Diary of a Black Widow II, by Tom Adams

Dear Diary; I killed a man today in a fight to the death. But I'm in a lot of pain.

October 12: Dear Diary; I killed a man today. It was a very bloody fight to the death. You wouldn't believe the money I made. And I loved every second of it. My life is going in a new direction. Don't know where it will lead. There is so much to tell you. It will have to wait . I'm in a lot of pain right now in spite  of the medication the doctor's gave me. They say there's no permanent damage . But I will have to take it easy for a few weeks. Please give  me a few days to rest, to collect my thoughts. And then there is so much I want to tell you. Nancy. 

About a year ago Nancy Anderson did what's called a "make over". Her hair had been died blond. She let it change back to the natural dark brown. Out came the contact lenses making her eyes blue. Now they're the natural very deep brown. Nancy is Hispanic and her mother never did like the "blue eyed blond thing."  Biggest change? Her tits. Implants. A work of art. The cosmetic surgeon is a genius. 

In a lot of women, implants are big but they sag. Not Nancy's. Her chest muscles keep them firm. When she pulls her shoulders back, her tits jut straight out. It's increased her popularity in The Arena in south Atlanta, where women wrestle in the nude. Nancy has been top draw for months. Seldom loses a match. She crushes her opponents with a powerful leg scissors hold. Nancy leans back and closes her eyes as she squeezes the breath out of her opponent. Her large tits and nipples point at the ceiling. The men go wild. Her pay at The Arena has shot to ten thousand dollars a week. She's quit her "day job" as a computer programmer.

Nancy is no fool. In fact she's very smart. She knows that her enormous success is the result of cheating in the matches and her tremendous sex appeal. Her large muscles, especially those in her powerful legs, have an alluring, feminine quality that gives men wet dreams. And her "new" tits have lead to an increase in seating capacity at the very private, very exclusive Arena. Dues have been increased from one thousand to five thousand dollars a year. No one complains.

And don't mess with Nancy's tits. In one match her opponent slapped them. Before the referee and three wrestlers could pull her off, Nancy had sunk her teeth into the other woman's jugular vein. Blood was everywhere. The woman spent a week in the hospital. She's lucky to still be alive. The word is out. "Don't mess with Nancy's tits."

It's 3:00pm on a Friday afternoon and Nancy is sitting in Jim Steven's office at The Arena. He's the manager there and he and Nancy have slowly become good friends.

"Nancy, have you ever noticed that large mirror at the top of the seated area just behind where you enter for the matches?"

"Not really, Jim. I guess it's because that would, as you say, be behind me as I enter for a match. And, of course, my total focus is on the match. Why?"

"Well it's sort of like those sky boxes up at the Georgia Dome where wealthy people watch the Falcons play football as they drink from their private bars, sit in plush seats, have their own rest rooms, that type of thing. That mirror here is what's called two-way, one-way, whatever. Anyway, they can see out, but you can't see in.

"And?"

"And, Nancy, you can't see in because some of the most wealthy and influential people in Atlanta are in there. They don't want to be seen. Can't afford to be seen. Even I don't know who they are. Only the chairman of The Arena knows.

"Get to the point, please," says Nancy as she smiles at him.

"The point is this, Nancy," he says, returning the smile. "One of those men wants to see you fight a male to the death. Don't ask me why. Some of those guys are weird."

"When?"

"Six months from now, Nancy."

"Where, certainly not at The Arena?"

"Of course not, Nancy. It will be at his plantation in south Georgia."

"The payout if I win?"

"Ten million dollars, Nancy. Repeat, Ten million dollars."

"I'll do it Jim on several conditions concerning height and weight. The man can be no taller than me, five feet, two. And no more than two pounds heavier than me. I'm not going to a south Georgia plantation to be killed by a seven foot tall, 350 pound hunk."

There is a long pause as Jim looks into her eyes.

"Nancy, you're about to risk your life and you didn't hesitate a second in making the decision. I'm surprised. Don't you want to think this over?"

