Steve Willoughby stood nervously in the ring, looking at his muscular opponent. He was beginning to regret having answered the ad.
It had seemed like some easy money -- "Wanted: Men and women willing to fight. Company makes mixed fighting video tapes. Boxing, wrestling, martial arts background a plus, but no experience necessary. Top dollar paid. Bonuses possible. Call AmaFlix at 555-9999".
Steve had been out of work for about three months and really needed some money. He was in fairly good shape -- five-eleven, a hundred and sixty-five pounds -- and jogged several miles each day, so his wind was good. He'd seen some of these tapes, not from AmaFlix, and they consisted of a model-type pitty-pattying around the ring for a few rounds, with the guy eventually falling down. Easy money, he figured. So he called the number and was told to come in at ten-thirty.
When he'd walked in the door of the big warehouse, however, he began to have his doubts about how easy a time he'd have. First of all, there was a huge amount of exercise equipment that took up about half the room. A depressed "pit" held barbells and weight machines. There was a regulation ring in the center of the room, surrounded by about four hundred chairs. There were six cameras around the ring, and one guy with a hand-held walking around outside. Inside the ring a Spanish looking guy in athletic shorts and sneakers was wrestling with a redhaired woman wearing a white crop top under a thong-back pelvic leotard trimmed in lace and white knee-high boots. They were being watched by a brown haired woman in a referee's shirt. The wrestlers looked to be about the same height, but the man -- though he looked very fit -- didn't have the muscle size nor definition possessed by the woman.
As Steve watched, the redhead aggressively drove her shoulder into the man's chest, pushing him back into the ropes. Her muscular thighs rippled as she forced him back. The ropes stretched with the pressure. The referee tapped the woman on the shoulder. and suddenly the woman grabbed one of the guy's arms and pulled him off the rope, throwing him across the ring. The man couldn't stop when he hit the opposite ropes and bounced back towards the center of the ring. The woman wrapped her big arms around his waist and wrenched him off his feet, spinning around and driving him down hard to the mat. When the man hit, Steve could hear the loud SMACK of his back against the canvas, then a WHOOSH as the air was driven out of his lungs. The woman quickly twined her sinewy legs around his in a painful looking hold, then she held his shoulders down to the mat. The referee slapped the mat three times, and a bell rung.
The woman got up and had her hand raised by the ref, who said, "The winner of the fall, with a belly-to-belly suplex into a grapevine body press, Darlene Adams!" Darlene offered her hand to help her victim up as the referee added, "Darlene wins the best of five falls match by a score of three to zero!" The guy couldn't stand up yet, even with Darlene's help, so she shrugged and slid under the ropes, heading for a door at the back of the room.
Steve was startled by a soft, husky voice in his ear asking, "May I help you?" He turned to find a tall blonde woman standing next to him. She was quite lovely, dressed in a long blue robe.
"Um -- er -- yeah, maybe," he stammered. "I'm here -- uh -- there was this ad in the paper and I called..."
"Of course," the blonde replied. She looked him up and down, appraisingly. She wore what seemed to be wrestling shoes on her feet, and stood about an inch taller than Steve. He looked up into her deep blue eyes and thought, "Wow! Maybe I can wrestle her."
The blonde held out a large hand and said, "My name is Patricia Daniels. I own AmaFlix. You must be Steve, right?" The two shook hands. Steve was surprised by the strength of Patricia's grip. She watched him, appraisingly as he squeezed back. She smiled a little more broadly and released Steve's hand. "As I recall, in our phone conversation, you indicated you didn't have any training, right?" Steve nodded. "Well, that's no problem. We'll run you through some tests to see what you're best suited for." Taking his arm, she led him toward a door marked "Men". "Change in there, Steve, and see me when you come out."
Patricia went over to the wrestling referee, who was just exiting the ring. "Elaine," she said, "there's a new guy who just came in. He doesn't have any fighting skills yet, but he's in pretty good shape -- legs look strong. Put him through the paces, see what he's got, okay?"
"Sure," Elaine replied, a grin on her face. She was about five-five and had a pug nose and freckles. "Mind if I change first?"
"Go ahead."
Elaine was dressed before Steve, and she went back over to Patricia. "By the way, Pedro might be a problem. He didn't take too well to Darlene beating him."
Patricia smiled. "Well, that's his problem. Darlene can take care of herself -- I know."
Steve came out of the locker room, dressed in black shorts, tee shirt, and white sneakers. His gaze ran across Elaine, thinking, "She's kinda cute." She was in a blue leotard and white tights, with blue wrestling boots. The arms and legs revealed by her costume were packed with firm, hard muscles. She had broad shoulders and a thick chest. Her large breasts sat high and proud on her chest muscles.
Elaine looked Steve up and down, thinking, "He's kinda cute. A little skinny, though."
"This is Elaine," said Patricia. "She's our wrestling coach and head referee." Elaine shook Steve's hand, smiling. "She's going to see if you've got any aptitude for wrestling," went on Patricia. She turned and walked away, tossing a "Good luck" over her shoulder.
Elaine grinned at Steve and asked, "You feel like starting now, Steve?"
"Well, I guess," he said, "but I'd like to loosen up first."
"Sure, take a few minutes and get loose," said Elaine. "The exercise stuff's over there," she added, pointing off to the corner of the room.
Steve spent five minutes stretching, as though he was going for his daily three mile run. Behind him he could hear someone clanking a barbell up and down, grunting from time to time. Turning, he saw Elaine doing barbell curls, lifting the bar with no movement of anything but her arms. Sculptured biceps swelled up and stood out proudly on her arms as she performed a dozen reps while Steve stared, open-mouthed. He was amazed by the enormous girth of her upper arms. Elaine saw him gaping, and smiled a little. With a CLANG, the barbell was dropped to the floor. Elaine flexed her biceps and motioned Steve over. "Sixteen and a half inches," she said with a grin. "Go ahead, feel them if you want."
Steve rested his hand on the mountain that was her right bicep and realized that it was hard as granite. He removed his hand and Elaine started towelling the sweat off her face and arms. He motioned to the barbell and asked, "May I?" She nodded and Steve knelt next to the bar. He saw that Elaine had been curling, for at least twelve reps, ninety-five pounds. Red-faced, he removed fifty pounds from the bar and did ten reps, straining to get the last three done. When he put the bar down, Elaine was watching him with a smile in her eyes.
"You ready now?" she asked with a grin. Steve nodded, and she motioned toward a set of mats against a wall. "We'll use these. They're a little softer than the ring." She led the way. Steve followed, watching the muscles ripple and flex up the backs of her legs. Her muscles were extremely impressive, even through the tights. Steve noticed a small butterfly tattooed on the back of her right shoulder.
Elaine stood on the mat, facing the slender man. "We'll just be doing basic mat wrestling, Steve," she explained. "No drop kicks or anything like that. If I think you've got the ability to step it up, I'll let you know." She tossed the towel aside and crouched down, arms extended toward him. Awkwardly, Steve tried to copy her stance. Elaine moved in quickly, startling him. She reached out before he could react and wrapped her arms around Steve's head. With a quick wrench, she pulled him into a side headlock. Her rock hard bicep ground against one side of Steve's face, while the other side of his face was forced hard against her boob. Steve could feel the steel of her pectoral muscles beneath the softness of her breast as she used her chest to increase the pressure on his trapped skull.
Elaine really knew her business, and she put unbelievable pressure on Steve's trapped head. In seconds, the side of his face went numb, which was more frightening than the pain. He grabbed at her wrists, trying to force her hands apart, but she easily maintained her grip. She moved slightly, thrusting her hip into Steve's side, and he found himself flying through the air. He landed with a SPLAT, flat on his back, Elaine's weight pinning him to the canvas. His face was being crushed into Elaine's chest, making it tough for him to breathe. Her forearm was now across his jaw, and it was just as painful as the bicep had been.
She released his head and spread herself out on top of Steve's body. Her chest pressed into his and she grapevined his legs. Steve found the hold even more painful than it had looked when Darlene had put it on her opponent. Not only was Elaine forcing Steve to do the splits, her legs wrapped around his caused considerable pain in his knees. "You give?" Elaine asked, eyes twinkling. Steve nodded emphatically and she quickly released him and jumped to her feet. She held out a hand and helped me up. "You okay, Steve?" she asked, a little concerned.
"Whew. Yeah, just let me recover for a minute."
"Okay. Let me know when you're ready again."
Steve stretched his legs a bit more to ease the pain in his knees and groin. Rolling his neck around a bit, Steve pronounced himself ready to try again.
"You sure, Steve?" Elaine asked, with a twinkle in her brown eyes. "This is no time to act macho."
He nodded and she came at him again. This time she wrapped those arms he'd admired so much around Steve's waist. He gasped as her brawny limbs squeezed him just under his ribs, forcing the air out of his lungs. Steve couldn't get any breath through the pressure of those arms. With a sudden heave, Elaine flung him to the mat. He desperately sucked air into his burning lungs, while Elaine just stood there, motioning him to get up. Steve slowly got to his feet, winded and shaky.
Her hands flexed menacingly, sending ripples up the sinews of her forearms. Once again she was on Steve before he could react, this time grabbing his right leg and dumping him hard on his back. Steve tried to roll away and get up again, but Elaine leaped on him, her solid shoulder driving into his belly. He scrambled furiously to escape, but she wrapped her huge thighs around his midsection. Her arms imprisoned Steve's head again, pulling his face hard into the valley between her breasts. Incredible pain lanced through his belly as she jolted him with a powerful clench of her legs. Steve gasped in agony as the vise of her legs tightened even more, until he felt as if he were being cut in half. He gasped out a surrender, just barely audible, and Elaine released him immediately.
"Sorry, Steve, I got carried away for a second," she apologized. "Hope I didn't hurt you too badly." Patricia came over.
"Looks like wrestling's not his thing, is it?" she asked. "You looked like you went really easy on him, and you beat him in just about a minute, each time."
"Went easy on me!?" thought Steve. He could hardly believe his ears. If that was Elaine going easy, he didn't ever want to go up against her in a real match.
"Yeah, he's pretty shaky," said Elaine, " but he's got good stamina and decent strength. If you want me to work with him, I could probably have him ready for one of the beginner matches in about two weeks."
"No, not right away. You'll get to work with him in a few days, unless he can't box either."
Elaine looked a little disappointed, but nodded to Patricia and held out her square, strong hand. "See ya later, Steve," she said. "I'm looking forward to working with you again."
Steve was pretty depressed, telling Patricia, "That didn't seem like much of a tryout."
"Don't worry, Steve," she said. "I need to find out fast what you've got the most aptitude for. We need to get some fights on tape, and I can't wait while Elaine trains you as a wrestler. If you can't box, either, then I'll have to make a decision about where you should start. I've found that most guys know a little more about boxing than wrestling, so let's see how you do there."
Patricia led Steve over an area of the big room that had several punching bags, both the big, heavy body bags and the speed bags. Several women were using the bags, and a couple were skipping rope, all under the watchful eyes of a woman with short blonde hair. "Hey, Marge," called Patricia. The blonde came over quickly.
"Marge, this is Steve." Marge nodded at him. "See if he's got any potential."
