The Prize
By Klunker100(@yahoo.com)
Part I


A comfortable, after-hours old-boys weekend activity is upended by the 
arrival of a couple of mysterious – and beautiful – strangers. Contains 
violence, graphic sex, lesbianism, and coarse language.

The rabbits knew the routine. The first car -- a red Mercedes SL -- 
would pass by the edge of their field just after the sun was at its 
highest. Right behind it would be a panel van and another Mercedes or 
two. Then, about two hours later, the others would follow. These were the 
stinkers...an eclectic assortment of pick-up trucks, SUVs, hillbilly 
specials, a tiny group of Saabs and Infinitis, and the next-to-last of 
the group (obviously from the farthest points of the city), purple 
Cadillacs and Lincolns with wide white walls and fur-lined rear decks. 
They were all loud and smelly. Therefore, it was a break when the rear 
guard -- the Acuras, Toyotas, Volvos, and mini-vans -- made their 
appearance. This was their clue that they had about four hours to look 
for food -- or whatever it is that jackrabbits do -- before the parade 
came through again. It was a routine that occurred every other Friday 
night.

Sunset cast long shadows over the pick-ups first. It was the 
perfect arrangement: this southern cape on the east coast of Georgia 
darkened real quick and that suited everybody just fine, since nobody 
wanted their face or vehicle to be easily identified. They just wished 
that somebody would do some repairs on the parking lot; but promoters of 
shady events aren't likely to sink a lot of long green on a facility they 
use a couple of dozen times a year – without the owner's knowledge or 
permission. Besides, if the facilities on this secluded patch of ground 
were good enough for the Navy before they pulled out their top-secret 
intelligence-gathering facility five years ago, it was good enough for 
them. It had everything they needed... some office space, a small arena; 
and on the other side of the arena was an infirmary where men who left 
that arena could be patched up by doctors willing to make a quick 
buck...no taxes, no questions, no answers, and no liability.

Smoke was beginning to gather in the arena as the crowd finished 
filing in. The pre-politically correct Navy was big on the manly arts and 
this aging coliseum fit the promoters' needs just right. Bets were placed 
in the main hall while gladiators warmed up in the locker rooms beyond 
the corridors. With hokey-sounding aliases like "Farmer," "King Schlong," 
"Slim Jim," "Dark Anger," "Ira the Terrible," and "Blood-eye" they came 
first and foremost to prove their manhood in an unappreciative 
world...prizefighting, rassling, martial arts with unpronounceable 
names...you name it and you saw it. And they came secondarily to make a 
quick buck and spend some time with a woman they otherwise couldn't 
afford on their best payday.

The Toyotas were just pulling up as the first set of fighters 
entered the ring. As cheers went up on the inside, out from their cars 
stepped hairdressers, nurses, teachers, housewives, and pampered 
divorcees from 20 to 40 years old who had three things in common: they 
were drop-dead gorgeous, they liked the bundle of easy-to-make tax-free 
money that accompanied the illegal no-holds-barred fights that nobody 
ever talked about back in town, and tonight they could step out of the 
hum-drum lives they led for the last 13-1/2 days and take on the exciting 
and naughty roles of ring girls and 'prize bitches'. Off came the 
business skirts and on went the bustiers and bikinis. No husband ever 
questioned a wife who said she was going to a candle party and a salad 
bar afterwards. And no wife wanted to accompany her husband if he said he 
was going to a poker game as he walked out the door carrying a box of the 
smelliest cigars under his arm. It was the perfect arrangement. (And yes, 
from time to time a husband and wife would run into each other...and 
other times they just avoided eye contact!)

Cheers went up from the arena in cycles. As the women approached 
the main room, they could see in their minds' eyes what was happening to 
the poor souls on the receiving end of the blows. Nobody ever had to 
screw the loser of a match...it wouldn't have mattered anyway since 
nobody who left that ring on the short end was in any shape to have a 
roll in the hay. But they put on their best smiles and thought of the 
money they'd have in their pockets in a couple of hours; and the 'prizes' 
steeled themselves to be ravaged by conquerors, whose virility was 
increased by the rush that came with victory. A win-win arrangement if 
ever there was one.

One of the evening's 'prizes' was Nicole, a 30-year-old blonde who 
worked as a legal secretary. Out of the corner of her eye she could see 
that the winner of the first match was being directed towards what used 
to be the visiting officers' quarters -- and her co-worker, Donna. It was 
the girls' responsibility to make the rooms as attractive and comfortable 
as they could; the promoter gave them an allowance for this and just 
wanted results -- the best would keep coming back and bringing more money 
with them. Again, a win-win proposition.

