Stacie's Legs and her fists, knees, and feet Part III "The Final Chapter" Please send comments to "Brian" ccbdin@hotmail.com This is my third and final story about Stacie. Prior to meeting her, I had never heard of mixed wrestling. That first evening with her (described in Part I), was the first erotic feeling of submission that I had ever had. While strange and exciting, it also left me feeling conflicted. I didn't want her to have the complete superiority that she had demonstrated to me that night. She walked a fine line of deserved self-confidence and condescending arrogance. She never spoke of our first night together, but never let me forget it either. She decided when we would go out, where we would go, when we would have sex, she even decided what positions we would be in. I never had a moment of control since the day I met her. Not once did I ever stand up to her. Partially because of the effect her crushing legs had on my psyche (and ribs), and partially due to the problem men generally have thinking straight around beautiful women. You have to understand, Stacie is absolutely gorgeous. She has an effortless Hollywood glamour: Classic oval face, pert nose, bee-stung lips, and sultry feline eyes. Her soft auburn hair billows gently on one shoulder before cascading down her back. This is the kind of girl who has to constantly dress down in order to be taken seriously. Bartenders spill drinks trying to pour for her. Waiters fumble their words. Stacie's incredible femininity makes it very easy to miss her athletic build. When dressed, her rounded shoulders and contoured calves are the only evidence of her female power. Naked, she displayed a look of fierce protein. The contradiction of her cut six-pack abs leading up to her soft full breasts shocked me every time she removed her shirt. I now realize that shock was the first nail in my coffin during both wrestling matches. While on a ski trip, I was forced to struggle with her psychological dominance for an entire week. Being a typical guy, I tried to regain self-esteem through physical means. We wrestled again, and I was beaten far worse than the previous time. To put an exclamation point on her victory, and to make sure I didn't try it again, Stacie forced me to give her a "self-administered tribute". During the masturbation, I gave into my conflicts and accepted my place at her deserved feet. What I didn't realize was that she was video taping it. This is where Part III begins. I realize that this story will not be nearly as erotic as the other two. I thought briefly about spicing this one up, but quickly decided that any fabrications would be a disservice to what actually happened - and a disservice to Stacie. Not that I feel like I owe her anything. Most days I hate Stacie for affixing me with a multitude of fetishes that burrowed themselves into my personality. Mixed wrestling, domination, even sexy female smokers fill my mind to distraction. * * * Only a few days had passed since the video taping. I was getting my full range of motion back, but I was still suffering from the indignity. Once again nothing was ever directly said about what happened. We were having some of Stacie's friends over for a dinner party, an event that I always found terribly tiresome. I would sit quietly and smile like an exchange student while the ladies would drink wine and laugh hysterically . Having polished off two bottles already, the women were particularly festive. As usual, Stacie cooked and I cleaned. I didn't mind the clean-up chores as it gave me a chance to seek sanctuary in the kitchen away from the hollowing women. I did not like any of Stacie's friends. They were always decked in costume jewelry and press-on nails. The combinations of their various designer perfumes made the room smell like a chemical factory explosion. They smoked those long skinny cigarettes. All of them were successful businesswomen like Stacie, and they felt that they were entitled to be as obnoxious as they wanted to because of it. At long last dinner had ended. I was happy to be heading to the kitchen for clean-up duty, when Stacie's particularly abrasive friend Kim turned to me and said "So do you have any interesting stories from you ski trip?" The room became uncomfortably quiet as all eyes turned to me. "What do you mean," I asked, feeling a rush of butterflies to my stomach. "I don't know, did you take any interesting videos." My heart sunk and my throat constricted. I swiveled around and looked at Stacie. She looked straight ahead biting the inside of her cheek trying to resist breaking out in laughter. As I felt the now familiar heat of humiliation, I realized that everyone at the table was also about to erupt. My face beet red, I bypassed the kitchen and headed straight to the living room. I heard an explosion of women's laughter from behind the door as I ejected the tape from her VCR. It occurred to me that not only did she show her friends the tape, but she most likely told every one of them about the physical beatings she doled out to me. I fired the cassette at the wall as if it were responsible. Stacie appeared in the doorway with one hand on her hip, and the other against her chest.. "I'm sorry," she said with mock sincerity as she picked up the cassette case, "but girls talk." For the first time in a long time I had a clear thought. There was no way I was staying in a relationship with this bitch. Her cruel beauty, her bone-crushing legs, her ability to completely manipulate me; I knew that for my own good I had to stay away from this woman - but not without the tape. I grabbed hold of the tape in her hands, but she wouldn't let go. A tug-of-war started; a contest I knew I couldn't win. The thought of her having me on tape, lying spread eagle, beaten-up, while masturbating to her as she casually smoked a cigarette was too much for me. Rage took over. I balled up my right fist behind me as we continued to fight for the tape. As both of her hands were about to gain control of the prize, I threw my right fist at her, cracking her across the jaw. She spun away from me, dropped the tape, and fell to the floor. In an instant, I smashed my heel on top of the cassette several times crushing it thoroughly. With the evidence destroyed, my rage subsided. Stacie had already climbed to her feet. She had a look of astonishment on her face as she gently caressed her jaw with the tips of her fingers. It was a child-like expression of frailty that I had never seen from her before. My body filled with remorse. "Oh honey, I'm so sorry," I said. I extended my arms around her, brought her close, and hugged her. I held her close as her trembling gradually subsided. * * * * * * Months later, I learned that Stacie was an abused child. Her parents eventually separated, but the years she spent getting hit (and I don't know what else) by an abusive father made Stacie the woman that she was. She spent the rest of her adolescence constructing an omnipotent personality: incredible athleticism, gorgeous looks, incredible grades leading to a successful career, as well as a penchant for power over men. My fist seemed to knock her all the way back to that horrible childhood - albeit temporarily. * * * * * * I didn't know any of this as I held her to my chest. I only knew that I felt bad for hitting her, and it felt great having her feeling weak and insecure in my arms. That was to be the last sentimental moment we ever shared. Without warning, her knee blasted up between my legs crushing my balls with a dull thud. I broke the hug, crouched backwards two small steps, and sank to my knees. I remember enduring the distinct feeling that my testicles had been crammed up into my stomach. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. As I looked up at Stacie with pleading eyes, I felt the impact of her shoe beneath my chin. The kick snapped my head back, lifted me off my knees, and sent me headlong into a table in the corner of the room. I was laid out on my chest next to a broken table lamp that I'd brought down during the fall. Though the shot sent me flying, the actual pain was dulled by my shock, as well as the intense pain in my crotch from her knee. I heard the door swing shut and felt relieved that it was all over. I shuddered as her voice rang out from behind me, "If a fight is what you want, that's fine with me." The familiar scent of designer perfume filled the air. Stacie's friends had quietly filed into the living room for some post-dinner entertainment. They stayed pirched near the door, sitting on end tables and leaning against the door frame. From where I laid on the ground, I could see that they were all wearing smiling brightly. Stacie's look of confidence had returned to her face, and I knew that she would be merciless with an audience. Luckily, I was next to the back door. I stood up slowly with searing pain in my testicles, and quickly stumbled out the door to my car. Luck was not on my side. My car was parked in by Kim's red convertible BMW. I stood in disbelief, cursing God as Stacie led the women through the back door to join me in the yard. Being outside the non-smoking house, all of them except Stacie took the opportunity to light up cigarettes. Stacie stood in front of her posse and assumed a fighting stance. I considered running, but I knew that I wasn't faster than her and I feared what she might do to my car. Furthermore, I didn't think I could live with the shame of running from a girl in front of a large group of her female friends. I tried to apologize, but was cut off with a sharp kick to the outside of my left leg. I poured out a plea as she began circling me, snapping kicks targeted just above the side of my leg above the knee. The pain of each shot was minimal but progressive. After five or six shots I realized that my knee was bruised and slightly swollen. She circled me like a lioness. I found that the pain in my leg was making it harder for me to keep her in front, enabling her to stop the quick snap kicks, and to start driving her kicks at her growing black-and-blue target on the side of my weakend leg. She had a look of fierce determination, while I bumbled constantly trying to convince her to stop. Her friends were silent, but the air was saturated with their anticipation. I feared another groin shot. I feared what my knee was beginning to look like. I feared that she might really hurt me this time. I feared Stacie. Stacie's hair was unusually messy, but she remained stunning. Even at this horrible moment, when I had decided that I never wanted to see her again, this moment when she was unceremoniously destroying my knee, I recognized how damm sexy she was. She was dressed like an L.L.Bean model: red cardigan left unbuttoned over a white turtle neck, khaki skirt, black stockings and low heels. She looked great as she continued her methodical attack, carefully chopping me down like a tree. In a final concentrated effort, the toe of her shoe buried itself directly in the side of my leg. It was accompanied by a sick feeling of give. My knee bent inward towards my other leg, collapsing me in front of her. As I fell to both knees, I heard one of the bitches yell from the back porch, "now get 'em!!!" In an instant I knew that my knee was shot. An instant after that, I felt Stacie's hands on the back of my head, lining up my face for her up-coming knee. Her black nylon clad knee slammed into my face, laying me out on my back.. I literally saw the stars that cartoonists draw when someone gets hit by an anvil. The women erupted in cheers for their hero. Stacie kneeled down on my shoulders and smiled down at me triumphantly. "Give up" she demanded. I couldn't give Stacie and her band of merry bitches the pleasure. I tried kicking out with every last bit of strength, almost throwing her off my chest. There was a group gasp from the gallery of women. With gymnast coordination, Stacie quickly regained her balance, again pinning my shoulders under her knees. Her look of smugness was gone. She gathered a handful of shirt in her left hand, and cocked her right fist, holding her position for a moment before raining punches into my face. Like a piston her fist met my face. My head snapped back with every blow before being pulled back forward by my collar in her other hand. The gang of women shouted deliriously. In between punches, I saw her cruel self-satisfied smile through my heavily watered eyes. She may have hit me five times or fifty, but I was out in five. I awoke contorted upside down in a large plastic garbage can in the garage. The smashed video tape accompanied me. My face was a mess and my knee felt damaged. I lied in the garbage can horrified. Not because I was pounded by my girlfriend. Definitely not because our relationship was over. I was horrified to realize my incredible arousal having been beaten, broken, ball-busted, humiliated, and afraid to get out of the garbage can. EPILOG I saw Stacie months later. She said that she felt terrible for everything she had put me through. That is when she told me about her father. I said I forgave her, but I don't. The same way her father messed her up, she messed me up. Only for some stupid reason, it made her work hard becoming strong and powerful, while it affixed me with a fetish for strong and powerful women.....that's fair. That's it. No more stories. New Year's resolution: I will no longer let Stacie rent space in my head. For any of you that liked these three stories - cheer up, I'm sure I will see her this summer. I'll give you an update, but hopefully that will be it.