Mixed Movies Come of Age -- Part 1 By BOS, OwnGames@aol.com A couple explores new approaches to mixed movies. Written in late 1970s. George and Bea Minner had found a way to make mixed fighting movies look realistic: They didn't worry about who won; instead, they developed two markets, one consisted of people who liked to watch women beat men in a fight; one of people who liked to watch men beat -- and in some cases rape and otherwise abuse -- uppity women. This way they didn't have to hoak things up so that the girl would win every time. They just let nature take it's course. Of course, the Minner system did have some problems. For one thing it wasn't all that easy to find women for the more violent kinds of matches. There were some, though. In the early days of mixed matches -- back when they were on film rather than videotape (with accompanying sound) -- there weren't nearly as many women into bodybuilding and wrestling and such. Now, however, that both physical fitness and the women's movement had come so far, it was amazing what some women would do -- and quite successfully. Of course, then too, there was the fact that George and Bea sometimes offered big money, especially for films that had been requested by a wealthy and generous customer with very specific tastes and interests. For example, there was the time a certain Mr. Ogilvy had requested a girl fighter patterned after Purdey, the girl on the New Avengers television series. Purdey, you may remember, was the tall playful former ballet dancer who was Steed's partner after Emma Peel and Tara King, Her episodes never showed up on prime-time American television, but they did show for one season at 11:30 p.m. in most markets. Purdey's style in beating up the bad guys was to rely almost exclusively on her feet, seldom even laying a hand on the men. Most often she would wait casually until an attacker was close enough to hit her with his fist; then she would, with great economy of effort, raise a foot off the ground -- bent sharply at the knee -- and kick up suddenly to slap the dazed man in the face with it. Frequently she would follow up with the other foot before the poor baddie even knew what he was being attacked with. The idea was that he was in too close to see her raise her feet. If she had attacked with legs extended -- a more common method -- while he was a good yard or more away, she wouldn't have had no strong an element of surprise in her favor. Mr. Ogilvy specified that all the elements must be present in the new Purdey he fantasized about: the absolute motionlessness of the upper body; the cool dispatch and ability and confidence of the original Purdey; her imagination and playfulness and seductiveness and, for good measure, her occasional right cross. There was one thing he wanted to change, however: the angle of the camera. When Purdey -- or her reincarnation -- raised her leg, Mr. Ogilvy wanted to see what she was wearing at the top of it. "None of this TV tease stuff," he explicitly told Bea. Bea did raise one problem. "As I recall," she said, "Purdey's fights were over pretty quickly." "Well, I know," said Mr. Ogilvy, "but I think that's TV again. It seems to me a fellow ought to be able to stand a few of these blows before being put away. I don't imagine they're as powerful as those coming from a fully extended leg. I have the feeling the outcome -- if you can really find a girl like Purdey -- is more likely to be a submission by a half dazed guy than a knockout. I'd really prefer a submission. "You know that time she took the guy's belt because she needed it to hold up her pants -- which had already fallen down once in the fight? It would have been so much better if he had been conscious while she took it off him, but unwilling to tangle with her any more. "On the other hand, I suppose the single most erotic episode she had was the time the fight took place on a stage against a male dancer and she kept kicking him and dancing around him until she finally landed him in the orchestra pit, whereupon the camera went to the weapon which had done the damage, her leg, revealed very sexily by a skirt with a very high slit. "I really think somebody on that show must have been one of us, if you know what I mean. "Anyway, see what you can do," he said. "And I'll tell you what: for every guy she disposes of, I'll double the payment. That ought to take care of the length-of-tape problem. You know I don't want something that's over in a few seconds. "And for every guy above one she takes on simultaneously, I'll triple it. How's that!" Bea said she would see what she could do. Her first thought, quite naturally, was to seek out a ballet dancer, like Purdey. Bea was much abetted in that effort by the fact than many ballet dancers have difficulty finding work, especially women who are -- like Purdey -- too tall for most men to throw around easily. Asking around gingerly, like a detective, Bea found a tall, beautiful girl named Barbi Jeeves, who, in fact, looked a great deal like Purdey. "Yeah, sure I've heard of her," Barbi said. "Fact is, some of my friends call me Purdey, I guess 'cause of my looks and interests and the fact that I won't take any shit from a guy." Hmmm. A live one, thought