The Wager
By Al Harder



Stan gets more than he bargains for when he accepts the wager made by a strong
woman.

Author's note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters in
this story to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

Stan wasn't sure what he'd expected, but this wasn't it. He looked around the
well-furnished room and sipped his club soda. There were several paintings
decorating the walls and a few antiques in a cabinet against one wall.
Definitely not what he'd expected when he'd answered the ad.

Powerful women had long fascinated Stan; one of his fantasies was to wrestle
with someone able to squeeze him unconscious or make him submit. The ad he'd
seen in the morning paper had promised "Private wrestling and fighting
sessions with a skilled, strong woman. I can knock you out! Any interested
parties, female or male should call 555-7777". Not hesitating a moment, Stan
made the call.

"Hello," said a woman with a soft husky voice.

"Did you place an ad in this morning's paper?" Stan asked.

"I did," she replied. "Are you interested?"

"Maybe," he said. "Are you sure you can knock me out?"

She chuckled deep in her throat. "Well, no guarantees, but if you're an
average sized guy I can take you out with no sweat. If you're six-ten and
weigh three hundred pounds, I probably couldn't knock you out but I'd make you
give up."

Stan was impressed by her confidence. "Sounds good," he said. "How much do you
charge?"

"Special introductory rate - one fifty for an hour," she told him.

"That sounds okay with me," Stan said.

"Great! My name's Cindy. Here's my address." Stan wrote it down. "Shall we say
one o'clock?"

"Okay, I'll see you then," Stan said.

"I can't wait," Cindy said sexily, and hung up.

Stan looked across the room at the pretty woman who'd said she could knock him
out multiple times. She was about five-eight and obviously fit, but her arms
and legs to lacked the large muscles he'd hoped for, and she probably didn't
weigh more than one-thirty-five or so. She wasn't exactly beautiful; she
looked like she'd been a tomboy as a kid, the kind who'd played tackle
football with all the boys and held her own without any problems.

Cindy sipped her own drink and seemed amused at Stan's discomfort. Putting her
glass down, she tossed her dark hair back and said, "You're disappointed,
aren't you?"

"Huh? No – well, yeah, a little. I mean, you're not what I'd expect from a
woman who claims she can knock out a guy my size with no sweat."

"Don't let my lack of big muscles fool you," Cindy said with a smile. "I'm
very fit and strong – I work out every day. Besides that, I've got a brown
belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu and I box regularly – regular boxing and
kickboxing. I also used to compete as a submission wrestler on an underground
circuit. I stopped that because none of the other women wanted matches with me
any more." Her smile faded. "What are you, about six feet one or so, around
two hundred pounds?" He nodded. "Well, a guy your size won't be any problem
for me at all," she said confidently. "Besides, even though my muscles aren't
real obvious, I've got 'em, and they're exceptionally hard." Cindy flexed her
arm, and her bicep stretched the tight sleeve of her Lycra top. Stan was
impressed at the tight, hard ball of muscle. "It's fifteen inches flexed,
Stan. And even though I'm not 'cut', my thighs are twenty-five inches of
muscle." She stretched her leg, the thick thighs expanding the black tights
she wore. "So unless you're a lot tougher than you look, or you're some kind
of martial arts superstar, I can knock you out in under five minutes, either
fighting or wrestling."

Stan shook his head. "You're very confident, I'll say that for you. But I'm
still not sure."

Cindy's dark eyes flashed dangerously. "You don't think I can do it, huh? I've
got a proposition for you. If you accept, it'll mean a lot of pain for you and
I'll have to work pretty hard." Cindy leaned forward. "Double or nothing. I
fight you for an hour – actual fighting time; if you're unconscious the clock
doesn't run. If I can't knock you out at least ten times you don't owe me
anything." She smiled viciously and added, "But when I do knock you out ten
times in an hour, you pay me double my fee." She picked up her glass and
leaned back, taking a sip.

Stan thought about it for a few seconds. He had almost five hundred dollars in
his pocket, and her offer was almost too good to be true. "What are the
rules?" he asked.