Marge was about five-seven, and like the other women Steve had seen here today, had broad shoulders and well defined muscles. She was dressed in a tee shirt and shorts. Looking him up and down, Marge said, "You look like a runner. How's your wind?"
"Pretty good. I run three or four miles a day."
"You smoke?"
"Nope." Marge grunted approvingly at that and prodded at his arms and torso.
"Here," she said, tossing him a pair of well padded gloves, "put these on and meet me over on the mat."
Steve donned the laceless gloves, which had an elastic sleeve to hold them on his wrists. Marge, also gloved, was waiting for me on the mat. Marge called to one of three women playing catch with a medicine ball, "Hey, Cherrise, come over here and be timekeeper." A tall black woman tossed the heavy ball to one of the others and hurried over. Marge gave her a stop watch and told her, "Keep it to two minutes at first, we don't want to tire him out today."
Cherrise started the stopwatch and called "Time!" Marge moved easily across the mat, coming after Steve quickly. Her hands were up, ready to punch or block.
Steve copied her stance, thinking back to the few fights he'd had as a kid. Back then he'd just swung wildly until he connected or the other kid did, not trying to block. Steve thought of the boxing I'd seen on TV, and snapped his left out at her face, jabbing to keep her away. "Move your feet, Steve," ordered Marge as she avoided the jab and tapped him lightly in the ribs. "Stationary targets are easy to hit."
He tried to hit her again, but she moved her head to the side and caught him again, this time with a little more force. "Next time it won't be a love tap, Steve," she warned. He moved awkwardly around the mat, trying to stay away from her punches while throwing some of his own. "That's better," she said after he'd sidestepped her punch and hit her with a jab.
"Time!" called Cherrise.
The second round Steve looked a little more comfortable. He landed a few pretty good punches, and Marge told him to throw a combination, a left then a right. They both landed pretty well, and Marge complimented him. In the third round Steve moved more easily around the mat, dodging left and right as Marge came after him. He gained confidence every second he was out there, though it was obvious that Marge was not going all out. Her big arms caught most of the punches he tried to land, but she really didn't try to hit him that often.
In the fourth round, she began to speed things up a bit, forcing Steve to block a couple of pretty good punches, but Marge got some others through. At the end of the fourth round and starting the fifth, Marge was retreating as Steve aggressively went after her. He was panting a bit as the fifth round went on, and near the end Marge really rocked him with a left hook to his side, making him stagger. Before either of them could throw another punch, though, Cherrise called time. Sweat poured down Steve's body, but Marge wasn't even breathing hard.
Marge tapped his shoulder. "Definite potential to be a boxer," she said. "You're not afraid to take a punch, and you're pretty quick. Good stamina, too."
"Thanks," Steve replied, gasping a little. "And thanks for taking it easy on me."
"No problem," she grinned. "I didn't want to scare you off."
Patricia came over. "He looked pretty good," she said. "What do you think?"
"Well, he's pretty green, but I think he'll be okay."
"Good. I want to use him today. One of the other guys got hurt yesterday and can't make it, so we've got Tommie sitting around with no one to fight. She was supposed to wrestle the guy, but says she doesn't care if she boxes or wrestles."
"Wait a minute," Steve said. "You want me to fight today?"
"Yeah, we need to get a match in before four," said Patricia. "That's when the next fight is scheduled, and I hate to waste two hours with no fights being taped."
Marge looked thoughtful. "Well, I guess he can stand up to a bout with Tommie," she said. "As long as he has some training time before his next fight."
Patricia held out her hand. "Steve, I want to sign you to a contract. You'll get two hundred dollars a fight, at first, and we'll pay you fifty dollars for every day you come in to train. If you win any fight, you'll get paid double." Steve thought of the months he'd been without work and said, "Sure, sounds good to me. Where do I sign?"
Patricia led the way to her office, where she produced a preprinted form. Steve filled in his name and address, she filled the dollar amounts in, and asked him to sign. Steve noticed a clause saying, "If I am injured I will not hold my opponent, Patricia Daniels, AmaFlix Inc. or any of its employees at fault." When he asked about that, Patricia said, "We don't want people suing us if they get hurt. After all, Steve, you're going to be fighting. Someone might hurt you, or you might hurt someone. We don't need a lot of legal hassle." Shrugging mentally, Steve signed.
"Good," the beautiful blonde said. "Now, go see Marge. She'll get you ready. I'd like to start in about five minutes.
Marge, now wearing a striped shirt and black slacks, gave Steve a mouthpiece and introduced him to Cherrise, the big black woman who'd been the timekeeper for Steve's sparring match. "Cherrise will be your second," said Marge. "I've got to referee."
Cherrise towered over Steve, her wide shoulders like a cliff at the level of his eyes. "Gimme your hand," she ordered, and taped both his wrists.
"Where're the gloves?" asked Steve.
Cherrise laughed. "Gloves are just for sparring," she said. "We just tape up your wrists so ya don't bust 'em when ya hit something hard, like Tommie's head." She dunked the mouthpiece in a bucket of water and put it into Steve's gaping mouth. "Better get in the ring," she said, turning him around.
Steve climbed up the steps to the ring and Cherrise held the ropes open so he could enter more easily. "Anything else you think I should know?" he mumbled.
"Marge'll tell ya the rules," answered Cherrise.
Steve walked slowly to the center of the ring, Cherrise at his back, massaging his shoulders. She was taking her duties seriously. From the opposite corner walked a pony-tailed blonde woman. She wore a white tank top, tied just under her breasts, and blue trunks. Her thick arms and legs were packed with dense muscle. She stood about five-ten, but everything else about her dwarfed Steve. Her wide, wide shoulders, thickly muscled arms and legs, and rippling abdomen put him to shame.
Marge looked at the camera. "We rolling?" Assured that the camera was rolling, she said, "Okay. This barefisted boxing match will consist of ten three minute rounds. There is no three knockdown rule. Punching below the waist, kicking, thumbing, and biting are grounds for disqualification. If I tell you to break, back up two steps and defend yourselves. In the case of a knockdown, move to a neutral corner. If one contender is down for ten seconds, it is a knockout. You cannot be saved by the bell."
During all this time Steve was staring at the blonde opposite him. Her pale green eyes stared coldly back, as if she was trying to hypnotize him. Under the tight tank top, she flexed her chest muscles. First the right, then the left, then right again, causing her boobs to dance in rhythm. She smiled when she saw Steve notice.
Marge consulted a piece of paper, then continued her announcement. "In the red corner, wearing a black tee shirt and black trunks, standing five feet eleven inches tall and weighing one hundred and sixty-six pounds, Steve Willoughby!" Cherrise poked him in the back and he waved at the handheld camera.
"In the blue corner, wearing a white top with blue shorts, standing five feet nine and a half inches tall and weighing one hundred and eighty pounds, Terrific Tommie Taylor!" The blonde waved and flexed her impressive arms.
"Geez," thought Steve, shocked, "she's got almost fifteen pounds on me. And look at those arms." They looked bigger than Elaine's had when she'd flexed.
"Shake hands and come out fighting!" Tommie reached out and gave Steve's hand a quick squeeze. He got really nervous when she slammed her big right fist into her left palm, pointed at him and then down at the mat. He got the message. She was serious about knocking him out. Tommie glared at Steve, then headed to her corner. Steve returned to his and waited for the bell.
So there he was, nervous sweat pouring off him, about to start his first barefisted boxing match. In her corner, Tommie and her second, the redhead I remembered as having wrestled earlier, Darlene, laughed together. Tommie looked at Steve and menacingly clenched her big hands into fists, causing the sinews in her forearms to bunch and twist, rippling under her skin, then laughed at the expression on his face. He watched, fascinated, as she again made her boobs dance under the tank top, then flexed and relaxed her washboard abdominal muscles.
Cherrise whispered to Steve, "Don't let her get to you, man! She's just tryin' ta psyche you out! Tommie's stamina might not be as good as it should be," added the big woman. "Stay away from her in the early rounds, make her come after you. If she gets inside on you, try to clinch. Whatever you do, don't let her get in close and start throwing her belly punches. She's good at that. She'll tear you apart if she gets inside and you can't tie her up."
"One more thing," Cherrise said as the bell rang. "Hitting her in the head is just as likely to bust your hand as knock her out. Remember that!"
Tommie came out of her corner quickly. Steve moved out cautiously, jabbing nervously at her head. She kept both hands up, guarding her face, her green eyes intent. She casually flicked a left at Steve's head, making him flinch and bring his arms up further. She laughed and circled to Steve's left. Her left fist shot out again and he brought up his arms reflexively. This time Tommie moved in quickly, trying to get inside Steve's guard. Her right hand blurred as she drove a punch at his belly, but he sidestepped just in time. Her left grazed Steve's jaw before he could back out of range, but did no damage.
Steve tried a left-right combination. Tommie blocked the left, but he hit her pretty well in her chiseled abdomen with his right. She didn't seem to notice the punch. Steve knocked her right hand aside as she threw another punch at his jaw, then backed quickly away.
Steve retreated right into the ropes. Tommie smiled when she saw that she'd maneuvered Steve into a position where he couldn't back up any further. Cherrise yelled, "Get out of the ropes, Steve! Tie her up!" Tommie moved in on him aggressively, and slammed a piston like punch hard into his belly.
Steve's knees buckled from the force of that single punch from the muscular dynamo. Desperately he tried to grab her arms and hold on, but she was too strong for him. Tommie then drove her left shoulder into Steve's chest to straighten him up and sent another powerful punch into his weakened stomach. Her big fist, driven by the prodigious might of her sinewy arm, felt like it might go all the way through his body and break his spine. Steve would have fallen if her shoulder weren't holding him up. Unthinking, the man desperately wrapped his arms around her, holding on for dear life.
"Break," called Marge. Tommie tried to step back, but Steve didn't let go. Marge got her arms between them, literally pulling Steve off the woman. "I said break, Steve," Marge warned sternly. Steve stepped back a bit and brought his arms up again. His knees were wobbly and there was a fire in his belly. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take, two hundred dollars a fight or not.
Tommie showed her mouthpiece in a grin. "Whatsa matter, big man? Did I hurt ya?" she taunted. She feinted at Steve's belly, laughing when he cringed and tried to get away. "Ooohh, you're not AFRAID of me, are you?" she laughed.
Steve moved sideways until he could get away from the ropes. He was moving slower than he had at the start of the match. Tommie pursued her victim relentlessly, forcing him to keep retreating. She flicked at Steve with both rights and lefts, tapping him lightly in both the jaw and belly, showing what she could do if she put force behind the blows. Steve knew this was a show for the cameras, but he couldn't help flinching at each punch. He was terrified of this girl's power, and he didn't care who knew it.
The bell rang for the end of round one and Steve staggered to his corner and slumped on his stool. Cherrise put an ice bag on Steve's aching stomach and squirted some water into his mouth. "Spit," she ordered, holding out a bucket. He did, and then took another mouthful of water which he swallowed. "You've gotta keep moving, Steve," Cherrise said. "Don't let her corner you. She loves to bomb to the belly for a while before she knocks guys out. Stick and move, man, like you were doing against Marge."