Bea. So she asked, "Do you suppose a gal could really fight like that?" "I don't know," was the response. "I've tried it in front of a mirror, but I know it's not really the same thing. I'd like to try it for real some time, you know, just for fun." This job is getting easier all the time, Bea thought. So it was all arranged. The neo-Purdey was promised much more money -- win or lose -- than she had ever made in her life, but much, MUCH more if she should win, because after all Mr. Ogilvy would not otherwise have much interest in the film. "Yeah," Barbi said, "but what happens to my ass if I lose?" "Well, I'm not going to kid you, doll," said Bea. "This isn't just a friendly little tussle you're getting into. I mean, what the hell, if you're successful, you'll really be hurting these guys. So they'll be going at it for real. If you lose, you'll get stripped for sure, maybe played with a little, maybe raped -- we've got to offer the guys that incentive -- maybe a little more. Don't worry too much, though; we know when to stop it." "Thanks a lot," said Barbi. She needed the money, though, and she was the kind of gal who would try anything once, and she agreed. George and Bea decided to start out their new Purdey slowly. They put her into a ring with a fellow they had no reason to suspect was particularly tough. They didn't know too much about him. He was just one of those Southern California drifters, the kind of guy they used all the time. If they weren't much good, they would get their asses whipped a couple of times, then fade away, probably even leave that part of the country, the Minners thought, lest they run the risk of running into somebody who knew about the episodes. Some though, the Minners were amused to learn, would disappear for a year and then come back, much more muscular or somehow skilled in the martial arts and just burning to redeem themselves, to remove from their memories the episodes that they had been unable to assimilate into their view of the world and their place in it. There were others, of course, who took defeat a little better, and still others who kept coming back for more, almost as if they enjoyed it. And, of course, the guys who won usually stayed around for a while; they would be well rewarded if George and Bea got requests from customers to see them again. Sometimes the guys were given instructions about their goal and methods, to fit the tastes of the customer. But they were never told anything about the girl unless the customer requested it. For Purdey's first match, there was to be no plot, no particular specifications. The new guy -- Carl Rhoda, 5'7", 185 pounds -- simply stepped into the ring -- a padded little room, actually -- with Barbi "Purdey" Jeeves, 5'11", 135. George and Bea were behind a one-way mirror, with the camera controls. There were several cameras, all controlled by George from one spot. He didn't have to worry too much about catching the glimpses of panty Mr. Ogilvy wanted; one camera or another was almost bound to get it, and he could make his selection of shots when it was all over. For that matter, there was a camera from below the floor that always showed panty; he could always use that. His job at the camera during the action was mainly to manipulate between closeups and wide shots. "OK," Bea said over a speaker audible in the fight room, "just go ahead whenever you're ready," Barbi smiled awkwardly, shrugged her shoulders and started to circle as Carl did. Quickly, however, she realized she was supposed to be Purdey, and Purdey would not be likely to do that. She would let her man come at her, at first at least, pretending she was not resisting. As for Carl, what he saw before him was a great piece of ass. Bea had outfitted Barbi in nothing but a bikini, one that exposed well into her untanned parts at the bottom and was little more than a strip across her less than ample top. Carl was gonna show this stupid bitch. He pictured himself tearing off that flimsy bottom and going after her taut little ass with his best weapon. After sizing her up a minute -- they had come through his-and-her doors on opposite walls of the room and he had never seen her before -- he decided that the reason she must have been willing to meet him in an unarmed fight like this was that she knew he was shorter than her. I'll show her, he decided. He came at her hard and fast. Instinctively, Barbi turned sideways to the man and shot her leg out sideways hard and fast as soon as she was sure of his intentions. She caught him square in his soft belly, but just then she started to say, "Oh. No. Wait. I mean ... " She knew her move was not very Purdey. And she began to apologize to Bea and George. Meanwhile, though, Carl was on the deck clutching his stomach, defenseless at the feet of the embarrassed young maiden. Came Bea's voice from the booth (they could always erase a patch of sound later), "That's OK, Barbi, just go ahead for now; we'll do the other thing later." Bea and George made plenty of tapes that were not the result of requests. They sold well, So there was no reason this match couldn't, even though it didn't meet Mr. Ogilvy's specifications. Barbi was willing to continue; after all, she was being paid. But Carl