd like to wrestle you at my private facility, and for
each pin you win, I'll pay you one million dollars."
     Tom smiled, slightly dumbstruck.  This was more like the
indecent proposal he'd been hoping for.  "Wrestle me?  What do
you mean?"
     "Just what I said.  I have a wrestling ring on my grounds,
and I'd like to compete with you.  All the moves and rules you're
used to would apply."
     He considered what she'd just said:  that she wanted to face
him in real wrestling competition, and that she'd pay him seven
figures for every pin he won.  His dates often used playful
Greco-Roman freestyle action as foreplay--matches he enjoyed
letting his girlfriends win--but Ava was calmly discussing a
head-to-head confrontation of a coldly professional kind.  Tom
decided that this woman needed to be kept away from safety
scissors.  "Miss Winchester--"
     "Please, call me Ava," she said.
     "Right.  Ava, either you've got an Uncle that thinks he's
Napolean, or you've got more money than good sense.  I mean, I'll
be happy to lose a few on purpose, but for a million bucks a
fall...hell, I'd pin my own mother for that much."
     Ava seemed unfazed.  "Mr. Bradley--"
     "Please, call me Tom."
     "Fine.  You may rest assured of three things, Tom.  First, I
am not deluded, psychotic, or otherwise mentally impaired.
Second, I'm a primary shareholder in Amatech Conglomerated, and
have more money in one mutual fund than you could collect in an
evening of pins.  Finally, I intend to prevent you from
collecting any of the money."
     He scratched the back of his head, trying to decide whether
to roll around with her for the sheer lewd thrill of it, or to be
kind and send her elsewhere.  Tom's id and superego clashed
momentarily, his libido prodding him to leap at the opportunity,
and his conscience wagging a finger of still-unresolved Catholic
guilt; he sighed as his conscience won the fall.  "Ava," he said
finally, "You're a beautiful woman.  Correction:  you're the most
stunningly attractive woman I've ever met.  And if you'd asked me
to dinner or out for coffee, I'd've jumped at the chance.  But,
I'd feel too much like I was taking advantage of you.  I know
some female wrestlers, maybe I could introduce you to them and--"
     She moved her left hand from behind her--he hadn't noticed,
but she'd kept it obscured the whole time--and held out an
envelope fat with something square.  She dropped it on top of his
car with a thud.
     "That's ten thousand dollars, Tom.  Just for showing up."
     Tom blinked, regarding the envelope cautiously.  He figured
it wouldn't hurt to count it, and picked it up.  The money was
there, in hundreds, all the bills crisp from the mint.  In his
mind, greed nailed conscience from behind with a metal folding
chair.
     She stepped closer, her face deadpan.  "I'm serious about
this.  You're a good wrestler, and I'd like to face you.  You
have nothing to lose, and immense wealth to gain."
     "Well," he said, re-sealing the envelope, "If somebody put
you up to this, then they're out ten thousand bucks.  I might as
well see this through."
     She smiled, and Tom saw a hint of something dangerous.
"Excellent.  I'm looking forward to it."  She gestured to her
car, and said, "I'll be happy to take you there."
     Tom was thrilled.  Not only was he going to grapple with
this exquisite woman, but he was also going to ride in her
exquisite car as well.  Money, a gorgeous woman, wrestling...the
whole thing was twisted and oddly exciting.  "Can I drive?"
     "I don't think so."

