Stacie's Legs II- A true mixed wrestling sequel and much more



Please send me your comments ccbdin@hotmail.com

Dedicated to those who responded to my last story....

I wrote Stacies's Legs Part I less than a week ago. My motivation for
writing was simple. I'd been carrying around the events of that night
for the last two years; still thinking about it, still fantasizing about
it, still dealing with how it changed me, but never letting it leave the
confines of my head. Secrets are not good. They eat at you inside-out.
They age you. Hence, I wrote. It felt great. There was never supposed to
be a sequel, but the flood gates have opened. I'm dropping off my
baggage, lightening my load, and just maybe I will make peace with my
memories of Stacie.

I have no interest in writing fiction. I have however changed names.

If you haven't read Part I yet - you might want to start there.

A few days after our first encounter, we began seeing each other
exclusively. For several months we dated without any mention of our first
date. I was still dealing with that strange sensation of ecstasy I
derived from the punishment she had dished out. I was into neither S+M or
mixed wrestling. I thought it would be impossible to be physically
controlled by a women in such a way, and it was the last thing that I
thought I wanted. I chalked it up to sexual experimentation and buried it
away. Occasionally, she would make me squirm with a subtle reference
among friends or family followed by a glance and a devilish smirk;
otherwise she let it be. Our relationship was perfectly normal - in fact
it was great.

On our anniversary, we decided to take a week-long ski vacation to
Colorado. After about two minutes on the slopes, it became evident that
she was the much better skier. Initially, she would ski ahead and then
wait for me to catch up. She traversed uphill to me when I fell, helped
me up, and would always ask me if I were okay. We had great conversation
on the lifts, and the nights we shared at the lodge were incredible. As
the days went on, she would ski ahead further and wait for me less often
- usually at the bottom of the run. I was getting disgruntled. It had
been four consecutive days of feeling like a weight around someone's
ankle - spending everyday being athletically outclassed by my girlfriend
- watching her expertly carve her way down the trails looking for speed
and air as I fought the snow and the lactic burning in my legs -
multiplied by the memories of her legs crushing my body into complete
submission a few months prior. "Thank God this is our last night," I
thought to myself.

On one of our last lift rides we discussed fantasies. At that point in my
life, sex was the fulfillment of fantasy, so she told me one of hers:
Apparently, once during un-protected sex, I pulled out before climax and
"finished the job" myself. She said that she couldn't see me do it, but
she definitely wanted to. After a week of being completely inept, in the
shadows of my first date pummeling, my self-esteem was far to damaged to
be agreeable. At this point the last thing that I wanted to do was to
masturbate for her. The only thing I wanted was to regain some power in
the relationship. I wanted to re-gain my self-respect. I wanted to put an
end to her little innuendoes. I wanted to beat her at something -
something physical, something that would be definite. I was ready to
wrestle her again.

She refused. "Why would I put up my title when I have nothing to gain,"
she said.

"Title? What title? And what do you want to gain?" I asked fearing she
wouldn't give me a chance to beat her.

"I just told you what I wanted and you refused," she said.

I knew what she was talking about. "You're on I said."

We agreed to have our match as soon as we got back to our room and had
taken showers. She spent the rest of the last day taunting me, cutting in
front of me on the slopes, and being a general bitch. I didn't care- it
was just fueling my fire. I imagined forcing a submission from her, and
then not releasing the hold. I wanted her to beg the way I did last time-
I could not wait. The anticipation was like heroin with focus.

We returned to the lodge and she showered first while I built the fire.
After what felt like an eternity, she stepped out of the bathroom with a
towel wrapped around her waist. From the top of the towel her sides
tapered in to her narrow midsection. Her breasts stood proud and perfect.
The red and yellow hues from the fireplace bathed her glistening
statuesque body with orange tones and small shadows defining her abs, her
arms, her shoulders. Her wet, long, brown hair was combed straight back.
I was in awe. I couldn't remember why I wanted to hurt her - I just
wanted to touch her.

"We don't have to do this," I said.

"Yes we do," she smiled. "Take your shower."

I showered quickly with the bare-chested picture of my gorgeous
girlfriend emblazon in my mind. I wrapped a towel around my waste and
went into the bedroom to find some underwear. Stacie stood in front of
the mirror naked, pulling her back into her usual ponytail. I shook my
head "Why do you want to do this," I stated as I turned by back to her
and reached into my travel bag. There was no reply - just a pause of
silence. As I started to look behind me I felt her arm wrap around my
neck pulling me down to the floor on top of her in the middle of the
room. We hit the ground with a thud. Stacie sandwiched between the thick
lodge carpeting and her shocked boyfriend. I grabbed at the arm across my
throat.

"Your choking me," I shrieked as I laid sprawled on my back across her
body, the back of my neck tight against her chest.