"No, Jim. The reason is that I'm completely convinced that nobody, male or female, in my height and weight class can beat me. Nobody!"

There is a look of cold fury and determination in Nancy's eyes that Jim has never seen before.

"Know what, Nancy? I believe you."

Her eyes soften. She flashes her million watt smile and places her hand gently on his arm.

"Thanks, Jim."

"Will you continue your Friday night wrestling matches here at The Arena?"

"Of course, Jim. The best way to stay in shape for the fight of your life is to keep fighting."

And she does keep wrestling other women at the Arena. And cheating. And wining most of the time. And driving men crazy with her large tits and sexy persona. And the women who used to hate her "show boat" ways and illegal tactics when she got in a jam? Now they love her. Reason? Simple. Money. Lots of it. Nancy has insisted that the other women's pay outs go up along with hers.   

It's no longer the little gym where women could pit their bodies against each other in an honest contest of strength and skill. Now it's a carbon copy of women's pro wrestling on TV. A complete fraud. A fake. Deep down most of the men know it. But unlike TV, these women are nude. Their bodies, especially Nancy's drive them into a frenzy of lust. Every match is rehearsed, fixed. Nancy now loses occasionally. This makes the rematch standing room only with every man charged an extra five hundred dollars. No one complains..

And a very rich and prominent man behind the mirror attends every Friday night to stare at Nancy and hate her guts. He's a purist. He remembers what used to be. The honest matches. He despises Nancy for turning The Arena into what it is today. He's convinced she can't beat a man in a no holds bared fight to the death. And he's put up ten million dollars to see her completely humiliated, to watch her die so the Arena will be like it was in the "good old days." And he's a fool. If Nancy dies, The Arena dies. But his hatred has so blinded him he can't see the obvious. Nancy Anderson, you now have only six months to live. Six months and counting. The old fool settles into his plush seat. Someone brings him the usual, scotch and water. He watches Nancy and seethes with hate. 

April 12: Dear Diary; Have increased the morning runs from five to ten miles. And my weight lifting from one hour a day to four. I alternate each session between certain muscle groups. And you wouldn't believe what I have to add strength to my legs. It's custom made and just incredible. I'm going to fight a man to the death in six months. And he will die . More  tomorrow, Nancy.

The extra five miles on the run. The extra time with the weights. To bulk up with larger muscles? Why? The conditions of the fight to the death are that the man has to be her height and no more than 2 pounds heavier. So why bulk up? Why add another thirty pounds of muscle? He can't as long as I don't.

Nancy actually uses weights that are slightly lighter, but with a very high number of repetitions. She wants to lower her body fat. She wants to be a mass of solid steel muscle with veins popping out everywhere when she meets this man. She wants her skin stretched so tight over her muscles it almost vanishes. And she wants a maximum endurance level. She wants to be able to keep going when her body is screaming for her to give up. She expects the fight to be long and bloody. And Nancy expects to win by simply outlasting him. To have that extra one per cent that keeps her body going when his starts to shut down.

There is one exception. Nancy's legs. Her powerful legs. She uses them to win wrestling matches. She uses them to kill men in her web. She will add another five to ten pounds of body weight. All of it in her legs. She does high repetitions to give her legs endurance and then pours on more weight that cuts the reps in half. Her legs are pumped. Her thighs huge. It's nearing the end of weight lifting. The four hours is up. Sweat has been running off her body and forms a pool on the gym floor in the basement of her house. But there is one last exercise.

Nancy looks at the mannequin figure of a nude man sitting on the floor. It's custom made and almost looks like a real person. Inside the rib section of this mannequin are powerful springs, fully padded. There is a meter on the front of the figure starting at zero and running to 100. She wraps her legs around this artificial man's ribs and locks her ankles into a scissors. Nancy leans back. Her large tits jut upward as she starts to squeeze.

She hasn't applied much pressure, but the needle on the meter immediately jumps to 30. The guy who built this device has told her that if she can get the meter to 60, her legs are capable of killing within two minutes. He says the opponent's ability to breathe will shut down within ten seconds. No air left in the lungs. At thirty seconds she will feel ribs begin to shatter. At the one minute mark the chest wall will collapse and internal organs will start to burst. And somewhere before two minutes is up, her opponent's heart will explode. 