Cindy's smile reminded Stan of a wolf. "Almost anything goes – wrestling,
punching, kicking. Nothing to the crotch, no biting, scratching, or any stuff
like that. Oh, and if you touch my tits I'll kill you," she added. "The only
thing is, I don't think you'll have a lot of fun. See, to knock you out that
many times, I'll have to be really rough. No playing, no teasing, no slow
squeeze until you go out. I'll have to be brutal. But, if you want me to prove
just how good I am and how easily I can knock you out, that's the only way I
see to do it."

"I'm game," Stan told her. "But don't be surprised if I knock you out once or
twice myself. I boxed in college and I'm pretty tough, if I say so myself."

Cindy looked him up and down. "Sure you are," she said with an insincere
smile. "Baby, you couldn't beat me on your best day and my worst." She stood
up and said, "If you're ready, tough man, come on into the 'game room'."

Stan followed her through a hallway. Cindy unlocked a door at the far end and
motioned for Stan to enter. The room was good sized, about twenty feet square.
The floor was covered with padding; so were the walls up to about six feet.
Stan noticed some dark stains on the canvas and asked what they were. "Blood,"
Cindy said. "Not mine, either." She walked across the room to another door. "I
presume you wore some clothes you don't mind getting messed up under your
street duds. Get ready and do some stretches, if you want. I'll get dressed.
See you in a few, tough man." Cindy disappeared through the door.

Stan first took three hundred dollars out of his wallet and placed it in the
center of the room. He then removed his sneakers and socks, then slid his
jeans down and stepped out of them. He put his clothes in a corner. Wearing a
pair of red athletic shorts and a black t-shirt, he did some stretches to
loosen up. "I'll show her," he said to himself, flexing an impressive bicep of
his own. "Thinks she's real bad, does she? I'm walking out of here with all my
money."

Cindy opened the door and stepped out a few minutes later. She carried a
bottle of water, towel, a small whiteboard and markers, which she hung on the
door, and a kitchen timer that she set to one hour and attached to the board.
She smiled when she saw the pile of cash in the middle of the room. After
picking it up and counting it, she placed it on the floor beneath the
whiteboard.

Stan couldn't take his eyes off her. She was bigger than he'd thought – the
grey jog bra and thong bottoms revealed a hard, sexy body. He revised his
estimate of her weight to one fifty. Her abdomen appeared to be armor plated.
A tattoo of a rose decorated her right ankle, and vines encircled her left
bicep. A sunburst design surrounded her pierced navel. Besides the two-piece
outfit, she wore padded, fingerless black gloves and black kneepads.

Cindy started the timer and turned to face him; she held up her hands, showing
him the gloves. "I hate bruising my knuckles," she told him. "You ready, tough
man? Let's party." She took up a fighting stance, her legs slightly bent, and
bounced a little on the balls of her feet. Her arms were up, protecting her
head. Stan, who had boxed in college, took up a boxing stance. Cindy sneered
at him, and snapped a quick kick that Stan never saw. The ball of her foot
caught him in the belly, right at the navel. The air left his body in a rush
and he folded up, bringing hid head down so Cindy could wrap an arm around it.
Locking in the headlock, she violently threw herself backwards and down,
smashing Stan's head into the padded floor.

"You messed up, tough man," Cindy told him as she rolled him onto his back.
Stan groggily tried to sit up, but Cindy contemptuously pushed him back down
with her foot and knelt across his chest. "If you'd just taken my word for it,
we could've rolled around for a while, I'd have squeezed and teased you and
knocked you out a couple of times, and we both could have enjoyed ourselves."
She brushed her hair back and continued; "Now I'm the only one who's going to
have fun, and you're going to have some serious pain."

Cindy stood up and watched Stan struggle to rise. She dropped a knee into his
gut, removing whatever air remained in his lungs. Stan gasped for breath while
Cindy rose again. This time she dropped an elbow across his chest. Stan tried
to tell her he'd changed his mind, but couldn't speak. Grabbing a handful of
Stan's hair, Cindy yanked him to his feet and shoved him against the wall. She
backhanded him across the face, snapping his head to the side and staggering
him. "Knockout number one coming," she told him. She punched him hard just
below the sternum; Stan's arms and legs jerked spasmodically. With a hand in
his hair Cindy held Stan against the wall. "That was your solar plexus," she
told him. "For the record, if I hit you hard enough there it could kill you."
She slowly drew her right fist back again and then sent it driving forward
into the same spot. Stan's eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness.