Steve looked across the ring at his opponent. Tommie was standing in her corner, looking at him and laughing at something Darlene said. She clenched her fists and doubled her arms, showing biceps that resembled nothing less than granite boulders. Steve swallowed hard as Cherrise put his mouthpiece back in and the bell rang for the second round.
Almost before Steve was out of the corner Tommie was on top of him. He frantically moved around the ring, almost running from his laughing tormentress. "I bet this makes a real fine tape," Steve thought. "See the scared man run from the big, bad woman."
Tommie stopped and stood in the center of the ring. She gestured to Steve, saying, "C'mon, mister, is this a fight or a track meet?" Darlene laughed uproariously at that, and even Marge had a grin on her face. "C'mon, take your best shot," she taunted, gesturing at her washboard abdominal muscles.
Steve cautiously approached her, expecting a trick, but she said, "I'll give ya one punch, right there," again pointing at her rippling stomach. He wound up and let her have his best punch, with his legs and back behind it, right in the middle of her belly.
Tommie absorbed the blow without even blinking. She just smiled around the mouthpiece and asked, "Is that the best you can do? You're in more trouble than I thought." Her left flicked out again at Steve's face, bringing his hands up, and she laughed and danced around him. "C'mon, boy, hit me, I dare ya!" she taunted. Furious, Steve tried to hit her, this time going for the jaw, but Tommie flitted around him like a moth, and he couldn't land any punches. Her left jab now was in Steve's face constantly, tapping at his nose and jaw. It didn't hurt him, it was just annoying.
Steve was so frustrated and angry that he got careless. Stepping in, trying to land a blow to her face, he walked right into a sucker punch. Her right fist crashed into his left side with such force he stumbled sideways for five feet until he hit the ropes. Steve felt dizzy and nauseated, and his eyes wouldn't focus. That punch had done some real damage.
Now that he was trapped against the ropes again, Tommie went to work on Steve's face. Cherrise screamed at him to move, and Darlene hollered at Tommie to finish him off. Tommie's punches came fast and hard, snapping Steve's head back and forth. Her left fist smashed into his cheekbone, and her right caught him over the left eye. He felt his face swelling and his vision blurred still further. Tommie's big, rock-hard fists crashed viciously into Steve's head until his knees buckled again. The brutal blonde held him up with her left hand in his chest, showing him the right hand she was going to use to finish him off when the bell rang, ending the second round.
Tommie disdainfully shoved Steve toward his corner. "Next round, boy," she taunted. "You're going down." She laughed as he staggered, holding on to the ropes, back to where Cherrise waited.
Steve slumped on the stool as Cherrise used the ice bag on his face, trying to stop the swelling caused by Tommie's iron hard weapons. When Steve spat into the bucket, the water was pink with blood from a split lip. "Steve, you're in real trouble," she said gravely. Tell me something I don't know, he thought. "If you can, you've got to stay away from her. If she gets close, get into a clinch. Don't give her room to throw a punch." He nodded weakly that he understood, and Cherrise put the mouthpiece back in his bloody mouth and slapped him on the back as the bell rang for the third round.
Tommie stood in her corner, smiling. "You're mine, boy!" she yelled across the ring. She pantomimed that she was going to knock Steve out in this round, so nobody watching the tape could doubt what she intended to do. His belly and side ached, and his face felt like someone had hit him with a two-by-four. Several times.
Steve stumbled out of the corner to meet Tommie. She giggled as he staggered around, trying to stay out of her range. She flicked a left jab at Steve's eyes and he lurched backwards in terror, causing great hilarity for both Darlene and Tommie. She played with him for a minute or so, making him cower in fear from her feinted punches. Sweat dripped into his eyes, making it tough to see. Marge ordered her to "stop fooling around and fight", and Tommie nodded and moved in to finish Steve off.
There was no stopping her advance this time. Tommie was a muscular juggernaut as she pursued Steve relentlessly, smashing her fists into his body with brutal force. One especially vicious punch lifted him completely off his feet and back into the ropes. He rebounded toward her, only to be met with a wicked right hand straight to his chest. Steve fell backwards into the ropes again, and Tommie came after him, her sledgehammer blows crashing into his defenseless body time after time, destroying any resistance he might offer. Steve vaguely heard Darlene yell, "Finish him off, Tommie," and the brawny blonde said, "Say 'good night, Gracie'." Steve never felt the punch that knocked him out, but looking at the tape later he saw that it was a powerful right hand into the side of his jaw that put him down and out.
Steve came to with Marge, Cherrise, Darlene, and Tommie bending over him. Marge was holding a bottle of smelling salts under his nose. Steve felt as if his body had been run over by a truck. Tommie looked relieved when he opened his eyes, and the other three women helped him to his feet.
Marge and Darlene supported Steve while Cherrise put a stool behind his legs and he sat down. Marge held up her hand in front of Steve's eyes. "How many fingers?" she asked.
"Three," he said woozily. One more pass with the smelling salts and his head cleared a little more. Cherrise handed him an ice pack, and he was torn between holding it to his body or his face. The body won out, and Steve pressed the soothing ice against his aching ribs and belly.
Marge looked at Steve and shook her head. "You really did a job on him, Tommie," she said. "You're definitely too good to box beginners anymore. Next match'll be against someone with more experience."
Tommie squatted down in front of Steve. He saw blood on her knuckles, but she was otherwise undamaged. "No hard feelings, I hope," she said, offering her hand. "It was nothing personal. I just wanted to put on a good show for the tape."
Steve shook the proffered hand weakly and mumbled, "No offense taken. You're a hell of a fighter."
"Thanks," smiled Tommie. "Need help getting him back to the trainer's room?" she asked Marge.
"I think Cherrise and I can manage," Marge replied. "You go and shower."
"Okay," Tommie said. "See ya later, Steve." She and Darlene left, and Marge and Cherrise practically had to carry Steve back to the trainer's room.
The AmaFlix Story
Book 1
by Al Harder and Mike Shoemaker
Chapter Two:
Patricia Shows Off
Marge and Cherrise helped Steve through the door to the trainer's room. "Okay if I go back out?" Cherrise asked Marge. "I wanna get in some weight work before I leave."
"Sure, go ahead," Marge replied. See you later." Cherrise stepped in front of Steve and regarded him with both pity and amusement. "Well, you sure got a tough initiation, Steve," she said, shaking her head. "Get some practice in before you try this again." Still shaking her head, she walked out.
Steve looked around the room, still having trouble focusing his eyes -- Tommie's vicious attack had nearly closed one of them. There was a lot of equipment in the room, including an ultrasound machine.
Marge told Steve to lie down. She called toward the back of the room, "Hey, Jules, you here?" A voice called back, and Marge continued, "I've got a new customer for you." She turned back to Steve and said, "Julia's our trainer. She'll set up your general training schedule, and you'd better follow it! Specialized training, with me or Elaine or Akira -- she's the martial arts coach -- will be set up after we've talked to Patricia about you. Akira isn't here today, but I figure she'll evaluate you sometime soon."
A big, Nordic looking woman came out of the back. Her ivory colored hair hung down her back in a thick braid. Lying down, Steve couldn't tell how tall she was, but she was at least a head taller than Marge. Like all the women he'd met that day, Julia had thick, muscular arms, huge shoulders, brawny thighs, and a big, deep chest. She wore a white tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up above the enormous cannonballs of her deltoids, and white shorts which showed the oaken thickness of her thighs. The tee shirt showed signs of straining to cover her breasts. She was deeply tanned with pale blue eyes. Her hands were big and strong looking.
"So. Vhat have ve here, Margie?" she asked in a slightly accented voice.
"A new employee. Patricia was short one man today and made him get in the ring right away." Marge gestured at Steve's face. "You see here the results of not being ready for a fight with Tommie."
Julia grunted. "So, Tommie did this? Goot. The nutrition plan and exercise I have her on is vorking then."
Julia prodded at Steve's face, probing the bruises, and he yelped and tried to move away. "Hey! That hurts!" he protested.
"Ach, don't be such a baby. Vhat is your name?"
"Steve," he replied.
"Vell, Steve, I know it hurts, but I haff to see if anything is broken. I'll stitch up your lip, too. Most of the facial injuries are zuperficial. Cold compresses vill bring the zvelling down in no time. Vhere else does it hurt?"
Steve indicated his belly and ribs. Julia carefully pulled his tee shirt up and shorts down. Steve squirmed with embarrassment. "Relax, Steve. You don't haff anything I haven't zeen before." Julia frowned as she looked at his sore torso. "Margie, please hold Steve's shoulders down." Marge put her big, strong hands on his shoulders, pressing them to the table. "I need to probe your belly a bit, Steve," said Julia. "It'll probably hurt like hell, but I need to find out if anything's really damaged in there."
He gasped and writhed as Julia pushed and prodded at his belly in a competent, professional manner. Steve nearly screamed when she felt his left side, right at the ribs. Julia straightened up and nodded at Marge to let him go. He was sweating from the pain of the examination. "Vell, Tommie zertainly has learned how to hurt men," Julia commented, "at least men who haven't been trained properly yet. I hope you're not going to use her against any more beginners." she commented to Marge.
"No, she'll be fighting the intermediate men for a while," Marge replied. "I hadn't realized just how strong she'd gotten, nor how vicious."
"Tommie vas alvays vicious in the ring, Margie," replied Julia. "Now, though, she's strong enough to be dangerous, and she really doesn't know her own strength." The big blonde turned back to Steve. "I don't think anything's broken, but I'll get X-rays und zee. Nothing else seriously damaged, except maybe your pride, eh?"
Julia busied herself with getting the X-ray equipment ready. Steve looked worried, but Marge reassured him. "Don't worry, Julia's a licensed medical doctor and radiologist, as well as a certified athletic trainer and nutritionist."
Julia came back over and helped Steve to sit up. "Und," she said, eyes twinkling, "I am vun voman you don't vant to fight until you've had a lot more experience."
Julia went into the darkroom to develop the X-rays, and Marge sat in the room talking to Steve, trying to make him feel at home. "You had kind of a rough introduction today, Steve. Sorry about that." She frowned. "If I'd known Tommie was getting that good, I'd have told Patricia to get someone else to fight, wasted time or not."
"I thought you were the boxing coach. How come you didn't know?"
Marge looked uncomfortable. "You're right, I should have known. But I'm supervising boxing training for three dozen women and about fifteen men, besides refereeing the bouts. Sometimes the only chance I have to rate a boxer is in the ring." She patted Steve's arm. "Like I said, sorry. I'll make sure you have a chance to get ready before your next bout. I still think you've got the potential to be a good boxer."
Julia came out of the darkroom holding the dripping X-ray film. "Zo, goot news, Steve," she chuckled. "No breaks, just a nasty bruise. I'll vant to zee you here tomorrow at ten AM to zet up a training schedule und diet for you."
She went to work on Steve's face. Already the cold compresses had reduced the swelling and pain, and he could see out of both eyes now. Julia stitched his split lip and stood back. "Better," she nodded. "Now, get out of here! I vant to zee the match at four, und it's nearly that now." She helped him to sit up again. "Tonight I think a vhirlpool is not a goot idea, tomorrow maybe. Und don't eat too much!" she added, laughing.