A few minutes later, the winner of the first match, known in the 
circles as 'Carver', was with beautiful Donna, who began by massaging his 
aching back muscles. Carver's head was still living the match while his 
body was a little too sore to respond to the voluptuous brunette's gentle 
touch. It wasn't long before he came to his senses. Thirty minutes later, 
another satisfied customer walked out with a fist full of cash and a 
smile on his face...all part of the routine -– so far. 

Promoter Manny Dawkins was a firm believer in equality. He would 
let men of any race -- black, white, Hispanic, Asian, American Indian or 
whatever -- step in his ring and beat the shit out of each other because 
to him they were all the same: a source of green. Whatever shortfall he 
came up with on the odds he easily made up on five-dollar bottles of beer 
and ten dollar cups of Jack Daniels. Tonight, his egalitarian ways would 
be put to the test.

In all the usual commotion of the evening Manny had failed to 
notice a beat-up brown Jeep parked in a far corner of the lot. A lone 
figure stepped out of that Jeep, unobtrusively entered the building, then 
quietly came out of the shadows and stepped in the office. The creaking 
of the door startled Manny and the guard.

"I'm here to fight."

The voice was deep but uncommon. Manny stood up and pointed his 
desk light at the intruder. He was surprised to see a black woman in her 
mid-30s, tall and stout, dressed in a long cloak.

"Huh?" he replied.

"I said, I'm here to fight."

 "Look, honey, the other girls are already out there. Maybe one of 
them can let you do the cards tonight. But you gotta get here earlier 
next time, okay?"

The mysterious woman stepped forward and insisted, "Look, I'm not 
here to wiggle my tushy, I came here to fight."

"Are you kidding? Those apes can rip you to ribbons! We got some 
rough trade out there. Why don't you just go back home and forget this 
nonsense."

Trying to hold back his laughter, Manny's bodyguard, an anthropoid 
of about 6 feet tall and veteran of many scars, walked over to the woman, 
took her by the arm, and said, "You heard what the man said, lady. Now 
get the hell out of here." Without warning, she grabbed his hand from her 
elbow, planted it on the desk, and with her other hand slugged him across 
the jaw twice. The first blow dazed him; the second collapsed him. She 
then removed his hand from the desk, twisted it behind his back, used her 
free hand to grab him by the back of his collar, then lifted his feet off 
the ground as she tossed him onto the couch on the other side of the 
room.

Manny was too frightened to reach for his gun. Trembling, he told 
her she could fight the last match of the undercard, which would be in 
about 10 minutes, if the 'Barnyard Brawler' finished off his opponent on 
schedule. The woman smiled and said, "Just point me towards the ring, 
sweetie!"

The two walked towards the arena. Manny stood just out of sight of 
the entrance ramp. When the 'Brawler' finished dispatching his hapless 
opponent, he stuck his head in the portal and got the attention of the 
ring announcer, who stopped and waited for the new instructions. Manny 
walked toward the ring and took over the mike and said, "Guys, we have 
something a little different tonight." He motioned for the woman to 
approach. "We have here," he continued, "a gal who wants to try her hand 
against 'Crusher'. Let's welcome her..."

The crowd of knuckle-draggers both cheered and gasped as the 
unknown woman entered the ring. Manny pushed the microphone to one side 
and asked her, "What's your name, lady?"

"Lisa," she responded. But tonight I guess you can call me 'The 
Black Widowmaker'."

...'The Black Widowmaker'!"

The crowd roared as Lisa removed her wrap. She was wearing a plain 
pink halter top and leotard bottom. She had large muscles but they 
weren't very well defined...she just looked strong, like a farm girl who 
had no brothers to do the hard work. She revved up the audience even more 
by flexing her huge biceps as she warmed up. In the opposite corner, 
'Crusher' stared in disbelief. He had given many a woman 'what-for' in 
his day but never ran into anything like this...either on the streets or 
in the ring. He decided to teach this uppity bitch a lesson.