When he came to again he was sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall.
There was a single mark on the whiteboard, indicating a knockout. "Welcome
back," Cindy said. "If you look closely, that is if your eyes can focus,
you'll see I still have fifty-six minutes and some seconds to knock you out
nine more times. Ready?"

Stan shook his head to clear it and stumbled to his feet. He could feel a
sharp pain where Cindy had hit him, and his legs were wobbly. "Give me a
minute, please," he said.

Cindy shrugged and said, "Okay by me. The timer doesn't start until you're
ready."

Stan rubbed at his midsection, wincing at the pain. He couldn't understand how
she'd taken him out so fast, but he was determined not to let it happen again.
"Okay, I guess I'm ready," he told her.

"I doubt it," Cindy said with a sneer as she started the timer again, "but
let's go."

Stan tried to stay away from her this time, but Cindy charged in quickly and
wrapped her arms around his waist. With a burst of power she lifted him off
his feet and drove him bodily to the mat. Stan's torso was caught between the
slightly padded floor and her rock hard shoulder; the impact drove the air out
of his lungs again.

Cindy gave Stan no time to recover. She rose to her feet, then leaped up and
dropped a knee into his gut. Stan gagged and nearly lost his lunch. "If you
puke you're cleaning it up," Cindy snarled. She yanked him up by the hair so
he was sitting on the mat. Slipping behind him, she pulled his head high up
between her legs and crossed her ankles. Stan screamed in pain when Cindy
crushed his skull between her tree-trunk thighs. "Shut up you big baby and go
to sleep," Cindy growled. Her face contorted in a grimace of effort, her teeth
gritted, Cindy used her powerful thighs to crush the life out of Stan. At
first he tried to pry her legs apart, but before long his arms slumped
uselessly to the mat as she once again rendered him unconscious.

Cindy held the hold a few more seconds, shaking her hips from side to side to
ensure he was out. When she released the headscissors Stan's head hit the mat
with a thump. She nodded, satisfied, and stopped the timer again, noting that
there were still over fifty-one minutes left in the hour. After putting a
second mark on the board, she sipped a bit of water and thought of various
ways to knock Stan out while she waited for her victim to awaken.

It took a good three minutes before Stan's arms and legs twitched. His eyes
blinked open, and he moaned as the headache Cindy's legs had induced took
effect. He held his head in both hands, hoping to make the pain disappear.
Cindy stood over him and sneered down at him. "You look pathetic. I thought
you were supposed to be a tough guy. You're nothing but a wimp!" She took a
mouthful of water and sprayed it into his face. "Get up, punk! I still need
eight more knockouts."

"I g-give," Stan stammered. "You can have the money."

"Oh no – we've got an agreement. Now you've got me all pumped up and I'm ready
for some serious ass-kickin'. You ain't quitting now!" She walked over and
started the timer again. Stan used the wall to help him to his feet. Cindy
crooked her finger at him. "C'mere, you wimpy little shit," she growled. Stan
tried to stay away from her, but after two knockouts was only able to stumble
away clumsily. Like a big jungle cat, Cindy closed in on him. Stan swung at
her wildly; Cindy ducked and the punch went over her head and spun Stan around
so his back was to her. Cindy wrapped her arms around his waist and lifted him
off his feet.

Stan hadn't thought Cindy was strong enough to lift his two hundred pounds and
hold him like this, but she easily held him off the floor. He reached down and
tried to dislodge her grip. Her forearms felt like wire cables under his hands
and he could not make any impression. Laughing, Cindy heaved him up and
backwards in a perfect German suplex, smashing his head and shoulders into the
thin padding with appalling force.

Stan groaned and held his head as Cindy stood over him like a conquering
Amazon warrior. She pulled him up by his hair until he was sitting, then bent
close and whispered in his ear, "Did I forget to mention I was on my college
wrestling team?" She sat behind him and wrapped her legs around his torso.
"The men's team," she added. "Four years," she went on, locking her ankles and
starting to squeeze. "Didn't lose a match!" she finished, locking her arm
under his chin. "This is a jiu-jitsu strangle technique," she said, entwining
her arms so that his carotid arteries were crushed shut, cutting off the blood
to his brain, but he could still breathe. "You'll be out in a few seconds,"
she promised. Her bicep swelled against the side of his neck, and Stan's
vision grayed, then went black.

