Session With Layla
by Madman
The Taming of the Troll


Author's Note-,The characters in the following story are fictitious.  Any
similarities to real people, living or dead is an incredible coincidence and
totally and absolutely unintentional.

Hi folks, my name is Layla Pavarotti and I am a serious grappler.  I'm of
Arabian descent and not very big at 5'5" and 130 pounds.  I have a passion for
wrestling and have been studying for over two years in several disciplines. 
Bolivian jujitsu, freestyle wrestling and an obscure Cambodian martial art
called Spider Karate or mi trap ful are among my favorites.  Because my
training is costly and there is little if any prize money in tournaments, I
engage in session wrestling where guys pay to wrestle with me.  Not only do
these sessions help finance my training, they are also most enjoyable.  Most
of my customers are really nice guys, a pleasure to meet, and it gives me more
opportunity to practice my techniques.

I can defeat the vast majority of my session opponents pretty easily even
though they are usually larger and stronger than me.  I'm not bragging about
it, but quite simply, an untrained man has little chance against any trained
person.  The sessions vary according to the skills and requests of my
customers but most of them are somewhat similar.  Usually I start by
extracting a few quick submissions with my best tactics to feel out my
opponent and to demonstrate my skills to him.  Most of the time, they become
somewhat awestruck and are impressed with my growing expertise.  Usually they
request that I to9NE it down a bit as a full hour of quick hard submissions is
more than they can handle.  Often, they ask me to use holds that would be
ineffective in competitive tournaments but appeal to their fantasies.  Scissor
holds, face sitting and complex pro wrestling pretzel type hold requests are
common.  Sometimes I let them get an advantage just to make things interesting
and to practice my escapes and reversals.  I enjoy their bewilderment as to
how I can usually turn the table on them very quickly.  Some of them desire
domination style wrestling where I make them beg to release a hold.  Some of
them prefer a more playful style where I lock them up and tickle them.  I'm
happy to fearful any reasonable request.   After all, It's their money and I
want them to have a good time. 

I take pride in providing a good session and my customers appreciate it. 
Quite a few of them have posted favorable reviews on Diana the Valkyrie's
message boards and in my Yahoo group "Pavarotti Can Make You Sing."  It's nice
to be appreciated and these reviews have encouraged other guys to partake of
sessions with me.  The feedback also helps me to improve my sessions as they
reveal thoughts that might have been unspoken when we met.

However, there is one rather boorish fellow who has posted a number of
disparaging remarks on the net.  He stated that no "little girl" could beat
him.  He claimed that the reviews of my sessions were totally fabricated or
that their authors were complete wimps.  These type of inflammatory remarks
are called trolling.  I found his remarks to be very offensive.  First of all,
they scoff at my skills which I have worked very hard to develop.  Even worse,
they reflect negatively on my customers who are almost all very nice guys and
definitely not wimps.  A wimp would be afraid to challenge me.  The simple
fact is that my training provides me with an overwhelming advantage.  The
average guy would have no better chance to out wrestle me than he would to
defeat Serena Williams in tennis.  Anyways, this jerk said that he lived in
Detroit and challenged me to a match stating that he would show me what a
"real man" could do.  I looked forward to this session.  Unlike my usual
intention of providing a fun time for my customer, I really wanted to put this
guy in his place.  After a number of emails, we firmed up the arrangements for
him to come to my hotel as I was going to be traveling to Detroit for a
tournament.  I was planning to do sessions there to help cover expenses.

When it came time for his session I was raring to go.  While I didn't intend
to injure him, I did plan to inflict a lot of pain on him to teach him a
lesson in respect.  However, he failed to show up and I was furious.  I looked
up his name in the phone book but there was no listing.  I suspected that he
had not given me his real name.  I emailed Diana the Valkyrie to see if she
could give me his name.  She responded that while she sympathized with my
situation that it was against her policy to reveal member's names to anyone. 
She did suggest that I ask around with PM's in the chat room.  A gentlemen by
the moniker of Pond came to my aid.  He told me that he used to be friends
with this guy but had parted ways with him due to his boorish attitude.  Pond
told me that his crude and sexist remarks had chased several female
bodybuilders and wrestlers from the chat room and that he was glad to see
"unauthenticated Macho Man" get what he deserved.  The guy's real name was
Phil Smuckman and that name was listed in the phone book.  I called the
number, posing as a telemarketer to find out if he was home.  He was and he
was as crude on the phone As he was on the Internet,  I changed into a two9
piece wrestling outfit and covered up with a long trench coat.  Then I drove
to his house which was co9conveniently only a few miles from my hotel. 

I rang the doorbell and a man answered it.  If he was a "macho man" it was
certainly unauthenticated.  He stood a shade under six foot tall and was about
twenty five pounds overweight.  His 'wife beater' shirt revealed his flabby
body.  He was unshaven, his hair was a mess and he smelled bad.  If this was
to be a regular session, I would have insisted that he shower first.

"Mr Phil Smuckman?" I queried to make sure that this was the right guy.

"Yeah, what do you want?" he snarled.

I quickly removed my coat and kicked off my shoes.  "I'm Layla and I'm here
for our session."