still was on the floor holding his gut, thinking he might throw up. Said Barbi, "I don't think he can." Then she bent over him and said, "You all right, sugar?" Carl mustered all his strength to say, however weakly, "Get the fuck outta here, you bitch" and push at her with his arm. "All right, all right," she said defensively. "I was just trying to help." She was serious, and Carl's realization of that was what really bugged him. Came Bea's voice from above, "This is a fight, Barbi. You gonna just let him sit there?" Barbi looked at the still prone man, whose discomfort seemed to be increasing, not diminishing. Then she turned away from him to address the invisible voice. Carl looked up at her enticing rear as she spoke. He admired the junction of her long legs with her mostly visible ass, the teasing ass crack that led his eyes up to her tiny waist and flaring torso, so soft and delicate, with the tiny little vertebrae visible all the way up to her swan-like neck. There his gaze stalled; to go farther would have required more neck flexibility than he could muster, given the relative immobility of his hurting body. Back went his gaze to that impudent ass, now more than ever the object of his aggressions. Said Barbi in response to Bea's admonition, "What do I have to do to win? It looks to me like he's pretty well out of it." Came the voice from behind and below her, "The hell I am, you bitch; I haven't even started. I'm gonna be comin' up your ass any second now." Well, Barbi was amazed to hear him talking like that given his obvious helplessness. But then she was amazed just to be here. And especially to find herself taking pity on a guy -- a pretty tough looking one at that -- rather than hurting him some more with her own heretofore unfeared body. "Oh, yeah?" she said inquisitively, softly, not combatively, but with honest curiosity. "You bet your sweet ass," he said. "OK," said the girl with a you-asked-for-it inflection as she prepared reluctantly to attack. Something in her held her back, though. She just couldn't attack a guy in so feeble a condition. Came the command from above, "Do it!" Barbi shrugged a shrug that said to Bea, "You're the boss" and to Carl "It's your, gut". Then, with a quick, balletic step to her side -- with full flutter of arms just to try to make it look more artistic and dramatic -- Barbi brought her toe gracefully up into the man's already tender belly. Because of the perfect technique, she had more power behind it than even she realized. The man let out an "oof". And a groan. And a moan. And turned over on his back, his knees in the air bent toward his chest. He looked and felt ridiculous -- like a dog waiting for his belly to be rubbed. But he was now willing to do anything to relieve the pain, including emitting the continuous, rather loud groan that was now issuing from his lips. Barbi looked back up at Bea again and shrugged again, looking almost ashamed at how little work she had to do to earn the kind of money Bea was talking about. Said Bea, "As I recall, your friend there was planning to rape you in the ass, Barbi. Isn't there anything you'd like to do now?" Barbi had to ask Bea to repeat herself, because Carl's moans were so loud she couldn't hear her. When the message got through, Barbi said, "Hmmm. Come to think of it ..." She was stroking her chin contemplatively as she ambled over to the prone, moaning man. She stood at his feet watching his agony, thinking about what to do. He looked ridiculous, laughable. Then, as if he was actually trying to project that particular image, he lashed out one very, very ineffective foot at the feminine form above him. It was like watching a crying child striking out blindly and peevishly at the first person who came near. Barbi started to laugh at him, but she was not just taunting him. Her laughter was heartfelt and strong. She couldn't help it. He was about the most ridiculous thing she had ever seen. Her laughter went on and on and got stronger and stronger until she was actually convulsed. She was holding her sexy stomach in pain, and tears were coming from her eyes. Sometimes she would seem to be getting control of herself, but then she would look over at Carl, and she would be convulsed all over again. She tried to apologize to Bea and George, but she couldn't even talk. It didn't much matter, though, because by now the proprietors had found her laughter contagious and were having difficulty concentrating themselves. They knew plenty of girls who would have been just starting in on Carl if they had him where Barbi had him. But Bea decided that they had a perfectly good little film as is, climaxed by Barbi's laughter. Said Bea good naturedly, "OK, happy" come on up; I've got some things to show you." Barbi left Carl still moaning on the floor. Bea and George had decided that Barbi was a real find: beautiful, athletic, courageous, individualistic and, apparently, pretty good in a fight. So they decided now that they would give her the full scale indoctrination. They didn't like to waste it on people unlikely to stick around. "That was fine," Bea said to Barbi when the victor came into the camera room. "Not exactly Purdey, but a good start." Barbi shrugged modestly, "I just