Cindy held the hold for less than ten seconds, then released him and turned
the timer off again. She wiped her face with the towel and watched Stan for
signs of life.

Stan's arms and legs twitched a few seconds later. His eyes blinked open.
"Where am I?" he muttered. Then the pain in his head returned and he moaned.

"Ready for knockout number four?" Cindy asked. "I've knocked you out three
times in less than ten minutes actual fighting," she added. "At this rate I
could knock you out almost twenty times in an hour." She started the timer
again and stalked over to where Stan lay.

"Unhh – please, no more," Stan groaned.

"But you wanted this, didn't you? You didn't think I could knock you out at
all. You're pathetic! I'm gonna beat you until your bruises have bruises. Come
on, tough guy, get up!"

Stan tried but couldn't rise past one knee. "Guess I'll have to help you up,"
Cindy said with an evil chuckle, "since you're too weak to stand on your own."
She grabbed one arm and flung him into the wall. Stan hit hard and the wall
held him up – for a moment. Cindy gripped his upper arms, pressing him against
the wall, then slammed a knee into his belly just above the navel.

Stan's knees buckled and he would have fallen except for Cindy's grip.
Stepping back a bit, she drove another knee into his belly; her powerful thigh
muscles powered the blow deep into Stan's gut, crushing his abs and causing
him extreme pain. Stan couldn't breathe. His eyes rolled back in his head even
as Cindy's knee smashed into his belly for a third time. He was already out
from the pain before her knee smashed into his midsection for the fourth time,
bruising and battering his outmatched abdominal muscles. Cindy laughed
scornfully as she let Stan go; he fell face first to the floor and lay there,
gasping for breath, unconscious again. Cindy put her fourth mark on the board
and stopped the timer again. She walked over to Stan and rolled him over with
one foot. Kneeling astride his chest, she lightly slapped his face to help
bring him around.

Stan groaned and his eyes fluttered open. Cindy rose to her feet and started
the timer again. "Come on, wimp, only six more knockouts to go," she told him.
"Or, if I decide to play with you, forty-nine minutes," she added with a
derisive laugh. "Get up and take your punishment," she told him.

Stan tried to scuttle away as Cindy strode confidently over to him. He wound
up against another wall, however, and Cindy quickly closed the distance
between them. She tugged him to his feet and slammed his back against the
wall, then drew back a step. "Put up your dukes," she taunted him. "C'mon, Mr.
Big Time College Boxer, let's box!"

Stan tried, but the beating he'd sustained so far had slowed his reflexes to
such an extent that he couldn't react to Cindy's left jab. Her gloved fist
caught him under the right eye and snapped his head back. "Geez Louise, you're
useless," Cindy said. She looked him up and down, shaking her head. "Did you
win any fights in college?" Her left flicked out again, too fast for Stan to
see, and snapped his head back again. "Or were you the water boy?" Another
left jab to the same place; Cindy could see Stan's cheek starting to swell.
"Tell you what, I'll even tell you what I'm gonna do next. Left jab, left jab,
right cross. Ready?" Thud, thud, crack – all three punches landed crisply. The
jabs were to his right cheek again, the cross snapped his head to the right.
Stan stumbled back against the wall and leaned into it, letting it hold him
up. "Left hook to the ribs, right uppercut," Cindy announced. The hook bruised
Stan's ribs; he bent forward, right into the uppercut that caught him in the
chin and snapped his head straight back. The back of his head thumped against
the wall and he nearly fell, but Cindy jammed her shoulder into his chest and
held him up. It quickly became apparent that she didn't have his welfare at
heart; "Now I'm gonna pound on your belly for a while," she told him. Her arms
worked like pistons as she buried punch after punch into his midsection.
Whatever shielding might have been provided by his abdominal muscles had been
destroyed by Cindy's knee lifts a few minutes before, and her fists wreaked
havoc with his internal organs. Tiring of her sport, Cindy stepped back and
pushed Stan away so he was once again with his back against the wall and she
had some room to work with. "Now I'm gonna finish you off with a right to the
jaw," she announced. "Nighty-night," she added teasingly. Stan tried to get
his arms up to defend himself but Cindy's powerful right smashed through his
pitiful attempt and cracked into the side of his jaw. "Wow, I bet that hurt,"
was the last thing Stan heard before he crashed to the floor, out like a
light.