Crusher's specialty was barfighting. He wore a set of custom-made 
gloves, lest he injure himself and have difficulty assembling fuel 
injectors at the Chrysler plant come Monday morning. He couldn't make it 
in the world of pro boxing because he always telegraphed his punches, 
especially his haymaker. But here it didn't matter because nobody could 
dodge it in time nor could they stand up to it. He wound up, preparing to 
hit the 'Widowmaker' with a right hook, but she easily jerked her head 
away as his fist flew inches from her cheekbone. In the time it took 
Crusher to follow through, she landed a left to his body. Manny had 
managed to dig up a pair of old practice gloves...they were a little big 
and quite worn but apparently no less effective. He staggered and the 
crowd cheered. Crusher turned, snarled, and came at her with both hands 
swinging wildly. Lisa stepped out of the way and tripped him.

"Cheater!" the crowd yelled. "Why don't you try fighting him, 
nigger bitch?!?!" The ring girls looked on in awe. Word had spread to the 
'prize bitches', who quickly came out of their chambers to witness 
history in the making. This match was Nicole's turn to be a 'prize'...she 
wondered what she would do in the event of the unthinkable.

Crusher picked himself up off the ropes while the ref began a 
standing 8-count. Clearly dazed, he tried to mount another attack, which 
Lisa easily blocked. Then she went on the offensive, launching a volley 
of punches to his body. The instant Crusher dropped his elbows to protect 
his hammered ribs the 'Widowmaker' used the opportunity to work his face 
over -- but good. The forming sweat began to glisten off her body, but 
none of the men noticed -- all they saw was their male superiority going 
down for the count. She sneered as her opponent failed to get up. They 
let out with an obliging cheer underneath their anger. Manny quickly 
moved into the ring and said to her, "Maybe you had better beat feet out 
of here." She obliged.

As they walked quickly down the corridor, the shocked promoter 
said, "Shit, I can't believe what I just saw in there! That guy hasn't 
lost a fight in ages! Looks like I owe you his four hundred and twenty-
five dollars," he said as he quickly peeled off the cash from a roll of 
bills tucked in his pocked.

"Thanks," she replied. "Been a pleasure doing business with you. 
Now," she continued, "what about the other 'prize'...?"  

 "Huh?"

"You know...the 'prize bitch'...?"

Shocked, Manny stopped dead in his tracks. "You mean,..."

"Hey, sugar...if I'm gonna win, I want it all!" Manny obligingly 
directed her towards Nicole's room. 

Nicole, unaware of the events of the last 90 seconds, went out a 
different exit, still not knowing what -- if anything -- was expected of 
her under the circumstances. She hoped that by dragging her feet the 
problem would take care of itself. She learned different when she opened 
her door to see Lisa stepping out of the shower, dressed in a terry robe. 
She couldn't contain her shock.

"Hi. You must be Nicole. I'm Lisa. Or next door, I was the 'Black 
Widowmaker'. Take your pick," Lisa said as she chuckled at her own joke. 
She continued to towel her hair like nothing was out of the ordinary. 
Nicole remained frozen in her tracks. "Well, come on in, honey. Don't be 
shy. I'm not gonna hurt you." Nicole -- normally an articulate 
professional -- could only stammer and fumble for words.

"Well, I ... um... wasn't expecting..."

Lisa took over. "Yeah, I know. First, nobody was expecting me to 
kick bubba's ass back there. And you weren't expecting to find me here, 
waiting for you...right?"

"I suppose..."

"Okay. Then we'll do it by the numbers. What's the first thing you 
do when the guy comes out of the shower?"

"I steer him over to the bed and take his robe off."

"All right. I'm on the bed...now...and here's my robe...now. What 
next?" Nicole could only gawk. Lisa's muscles were even more spectacular 
up close than they had been in the harsh lights of the ring. And without 
that halter-top, she could only stare at the champ's large, fleshy 
breasts, which were at least as large as her own. She had never stared at 
another woman like this before.

"Then," Nicole said, in halting tones, "I straddle the guy and 
caress his shoulders, arms and chest." Lisa had a hard time with the 
words although the motions were routine after two years on the payroll.

Lisa reclined and smiled. "Here you go, honey. Now...climb on the 
bus and punch my ticket." Nicole slowly obliged. Although her waist was 
narrow compared to the beefcake she was used to servicing, her muscles 
gave her uncommon girth. She extended her hands but could not bring 
herself to touch the female gladiator. Lisa gently took her hands and 
guided them to her shoulders, where Nicole took over.

"That's nice," said Lisa. "What comes next?"