hope they're all that easy." "Come on, champ, let me give you the grand tour," Bea. said. She showed her the gymnasium, the prop room (particularly useful for special requests), wardrobe, the several fight rooms arranged in a circle below the single direction booth. "Now let me show you some tapes of what some of the girls have done. You don't have to copy anybody; I can tell you're gonna develop a style and ability all your own. But just in case you're curious about what goes on here. "Here, I'll show you one of our best girls," said Bea, putting a tape on and stopping it at a frame showing a beautiful redhead, about 5' l0", maybe 110 pounds, dressed to kill in a see-through white dress that showed her white bikini-style panties. She had her long hair piled high atop her head. She was flashing two unforgettable things at the camera a wicked wink and a bicep which -- while not likely to put Arnold Schwsrzenegger to shame -- was plenty real, though it mostly disappeared when she relaxed her arm. Barbi's reaction to the whole image was simply, "Wow!!' Said Bea, "You ain't seen nothin' yet." She explained that this tape resulted from a request from a Mr. Elm, who wanted to see Sandy -- he specifically requested her -- take on two thugs he specifically named while dressed in this particular evening gown. The customer -- who had eclectic tastes -- had a tape of the two guys raping another of Bea's girls. He specified that Sandy must not even allow her clothes to be torn. She could, he generously allowed, feel free to remove her shoes. The two thugs had also to be dressed in suits, as if they were crashing a formal affair Sandy was was attending. Sandy had told Bea the whole thing sounded kinky and she'd love to try it. Besides, she'd love to teach these two guys a lesson about what a chick could do to them; they had enjoyed doing the previous video a little much, and had been too cocky about it. And the guys were, to say the least, eager to go after Sandy, even though they had been warned that she would be a lot tougher than their earlier conquest. When they entered the room from the opposite doors, Sandy started right in on the male egos. "Just two?" she asked. "Shoot, you guys sure you want to go through with this? I'm very strong, you know." With that, she flashed them a slowly curled right bicep, accompanied by a grind of the hips and bump forward with her white panties. Said the spectating Barbi, who had been sitting with mouth agape, "Jesus, if those guys get hold of her, they'll be so hot they'll probably kill her!" Bea just smiled. The thugs, rubbing their hands in anticipation, came at Sandy from opposite sides. It didn't seem to Barbi that they were coming excessively fast or were off balance. Nevertheless, Sandy was able to duck between them. She came out behind them and landed on each male ass a firm kick with her as yet unbared foot. Now she was saying, "I just wanted you boys to know that I'm not gonna be as easy for you as my boyfriend was. That pansy couldn't protect himself against a Brownie." Bea couldn't help laughing at that line, even though she had heard it before. Said Bea, "Sandy has a great sense of humor and real flair for understanding what the customer wants. She's always improvising. You can tell she loves this." Now the two guys were standing there bent over, holding their crotches. "Wow," said Barbi, "I guess she must have hit them when she ducked under. I never even saw it." Said Bea, "Neither did they." Sandy was now taunting the guys. "Come on, fellas, you want some of this?" she said, sliding her hands up and down her slinky body. She wiggled her fingers toward herself and formed a kiss with her lips. "Come on, let's get it on!" she said. She walked up to them now and began to reach for their crotches. They moved their hands to protect themselves and she took one hand of each man in a simple handshake, suitable for the traditional hand-squeezing test of strength. "What the Hell is she doing?" asked Barbi. Bea just smiled. Sandy simply began squeezing, and -- before very long at all -- the two men were on their knees, holding their captured arms with their free ones, and in obvious pain. Said Sandy, "I don't know about yours, fellas, but my muscles are for real." Soon the guys were flat on their faces in pain. Still holding their ineffective hands. Sandy now looked straight ahead and smiled for the camera she knew was behind the wall. Then she began going into some poses suitable for the model she was. She would fling her head back in a horny, mouth-open look, then look over one bare shoulder in a sexy, mysterious pose. Or she would step on a male head disdainfully. She said playfully, "What every well-dressed girl is wearing this season! A see-through gown and two would-be rapists at her feet." Barbi just kept saying, under her breath, "Wow." Said Bea, "You think that is something; we've got another gal who is really much more muscular than Sandy, because she's very heavily into bodybuilding. She actually uses the men as part of her posing routine. I mean the guy she's fighting. When I was trying to recruit her she kept saying all she was interested in doing publicly was demonstrating that bodybuilding could be beautiful, especially