Cindy stepped back, not even breathing hard, and examined the unconscious man
on her floor. Some blood leaked from a split lip and stained the canvas mat,
which made Cindy smile in satisfaction. She walked over to the board and
chalked up her fifth knockout. After shutting off the timer, and noting that
there were still forty-five minutes of the hour left, Cindy slowly let her
legs slide apart until she sat on the floor in a front split. She leaned her
upper body forward until it rested on the mat and waited for Stan to come
around.

It took almost five minutes this time, and Cindy was beginning to worry, but
then Stan's eyes flickered open and he moaned. "You sound like a cow," Cindy
told him. Effortlessly she levered herself off the mat, holding her spread
legs up and supporting herself with just her arms. She watched Stan as he
tried to focus. "If you like muscles on women, you're missing a great show,"
she told him; her biceps and triceps swelled as she supported all her weight
on her hands. Then Cindy rotated her legs up and back until she was doing a
handstand. She did a graceful back walkover and finished on her feet. Stan
stared at her, trying to shake off the cobwebs. Cindy showed him her gloved
hands again. "Fists of steel, tough man. Like I said, I just wear the gloves
so I don't bruise my knuckles – and with the pounding you got last round I'd
be pretty bruised." She laced her hands behind her head and flexed her biceps,
then did a little bump and grind. "Let's party some more, stud," Cindy
whispered sexily.

Stan tried to rise, clawing his way up the wall. Cindy strolled over and
started the timer. When she turned around Stan had made it to his feet and
stood swaying like a tree in a high wind. He stumbled toward her, determined
to make her work for her money; Cindy sidestepped gracefully and Stan lumbered
past. As he went past her, Cindy smashed a punch into his right kidney.

Stan bent back like a bow. Cindy wrapped her well-developed arm around his
head and jammed a knee into his back, bending him even further backwards. She
adjusted the hold so she put pressure once again on the carotid artery. "This
is a dragon sleeper," she told Stan. "It can be quite effective, either as a
way to knock you out, or just weaken you until you can't continue. Oh, in case
I didn't mention it earlier, I've also been to pro wrestling school. I didn't
like the idea of having matches decided for me, though, so I quit. But I did
learn some interesting techniques. Like this!" She stood up, bringing Stan
with her, then dropped back to one knee, bouncing his spine against her other
knee.

Stan felt as if his back were broken. "Don't worry," Cindy said calmly. "I
know what I'm doing. I don't want to cripple you, just hurt you – then knock
you out again!" Standing back up, Cindy dropped backwards. The first thing to
hit the mat was the back of Stan's head. He immediately went limp as a boned
fish as the impact knocked him unconscious yet again. Cindy stopped the timer
and made the sixth mark on the board. While she waited for Stan to wake up
again she did some exercises to stay loose. Fifty push-ups later Stan rolled
slowly over and pushed himself up to his knees.

"It's about time. Come on, tough man, time to get whupped some more," Cindy
told him.

Stan held the back of his head. "You're not giving me enough time to recover,"
he whined.

Cindy laughed. "I don't want to be here all day," she responded. Her face
turned serious. "Now GET UP before I get pissed." She flexed her tattooed
bicep. "You won't like me when I'm mad," she growled.

Stan started to get to his feet. Cindy turned and started the timer. "FYI,
only thirty-four minutes to go," she said as she turned around—

And Stan hit her with a shoulder tackle that drove her several feet back and
smashed her to the mat. "GOTCHA!" he crowed as he moved up to sit astride her
torso. "Now we'll see how tough you really are," he added as he aimed a punch
at her jaw.