     The drive to Ava's home went without incident, and they
passed the time chatting about the weather and the recent
fortunes of other wrestlers.  She surprised him with astute
observations on move strategy, and realized she was more than
just a casual fan with a peculiar fetish.  They arrived at her
estate half an hour later, in a secluded, wooded area that
bordered the ocean.  She fed a keycard into a slot at the
outskirts of her property, and a wrought-iron gate lifted and let
them through.  The road twisted through the surrounding forest
for at least half a mile, before terminating in a circular drive
adjacent to her villa.  The three-story mansion was a pillared,
ornate fusion of classic architecture and modern streamlining,
its intricate detail and proximity to the rolling surf making it
impossible for him to guess at it's cost.
     "Nice digs," he said, closing the Lamborghini's passenger
side door.  "Didn't I see Robin Leach here once?"
     "Absolutely not."  She aimed her alarm remote at the car,
and it chirped obediently.  "He eats too much, and I don't like
cameras."
     She gave him a short tour of the home, leading him through
room after room of sculpture, priceless paintings, and ornate
fixtures that put most galleries to shame.  It made him wish
she'd painted a yellow line on the floor for visitors to follow.
One false move would send him tumbling into financial ruin.
     "Relax," she said, and took his arm in hers.  "This isn't
Sachs.  I won't hold you liable if you knock something over."
     "That's nice to know," he said, his head craning for a
better view of a Dali original.
     They stopped as a maid walked in from an adjacent hallway,
heels clacking on the tiled floor.  She was a frosted blonde,
wearing a short servant girl skirt and black hose.  Her fair hair
and bright blue eyes were offset by a perfect tan.  "You're
back," she said, and looked at Tom; he evaluated her delicate
features and well-curved physique, and pronounced her Ava's
equal.  Looking him up and down with a sly smile, she asked, "Is
this the man you were talking about?"
     "Yes.  Tom, this is Anna, my maid.  She's the only permanent
staff I have here."
     He took her hand, and gave her fingers a light kiss.
"Charmed."
     Anna giggled.  "Will you be going straight to the
gymnasium?"
     "That depends on Mr. Bradley."  Ava looked at him, and said,
"Are you tired after you match?  I can put you up for the evening
if you'd like."
     Tom considered her offer, but decided that the sooner they
were rolling around together, the better.  And if Anna were to
join in....  "Nah, I've had plenty of time to rest.  I might need
something fresh to wrestle in, though."
     "Not to worry," said Anna.  "We've fresh togs for you to
wear.  You're a size twelve boot, aren't you?"
     "That's right."
     "Then follow me," said Ava.  "I'm anxious to begin."

     The boots, kneepads, and tights were a perfect fit.  After
changing, he was led to the east wing, where he found a two-story
complex equipped with free weights, resistance machines, aerobic
devices--a private training facility of unsurpassed quality.
Behind the weights was a half-court for basketball, and adjacent
to that was a wrestling ring.
     "I don't believe it," he said, as they guided him to the
ring.  "Somebody must've drugged my coffee or something.  I mean,
look at all this."
     "Trust me," said Ava, as he ran a hand down the cold metal
cornerpost, and along the ring apron.  "You're perfectly lucid."
He noticed her studying him, smiling slightly, leading him to
wonder if there weren't hiding an ulterior motive after all.
     "Look," he said, making a final attempt to reconcile his
knowledge that she was unfairly overmatched.  "Have you been
training with anyone?  Or should I show you a few basics?"
     "Anna and I train every day.  We've become quite even in our
matchups, so I thought it might be time to try a male opponent."
    "Just thought I'd ask."
     "I'm going to change now.  Go ahead and get familiar with
the ring--it should be what you're used to."  He felt compelled
to watch her sway from side to side as she walked away.