Marge helped Steve on with his shorts and shirt. "Why are you sticking around, Marge?" he asked.
"Guilt trip, partly," she admitted. "I hope you'll forgive me for putting in the ring too soon against an opponent as good as Tommie. And, like Julia, I don't want to miss the four o'clock fight"
"No problem about the fight," Steve said, looking into her gray eyes. "I knew what I was getting into." He winced as he stood on the floor. "Just not how much it was going to hurt."
Marge laughed deeply and regarded him with some respect. "That's a great attitude, Steve," she said. "Now, let me show you around a little and you can get dressed."
Marge opened a door leading to the back doors of the men's and women's locker rooms. Indicating a third door, she said, "That's the whirlpool and steam bath. Co-ed. You can wear trunks in there if you want, but most of us don't wear anything." Steve stared at her a moment. "See, Steve, this is a business. All the men and women are Patricia's employees, and she's definitely the boss. The guys are usually a little apprehensive when they start out, just like you, but they come around eventually."
"What about sex?" he asked. "Do the men and women get together?"
Marge smiled a secret little smile. "Sometimes," she said mysteriously.
Steve wondered at that, then asked, "Julia mentioned fighting. Is she one of the women who fight?"
"We all are, including Elaine, Akira, and me, although I don't fight too often. So is Patricia."
"Huh?" he responded cleverly.
Marge looked at her watch. "Come on. The four o'clock match is just starting. You might find this interesting."
When they re-entered the main room, Steve was surprised to see that the chairs surrounding the ring were nearly all full. Women, and a few men, filled the chairs. Julia waved to Marge and indicated a pair of free seats beside her. Steve found himself sitting between Marge and Elaine.
Elaine smiled at him and said, "I heard what happened to you, Steve. Having second thoughts?"
He grinned and shook his head. "Not until I've had a chance to train with you," he replied. Elaine laughed and punched him lightly on the shoulder, about the only place above his waist that didn't hurt.
"What's going on?" Steve asked Marge.
"Patricia's going to fight," she answered. When he looked at blankly, she explained. "Patricia got into the business at a real young age. She was always athletic as a kid, and she'd sometimes get into fights with other kids."
Elaine picked up the story. "When she was about fifteen, a guy who made fighting videos saw her beat up this guy on the beach and he knew she could be a star. I mean, here was this fifteen year old girl, absolutely drop dead gorgeous, who already knew how to fight. Patricia worked for the guy for a few years, and he even sprung for Karate lessons for her. She found out that not only was she good at fighting, she really liked to do it. Anyway, by the time she was nineteen, he was getting a hundred bucks for her tapes."
Marge jumped in again. "Patricia got pissed that this guy was making all this money and she felt like she was getting peanuts, so she asked the guy. He didn't think she was worth what she was asking, so she challenged him to a fight." Steve stared at Marge in disbelief, but she raised her right hand and said, "Swear to God, this is the truth."
"So," Elaine resumed, "the stakes were her salary for a year, for however many fights the guy wanted her to be in, against the guy's company. Patricia insisted on no holds barred, and that the match be taped."
"Now, this guy was no lightweight," Marge said. "He went about two-fifty, stood about six-four. He know how to fight, too. So he figured, 'What the hell? Why not?'"
"Patricia beat the crap out of him," Elaine gushed. "You oughtta see the tape. She turned him every way but loose. At the end, he was a whimpering, blubbering wreck."
Marge nodded. "So, Patricia won the company and got all the women and some of the men to work for her. She turned AmaFlix into a multi-million dollar operation. But," she added, a twinkle in her eye, "she still LOVES to get in the ring herself. Problem is, none of the guys who work here really want to fight her." She smiled again and added, "Sometimes, though, they don't have a choice."
Elaine chimed in. "Besides the guys here, there's three types of men she fights. The first is the rich guys who buy the tapes. They'll pay through the nose for a private session with Patricia. Those tapes aren't for sale -- the only copy goes to the guy who pays for the match. I think she charges a minimum of ten grand for an hour on the mat with her -- if the guy can last that long. They usually don't, even though she takes it easy on 'em" Elaine grinned and continued. "The second type of guy she fights is the typical macho tough guy. She goes out to scout tough man contests, that sort of thing, and offers the champ of the contest fifty thousand bucks for one fight, but only if he can beat her," said Elaine. "It's chicken feed to her. Besides, I've never seen her lose."
"I've heard that the reason she likes to fight the winners of tough guy contests is that she tried to enter one once, but the promoter wouldn't let her, saying, 'you might get hurt'," said Marge. "I don't know if it's true, but it'd explain a lot."
"The third type is, well, scum," resumed Elaine. "She's got contacts at the local jails. Anytime there's some jerk who gets off by raping or beating up women, they generally show up here and Patricia gives them a demonstration of what it's like to be on the receiving end."
The general hubbub died down as one of the women, carrying a microphone, climbed into the ring. She was dressed in a tuxedo jacket, black hot pants, black stockings and red heels. She looked into one of the cameras and said, "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to another Patricia Daniels special. Tonight, Patricia's opponent will be Tony 'Jawbreaker' Addison, the champion of the Allegheny, Pennsylvania 'Toughest Man' tournament. The rules for this match are simple: No weapons allowed, no time limit. The fight will continue until one of the fighters quits or is knocked out for a count of sixty seconds."
The announcer glanced toward the back, then continued, "Introducing first, making his way to the ring, Tony 'Jawbreaker' Addison." A big, muscular man walked toward the ring. "Addison is six feet four inches tall and weighs two hundred and forty-seven pounds."
The burly, dark haired man climbed between the ropes and stood in a corner, glowering at the crowd. He wore gray shorts and what looked like work boots. His arms and shoulders were heavy with muscles, but he had a slight softness around the belly and his legs looked somewhat flabby. "Wouldn't wanna meet him in a dark alley," muttered Steve.
"Now introducing the undisputed AmaFlix champion. She is six feet one half inch tall and weighs two hundred and one pounds. Ladies and gentlemen, Patricia Daniels!" Steve still couldn't believe that this beautiful woman was a fighter, even after listening to Elaine and Marge. Patricia still wore the blue robe she'd had on earlier, but now had white wrestling boots on her feet instead of the shoes she'd worn earlier. Her mane of honey blonde hair framed one of the loveliest faces Steve had ever seen.
He wondered if any of the people she'd fought had marked that face at all, or if they were so mesmerized by it they couldn't bring themselves to harm it. Tony Addison watched her enter the ring with a sneer on his lips and lust in his eyes. If he had a chance to damage that face, Steve knew he'd take it.
Patricia smiled serenely at her opponent as she climbed into the ring. She didn't seem concerned that was giving up three and a half inches and nearly fifty pounds to a man who'd just as soon stomp her unconscious as look at her. Patricia removed her robe. Steve gasped in astonishment. Even though he'd been expecting her to be a powerful woman, the extent of her muscularity astounded him.
Patricia wore a silver bikini that complemented her deep tan and honey blonde hair perfectly. Her head sat atop the thick, sinewy column of her neck, which blended into dense trapezius muscles. Her shoulders were exceptionally broad. The deltoid muscles capping those shoulders were the size of honeydew melons, and looked to be the consistency of iron. Well defined triceps writhed as she hung the robe on one of the ring posts. Even without seeing them flexed, her biceps were awe inspiring. Her back muscles were thick and well defined, narrowing sharply to her waist. The glutes above her tree-trunk legs danced with every movement she made.
Patricia's calves were enormous, diamond shaped balls of sinew. When she turned around so Steve could see her from the front, he saw that her thighs were packed with dense, rippling muscles and looked bigger than her waist. "Optical illusion," he thought. Her abdominal definition defied description -- the deep indentations between the solid masses of thick muscle made the term "washboard stomach" obsolete. Her breasts, perched high and proud on her thick, striated pecs, were firm and well shaped, obviously needing no support. The bikini top was just for modesty.
Steve's mouth hung open about a foot as he beheld this breathtaking combination of female beauty and power. Marge said, laughing, "Trying to catch flies, Steve?" Steve closed his mouth and shook his head, as if he were hallucinating, but the image of Patricia was still there.
Elaine poked him in the ribs (fortunately not the bruised ones, but it still hurt) and said, "Really something, isn't she? Half the women and all the men who work for her have a crush on that woman, and they're all scared to death to get in the ring with her. She's even stronger than she looks, you know," she added.
"I don't think that's possible," he muttered.
"It's true! I've seen her outlift every male power lifter around! If she wanted to compete in bodybuilding or weightlifting shows, do you think anyone could beat her?" Elaine shook her head. "But she only wants to have the spotlight on her when she's fighting in the ring."
"God!" Steve whispered as Patricia flexed her biceps, smiling for the camera. "She's unbelievable."
"Believe it, Steve," said Marge from his other side. "Since you're new here, and all the newbies want to know, her measurements are forty-nine, twenty-seven, thirty-eight. She has eighteen and a half inch arms, when she's really pumped, twenty-nine inch thighs, and twenty inch calves." So the waist being smaller than the thighs wasn't an illusion, thought Steve. "She can bench press eight hundred pounds, and God only knows what she can squat. And she's completely without mercy. Once she gets her opponent in trouble, she won't let up. Totally relentless."
Meanwhile, inside the ring Addison was getting visibly impatient. "We gonna do this or not, lady?" he growled. If Patricia's incredible physique impressed him in any way he didn't show it. "Let's get the show on the road!"
Patricia took her time making sure her robe was draped just so over the ring post in her corner. Steve knew that this was part of the game, part of the psyche out. She stretched like a cat, standing on her toes so that her immense calves bulged and flexed like crazy. She turned to face Addison and purred, "Are you really in that much of a hurry to lose?" Smiling, she added, "I guess we'll accomodate you then, Mr. Addison." Turning to the woman in the tuxedo, who was apparently timekeeper and bellringer as well as announcer, Patricia said, "Anytime you're ready, Elizabeth," Elizabeth tapped the bell sharply with a hammer, and the match was on.
Addison wasted no time. Almost racing across the ring, he tried to crush Patricia into the corner with his sheer mass. Patricia sidestepped gracefully, leaving Addison with no one to grab. Before Addison could turn around, the beautiful woman kicked him behind his left knee. Addison grunted in pain and nearly fell, probably would have if he wasn't in the corner with the ropes to hold onto. Patricia unhurriedly slipped directly behind Addison and wrapped her brawny arms around his lower chest.
Patricia's arms were impressive in repose, but when she jerked back with both arms, the biceps, triceps, and forearms all seemed to come alive, as if there were snakes beneath her velvety skin. Addison's lungs emptied as Patricia constricted the circle of her arms, driving up under the big man's diaphragm and robbing him of the ability to breathe.
Addison's prodigious biceps swelled as he tried to pry Patricia's arms apart with his own, but he might as well have been trying to loosen iron bands for all the success he had. He began to turn red as his lungs demanded more oxygen than he could get through the vise formed by Patricia's Herculean upper limbs. He began to thrash desperately, trying to shake loose, but Patricia showed no signs that he was causing her any problem at all.