The punch never arrived. He'd surprised her, but her tough abdominal muscles
had protected her from any damage, and she was mad now. Cindy slammed the heel
of her hand under his chin, rattling his teeth and unseating him. She rolled
him to his back and grabbed Stan's t-shirt. Cindy pulled him towards her and
slapped him several times, forehanded and backhanded until his head was loose
on his neck and blood sprayed from his mouth. She stood up, hauling Stan to
his feet for a moment. A kick to the belly doubled him over. Locking his head
between her thighs, Cindy wrapped her arms around Stan's midsection and
wrenched him into the air upside down. She checked to see that his head was
just below her knees, then she dropped to both knees, piledriving him to the
mat. The top of Stan's head hit the mat first, and he was knocked out
instantly. Cindy let him go, kneeling on the mat with his unconscious head
between her legs, and yelled, "I told you you wouldn't like me if I got mad!"
She rose lithely to her feet and contemptuously used her feet to turn him face
up, then stomped his unfeeling belly before turning the timer off. "Thirty-two
minutes and a few seconds – that fall sure didn't take long," she thought.
Glancing down she noticed some of Stan's blood on her chest. Cindy wiped it
off with a finger, then put the finger in her mouth, tasting Stan's blood. She
smiled, knowing it wasn't the last blood he was going to shed.

Stan's eyes flickered and he looked up at Cindy's sleek, muscular body. She
flexed her quads and informed him, "This time I'm gonna knock you out with
just my legs." It took Stan several tries to get to his feet, but Cindy waited
patiently. When he was more or less vertical she started the timer again. Stan
staggered away from her, but she attacked relentlessly. A snap kick landed on
the front of his left thigh. To Stan it felt like she'd taken a full swing
with a baseball bat and hit him in the leg. His muscle spasmed and he cried
out in pain. Cindy's next kick landed on the outside of his right thigh, and
Stan literally didn't have a leg to stand on. Spinning around gracefully,
Cindy's right foot smashed into his jaw and sent him crashing back into the
padded wall again. Stan bounced off right into a jump kick that caught him
under the chin and sent him to dreamland again. Standing over him, a smile on
her face, Cindy just said, "Eight." She shut off the timer – still with thirty
minutes plus to run – and placed another mark on the board.

Blood now dripped from Stan's mouth in a steady stream. Cindy took a sip of
water and swallowed, then took another mouthful and sprayed it into Stan's
face. He moaned and tried to sit up. Blood mixed with the water on his face
and dripped onto the floor as he got to his hands and knees. Cindy strolled
over and started the timer again, saying, "I can take my time with the last
two knockouts – I think I'll have some fun."

Cindy kicked Stan's hands out from under him and he dropped face-first to the
floor. She then straddled him and squatted down. Cindy pulled Stan's arms up
so they were atop her thighs, then clasped her hands under his chin and hauled
back slowly. "In case you're curious, this hold is called a camel clutch,"
Cindy told him. "I don't think I can knock you out with it, but it hurts a
lot, doesn't it?"

Stan was being bent in half backwards; he couldn't use his arms to relieve the
pressure because Cindy's thighs had them trapped. Cindy pulled steadily back
on Stan's chin. She watched as her biceps swelled to their full size. She was
proud of those guns – she'd worked hard for them. The vine encircling her left
bicep stretched until it seemed as if it would break. Stan was kicking his
legs as the pain tore at his spine; he tried to submit again but couldn't get
the words out. All he could do was grunt and moan in pain.

"This isn't bad," Cindy said, "but I bet I can cause some more pain if I
squeeze your jaw a little." She flexed her sinewy forearms, compressing Stan's
jaw between them. The pain was too much for Stan and he began to cry. Tears
poured from his eyes and rolled down his face as Cindy cruelly wrenched his
head back some more.

Finally tiring of her sport. Cindy released Stan's chin and his head bounced
off the mat. She rolled him to his back with a foot and laughed. "I thought
you were a tough guy," she taunted. "Are you crying? There's no crying in
wrestling," she told him with a sneer. All he could do was sob in agony as his
pitiless torturer laughed at him. "Get up," she snarled, pulling him up by the
hair. Cindy slipped one arm between his legs and the other over a shoulder.
With a grunt of effort she lifted Stan into the air and turned him head down.
She took two running steps across the room, then slammed him hard to the mat
and followed him down in a perfect power slam. Stan was caught between the
lightly padded floor and her rock-hard body. Cindy stood up again and glared
down at him. "Come on, get up BOY!" she hollered.