"If I were choking you, you wouldn't be able to breathe, honey," she
said through clenched teeth. She was right - I could breathe fine. Her
forearm wasn't on my windpipe, but rather across the side of my neck.
She applied pressure and I instantly felt feint. The blood pressure in my
face was extraordinary and my vision blurred through tears and what must
have been a lack of oxygen. I continued to claw at her arms when I felt
the familiar feeling of Stacie's legs around my body. I looked straight
ahead at the ceiling and gasped audibly for I knew what was coming next.
Stacie leaned her head back on the thick brown carpet, her boyfriend's
body struggling desperately against her arms, and locked her feet in
front of me. There was no subtle increases in pressure - her thighs tore
into my sides. She made a "grrrrrr!!!" sound with every blast of
pressure, my body trembling in her grip. The pain was worse that the last
time when I had torn a muscle in my rib cage. I thought about giving-in,
but imagined losing again; having to masturbate for a girl because she
beat me up, having to endure her under-the-table comments, having to deal
with myself. With that she snarled and straightened her legs. I gazed
ahead at the ceiling helpless. I involuntarily began to cry.

The room was an inferno. By now the fireplace was burning bright and the
thermostat was still set on high from when we had first entered the room.
I was drenched in my sweat and hers. I was caught in what I later learned
was a sleeper hold as well as a body scissors - all from a
semi-professional female athlete. I flirted with unconsciousness. Knowing
the added humiliation that my surrender would solicit I hung on. Giving
up completely on breaking the sleeper hold, I was able to wedge my hands
between her rock hard legs and my sides. I continued to slide my arms
down into the hold relieving the pressure on my mangled sides. Though my
arms were held tight at my sides by her legs, my ribs were saved.

"Brilliant honey," she said sarcastically as she simply pushed me down
and slid the scissors hold up over my shoulders, and around my neck. I
panicked, "No, Please-------" and was cut short as she squeezed my head
and rolled to her side, propping herself up on her elbow. I was an idiot
to wrestle Stacie again, but I wasn't going to get killed over it. "I
GIVE, I GIVE, I GIVE", I cried out my voice muffled in her thighs.

"Then get to work," she purred.

In a last ditch effort, I tried to pull my head out from her grip - bad
idea. She caught my neck and punished me severely, straightening her legs
- crushing my neck and jaw. This was not the hold of wrestling foreplay.
This is not the stuff you see when you look at photos on web site. I was
terror-stricken, nauseous, the room must have been 100 degrees and
everything was spinning. Again, I felt the verge of a black-out. Fearing
this, I rambled my plea "PLEASE I GIVE, I GIVE, PLEASE, I GIVE."

"That has nothing to do with it, honey," she replied. My heart sunk. I
knew what I had to do. I reached down between my legs and took hold of
myself. As I began the rhythmic stroking, Stacie eased up on my neck and
adjusted her position to improve her view. I was embarrassed but happy to
have the pressure off. Wrapped in her Stacie's beautiful legs, I was
thankful that she couldn't see my face. As I proceeded, I felt the her
warm signs of excitement on the back of my neck. My pace increased and I
began to reach the final stages of climax. Without warning or apparent
reason, Stacie's legs went straight and hard again. I yelped, stopped
what I was doing, and pawed at her legs. The strength she showed in those
last few moments before I blacked-out was beyond belief. Like a
guillotine, the pain was intense but short-lived as I was rescued by the
euphoria of unconsciousness. My brain swam. My last word was, "why..."

I awoke to the smell of cigarette smoke. I had not seen Stacie smoke
since that first night at my apartment. I was lying spread eagle - flat
on my back. As I looked up at Stacie's nude, man-crushing body she took
a dominant drag off her all-white Marlboro and said, "Now you may finish
the job."

With that I felt an ice-pick sharpness in my brain - a result of her
sleeper and head scissors. My sides were bruised. I had re-torn the same
muscle on my left side. Inhaling hurt my chest and the cigarette smoke
that clouded the room was not helping. I would have taken ten times the
pain however to be out of that room. I felt destroyed. I looked at her
with pleading eyes.

"Now," she said sternly raising her eyebrows and putting the cigarette to
her lips. I was in no position to argue. I turned my head to one side,
shut my eyes, and re-started my masturbation.

"Open your eyes and look at me," she demanded. I did. Then the scariest
part of the entire night happened. I was washed over with the same
stomach-turning feeling of acceptance I had the last night. As I watched
her magnificent body standing in front of the dimming fire, I wanted to
masturbate for her. She deserved it - she was unbeatable, incredible,
perfect. She only broke eye contact with me to watch below for a few
moments, but would always return her gaze. She tilted her head to one
side, put the cigarette to her lips for a drag, and dropped her eyes as I
began to reach my end. As I began to spurt she worked her breast in a
circle with her hand. I exploded and collapsed. She put the cigarette
between her lips, letting it dangle, the smoke billowing to the ceiling
that I had watched during my beating. Without removing the cigarette she
picked up a rumpled shirt that was lying on the fireplace mantle and
threw it to me. Below the shirt was her video camera. She smiled and
spoke around the Marlboro in the corner of her mouth, "Do you want to
watch it now or later - honey."

EPILOGUE -

That video ended up being the reason why we broke up. I couldn't come to
terms with her domminance. I did some really stupid things when we got
home, and now I've lost her. The break-up was bad. I hit her at one
point and she literally kicked my ass. Apparently some domestic abuse in
her family is what caused her to get so damm strong in the first place.
Maybe I'll tell the the break-up story sometime. It has nothing to do
with domination or wrestling though. Just a guy, not knowing how to be a
man, acting like a jerk and thus getting his just desserts. I don't
swear much, but fuck me.

The good news is I've learned something, but I miss her.