     He spent some minutes testing the flexibility of the ropes,
and practicing a few rolls to feel the give of the mat.
Satisfied that the ring was regulation, he began limbering up.
Anna came to the ring first, dressed in a black high-cut pelvic
leotard--thong-backed, to his delight-- and a matching half-top.
Her thick blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
     "Hi," she said, stepping into the ring.
     "Hi."  Anna's beauty was breathtaking, and he had to make an
effort to compose himself.  His tights wouldn't do much to mask
his true intentions.
     "I'm the referee," she said.
     "Oh, okay.  I hope you're not gonna play favorites."
     "Don't worry.  I'll be impartial."
     "I should hope so."  The voice was Ava's.  She was walking
toward them, wearing a black interlaced posing suit, which left
all but her breasts and lower body exposed.  It was cut to the
waist on the sides, and dipped low in front.  Her full, raised
breasts were barely concealed.  Matching boots and kneepads
completed the ensemble.  "Mr. Bradley will certainly need an
impartial official."  She bounded onto the apron, and leaped over
the ropes.  He noticed that the rear coverage of the suit was
equally minimal.
     Tom took a deep breath, and shook his head.  "Goddamn it,
what are you trying to do to me here?  How can I possibly
concentrate?  I mean, you're both--both just--oh, man...."
     "Relax."  Ava ran her hands over her breasts, down her
chiseled midsection.  He decided that she and Anna were built
precisely to his tastes:  they were tall, strong, and athletic,
with lean physiques and ample feminine curves as well.  "You'll
have other things on your mind once we've started.  Like
surviving."  She moved toward him.  "Let's go."
     He shrugged, and backed up a few steps, where they began to
circle one another.  Anna withdrew to a nearby corner, and leaned
over to watch, her hands on her knees.  Ava's face became
focused, her eyes never straying from his, her body tense.
     They locked up, collar and elbow, and he moved first, going
behind her and embracing her waist.  He lifted her and brought
her to her knees, where he forced her to her stomach.  His
intention was to use only mat wrestling, and to immobilize her
with some simple holds.  He wanted to reduce her pain and
suffering as much as possible, while getting at least one pin.
Or a few.  Or ten, if she were still game....
     Her body twisted in his arms, and she broke free.  Rolling
to the side, she jumped lightly to her feet, and crouched low.
     "Excellent," he said, grinning.  "You got out fast."
     "Don't patronize me," she said, and they locked up again.
       It was her turn to move first:  she slid behind him and
jerked his arm into a hammerlock.  He winced; the move sent sharp
pain through his shoulder, much more than he'd expected.
     Turning him in place, she took him under his body and around
his neck, and--to his shock--lifted him into her arms with ease.
A second later, she was holding him high above her head, her arms
fully extended, supporting him with no apparent difficulty.
     "I told you I was serious," she said, and then pulled him
back to her; turning with his downward momentum, she spun and
power-slammed him to the mat.
     Dazed and shaken by the press-slam, he was vaguely aware of
her dropping astride his chest, and of Anna delivering a three-
count.  Ava lightly patted his cheek, to bring him back to
coherence.
     "Hello," she said, a sly smile on her face.  "Are you sure
you're up for this?"
     He shook his head, trying to clear it, as she stepped back
and pulled him to stand.  "How...how in the hell did you do
that?"
     Ava winked at Anna.  "The mechanics of the move are pretty
simple, Tom.  If you'd like another demonstration--"
     "Never mind," he said.  He re-gained some stability, then
said, "Okay, let's do this again."
     They came to grips, and she shot a knee into his midsection,
bowling him over.  Ava lifted him up and slammed him down, then
launched into the ropes as he lay prone.  She leaped on the
rebound--gaining easily ten feet in height--and landed across him
with her body.  She followed this with a succession of elbow
drops, punishing his chest and sternum.
     He lay helpless, more pain lancing through him than he'd yet
felt in his professional career.  She stood and paced around him,
considering her next move.
     "You can pin him again, probably," said Anna.
     "Probably.  But I'm not through yet."  She pulled him to
stand; he wobbled on his feet, still disoriented.  She flew off
the ropes again, then jumped and brought him down with a flying
clothesline.  He twitched as she slid over his chest once more,
and was counted out.
     He came to a few minutes later, coughing and weak, barely
able to roll to his side.  Ava lay beside him, propped on an
elbow, one eyebrow raised.  "You're back.  I was beginning to
wonder."
     He struggled to sit up, and rubbed his neck.  "I--I don't
get this...."
     "What's to get?  You're getting your ass kicked."
     "Thanks."  He staggered against the ropes momentarily,
before managing to right himself unassisted.  Anna looked at him
closely, trying to gauge his condition.
     She asked, "Are you okay?  Are you hurt or anything?"
     He winced at the throbbing pain in his midsection and neck,
and felt like he'd just survived a high-speed wreck--barely.
"I'm fine.  C'mon, let's go again."
     Ava shrugged and rolled up, her movements now loose,
confident.  A sinking feeling set in that he was trapped, that
she'd used his libido and overconfidence to get him into the
ring, and that now he was paying the price for underestimating
her skills.  His mind raced as he tried to grasp the implications
of what was happening:  excuses aside, Ava was dominating the
encounter, something he'd never expected to happen.  He'd seen
the news reports about the Dominion virus--a strange, sudden
phenomenon that had vastly enhanced the bodies and muscle quality
of the world's female population--but had only considered the
cosmetic implications.  A world of tall, athletic, shapely
females seemed like a libidinous dream, but he'd scarcely
realized the broader implications.  The match had gone beyond the
mere opportunity for financial gain:  if he didn't establish a
credible presence, the match might represent a shift in gender
dominance world wide, something he was surprisingly uncomfortable
with.  He steeled himself, determined to take control of the
match.
     They circled again, Tom's body still aching from her prior
attack, before moving to lock up.  His forearm thumped the side
of her head, and he followed this with an arm bar.  He tossed her
to her back and fell to his knees, cinching in the lock, trying
to slow her and recover some endurance.  She quickly rolled to
stand, decreasing his leverage, then forced him slowly,
deliberately, back into the ropes.  Anna ordered them to break,
and Tom grudgingly released her arm.
     She swung a clothesline at him, and he reflexively ducked
and rushed to one side.  He jumped and hit her with a flying
dropkick, which staggered her back, then whipped her across the
ring.  On the return, he landed a reverse flying elbow, which
sent her down.  With momentum finally on his side, he jumped,
targeting her forehead with his knee.  Unexpectedly, she rolled
away, and his knee met the mat with painful force.  She gripped
his ankle and cinched in a leglock, twisting his knee with
alarming force.  He groaned as she cinched the move in.  Anna
dropped to one knee beside him, ready to accept a submission
should he offer one.
     Ava dragged him to ring center, where she stepped over his
leg, then fell back and locked in a figure four.  He flailed his
arms, pain lancing through his weakened knee, as Ava applied
brutal pressure to the joint.  He fought to maintain
conciousness, before his vision spun, blurred, then faded.
     When he came to, Anna was massaging his leg, feeling it for
deformities.  "Seems okay," said Anna.  "I don't think anything's
broken."
     "That's good," said Ava, a predatory smile on her lips.
"I'm not through with him yet."
     He ignored her remark, and tried unsuccessfully to sit up.
Ava dropped and slid to him, and wrapped her legs around his
chest, just under his arms.  The air rushed from his constricted
body as she rolled to her knees, sat down on his side, and
tightened the hold.  Her breath came in shuddering gasps, eyes
fluttering as erotic warmth pulsed over her from within.  She
cupped her breasts and stroked her fingers over her visibly
stiffened nipples, no longer content to suppress the sensations
she felt.
       Biting her lower lip, she moaned as her arousal
intensified, and alternated the pressure between a death grip and
something she felt he could tolerate.  Try as he might, he could
neither roll her off nor pry her python-like legs away.  He was
helpless to prevent her from squeezing the life out of him.
     "Poor guy," Anna sighed.  "I hope there's something left for
me.  Ava, I don't think he can signal a submission--"
     "Good."  Ava lifted one of his faltering arms, and licked
and nibbled his fingertips.
     The burning heat washing over her reached a fever peak, and
she decided to terminate the encounter with her favorite hold.
She opened her legs, allowing him to roll prone, then moved
forward to lay on her side.  Holding the back of his head, she
pulled his face against her lower body, then slowly, agonizingly,
clamped her legs around his skull and interlaced her ankles.  She
writhed and bucked in time with her sexual rhythms, lower back
arched, breasts jutting out, glistening with a sheen of
perspiration as she squealed and screamed with each passing
climax.  The sensation of his head trapped between her thighs, of
his face crushed against her sex brought her to frequent,
sustained orgasm of incredible intensity.  Tom grit his teeth and
groaned as she abused him, too weak to resist.  As his vision
clouded into a field of flashing points, he realized he'd been
completely dominated, and that the world--and his perception of
it--would never be the same.