Stan's battered body twitched but he couldn't even roll over. She pulled him
to his knees and locked his head between her legs. "Not another piledriver,"
he thought, and Cindy seemed to read his mind.

"No, not a piledriver this time," she told him. "I'm gonna power bomb you
instead!"She locked her arms around his waist and straightened up, lifting his
entire body off the floor, then she snapped him back down. He folded up like a
jackknife and she used all her considerable power to smash his back and
shoulders to the floor. Stan screamed in agony. "My back, you broke my back,"
he groaned.

"I'm sure it feels that way," Cindy jeered, "but like I already told you, I
know what I'm doing. Your back ain't broken, but you probably won't be able to
straighten up for a couple of days." She glanced at the timer. "Still fifteen
minutes to go and I need two more knockouts. Time to go nighty-night again,"
she told him.

Cindy pulled the beaten man to his knees, then supported him under his arms
and lifted him to his feet. She ducked a bit and got a good grip around him
with her arms, then straightened up and lifted him off his feet in a bear hug.
"Come on, resist," she teased. "I thought you were tough. Show me how tough
you are. Resist. RESIST!" Cindy's arms crushed all remaining defiance, not to
mention the air, from Stan's limp body. She held him up easily, her muscular
legs supporting them both, her sleek, powerful arms squeezing the life out of
his battered body. Stan tried to pry himself loose at first, putting his hands
on the round, hard boulders of her deltoids, but it was useless and they both
knew it. Unable to breathe, Stan began to gray out again.

"This is how an anaconda kills," she whispered. "They don't crush their prey
to death. They just squeeze and squeeze so the prey can't breathe. The prey
eventually suffocates. Bet you didn't know that." She increased the pressure
of her encircling arms and felt another puff of air leave Stan's lungs.
"Almost out now," she said. She shook him; Stan's arms and legs hung
lifelessly. After five minutes in the bear hug Stan went totally limp, his
body seeming to wilt in her deadly embrace. Smiling in total satisfaction, she
laid him down almost gently and checked his pulse. It was weak but still
there. Then she stopped the timer and took a deep breath herself. "Mmmmm, that
felt good," she murmured as she stretched her arms over her head.

It took almost a hundred sit-ups before Stan moaned and tried to roll over.
The calisthenics had left a thin sheen of sweat on Cindy's hard body,
highlighting the hills and valleys of her physique. She noticed Stan beginning
to stir and crawled over to him. "Wake up, tough guy," she whispered in his
ear. "Time for me to finish you off."

Stan couldn't move. His battered body refused to obey his command to get up.
Cindy laughed at his pitiful attempts to roll over. "A little sore, are we?"
she asked mockingly. "Don't worry, the big, bad bitch is almost done with
you."

At that she stood up started the timer again. "All you've gotta do is stay
awake for another ten minutes," she told him. Stan was able to roll over and
get to his hands and knees. "That's it, tough man, get up and take your
punishment."

Cindy walked over and stood so her legs straddled him. She brought her thighs
together and squeezed hard. Stan's arms couldn't hold him up any more, but
Cindy's thick, hard thighs were more than up to the task. She felt his ribs
bending and let up; Stan immediately fell back to the mat.

Cindy rolled Stan over and dragged him over to the wall. Grabbing him under
the arms, Cindy levered him up so he was sitting with his back supported by
the padded canvas. Smiling sweetly, she held her gloved hands up in front of
him. For the first time Stan noticed how large her hands were for someone of
her size. "One of my other hobbies is rock-climbing," she told him. "So, I've
got to have a pretty good grip, wouldn't you say?" Flexing her fingers
menacingly, she continued, "Of course, you being the kind of man who needs to
have things demonstrated to him, I guess I'll have to prove it!" She quickly
clamped her right hand on his face and forehead and squeezed hard, making Stan
squeal in pain. "This hold is called the Iron Claw," Cindy said. "Strong as my
hands are, I might just be able to knock you out from the pain of the hold,
but I'm not going to do that. I just wanted you to experience my grip strength
at least once."