for a chick. Well, thinking as fast as I could, I say, 'Maybe you can show that in a fight.' She kinda. thought awhile, and then said 'Maybe.' "Now we start out a tape with her doing her posing alone and to jazz music. It's a lot different from the way a guy does it. Very limber, and constant motion. Anyway, then the guy comes in, and she goes to work on him. You have to see it to believe it. She twists that guy every which way but loose, all the time looking like everything is part of a routine, which of course it isn't. The guy is doing his best to resist. "She always keeps the cameras in mind. She'll start with a test of strength, with her hands locked with his above their heads, say. That really shows her muscles -- arms, legs, everything -- 'cause she gets real stretched out. And, meanwhile, the guy is falling to the mat. "Then she'll take one of his arms and pull it behind his back, see, and she's pulling it with her arm while she's got her foot on him and pushing the other way, and she points her other arm out like this and flexes. Not a bad shot. "Her greatest joy is showing how much more muscular she is than the guy and how her muscles are everywhere, thighs, calves, stomach, back, forearm, neck, not just in the biceps. I've seen her lift a guy entirely off the mat just with a leg under his stomach. And I've seen her flip a guy halfway across the room while hardly seeming to do any more than flick a wrist. Anyway, it's really incredible. And pretty damn sexy, her standing there showing off this beautiful bod while the poor guy is suffering like a sonofabitch. Especially when the guy is some hairy hulk. "One guy she did with no hands! Honest! Kept her arms over her head like a circus performer taking a bow most of the time or a ballet dancer. Damn! "And when she gets done with a guy, he's been stretched and twisted in directions he didn't even know existed. Generally, he can't even get up after she's left the room." As Bea was talking Barbi was watching the Sandy tape, It was no contest. The redhead in the see-through formal played around with these two guys like they were so much dirt. From the position in which they were flat on their faces, she reached under and grabbed them by the neckties, pulled them up to their feet, then threw them over her shoulders by suddenly bending her knees sharply and pulling hard forward on the ties. They were propelled over her naked top in part by the fact that if they didn't go they would have been choked by their own ties. Before they knew it she had them by the neckties again. She'd pushed then up against the wall next to each other and was standing right in front of them flaunting her audacity and staring them -- one, then the other -- in the eyes and yelling with mock madness. "You're mine! Do you hear me? All mine!" Then she would laugh like a madwoman, then suddenly turn and throw them again. Then again and again. By now they didn't know what the hell was happening. She put one against the wall facing her and the other facing toward him, their bellies touching. Then she stood behind the second one and began slapping the first in the face with both of her hands, reaching around the head of the thug in the center. She would slap him with one hand, thus attracting his attention in one direction; then she would come around and pop up on the other side -- her movement unnoticed because she was hidden by the large body of the one thug -- and slap him again, or sometimes snap a finger in his eye or pull his ear. She was driving him bananas, but there was no female body present for him to strike out at. So he pushed his male colleague, who Sandy allowed to fall on his ass. Then she and the still standing guy looked at each other, and the girl said, "Aw, now look what you've done. I think you should join him." She accomplished that union with a simple hand on the back of the weakened man's neck and a sustained push. He resisted but without much effect. When she had one guy on top of the other, she climbed aboard the top one to hold him in place. Then she reached under him for his tie. Then she simply tied that tie to that of the other guy. They hardly knew what she was doing. Each -- because he felt no pain -- thought she was attacking the other guy, and each took that opportunity to rest. From that time on, it was all over. They were her toys. They could not attempt to untie the ties without leaving themselves completely open to attack. And they could not fight in the tied position. Sandy played with them for a good 10 minutes, vamping them, arousing them, then hurting them. At the end she had partially stripped them and tied their cocks together. Then she simply left them -- but not before checking a mirror to see if her face or clothes needed any repairs (they didn't) -- and curtseying very femininely to the camera, blowing it a kiss and saying, "For you, Mr. Elm, with my love." Barbi was awed. Said Bea, "One thing, though: I don't want you to get the impression every fight is that one-sided. Maybe you better take a look at this." The next tape showed a young black woman and an older white man in a simple one-on-one fight. It was at first lopsided in the man's favor. He had come at her steaming, plowed