"Watch this!" whispered Elaine. Patricia took a deep breath, bent her knees slightly, and then with an incredible display of raw power yanked the big man bodily off his feet. Continuing the movement, she bent herself backwards and flung the helpless man down to the mat. Addison landed hard on the back of his head and shoulders. "Perfect suplex," breathed Elaine. Patricia retained her grip on Addison's waist, and bridged her body backwards so that only her feet and the top of her head remained on the mat. Effortlessly she maintained that position for around ten seconds, holding the squirming man's shoulders firmly to the canvas. It was obvious to everyone there that, if this were a normal wrestling match, Patricia would have just won by a pinfall.
Patricia finally released her hold and let Addison roll away. She pulled her legs in to her chest, and quickly leaped to her feet in an extremely athletic move that would have been impressive if it had been done by a ninety pound gymnast, let alone a two hundred plus pound woman. Addison climbed clumsily to his feet, gasping for air, to find Patricia already advancing on him.
Addison tried to punch Patricia, swinging a hard left hook that would have done some damage if it had landed. "He shouldn't have done that," murmured Marge. Patricia slipped the punch easily and responded with a quick left jab of her own. Her big fist caught Addison in the left cheekbone, snapping his head back. Patricia followed up with three more jabs before Addison could react, driving him back with the damaging blows. Addison swung wildly, looking somewhat like a bear trying to swat bees away, but Patricia avoided his punches with ease. Steve heard Marge muttering to herself, "Jab, jab, that's it, move just a bit, now the right!"
Almost as if she were listening, Patricia finally drove her right fist deep into Addison's belly. Half of Patricia's forearm seemed to disappear. Her sledgehammer blow penetrated whatever muscles were hidden by the roll of fat there and crashed deep into Addison's vitals.
A strangled gasp escaped Addison's mouth and he literally collapsed to the mat. Steve could only imagine the power Patricia possessed, to take all the fight out of this big, brutish man with just a single incredible punch. The brawny beauty didn't give Addison any time to recover. She picked him up and jumped high into the air, both of her feet smashing into Addison's chest in a drop kick. The big man was catapulted back into the corner, where he fell face-first to the mat.
Patricia rose easily to her feet and turned so everyone could get a good look at her in her glory. Her face was still serene and beautiful, giving no indication that she was involved in a brutal fight. She brushed a strand of honey colored hair out of her face and regarded her opponent thoughtfully, as if wondering what she should do to him next.
Steve thought that Addison was finished. According to the rules, if she left him for a sixty second count and he stayed down, the match was over. Marge murmured, "She's not done yet. She loves to hear guys say 'I quit'."
Sure enough, Patricia walked over to Addison's prone form and nudged him in the side with her toe. "Come on, big man," she said in her husky voice, "get up and fight." Addison twitched, then pushed himself up with his arms until he was on all fours. Patricia took one arm in her big hands and hauled him upright, then turned Addison so he faced her. Patricia slapped Addison twice, forehanded and backhanded, snapping his head from side to side. A trickle of blood from Addison's nose sprayed through the air and landed on Patricia's chest. She took one drop on her finger and placed it in her mouth. A beatific smil spread across her face, and she ran her tongue around her lips. It was almost like watching a porno flick, and Steve began to get hard.
Elaine noticed and whispered, "Like what you're seeing, huh?"
He blushed, and Marge murmured from his other side, "Don't be embarrassed, Steve. Most of us are feeling something similar, and we've seen Patricia do this before. Look over there." She indicated two women sitting very close together, watching the match intently, their hands busy between each other's legs.
Steve turned his attention back to the ring. Patricia had shoved Addison back toward a corner. He was beginning to regain more of his senses, and grabbed clumsily at her. One big hand caught at Patricia's bra and pulled it down, exposing her firm, round breasts. "Another big mistake," muttered Marge.
Indeed, Patricia lost some of her serenity. Her knee, propelled by her huge quadriceps, smashed into Addison's belly. The big man fell back into the corner, and Patricia spun around with the grace of a ballerina and drove her booted foot into the big man's chin. Addison's head snapped back, crashing into the corner padding, and he rebounded forward right into Patricia's follow up, a vicious side kick just below his sternum, right in the solar plexus.
Addison fell like a puppet with its strings cut. He lay in a crumpled heap in the corner of the ring. Patricia looked down at him disdainfully, then adjusted her bra back over her perfect breasts. She ran both hands through her tangled hair and pushed it back from her face, then knelt and yanked Addison's head up by the hair. She showed Addison's face to the camera, then smiled again and said, "Men are putty in my hands." She licked her lips again, then let Addison's head drop back to the mat.
Standing up, Patricia stood over the fallen behemoth like an Amazon warrior who had just made mincemeat out of the man fool enough to challenge her. She flexed her eighteen inch plus biceps again for the cameras. "Like 'em, boys?" she asked sexily, indicating her heavily muscled arms. "Just imagine how you'd feel if they were wrapped around you. Think about being trapped in my deadly embrace. Fantasize about how it would feel to have these arms crushing your insignificant body. Think about it," she said, her husky voice filled with both menace and seduction.
The lethal lovely then pointed to her semi-conscious opponent. "I'm not finished with him yet. Watch and dream, boys."
She turned from the camera. Bending down over Addison, she turned him onto his back. Pulling his limp body into a sitting position, Patricia maneuvered so that she could stand up with Addison draped face down across her brawny shoulders. With no apparent effort, Patricia stood up, lifting Addison's dead weight easily. She paraded twice around the ring, giving everyone there a chance to marvel at her power. She tossed Addison's body up a couple of inches, then dropped him again, pulling down vigorously so her shoulders were driven forcibly into his stomach. She repeated the performance a few times, until Addison began to gag and come alive again.
"Gahh... What the hell? Lemme down!" Addison growled, squirming around to get loose.
"Down? Okay, down you go!" In another awesome display of her brute strength, Patricia lifted Addison's squirming body over her head and launched him through the air. He came down, arms and legs windmilling, from about eight feet above the mat to land with a loud SPLAT on the canvas.
Addison writhed in pain as Patricia strutted over to him and just stood there, hands on hips. Addison slowly climbed to his hands and knees, then got his feet under him and stood up. Now Steve could see blood flowing from Addison's mouth and nose. A huge bruise was visible on his stomach, the result of Patricia's first crippling punch. Addison wiped his face and mumbled, "Goddamn bitch! I'll kill you!"
Patricia lashed out at Addison's face, her big fist slamming into his jaw and dropping him to the mat like a stone. She dropped down, wrapped her husky arms around his chest from behind and trapped his head between her enormous thighs. "Time for you to learn two things, boy," she said ominously. "One, don't make threats you aren't able to follow through on. Two, you shouldn't use that kind of language to a lady, especially a lady as strong as me."
Patricia punctuated her point by tightening her steely muscles around Addison's outclassed body, jolting his head and torso and causing him ever increasing pain. A muffled scream came from between her titanic thighs as she crushed Addison's head with her unimaginable power.
"P-p-please, don't..." he gasped, "d-d-don't killlll meeeeee...." Another increase of the pressure on his trapped head elicited, "Aaaarrrgggghhhh! Oh God, please, let me go, you're gonna smash my skull."
Addison's cries grew more inarticulate and faded away altogether. Steve began to wonder if she had actually killed him. Finally Patricia unlocked her ankles and stood up. Blood from Addison's face stained her man-crushing thighs, and perspiration glistened on her pumped up muscles, making her a vision of beauty and ferocity. Steve could see now that Addison was still breathing, and he wondered how long it would be before Patricia returned to her task of destroying the man.
The big blonde strode to the ropes on one side of the ring. She smiled angelically for the camera, then said, "Could I have a towel, please?" Five women and three men all jumped up and offered Patricia towels. She took one proffered by a tall, lean dark haired man. "Thanks, Raoul," she said, patting him on the cheek. She used the towel to remove the crimson splotches from her thighs, then handed it back to Raoul.
Patricia walked back to where Addison lay senseless on the canvas. She tried to rouse him, but he seemed dead to the world. Sexily walking to the opposite side of the ring, she asked if anyone had some water handy. This time a dozen men and women scrambled to their feet waving water bottles, hoping to be the one chosen. Patricia took a bottle from a short, muscular redhead and murmured, "Thank you, Sue, that's most kind of you." Sue seemed to swell as her idol accepted the water. Patricia squirted some water into her mouth, then sprayed the rest of the bottle at Addison's bloody, battered face.
The blood stained the water pink, and it pooled on the canvas. Addison stirred, then sputtered as he breathed in some of the liquid. Rolling to his hands and knees, the beaten man coughed up some more blood. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and it was apparent that this was a mistake as he groaned in pain and slumped down to his elbows. Holding his head carefully, he probed for damage.
"Come on, boy, I don't have all day," Patricia said. Addison knelt back on his haunches and looked up at the ferocious female towering over him. The lust in his eyes had been replaced by fear for this Amazon warrior queen. The blonde Amazon grabbed a handful of Addison's hair and pulled him to his feet. Addison's knees wobbled, his eyes were glassy, and he would have fallen except for Patricia's iron grip. She forced his head between her colossal thighs again, and Steve thought that Addison was in for another dose of Excedrin headache number one, but Patricia had other ideas.
Patricia wrapped her beefy arms around Addison's middle and, with an incredible display of power, heaved him up in the air, flipped him so his back and shoulders faced the mat, and threw him down with bone crunching force. Steve was afraid that the impact of Addison's body crashing to the mat would smash the floor of the ring, but it held somehow. Addison lay there limply, one leg twitching a bit to show he was still alive. Patricia looked directly into one of the cameras and said, "Ooohh, I'll bet that hurt, don't you think so?" She hit a couple of muscle poses, showing off once again her beautiful, deadly muscles, and continued in her sexiest voice, "So what do you think, boys? Wanna come over to my place and play? I'll torture you with my big legs and powerful arms until you beg for mercy." She pointed back at Addison and added, "Just like he's going to do." She licked her lips again and Steve nearly creamed his jeans. Everyone in the room was mesmerized by Patricia's performance as she sauntered back over to where Addison remained. Her smile was vicious now as she finished her speech, "Of course, I don't have any mercy."
Patricia knelt astride Addison's broken body and lightly slapped his battered face. "C'mon, big man, wake up," she cooed. A couple of taps and Addison began to come around. Patricia leaned down and placed her sinewy forearm across the man's throat. Addison gagged and began to thrash as she put more weight on his throat, cutting off his air. His eyes opened and he struggled weakly to rid himself of his beautiful tormentress, but Addison's feeble efforts to throw Patricia off were ineffective. "A little hard to breathe, huh?" breathed Patricia. "How does it feel, big man? How does it feel to get beat up by a woman? I've heard you like to beat up women sometimes," she added, "what's it like to be on the receiving end?" She raised up so he could breathe again and flexed her arms again. "Just look at these babies. Why, they're hard as steel." She poked at one of Addison's arms. "Not at all like those flabby muscles on your arms. I can do whatever I want to you -- you know that, don't you?" Addison nodded weakly and Patricia smiled warmly. "That's a good boy. Before I'm done you're going to beg for me to stop hurting you -- you know that too, right?"