Stan flailed his arms around weakly as it seemed this vicious woman was
actually going to crush his skull with her bare hands – or rather, hand. After
only a few seconds, however, she released him. He slumped to his side, crying
again from the incredible pain Cindy had just inflicted.

The tough brunette now looked at the timer and said, "Only eight minutes left,
and I'm running outta ways to torture you," she said. Pulling him to his feet,
she stooped and pulled Stan across her shoulders, facing down. Carrying Stan's
weight as if it were nothing she strolled to the center of the room. "I do
presses with more than you weigh," she told him. "Only thing is, your body's
so limp now you'd collapse on me if I tried to press you overhead. So I guess
I'll do some squats." She bent her knees and then rose again effortlessly.
"You just can't give me a good workout, even if I use you as a barbell," she
complained as she squatted him several times. "Put your hand on my thigh. DO
IT!" she added when he was slow to comply. "Feel my muscles as I squat your
useless body." The muscle under Stan's hand grew large and rock-hard as Cindy
continued her exercise. "Imagine how big and hard they get when I'm lifting
some serious weight," she told him.

With Stan still draped across her broad shoulders Cindy walked over to the
timer. "See that? I've still got five minutes to knock you out again." She
straightened her arms and tossed him over her head to the floor. The impact
left Stan feeling even more dazed than before. Cindy rolled him over onto his
back with a foot, then sat down behind his head. She placed her feet on either
side of his neck. "Let's see if this does the trick," she said. Pressing
lightly against his neck, she told him, "The strangle I used earlier cut off
the blood to your brain; I'm gonna try to do it with my feet this time." Cindy
flexed her thighs and calves, admiring the size and shape of her quads and
calf muscles. Stan felt no pain this time, just a steady pressure on his neck.
As the blood flow was reduced his vision grayed, then all went black as Cindy,
her teeth gritted, used the unusual hold to knock him out for the tenth time.

When Stan came to he was lying on a sofa wrapped in a blanket. Cindy, fully
dressed in a short-sleeved blouse, mini-skirt, and knee-high black boots was
in a chair facing him.

"H-h-how long was I out?" he rasped.

Cindy smiled. "About twenty minutes," she told him. She came over and helped
him to a sitting position. "Here," she said, handing him a bottle of water,
"you need to rehydrate yourself." Obediently Stan sipped from the bottle.
"Now," Cindy asked, "have we learned anything today?"

"Yeah - if a lady says she can knock you out, believe it," Stan replied.

Cindy chuckled and lightly slapped his cheek. "Good boy," she said. Getting
up, she crossed to the small bar in the corner. Stan admired her lovely,
dangerous legs as she walked. "I suppose," Cindy went on as she opened the
mini fridge, "that you probably won't be a repeat customer."

"I dunno," Stan said. Cindy turned around, a puzzled look on her face. "Well,
maybe my brains are pretty scrambled right now, but I DID ask for it, didn't
I? So I guess it's really my fault I'm sitting here with my bruises, isn't
it?" Cindy smiled and pulled a cold compress out of the small refrigerator and
walked over to hand it to him. Stan pressed it against his swollen cheek and
grimaced. "Anyway, if you don't mind, I think I'd like a more – um – standard
session with you. When I can walk again, of course," he added.

Cindy laughed. "Fine with me - I hate losing paying customers after only one
appointment. You need a ride or anything?"

"Well, I know you're busy, but I really don't feel like I can stand up right
now. Could I sit here for a while?"

Cindy looked at her watch. "What the hell," she said. Walking over to the
phone she quickly dialed a number. "Barb? Cin. Can we make it tomorrow night?
Something's come up. Yeah. Great. Thanks, Barb, I owe you." Hanging up, Cindy
told Stan, "You can stay for a while, tough man. But no funny business."

"Yeah. Right. Like I'd try to force myself on a woman who's just kicked my ass
so I can't even move."

Cindy laughed. "As long as we've got the rules straight. So what do you want
to do?"

"Talk," he told her. "Tell me about yourself."

"Well, I grew up on a farm in - you sure you want to hear this?"

"I'm all ears," he assured her.

"Okay, well, I was always strong, and the work around the farm made me
stronger..."