into the girl, thrown her on the floor and begun pawing her all over. His hand went under her dress, up her legs to her panties, under her backside, everywhere. Meanwhile, he held her arms with his and was kissing her on the breasts and stomach. Finally he tore away almost all of her clothes in what had become a full-scale rape attempt. He pawed her everywhere just to demonstrate his dominance. But he concentrated on her midsection. Again and again his hands went under her ass and under her panties. She was moaning in pain and fear and --- who could tell -- maybe even in sexual pleasure as his mouth found its way to her sex organs. When he had completely torn away her dress and panties and bra, he raised his head up in victory and he paused over his victim, admiring his catch, licking his lips in anticipation of devouring the apparently beaten and helpless girl sexually. He was in his glory. Then, again, he savagely brought his mouth down to her sexy, soft thighs. Barbi could hardly watch. The black girl was bruised and frightened. The man now turned her over on her side, thus better to get at the soft part of the inner thighs he had missed. He lifted one of her legs up and stuck his head from the rear into that inviting area. He was merrily gnawing away when the girl brought the leg down and locked her ankles. At first the man just kept on with what he was doing, but soon he could be seen pulling at the girl's thighs. Barbi didn't know yet what had happened. What happened was the man had gotten over confident and fallen into the girl's best hold: her scissors. His head was just where she wanted it. Now she grabbed his flailing hands and -- just that quickly, just that totally, just that surprisingly -- had him under her control. She leaned back and squeezed. He thrashed and he tried to yell, but his sounds were muffled. A camera close-up showed the panic in his eyes as he struggled for breath and against pain. The girl's abundant thigh flesh covered his nose and mouth most of the time, sometimes his neck, threatening to choke him. At the latter times he would say weakly, "I ... I ... can't breathe." This went on for a good 20 minutes. Finally the girl got off the beaten man. She gathered up her torn apparel and tended herself in the mirror while she waited for him to regain his full senses. She wanted revenge and she wanted him to know she was getting it. She had homicidal thoughts, but she knew Bea wouldn't stand for that. So she settled for sitting on his heaving chest -- placed the pussy he wanted to mouth so badly close to his mouth -- and urinated on the man's face. Then she simply reached for his crotch, seized him roughly and worked him over viciously until Bea stopped her, by which time the man's scream's and pleas filled the building. The woman fighter left the room with a jaunty, street-tough stride, her hand touching up the back of her Afro, a look of real pride on her face as she stepped on the man's face -- rubbing. the bottom of her bare foot hard on his nose and mouth -- on her way out. Said Bea, "I wasn't too thrilled with that ending, at the time because somebody's gotta clean the room up. But I have to admit it makes a better tape." Barbi was speechless and exhausted. Bea said, looking at her watch, "Well, let's rejoin George; I think it's time for a live match. We can watch." Barbi wouldn't have missed it for the world. "That's our niece Cissy," Bea said about the girl in the white bikini just entering the fight room. She looked like the typical California girl. "She was just 14, and she's about our meanest and one of our best fighters. No doubt in my mind she will be almost unbeatable someday. She came down one day to watch her mother fight about six years ago. Since then we haven't been able to keep her away. Her folks aren't too enthusiastic about her being here. But we get a lot of call for girls her age. And her folks need the money. Besides, I figure if she wasn't using this extraordinary ability she has here, she'd probably be doing it illegally someplace else. I know she's determined to do it one way or another. It's like an obsession with her." The girl was fidgeting up and down, impatient for the arrival of her opponent. He turned out to be another kid, 16 according to Bea. He was a head taller than the girl and thin and of promising muscularity. He was also wearing only a bathing suit, a tiny one displaying everything he had. His name was Raul, and he was here to earn some money. He was tentative, obviously nervous and seemed to Barbi to be a nice kid. Cissy looked up at the booth impatiently and asked, "You ready?" She got the go-ahead from George, upon which immediately and briskly she walked up to Raul and pushed hard on his chest. His back hit the wall, and she was on him instantly. She thrust a forearm across his neck, pressing it back and she came in close, her hair brushing his chin. She began blasting him with uppercuts to the body. Barbi thought she counted five. Bam! Oof! Five times. Cissy stepped back, and Raul fell to his knees. Cissy pursed her lips with disgust and -- Barbi thought -- frustration over the ease of her dominance so far. Barbi couldn't believe the matter-of-fact-ness and the brutality of the efficient