     "He's coming around," he heard Anna say, as he drifted back
to conciousness.
     "Yes, but I think he's had enough.  I don't want to risk
injuring him permanently."
     Tom opened his mouth to speak, but all that emerged was a
hoarse gasp.  He lacked the energy to lift any part of his body
from the mat.
     He felt them unlacing his boots, and they slid them off,
followed by his kneepads.  Ava asked, "How do you feel?"
     "B-bad," he groaned.  "Real bad."
     "Don't worry," she said.  "You won't be going anywhere for a
while."
     After what he'd just gone through, and the humiliation borne
from it, Tom wished they'd dump him by the side of the road,
rather than keep him around.  If they had some strange snuff
climax planned, he was helpless to prevent it, and hoped that his
corpse would be identifiable if it washed ashore.
     Ava crawled over him, and sat across his stomach, still
tingling with arousal.  Anna reached to behind Ava's top, and
unclasped it; it dropped away, revealing her perfect breasts.
"I'll admit that I called you here for more than athletic
purposes, Tom," she said, sliding her hands over the warm skin of
his ribs and chest.  She lowered over him, and pressed the stiff
points of her nipples against his pectorals.  "I've wanted you at
my mercy since I first saw you wrestle.  You didn't win any pins,
but you do get the consolation prize."  Her lips met his warmly,
passionately, her tongue working into his mouth.  The kiss
lingered for some moments, before she parted.
     They pulled away his trunks, then slowly, sensuously removed
their clothing.  In spite of his fatigue and exhaustion, he was
no less overwhelmed by the sight of them.  They crawled to where
he lay, and stroked and fondled him, their lips, hands, and
bodies sliding over him and eliciting instant response.
     Working in tandem, Ava and Anna used Tom in every
conceivable way, losing all control in their passions.  They
enjoyed their union for long hours, alternating between tender
caresses and erotic frenzy, leaving him coated with sweat and
their fluids.  Satisfied and exhausted, they carried Tom from the
ring, to molest and caress him in the hot tub.  They concluded
the evening by depositing him in a guest bedroom, where they
dropped onto him and fell to sleep.