Patricia slid off Addison's torso and maneuvered Addison so his chest was between her titanic thighs. Addison was either too scared or too far gone to attempt to escape. All the enormous muscles in Patricia's back, thighs, and calves stood out in bold relief as she applied pressure to the scissors. By now Addison was trying to pry her thighs apart, but for all the good he was doing he might as well have been pushing at a stone wall. Actually, the stone wall might have given way before Patricia's powerful muscles did. She felt his sternum and ribs bend and stopped right at the breaking point. Addison was sobbing and begging to be released, and she seemed to oblige him.
Patricia unlocked her ankles and kicked Addison over on his stomach again. Moving quickly now, she bent his legs in such a way that one ankle was locked behind the other bent knee. In this way she could control both legs with pressure on a single ankle. Using one of her enormous legs, she pinned Addison's lower limbs in place. Elaine whispered excitedly, "It's almost over now. She's gonna wrap this up in just a second." Now, squatting over Addison's back with his legs drawn up under her, Patricia captured both of the big man's wrists in a single massive hand. With a fierceness that expanded her bicep to it's fullest, she forced his wrists up between his shoulder blades. Addison was sobbing continuously now, begging for mercy. "Oh God, please, no more. I've had enough, please don't hurt me. Arrrggghh! No, please, don't hurt me anymore."
Patricia chuckled. "They all beg, in the end, but like I said, I don't have any mercy." She had the helpless male all tied up, but one of her arms was still free. With it, she grabbed Addison under the chin and pulled his head back. "This is what happens to anyone, man or woman, fool enough to get in the ring with me," she said. "Now, if you don't want your neck broken, you'd better quit, boy."
"Yes, I do, I quit, please don't hurt me, pleeease."
"Hmm, sounds like this is a little painful. Now say, 'Please, Patricia, you're too strong and powerful for me. I'm just a poor weak man and you're a big strong woman.'"
"Pleeease, Patricia," Addison mumbled, "you're too strong and powerful for me. I'm just a poor weak man and you're a big strong woman."
"Good. Now say, 'Patricia, you're a goddess. I want to worship you.'"
"Patricia, you're a goddess," Addison repeated obediently. "I wanna worship you."
Patricia released her excruciating hold and Addison lay there, helpless. Picking his head up by the hair again, she said, "Time to say nighty-night, baby."
Wrapping her right arm under his chin and locking that hand in the crook of her left elbow, she pressed his head to one side with her left arm. "Sleeper hold," Elaine explained to Steve. "Cuts off the blood to his brain, not that there was much flowing there in the first place."
Patricia let Addison go after about a minute. His back moved as he breathed, so Steve could tell he was still alive, but he didn't envy Addison his hospital stay. And what would he tell people when they asked what happened to him -- "Some woman beat the crap outta me"?
Patricia stood up, turned, and sexily walked across the ring. The announcer had re-entered the ring and raised the hand of the strapping blonde, saying, "The winner by submission in eighteen minutes, seven seconds, Patricia Daniels!" Patricia faced the hand-held camera. The operator had also climbed between the ropes so he could get a good close up of her in all her glory. "Remember, boys," cooed the powerful seductress, flexing again, "you can experience this too, if you dare. Think about eighteen inch arms wrapped around your head, squeezing like a vise. Imagine the force exerted by twenty-nine inches of muscle in these python-like thighs, imagine it if I just decided to snap all your ribs with them. Fantasize about me completely dominating your weak, pathetic body, forcing you to say things, do things..." She licked her lips again and whispered, "Dream about me."
She jumped over the ropes to the floor and strode vigorously to a standing ovation from her employees, worshipers all. Steve wiped the sweat from his face and breathed, "Wow."
Julia turned to him and said, "Really zomething, eh? Don't forget, I vant to zee you tomorrow morning at ten sharp. Ve need to zet up a diet and training schedule." He nodded. "Goot. Margie, vill you help me? I'm afraid Mr. Addison vill need my attention, und I may need your assistance."
Marge nodded, then held out her hand to Steve. "See you tomorrow."
Elaine took his arm. "Need a ride, Steve? I'm heading out."
"I can take a bus," he began, but Elaine held up a hand. "I insist. Can't let you use public transportation this time of day. No telling what kind of nasty people are out there." Elaine waved at Marge and Julia. "'Night, ladies," she called, then led him to the door.
The AmaFlix Story
Book 1
by Al Harder and Mike Shoemaker
Chapter Three:
Training and Other Things
Elaine asked Steve to wait while she changed, and he took the opportunity to change back into street clothes himself. Five minutes later they met on the sidewalk in front of the former warehouse that housed AmaFlix, Inc. Steve couldn't help staring at Elaine -- her 'street clothes' consisted of a tight, sleeveless top that exposed her brawny arms, a pale blue micro-mini skirt that showed her thick, muscular legs almost all the way up, and three inch heels that made her big, diamond calves to swell up enormously. "Ready to go, Steve?" she asked. For some reason he couldn't talk, so he just nodded and she led the way to her car.
Elaine's car was a late model Porsche in 'ticket me' red. She tossed her gym bag in the tiny luggage compartment and opened the passenger side door for Steve, then got behind the wheel. "Where do you live, Steve?" she asked. He told her the directions and she took off with a squeal of tires. The engine growled as she took it up through the gears, as if impatient with the city speed limit and anxious to be let loose. "Gotta be careful in the city," Elaine commented as she worked the accelerator, brake, and clutch expertly, weaving through the traffic. "It's tough to outrun the cops here -- too much traffic. Out on the back roads, though, I can let it loose somewhat."
Steve was fascinated watching the play of her sinewy arms working at the gearshift and steering wheel. Her skirt had hiked up a bit more, and the muscles of her monstrous thighs caught his attention as she worked the pedals. The windows were open, and the breeze tousled her short brown hair. All in all, she made a very sexy picture.
Elaine glanced at him and said, "Like what you see, Steve?" She grinned at his discomfort. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. Most of the new people who come to AmaFlix get a little overwhelmed by all the muscular females parading around, and so I'm used to being stared at, to a certain extent. Got any questions you wanna ask?"
"Uh -- well, not to be too trite or anything, but how did a nice girl like you... well, you know the rest."
"I saw an ad in a magazine and answered it. It said that this company was looking for people who liked participating in wrestling, boxing, and full contact martial arts," Elaine said. "I was a wild kid, a tomboy type, always playing ball with my brothers. My dad was a wrestling coach. He taught my brothers how to wrestle, but wouldn't teach me. I hid in the basement and watched while my brothers worked out and I picked up a lot on my own, but I was hurt because my dad didn't seem to want me -- at least, he didn't want me like I was. I developed a mean streak. I was caught in a world where strong females were frowned upon, and so I spent my teen years taking out my frustration on the world. Got into a lot of fights in school, beat up all the guys and girls I fought with. I dropped out and ran with some bikers for a while, but got fed up with the way the guys felt they had to be dominant. Went off on my own, but I had this huge chip on my shoulder. Couldn't hold a job, and I kept getting into barfights."
"What happened when you answered the ad?" Steve asked.
"Patricia was just starting out. First thing she did was prove who was boss -- I've never been hurt so bad in my life as I was in that fight. After she'd gotten my attention, so to speak, she began to teach me the benefits of discipline and training. I've been working for her for seven years now, and I've never been happier." She glanced at Steve again and said, "What about you, Steve? Why'd you answer the ad?"
He explained about his jobless state. "It seemed like a way to get some fairly easy dough while I look for work as a computer programmer. I figured it was gonna be fake, you know, pose, pretend some model was hurting me, then let her pin me." He rubbed his bruised face ruefully. "I didn't know I was gonna get beaten up and knocked out, let alone see a fight like Patricia fought."
"So whaddya think? About the AmaFlix women, I mean?"
"Well, they're different, that's for sure," Steve replied. "A little scary at first. But I like the look, you know? I've always liked that athletic look, like all the women there seem to have. And whatever happens, at least I'll learn how to defend myself a little better."
Elaine laughed. "Yeah, you'll learn that, all right." She pulled up in front of his apartment building. "Here you go, home safe and sound."
"Thanks," Steve said, opening the door. "You want to come up for a drink or something?"
"Thanks, Steve, but I don't drink. If you've got an ulterior motive, well, I'm not saying I'm not flattered, but in your present condition I'd be afraid of hurting you." She smiled. "No offense. See you tomorrow?"
"Sure, see you." The red Porsche left some rubber on the street as she sped away.
The next day Steve was stiff and sore when he got up. Sleeping had been tough, his ribs seemed to hurt no matter how he lay. A shower and light breakfast made him feel better, and he got to AmaFlix just before nine-thirty. Marge saw him limp in and grinned sympathetically. "A little sore this morning, Steve? Hmm, I wonder why."
He laughed and winced. "Don't be funny, please, it hurts when I laugh." Marge giggled. "Do I have to sign in or something?" he asked.
Marge took him to an office where a red haired woman tapped at a computer terminal. "Annie, this's Steve Willoughby," she said. "Steve, Annie McDonald. Annie, got a badge for Steve?"
Annie stood up and Steve saw that she, like every other woman he'd seen here, was tall and athletically muscled. She was about an inch taller than Steve in her three inch heels. Annie wore a black skirt that ended about five inches above her knees, revealing well muscled thighs and calves, and a short sleeved yellow blouse that showed off the rippling sinews in her husky arms. She handed Steve a laminated card with his name on it and a magnetic strip on the back. "When you come in, just pass the card through the card reader outside the locker room. Do it when you leave, too," she explained. "It'll log you in and out."
He pinned the badge to his shirt and headed for the locker room. "God," he said to Marge, "is every woman here like -- well..."
"Muscular? Strong? Athletic?" Marge offered helpfully. "Yes, Patricia is very particular about everyone she hires, men and women. The three office workers, the trainer, the coaches, we all step in the ring at one time or another."
"Well, it's gonna take some getting used to," Steve mused. Marge just laughed and pushed him toward the locker room.
After changing, he checked himself out in the full length mirror. His face was now several shades of black, blue, purple, yellow, and every color in between. His stomach was almost as colorful. His arms and legs looked skinny when he mentally compared himself with the women of AmaFlix, and he resolved to improve. After stretching for a few minutes, Steve went to see Julia at ten.
"Hello Steve," boomed the big, buxom blonde trainer. "Goot to zee you. Let's have a look." She prodded at his belly and nodded, "Superficial bruises only." She checked his lip and said, "Zo, a little scar there I tink. Not bad. Zvelling is down, goot. How are the ribs?"
"Sore," he said, "but not too bad. My biggest problem was trying to roll over in bed."
Julia laughed. "The ribs should be perfect by tomorrow, okay?" Steve nodded. She talked to him about his diet and running, then pulled several sheets of paper out of her desk. "Here are zum nutrition guidelines for you, you need to build up your muscle mass, yes? Eat protein, preferably vegetable protein, und carbohydrates for stamina. Here," she added, pushing several envelopes toward him. "This is protein supplement. Mix vith juice und drink tvice a day. Don't vorry," she said when Steve started to speak, "there's no steroids or anything there. Patricia doesn't allow it. By the vay, you vill be subject to random drug testing, it's in the contract you signed."