onslaught. This kid wasn't playing around. "Jesus," she muttered, "just going in there like that and doing it. Bam, bam, bam. They're not making little girls like they used to." Cissy looked up at the booth, but got no guidance on how to proceed from there. She looked down, and Raul was on his hands and knees. Bea said to George, "I think we have to keep a close eye on this one. She could kill him." George nodded. Cissy said to Raul, "Get up and fight, you faggot, or I'll take off your pants and rip off your dick. You got no use for it anyway." She was genuinely mad at him for not giving her more of a fight. He struggled to his feet and put up his fists in a boxer's pose. Cissy snickered at him and put up her dukes. He came at her carefully and perhaps a bit less gracefully than he might have a minute earlier. He threw a loping right. She came inside it and landed another uppercut to the same part of his belly. He fell against her in a clinch, his entire body against the frame of the girl. She pushed him off her. Then she attacked his face. A left jab. Another. He was rocked. Another left jab. Another clinch. Another uppercut to his belly. She pushed off. Another left and he was against the wall. She stood in front of him, then bent over and began blasting lefts and rights to his belly. Soon he sank to the floor. She pulled him away from the wall and sat on his his gut. Despite the pain he was in, the boy -- who was after all at the very peak of his horniness, who was at an age when just a look at an ordinary girl in ordinary clothes was so much of a turn on it became embarrassing to even stand up -- was very much aware of the feel of Cissy's body against him. Cissy, meanwhile, felt absolutely nothing for him, did not even think of him as a potential turn on. He was fully conscious, but fully whipped by the girl. She put one hand on each of his budding pectoral muscles -- right at the front of the armpits, actually -- and began to squeeze, the tips of her fingers lodged right in the armpits. It was something she had never tried. She thought she might as well experiment with this ineffective kid; he wasn't good enough for anything else. The hold put him in great pain. He yelled and twisted and thrashed below the girl who could so turn him on and so hurt him, each at her apparent whim. He pleaded with her that he had had enough. He thought that would end it, that she would gladly take her victory over a boy. Unfortunately for the innocent young man, Cissy had not had enough, She continued working him over until all the movement in his arms was gone. She had sapped all his strength. That always excited her. Slowly then, still holding him, Cissy began to lower her head to his neck, showing her teeth. Then, suddenly, came Bea's voice, "No, no, Cissy, that's all. Let him go." Reluctantly, with a peevish slap at the helpless boy's face, Cissy stood up. Standing next to her victim, totally unmindful of him, she said to the booth, "You got anyone else?" "Not now, Cissy. Come on up, there's someone I'd like to introduce you to," said Bea. Cissy looked in frustration down at the male body at her girlish feet. She placed one of those feet on Raul's face, squashing his nose. "Kiss it, sucker," she said, "Or we meet later." His lust for her body not withstanding, seeing her again was the last thing Raul wanted. He kissed the bottom of her foot. Kicking his spent body once with disgust, the girl left it lying there. Barbi asked Bea., "What was she going to do to that poor kid?" "Oh, you mean that last part with the teeth and all?" Bea said. "Nothing really. She knew we'd stop it. She just doesn't consider a victory complete until she has totally convinced a guy that he doesn't ever want to get in a fight with her again. She was just scaring him. I don't know, though; sometimes I worry about that kid. She just likes this stuff a little too much, ya know?" When Cissy entered the room, still in her bikini, Bea had her shake hands with Barbi. However, Cissy immediately put Barbi in a painful hammerlock. Holding Barbi's head back with an arm across her forehead and jamming Barbi's ass with a knee, Cissy said menacingly, her lips actually touching Barbi's ear, "You wanna fight?" The flustered Barbi said, "Uh, I don't think I'm ready for you." Cissy let her go with more disgust. "Shit," she said, "I couldn't get a fight today in a barroom." Bea and George just laughed. Then Bea, took Barbi aside, and Barbi said, "Wow. She's something else." Said Bea, "You ought to see her little sister. Well, anyway, listen kid. I think you've had about enough for the first day. Why don't you go home and try to digest all this, and come back tomorrow. I'll show you some more then and maybe have one of the girls narrate her own fight tape for you, so you'll know what she was thinking and why she did what when, and all. "Oh Yeah, while you're away, don't forget to practice your Purdey routine. That's the big money one for the moment." The days was, indeed, all Barbi could handle. However, it was not all she was was going to get. When she got in her car, Carl -- the man she had kicked helpless and had laughed at -- was hiding in the back seat. With a knife. Bea. hadn't told her about this part.