     He awoke to find Ava atop him, riding his post-sleep
erection.  She snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him.
"Good morning," she said.
     Tom returned her embrace.  It was good, he decided, to be
screwed awake by a beautiful woman.  "Where's Anna?"
     "She's making us breakfast.  And she's getting an icepack
for your knee, to prevent any swelling."
     "Better make that an ice tub.  I'm gonna need total-body
therapy."
     Ava squealed and bit his shoulder, muffling her cries.
Changing her rhythm, she said, "Don't worry.  I know I was a
little rough, but Anna and I will pamper you back to good health.
We'll subject you to massages...hot tubs...group sex...and
anything else we think you'll need."
      He smiled, and tightened his arms around her.  He wasn't
much into hurt/comfort relationships, but in this case, he'd make
an exception.  "Ava...that was the craziest night of my life."
     "I hope I didn't discourage you from continuing.  You're a
talented wrestler."
     "Discouraged?  Hell, I'm thrilled.  It's not often I run
into girls like you two.  You're special."  They kissed again.
"Y'know, if I'd won any money, I know what I'd've spent it on."
     "What?"
     "You."
     She looked genuinely touched by the statement.  "Even after
what I did?"
     "Hell, yes.  I'll get over my bruises, and like I said,
you're special.  Not to mention enigmatic, beautiful...and
loaded.  What more can a man ask for?"
     "Since you put it that way...."
     As their rhythm continued, he nibbled the nape of her neck,
prompting her to scream and buck.  He took some time to locate
her pleasure buttons--her earlobes and the small of her back
among them--and, having done so, played her like an instrument.
As he brought her successive multiple orgasms, he thought it was
interesting that someone so dominant in the ring was so
manipulable in bed.
     Between peaks, Tom asked, "Have you thought about going
pro?"
     She nodded.  "That's one reason I brought you here.  I
wanted to see if I could cut it."
     "I'm glad you mentioned that."  He rolled atop her, and
pushed her right leg up and over, altering his angle of entry.
Her cries began again, in earnest.  "You see, I've got a little
proposition of my own."
     Anna came in, carrying a tray of pancakes, eggs, and juice.
"Breakfast is served--"  Noticing them hard at work, she put the
tray aside and began to unzip her servant's costume.  "Hey, save
some for me, willya?"

     "Y'know, this is gonna pack 'em in.  A championship tag team
match--and a woman on one team."  Leonard Harris checked Tom's
and Ava's signatures, and shook his head.  "Hell, they'll be
beatin' down the doors."
     "Just make sure the Marauders show," said Tom, tapping the
man's desk.  "I don't want to miss this opportunity."
     "Don't worry, they'll be there.  I suspect they'll get a
kick out of beatin' up a woman.  They aren't known for bein'
especially sensitive."
     "Trust me, Mr. Harris," said Ava.  "I don't require any
special treatment.  I'll give as good as I get."
     "Better," said Tom.

     "Y'know," he said, as they walked back to the car.  "Anna
really ought to be your partner.  If she's wrestling you to a
standstill, then you'd be perfect together."
     "Trust me, I won't let her stand on the sidelines.  But I'm
looking forward to being your partner, rather than your
adversary."
     "That's good.  I'm not sure I'm paid up on my health
insurance."  She pulled him close, and they kissed again.  "Now
whaddaya say we go study some tapes?  I've got a lot of Marauders
footage in my library."
     "Later.  Right now, I want to bring you back home and pin
you again.  Only this time, I think I'll just bring you straight
to bed."
     "Thank God."

                        More to follow....

(The events and characters depicted in this story are copyright
1993 Mike Shoemaker, all rights reserved)

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