He nodded, not worried, since he hadn't used drugs since trying some grass in college. "As for training, you need to lift heavy veights mostly, but you can vait until tomorrow to start that. I'm the strength coach, zo I'll be vorking vith you a lot at first." She smiled and added, "Don't vorry, Steve, I von't kill you. Ve need to strengthen you zo Tommie can't hurt you again like yesterday, yes?" She laughed at his expression. "Okay, since you can't lift heavy today, ve'll vork on aerobic fitness und light veights vith the arms, I think. You are in good aerobic shape, but more training never hurts."
They went out to the state of the art gym. A few women were working with the weights, spotting for each other. Steve saw Darlene spotting for Tommie at the bench press station. The bar seemed to bend in the middle from the amount of weight on the ends, and Tommie was straining as she pushed the bar to the top. Darlene was saying, "Come on, Tommie! Push! PUSH! That's it. Now one more, c'mon babe, push it out! Get it up! That's it! Great!" Tommie's thick chest and colossal arms bulged as she pressed the weight twice more to the top. Darlene took part of the strain off Tommie's arms and helped put the heavy mass on the rack. She tossed Tommie a towel and said, "Good job, Tommie, just one more set. I'll put another quarter on each end."
As Darlene easily lifted the twenty-five pound plates and put one on each end of the bar, Tommie sat up and stretched her powerful upper limbs. Sweat highlighted the bulges of her sinewy arms and stained her tight gray tee shirt. She saw Steve and waved, saying, "Hi Steve! Good to see you back."
He waved back, then watched, awed, as she pressed the bar, now fifty pounds heavier, a dozen times. Her gargantuan arms, shoulders, and chest worked in concert to muscle the ponderous weight up again and again. Steve was extremely impressed not only by the size of her muscles, but also by the sheer brute strength those muscles possessed.
Julia tugged him away from the fantastic display of power and led him to the stationary bikes. "Here, Steve, start vith thirty minutes und zee how you feel."
Wow," he breathed, still staring at Tommie as she fought the heavy weight and won, "she's even stronger than she looks."
Julia followed his gaze. "Yes, Steve, ve are all stronger than ve look. You vill be too, if you stick around long enough."
"Everyone seems real friendly," he remarked as he started pedaling. "Makes me feel welcome."
"Vell, the problem vith this business, Steve, is the high turnover of men. The vomen ztay und get stronger und better, but the men get frustrated vhen they can't beat the vomen right avay und they giff up. Zo, every time a new man is hired, ve all try to make him feel at home."
"Well, I appreciate it."
"Now, try not to get bored. I know zitting here pedaling this thing isn't fun, but try to zit up ztraight und keep a zteady rhythm." She glanced to the ring. "It looks like a taping is starting, that should keep you from getting too bored," she said with a smile. "Just concentrate on what you're doing zo you get zome benefit out of it."
Sure enough, there was activity taking place in the ring. The stationary bicycle had a biofeedback device of some kind. Julia had set it to a particular range of RPMs, and if Steve went too fast or slow it would beep at him. He concentrated on keeping the RPMs near the top of the range Julia had set. When Steve looked at the ring again, he saw three figures there. One, wearing a white Karate costume, was a tall Oriental woman he hadn't seen before. It appeared that she was going to be the referee for the bout, and he guessed that she was Akira, the martial arts coach that Marge had mentioned yesterday. The concealing costume hid her arms and legs from view, but couldn't disguise her broad shoulders and thick chest. She wore her blue-black hair in a pony tail that hung to her waist. A black belt held her white jacket closed.
The second figure was a blonde man, about an inch taller than the referee. He was shirtless and wore loose black pants that came to his knees. He had a deep chest and flat stomach. His arms were tightly muscled and his shoulders broad. He was barefoot.
The third person in the ring was a woman. She had short dark hair and a red bandanna tied around her head to absorb sweat. She was dressed much as the man was, but her pants were a golden color and she wore a gold bikini top. Ropes of sinew twined around her arms, rippling beneath the lightly tanned skin. Her shoulders were wide, each capped with a deltoid as big as a melon. Her chest was deep, with well striated pecs. Her breasts rode high and firm and Steve could see what looked like a tattoo on the upper slope of her left breast. The woman's stomach looked iron hard, with deep indentations and solid ridges of muscle. She was also barefoot, and her large feet seemed to grip the canvas covering the ring. She was about the same height as the man, and both gave the impression of confidence and fitness.
The female referee faced the hand-held camera and spoke in a clear voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is a fifteen round full contact martial arts bout. Introducing first, in the red corner, wearing black trousers, Andrew Roy. Andrew is five feet eleven inches tall and weighs one hundred and eighty-four pounds. He is a practitioner of Shorin-Ryu Karate and has a second-degree brown belt." The blonde man stepped forward and bowed slightly to the camera and then stepped back.
"Andrew's opponent," continued the ref, "in the blue corner, wearing gold trousers, Sabrina Peters. Sabrina is five feet eleven and a half inches tall and weighs one hundred and eighty pounds. She has a black belt in Kung-Fu and has trained in Muy Thai boxing." The brown haired woman stepped forward and bowed. "Throws and holds are not allowed. Blows are legal if delivered with the hand, elbow, foot, or knee. There is no saving by the bell. If there is no knockout, I will award the victory on the basis of points."
This looked interesting. The man was slightly heavier than the woman, but she had a tiny height advantage. Sabrina was being seconded by a slender Oriental woman, while Andrew's second was an older man.
"Bow," ordered the referee. Sabrina and Andrew bowed to her, then inclined their heads to each other. The bell rang and the fight was on. The two combatants approached each other cautiously, each wary of the other. Sabrina tried a flurry of kicks and punches, most of which Andrew was able to block or avoid. Andrew responded with an attack of his own, but Sabrina easily deflected his punches and kicks. They circled, feeling each other out, feinting kicks and punches as they probed for a weakness.
Steve lost track of time while watching the man and woman in the ring perform their brutal ballet. As the fight went on, each landed several punches and kicks that he was certain would knock the other out or at least down, but neither fighter even staggered. Steve noticed that Sabrina liked to get in close and use her elbows and knees more than Andrew did. Several times she tagged him hard with short, vicious elbow strikes to the ribs before he could open the distance between them again. Andrew seemed more comfortable trying to connect from long range, occasionally trying spin kicks and spinning punches, while Sabrina was more aggressive, closing in at every opportunity.
Before Steve knew it Julia was beside him again. "You've been here thirty minutes, how do you feel?" she asked. He told her he felt fine, and she nodded. "Okay, keep going another thirty minutes. I'm going to reset the resistance, try to keep up the same speed."
Steve nodded and she fiddled with the controls. It got a little tougher to pedal, like going uphill. Steve kept the speed up and Julia grinned at him. "Zee you later, Steve," she said.
He returned his attention to the ring. A quick look at the timekeeper's table revealed that the bout was in the seventh round. Both Sabrina and Andrew looked magnificent. Sweat glistened on both their bodies, highlighting the hard muscles. As Steve watched, Andrew spun on his right foot, his right arm extended as he tried to hit Sabrina with a wicked backfist strike. Sabrina ducked under his arm and moved in close, driving her left knee up into Andrew's right ribcage. The force of the blow sent Andrew staggering sideways a bit, the first reaction either one had made to being hit.
Sabrina quickly waded in, throwing short, hard punches and elbows at Andrew's head. Her back muscles rippled and her biceps swelled up as she attacked the blond man. Andrew covered up and countered as well as he could, and he was also able to land some hard punches. But it was apparent to Steve that Sabrina was getting the better of her opponent, especially with some vicious looking elbow strikes to the jaw that had Andrew's head rocking back and forth. The bell rang to end the round, and as the fighters returned to their corners Steve saw that Sabrina had a mouse under her left eye but was otherwise unmarked, while blood trickled from Andrew's nose and his right eye was starting to close. His ribs were very red where Sabrina had nailed him with her knee, and he seemed to have trouble breathing deeply. His legs looked a little unsteady as he sat on his stool.
Between rounds Sabrina's second held an ice pack to the big brunette's left eye to reduce the swelling. Andrew's second was doing the same to the blonde man's ribs and eye, while Andrew pinched his own nose shut to stop the bleeding. When the bell rang to begin the eighth round, Sabrina leaped across the ring, as if she sensed that Andrew had been hurt the previous round and wanted to finish him off. Andrew used jabs and kicks in an attempt to hold the muscular brunette off until he could recover.
Sabrina now used her long, sleekly muscled legs to drive her feet hard into Andrew's damaged ribs. Again and again the damaging kicks penetrated his defenses, punishing his body mercilessly. He tried to cover up, but Sabrina's powerful sinews drove her feet right through his attempts to ward her off, and she scored repeatedly to his ribs and chest. Andrew staggered back into the ropes, a place he didn't wish to be. Sabrina closed in and struck him hard in the jaw with the heel of her hand, driving his head back. Several lightning fast punches crashed into Andrew's face, snapping his head back and forth. When Andrew brought his arms up to protect his head, the sinewy woman renewed her assault on his ribs, smashing her knees into his torso until his legs buckled and he toppled to the mat.
"Stand back!" ordered the referee. Sabrina stepped away into a neutral corner as the count began. Andrew pulled himself to his feet at the count of six and the ref asked him something, He nodded, and Sabrina stepped forward to continue the battle.
Andrew tried again to fend off the muscular brunette's attack, but Sabrina paid no attention to the defenses he put up. A front kick to his chin caused a slow trickle of blood from his mouth, and a spinning back kick to the belly doubled him over. Sabrina measured her next blow, a brutal punch that caught Andrew high on the cheekbone and drove him to the mat again. Sabrina stepped back and the ref began her count. The bell ending the eighth round sounded at the count of four, but the referee continued counting. Andrew forced himself to his feet at nine, and the round was over. As Andrew returned to the corner, Steve got a good look at the damage done to his face by Sabrina's iron hard muscles. There were cuts over both eyes, and blood flowed from his nose and mouth. His belly and ribs were so red as to seem on fire.
Sabrina didn't even sit between rounds. She stood in her corner, bouncing impatiently on the balls of her feet, waiting for the ninth round to begin. Her sinewy body gleamed with sweat, and the muscles of her arms danced as she opened and closed her big fists. Steve noticed that her pants had torn down the side seam, evidently the result of her huge thigh muscles flexing.
The bell sounded and Andrew barely made it to his feet before Sabrina was on top of him. Her massive thigh muscles swelled up, ripping her pants further, as she drove another brutal kick up into his chin. Andrew crashed backwards into his own corner, barely conscious. Sabrina's left elbow smashed into Andrew's damaged ribs, doubling him over and positioning him perfectly for Sabrina to deliver a savage kneelift right into his face. Andrew's head smashed back into the corner padding, and Sabrina finished him off with a devastating right hand punch to the jaw that collapsed his knees and sent him down for good.
Sabrina stepped back and watched Andrew crumple to the mat. She waited calmly in the neutral corner while Andrew was counted out. The referee raised her right arm in a token of victory and said, "At nineteen seconds of the ninth round, the winner by a knockout, Sabrina Peters!"