Nancy tosses her head back and closes her eyes. The veins in her thighs start to pop out as her muscles turn to steel. She adds pressure until her legs shake with fatigue. She opens her eyes and glances at the meter. 75! She's determined that before she meets this man in deadly combat, the meter will hit 100. And one week before the fight, it does.

October 11: Dear Diary; I'm in a motel just off I-75 in south Georgia. Tomorrow I will fight to the death against a man . Don't worry, Dear Diary. This is not my last entry. I will kill him. I have a rare quality. It's called "persistence." Only one per cent of the people on this planet have it. That's why I get what I want. That's why my body is solid steel. That's why I drove the meter to 100. And it's why I will kill him. Talk to you tomorrow night, Nancy.

Jim, the Arena manager, has accompanied Nancy to the man's plantation. It's noon and unusually hot for mid October. Everyone is sweating. The fighting area is a large grave in a large clearing, deep in the woods. Two people will climb down into it. One person will climb out. The grave is a perfect rectangle, seven feet deep, ten feet long, six feet wide. The bottom and sides are padded with the same type of material found at The Arena. The close confines leave little to no room for maneuvering. The rich man wants it this way. He wants constant combat, almost no break in contact between the two fighters.

"Senorita, your tits are beautiful, magnificent," he says with a smile. "I deeply regret that they will be ripped off your chest."

Jose Sanchez is from Spain. The man who owns the plantation scouted around the world looking for "to the death fighters" in Nancy's height and weight class until he found him. The Spaniard is a veteran of this type of high pay combat. He's already killed six men and three women. His body is similar to Nancy's, his skin stretched tight over solid muscle. His specialty lies in his large arms. He kills with strangle holds or bear hugs.

"And I see you are built like a horse, Senor," replies Nancy smiling back, her Hispanic eyes flashing. "I deeply regret your large dick will be ripped off your body and stuffed in your mouth."

They both laugh at the trade of insults, the futile attempt to psyche their opponent out before the match even begins. A ladder is lowered into the grave.

"Women first, Nancy."

"Thank you, Jose. First one in. Only one out."

He smiles at this last attempt to rattle him and follows her down the ladder into the grave. The ladder is raised and by prearranged agreement Nancy leans against the wall at one end, Jose at the other. 

The rich man's face is covered by a mask. Nancy, Jim, Jose and his attendant were blindfolded in their motel rooms and the blindfolds not taken off until they reached the combat site in the woods. This man is paranoid about his identity.

"Go!," he shouts through his face mask. 

Nancy steps forward and starts to grab Jose by the throat. But he's a little quicker. Before her hands touch him he grabs her tits and starts to yank. Nancy grimaces in pain, quickly grabs him by the dick and starts to yank. He releases his grip. So does she.

"Don't mess with my tits, OK?"

He doesn't respond, but starts to raise both hands. Nancy believes he's about to knock both her arms to her sides and pin them there while dropping his hands to her back and locking his fist at her spine in his deadly bear hug. Her hands come up to keep her arms from being pinned. Instead, he clasp both fist together and sends a pile driver blow into her forehead. It stuns her for a split second, just enough time for him to do exactly what she thought he was going to do in the first place.

The pain on Nancy's back is almost blinding. The pressure against her arms and ribs unreal. This bear hug is how he's killed all nine of his opponents, usually in the opening minutes of the match while he has full strength in his massive arms. Nancy tries to pull her arms free but she can't budge them. Jose usually draws his head back to keep his opponent from trying to use their heads and butt him in the face. But he just can't resist the temptation. Instead he bends his head forward and whispers in Nancy's ear.

"So long my little senorita. And you are so pretty. Your brown hair and eyes and your magnificent tits. It is a shame that I must kill you."