"I bend over and kiss him." These words were more difficult than 
Nicole could imagine. She had no intention of kissing this woman, but 
before anything more could be said or done Lisa's strong hands were 
behind the 'prize bitch's' head, pulling her and her glossed lips to 
Lisa's. This woman had a grip of iron and Nicole submitted rather than 
try and resist. It wasn't so bad, she thought.

Through pressed lips, Lisa mumbled, "Now what...?"

Between smooches Nicole replied, "The guy usually unzips me."

Lisa had no problem finding the zipper on the back of Nicole's 
bustier. She slowly undid it and Nicole's large breasts swelled, free of 
their confines. She just let the garment fall where it would.

"That is one fine-lookin' set of titties you got there, girl," said 
Lisa. "Ain't no man that I know that wouldn't pop his rod by now. 
Whatchyou do next?"

"I slide down and suck his cock." In the performance of her duties 
Nicole had sucked many a black cock, but the thought of licking a black 
clit -- or any clit for that matter -- was still foreign to her. But 
until three minutes ago, so was kissing another woman.

Lisa once again moved her hands, placing them on top of Nicole's 
shoulders. The sexy blonde knew what was coming next but was too caught 
up to prevent it. She wasn't sure she even wanted to prevent it. Lisa 
didn't have to try too hard to push her 'bitch' down towards her crotch, 
spreading her legs as she did. Nor did she have to push Nicole's head 
inside...she stuck out her tongue and worked it past the vulva. Lisa's 
muscles began to tense from the pleasure. This turned Nicole on even more 
and she moved her tongue in deeper and harder. The 'Black Widowmaker' 
wrapped her legs around Nicole's back and squeezed. Being overpowered by 
another woman like this was getting Nicole hotter than she had ever been 
with a man. She wrapped her hands around Lisa's thighs and began to 
caress the inside of them with her trimmed nails. Lisa was approaching 
orgasm.

Although the rooms were pretty far apart, the other women -- most 
of whom had not yet been with their assigned man -- heard the moaning and 
could only fantasize about what was going on in there. They also knew 
that since the dam had been breeched, others would surely follow. They 
gave it some thought. But whatever they thought about being the 'prize 
bitch' to another woman, they liked the idea of a woman who could beat 
the toughest men in the south.

Before she reached orgasm, Lisa quickly reversed positions and had 
Nicole on her back, her cunt tightly straddling the smaller woman's face. 
Her muscles were now as taut as they could be, and flexed out of joy. 
That, coupled with her erect nipples, turned on Nicole to the point where 
she was reaching orgasm herself.

Lisa finally came, shrieking as she did. But Nicole hadn't 
climaxed. Lisa climbed off the bed and said, "Now you're gonna find out 
why they say 'once you've had black you won't go back'." Nicole leaned 
back, arched her back in anticipation, and looked at the ceiling with a 
blank stare.

Lisa walked over to her purse and pulled out a hip flask. She 
opened it up as she walked back to the sultry legal clerk. She pushed 
aside the dangling bustier and poured a little whisky on each of Nicole's 
nipples. It tingled with a slight sting, making them erect. She began to 
giggle. Lisa put down the flask and grabbed Nicole's tits, massaging them 
hard as she leaned down to lick her nipples. None of the men she had been 
with had ever done this. Those strong hands really knew their way around 
her tits, Nicole thought as she began climbing towards orgasm. Lisa 
worked her nipples with her tongue and teeth until Nicole began to moan. 
On that signal, Lisa quickly ripped her 'bitch's' panties apart with her 
strong hands, then moved to her crotch and began to munch her carpet. 
Nicole writhed in ecstasy until she climaxed.

The two women paused for a couple of minutes without saying another 
word. Nicole stood up and quietly guided Lisa to a nearby chair and sat 
her down. She then climbed on her lap, wrapping her creamy white thighs 
around the black woman's torso, clamped her arms behind Lisa's head, and 
began forcing her tongue down the gladiatrix's mouth. Lisa returned the 
favor, grabbing the white woman's silky yellow hair with one hand and 
holding her tight with the other. Each woman heaved her breasts upon the 
other, pushing their fleshy masses in all directions. Lisa paused for a 
second and said, "Now I see why the brothers like to fuck you bleached-
skinned broads."

Nicole whispered, "No 'brother' ever did to me what you just did."

	There was – despite the illegal nature of the event – a clear-cut 
set of rules understood among the fighters and the girls: quick good-
byes, no last names, no phone numbers, no promises. The 'bitch' and the 
'Widowmaker' mutually agreed to break those rules tonight.