Julia climbed into the ring. Sabrina, Andrew's second, and the referee assisted her in getting the beaten fighter onto his stool. Julia waved some smelling salts under his nose and Andrew shook his head, then opened his eyes. Julia examined him quickly, asking him a few questions, and then said, "Slight concussion, possibly some cracked ribs. Zee how he feels in a few minutes. If he can't walk back to the trainer's room, help him." Andrew said something and Julia laughed. "Ya, you can get up now if you want, but zomebody better be ready to catch you if you fall!"
Andrew climbed shakily to his feet and held the ropes for support. Sabrina held out her hand saying, "Good fight." Andrew shook her hand, then raised it as the referee had done. They then bowed to each other in a sign of respect before Sabrina headed off to the locker room.
Julia came over to see how Steve was doing. "I haff to zee how Andrew is, Steve. Vhen the timer here goes off, ztop pedaling und come zee me, okay?" He nodded, seeing that there were about fifteen minutes left on the timer. Andrew made it out of the ring and back to the trainer's room without assistance, though he was moving rather gingerly. With the ring now empty, Steve turned his attention back to the women working out on the weights.
Darlene was now lying on the bench with a hundred pound dumbbell in each hand. Her arms were straight out to her sides, and as Steve watched she lifted the weights with straight arms until the dumbbells were directly over her chest. Tommie stood behind her head, hands positioned under Darlene's sinewy forearms in case the big redhead needed any help. Darlene's thick chest heaved as she used her pectoral muscles to keep the massive dumbbells in motion. Tommie was urging her to "Come on, Dar, just two more, get it up, that's it!" When Darlene finished, Tommie took the weights from her and set them on the floor while Darlene sat up. Sweat poured down her face and soaked her white tank top, rendering it nearly transparent. It was very obvious that the tank top was all she was wearing. Steve felt something similar to what he'd felt last night, watching Patricia fight. He thought about his feelings for a moment. While he'd always been partial to athletic women, the discovery that he was turned on by muscles bigger than his was a little surprising. Steve was musing about what this might mean when the timer on the stationary bike beeped at him, and he realized he'd been on the thing for an hour.
Steve climbed off and stretched his legs, then took a towel from the pile next to the door and wiped his face. His ribs felt okay as he breathed deeply, and he felt pretty good. Steve headed for the trainer's room to find Julia.
Passing the practice wrestling mat, Steve saw Elaine supervising Cherrise and a woman he recognized as Annie McDonald. All three women were in tank tops and shorts. The amount of female sinew on display made him start to get hard again, and he reflected that he'd have to wear a cup until he could control his reactions when he saw the hugely muscled women. Bemused, he nearly ran into Julia as she came out the door from the trainer's room.
"Careful, Steve," she said with a laugh, "you've got to vatch vhere you're going! Ztaring at the vomen can get people hurt." Steve grinned, slightly embarrassed, but she just took him by the arms and led him to a rack of dumbbells. "Hmmm, I think one arm bicep curls und tricep extensions is all you should do today. Use twenty-five pounds to ztart vith. Let's zee how many reps you can do."
Steve took the dumbbell in his right hand and began to do curls with the twenty-five pound weight. Julia corrected his form, telling him to "keep the upper body stationary, just use the bicep". After he'd done about nine curls his arm started to burn, and Julia helped him by putting her big hand under his forearm and pushing it to the top, ordering him to "let it down as slowly as you can". Steve did two more curls with her help, then shook his head. Julia nodded and wrote something down on a pad she took from her pocket. Steve couldn't do quite as many reps with the left arm as the right, and Julia noted that as well.
"Okay, Steve, now you vill try zome tricep extensions, yes?" Using a twenty pound dumbbell he supported his weight on the bench and extended his right arm out behind him, then bent the arm at the elbow and straightened it again. Seven unassisted reps with each arm was all he could do.
Steve snuck a peek at Darlene curling ninety pounds with each arm as if it was nothing, her biceps swelling up into granite hard mounds of sinew, and his face got even redder. Julia noticed his discomfort and murmured, "Steve, don't be discouraged. Vork hard und you'll improve, just like them. I know vhat I'm doing."
"Now what," he asked. "Am I done for today or what?" "I need to assign a training partner for you," Julia replied. "Let me zee who's available." Steve followed her to a set of several clipboards on the wall. "Ach, here ve go. Annie's partner left, zo you vill vork out vith her. I'll zet up your schedule to match hers und giff it to you." She glanced up and said, "It looks like Annie is done vith her wrestling lesson for today." Julia waved for Annie to come over.
"Annie, Steve vill be your new vorkout partner, if it's okay vith you," Julia said. Annie looked Steve up and down and nodded her agreement. "Goot! Steve, Annie needs to vork out today. She'll show you vhat to do. Annie, make sure Steve does two more zets of curls und tricep extensions, he knows the veights to use." Julia headed off to her other duties.
Annie wiped the sweat from her face and stared at Steve with cool gray eyes. Her auburn hair was French braided and ended right at the nape of her neck. She looked him up and down again, then smiled and put out her hand. "Nice to meet you again, Steve," she said in a husky voice. "I've gotta do three sets on the bench. C'mon, let's get started." Annie headed for the bench press and said, "I need a hundred and seventy-five pounds on each end of the bar, please." Steve found the necessary plates and loaded up one end of the bar while Annie did the other end. She was done before he was and waited patiently as he finished.
"You do much lifting?" she asked as she lay down on the bench.
"Not really, mostly Nautilus stuff," he replied.
"Well, spotting means that you have to be ready to help me if I get in trouble. Put your hands under the bar and help me lift if I ask for it." She grinned and added, "And you've gotta encourage me, too. Each set will be twelve reps." Annie took a couple of deep breaths and reached up for the weight. Steve helped lift it off the rack and stood ready to help if she needed it.
The weight rose and fell as Steve counted off the repetitions. The three hundred and fifty pound bar went up and down rhythmically. Annie didn't seem to be straining at all. Her powerful arms, shoulders, and chest worked together to defeat the iron, beating it into submission. Steve didn't need to assist her at all, and his encouragement was limited to saying, "Okay, Annie, that's it, three more, now two, now one, great!" as she finished the dozen reps without difficulty. Steve helped her guide the bar back onto the rack.
She sat up and said, "Fifty more on each end, okay?" He hurried to add the necessary weight to one end of the bar while she handled the other. She was already lying on the bench again when he finished. "Gotta be faster, Steve. I don't want to cool down," Annie said. She reached up and lifted the four hundred pounds off the rack while Steve again started to count her repetitions.
Annie had a little more difficulty with the bar this time, and Steve heard her grunt as she exhaled while lifting the bar. "C'mon, Annie, push, you can do it!" he said as she began to slow down. The strain began to show on her face, and her neck muscles corded thickly to help her lift the ponderous weight. Her chest heaved as she ground out the last repetition, and again Steve helped rack the bar, saying, "Way to go, Annie. Good job!"
He tossed her a towel to wipe her face and she grinned as she removed the sweat. "Thanks, Steve. One more set, with another fifty, and I'll be done." This time they finished putting on the plates at the same time and she nodded at him. "Better," was all she said. She stretched her arms behind her, so that her chest muscles were also stretched. Steve couldn't help staring at Annie's breasts through the thin cloth of her tank top. She noticed and grinned. "Business first, Steve," she said. "You can ogle my tits later."
"Sorry, Annie," he muttered. She just laughed and threw the towel back to him, then got ready for the last set. The bar, now with four hundred and fifty pounds, was a little tougher to get off the rack. Annie's thick chest and powerful arms swelled as she lowered and raised the bar, much slower than before. She grunted loudly each time she pressed the bar up.
"Come on, Annie, you can do it!" Steve cried as she pressed the weight up for the ninth time. "That's it!" he said. "Push, Annie, push!" The bar fell and rose for the tenth time. "Two more," Steve said. "Come on, get it up." Once again, her sinewy arms shaking with the strain, her massive chest heaving, the four hundred and fifty pounds succumbed to her power. "One more, Annie, come on, you can do it! Push, push, push!"
She lowered the weight and started to press it up, but grunted, "Spot me!" Steve got his hands under the bar and helped her raise the bar to the top, then racked it. She breathed heavily a few times and sat up, reaching for the towel.
"Nice job," Steve said, meaning it. She smiled and nodded, waiting until her breathing slowed before she spoke. "Thanks for the assist," she said. "All I've got left is some light arm work. Let's finish you up for the day, then I'll finish, okay?"
Steve did two more sets each of curls and tricep extensions while Annie made sure his form was correct and encouraged him. "That's it, Steve, good job," she said as he finished the last set of extensions. She put the dumbbells on the rack for him and ordered him to stretch. When he gave her a blank look, she showed him how to stretch his triceps, one arm up and bent at the elbow as if he were trying to scratch his back while the other hand gently pulled the arm further over. She then grabbed a pair of fifty pound dumbbells and said, "Make sure my form's right on the curls. I tend to use my upper body too much."
As Steve counted her reps and watched her form, she easily curled the fifty pound weight twelve times with each arm. Her biceps swelled up until they looked to be the size of softballs by the time she was through. Then he spotted her for her tricep work, making sure she kept her upper arm still as she used the same weight as she had curled. Annie's triceps expanded into cords of steel as she worked them. After the second set, Annie went up to sixty pounds for the curls, and her huge biceps got even bigger as he watched, fascinated. She stayed with the fifty pounds for the tricep extensions, explaining, "My triceps still need to get stronger." By the time she was finished she was sweating heavily, and so was Steve, but for a different reason.
Annie looked at his face, then down at his crotch and grinned. Steve reddened and started to turn away, but she said, "That's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. It happens to most of the new guys. In time you'll get used to the atmosphere around here and it'll be easier to control."
Steve looked at Annie and shook his head. "I don't think I'll ever get that used to it," he said. She laughed and threw a towel at his head. They got up and started for the locker rooms. "Annie, if you don't mind my asking, well -- uh -- just how big -- I mean..."
"How big are my muscles?" Annie finished for him with a laugh. "Not as big as I'd like, but getting there. Here," she said, taking his hand and placing it on her bicep, "how big do you think this is?" She flexed, and the bicep grew to mountainous proportions under his hand. Steve's head swam as he held the bicep of the beautiful, sexy, powerful woman in his hand.
"Um -- er -- I guess, sixteen inches?" he stammered.
Annie laughed. "Not a bad guess. Sixteen and a quarter, last time I measured it," she said. "I won't make you guess my chest size," she teased, her eyes twinkling. "It's forty-one inches. I'm five feet nine and a half inches tall and I weigh one seventy-four. My thighs are twenty-six inches and my calves are eighteen." Steve whistled in amazement. "I've gotta get back to work," Annie said, "but first I need to sit in the whirlpool for a while. See ya there?"
He shrugged and said, "Yeah, I guess so." Steve remembered what Marge had said about the co-ed whirlpool and steam bath. Annie and Steve parted at the locker room doors. He went in the men's locker room and stripped, then showered. Feigning nonchalance, he wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the door to the whirlpool.