It's a very stupid move. Nancy can't believe it. This fool must think he's dealing with a total amateur. Her head snaps down and her sharp teeth sink into his neck. She can taste his blood. Nancy was aiming for his jugular vein but missed it by less than a quarter of an inch. But she's severed another, smaller vein and the blood starts to flow down his neck and onto his chest. And she starts to yank her head back and forth like a bulldog with her teeth firmly attached deep in his neck.

It stuns him for a second. He doesn't realize yet the damage that she's doing and keeps increasing pressure on her spine. But that second he was stunned gave Nancy time to yank both arms free. She knows she's racing the clock. Her spine is only minutes, maybe less, away from snapping. She grabs his head, keeping it in close and switches her bulldog bite to another area of his neck, again yanking her head back and forth and tearing his flesh. Her teeth come away and she raises her hands, clasp both fist together and sends pile driver blow after blow into the bridge of his nose.

Jose still has enormous pressure in his bear hug, but now he glances around and sees blood slowly making its way down both sides of his chest. Physically, he has more than enough strength left to kill Nancy. His arms are incredibly powerful. But mentally, the sight of his own blood is like a kick in the balls. He relaxes his grip just a little bit for about two seconds. That's all the time she needs to reach behind her, grab two of his fingers and bend them back until they almost break He releases the bear hug. It's a brand new fight, but with two damaged fighters.

The horrible pain at the base of Nancy's spine tells her she has some damaged vertebrae. Another bear hug and I'm dead. And some of her agility is gone. She will not be as fast on her feet. As for Jose? He's very slowly bleeding to death from the neck wounds. And he knows it. I've got to kill her fast so I can get out of this damn hole in the ground and get medical attention. So each fighter is highly vulnerable. And they are fully aware of their opponent's weakness.

They're standing about five feet apart and looking at each other, waiting for their opponent to make the first move. It's certainly not going to be Nancy. She believes her "persistence" philosophy is paying off. She's outlasting him. All she has to do in go into a defensive strategy, stay away from bear hugs and watch him bleed to death. The ball is definitely in his court. If he thinks I'm coming to him, he's nuts. I don't want to get near him. I'd rather just stand here and watch him him bleed.

Jose is no idiot. He quickly realizes she sees the steady flow of blood from his neck. Quickly sees her strategy. It enrages him. He lunges at her. Nancy thinks it's another bear hug coming and braces herself to slip out of that trap. But that's not exactly what he has in mind. Sort of. But not exactly. To her surprise he goes low just before he grabs her and hoist her into the air. His arms are wrapped completely around her at the base of her spine. He tightens the grip with his powerful arms and shakes her back and forth. He believes the pressure on her injured back along with the snapping back and forth will shatter her spinal cord. And with this hold there is no way she can bend low enough to sink her teeth into another part of his neck.

Jose is no idiot. But he's also far from being a genius. There are three things wrong with his strategy. One: this type of hold, instead of putting the main focus at the base of an opponent's spine, spreads it out around half their body. Two: holding Nancy in the air and snapping her back and forth is sapping a lot of his strength that could be going into the hold. Three: and totally fatal. It brings Nancy's powerful legs even with his ribs. In his rush to kill her, he has completely forgotten this is how she wins her wrestling matches, with an unbreakable leg scissors around her opponent's ribs. He has been warned about this repeatedly before the match. But he forgets. On second thought. Maybe he is an idiot.

Nancy's legs go around his ribs. Her ankles lock. The meter immediately shoots to 65. The last breath he will ever draw leaves his lungs. He tries to inhale. Sorry. The meter is on 75. And now he remembers the warnings. Too late he remembers the warnings. He drops his grip and also drops to his knees. He's can't speak, but he's beginning to shake his from side to side as if to say "No, No, Please Nancy. No."

But Nancy can't see him because her eyes are closed. And the first orgasm is hitting her body. She moans loudly. It's the only way she can have an orgasm. By killing a man in a scissors hold. She had believed that maybe she had to be in her web in her house for it to work. She knows now that it works in a hole in the ground in south Georgia. That means it will work anywhere. She will continue to lure men into her web, but she will expand to anywhere she happens to be when she wants sex. When she wants to kill.

The meter hits 100. The appearance of Nancy's legs is changing. The muscles bulge to the extent it stretches her skin to the vanishing point. What's left is enormous, rock hard muscle streaked with veins. The men watching from above are awed. They are speechless. Even the man in the mask. Even her good friend Jim, who has never seen this transformation in the arena.

Another orgasm racks Nancy's body and she moans even louder. Her eyes are still closed. She is laying on the ground with her head thrown back. Her large, firm tits jut straight out from her chest. Her nipples are hard and pointed. She is fully aroused. She can feel Jose's ribs breaking rapidly. His chest wall is collapsing. His internal organs are rupturing. Blood starts to flow from his mouth. It's taken only a few minutes, but now his heart explodes, showering Nancy's body with his blood. He's dead. 

Nancy is in the middle of a powerful orgasm when this happens. The blood pelting her body interrupts it. She is not pleased. You picked a hell of a time to die, you son of a bitch. She's furious and she remembers her threat to Jose before the match. She reaches down, and using both hands, rips his dick from his body and stuffs it in his mouth.

A ladder is lowered for her to climb out of the grave. She walks up to the man with the mask. He hands her a briefcase containing ten million dollars. It's a very large briefcase. Nancy's eyes blaze with fury. The match, the pain in her back, the near death experience with Jose's bear hug, her interrupted orgasm. All this have her in a frenzy.

"You stupid, masked fool. Did you really think anyone could beat me? Did you?"

He does not respond.

"And you hide behind a mask. You are a coward."

While Nancy has been berating the masked man, one of his attendant's has been speaking to Jim. He turns pale as a ghost and actually starts to tremble.

"Nancy, come here. Now!"

She's startled by the command tone in his voice. She walks over to him, carrying the briefcase with the ten million dollars.

"Yes, Jim."

"Nancy. Listen to me. Please do exactly, repeat, exactly as I say and don't ask any questions. I'll tell you more later. But right now you've got to trust me completely. Please. For God's sake, trust me. I was just told the identity of that masked man. He's very rich, obviously. He's very influential. and he's very deadly. The Fulton County District Attorney and the Atlanta Police have been after him for months. I'm confident they will eventually have the necessary evidence and he'll spend the rest of his life in jail, if he can avoid an execution. Nancy, I don't know why that man is toying with you. If he really wanted you dead, you'd be dead within forty eight hours. And his highly paid and skilled assassin would make it look like an accident. Go apologize to him for what you just said."

"Apologize to that creep? Jim, you've got to be kidding."

"God damn it, Nancy trust me. I've got a wife and three kids. Both of us are about two minutes from being shot and dumped on top of Jose before they cover the grave with dirt. Go! Apologize!. Don't think! Just do it!"

Nancy likes to do things her way. But Jim is her best friend in the world. Perhaps her only real friend. And she trust him. Completely. She sets the briefcase down and walks back to the man in the mask.

"Yes, Nancy? Do you have any other insults for a man who just gave you ten million dollars?"

"I just want you to know that I'm sorry and I really mean that. I apologize. But you see, when your back feels like it's on fire. When you've come within an inch of losing your life, your mind can play tricks. Can make you say things you regret later. I deeply appreciate the ten million dollars and hope you accept my apologies."

"Your apology is accepted, Nancy. I still hate you for what you did to The Arena, but in a way I admire you. You don't seem to know the meaning of the word quit. Is that possible, Nancy? To hate and admire at the same time?"

"I don't know," she replies. "I guess that's up to you."

"Nancy, I'd like to see you fight to the death again in six months. Same place. Here at my plantation. This time against a woman."

"Agreed. Same height and weight rules apply. But this time I want twenty million dollars."

"OK, twenty million," he says as he laughs from behind the mask. "See you here in six months. And every Friday from behind the glass."

They shake hands and Nancy walks away. Jim has a lot of explaining to do.

Comments to: blackwidowdiary@aol.com