Smuckman's jaw dropped in surprise as he did not know what to make of this. 
Without hesitation, I grabbed his wrist and swept my leg behind his ankles to
trip him.  Maintaining my grip on his wrist, I followed him down and trapped
his upper arm between my thighs while draping my legs over his neck and
chest.  Leaning back. I extended his arm in an arm bar.  When I pulled down
forcing his elbow back, he yelped in pain.  Normally at this point I would
lesson the pressure, but this was not to be a normal session.  I kept the
pressure on and for a moment I think Smuckman was too confused to realize what
was happening.  When he became cognizant of his situation, he screamed at me
to let him go.

Still maintaining my hold I asked "Are you submitting to me you "macho Man?"

"Yes, just let me go" he exclaimed.

"I thought that no "Little girl" could make you submit and that only wimps
would submit to me."

"Please" he pleaded. "You're going to break my arm."

Finally I released his arm and he sat up in shock rubbing his elbow.  He
yelled "Get out of my house you damn bitch!"

My response was to move behind him and secure a headlock.  Leaning forward, I
forced him down on his stomach,  I then locked my ankles around his thighs to
secure a mount position and slid my arms down to convert the headlock to a
rear naked choke.  As I pulled my arms up to pressure the hold, I could hear
him gagging.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you.  What was that you said?" I taunted.  Smuckman
squirmed and pounded the floor with his hands unable to speak.  When his
struggles slowed, I released my hold and stood up.  Smuckman remained on the
floor gasping for breath.  I decided that this would be a real beat down
session.  Some of my more adventuresome customers request beat down sessions
in which I beat them more severely than usual and employ rougher tactics that
would not be used in most sessions.  I will do this type of session, but I
have to be careful not to hurt them too badly.  However, I was going to hurt
this jerk more severely-he had it coming.

AS Smuckman was struggling to get to his feet, I nailed him in the side of his
face with my knee.  He fell to his back and I mounted him and threw fists and
elbows into his face.  My blows were not hard enough to knock him out, but
they were hard enough to hurt and would leave some substantial bruises.  After
an extended flurry of blows, I scooted down his legs and applied a tight ankle
lock.  Smuckman was totally unable to offer any resistance as I torqued his
ankle.  After a couple of minutes, I switched to a kneebar on the same leg. 
The knee is a very sensitive body part and he thrashed about in agony while I
amused myself by increasing and decreasing the pressure at my whim.  Normally
I don't get pleasure out of brutalizing an already defeated and outclassed
opponent, but with Smuckman it felt great.  I felt like I was avenging the
coarse insults at good people from behind his cowardly cloak of anonymity.

Eventually I dropped his leg and stood straddling his prone body.  Again I
spoke to him.  "I guess you're just too wimpy to last for an hour.  Most of my
customers request extra time.  Maybe I should use standard wrestling instead
of Bolivian ju jitsu to bring it down to your level."  I slid beside him and
effortlessly applied a head scissors.   "Guys like you just love to get
between my legs" I told him as I tightened up my crossed legs.  Even though
I'm small it only required a fraction of my power to keep him in well deserved
agony.  After a few minutes I became bored with this rather mundane hold. 
After all, no skilled grappler could be controlled with this hold.

Shifting position slightly, I converted it to a triangle choke.  "This is my
favorite scissors, what do you think about it?" I chided.  My hold was so well
locked in that Smuckman could not respond.  The triangle choke is my most
effective submission move.  It is so easy to choke someone out with it, but
most of my victims tap out immediately.  Smuckman did not have that option.  I
could feel his throat muscles struggle hopelessly against the power of my legs
to keep an air channel open.  Even though I was holding back a bit to extend
the hold, he passed out in less than two minutes.

I decided to take a break and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. 
When I returned with the water, Smuckman was starting to wake up.  "You look
parched, would you like some water?" I said as I poured the water on his face
and slapped him a few times to revive him.  I wasn't done with him and I
wanted him awake to continue.  When he was fully awake I sat backwards on his
face.  I amused myself by applying a variety of arm and wrist locks.  Smuckman
had no strength left, his arms felt limp like wet noodles.  He couldn't even
see what I was doing to attempt to resist and I used most of the locks that I
had learned plus a few that I made up on the spot.  I could judge the
effectiveness of each lock by the tone of his muffled moans and I maintained
the more painful ones a bit longer.  

After about fifteen minutes of punishing his arms I got off his face and
pulled him up to his knees.  Stepping over his head, I put him in a standing
head scissors.  Keeping him from falling by bracing my arms against his
shoulders, I squatted down to bend his neck.  Then I started singing my
favorite song.  "Layla you've got me on my knees.  Layla, I'm begging darling
please."  I contacted my legs tightly to the rhythm of the song.

Finally, I was satisfied with the severity of his punishment and let him go. 
I told him to pay me the session money.  Smuckman slowly hobbled to another
room.  His leg, neck and virtually every joint in his body had been attacked
and his difficulty in walking testified to its effect.  He returned with
$300.  "You owe me $600 Smuckman" I told him.

His voice was soft and raspy due to the chokes.  "I thought seasons were
$300."

"They are, but you owe me for this one plus the earlier on that you chickened
out of.  I could have booked someone else in that time slot."  Smuckman
painfully shuffled out of the room again. 

He returned with $160 and told me this was all the money that he had in the
house.  "That's not going to cut it.  Do you have an ATM card?' I asked. 
Smuckman slowly nodded yes with his stiff neck.  "I passed a bank about a mile
from here" I told him.  "I'll drive you there so you can pay me the rest of
the money. 

On the way to the bank I told Smuckman to post an apology to all he had
insulted on each message board and Yahoo club that he had trolled.  I informed
him that I would be returning to Detroit again next month and would deal with
him again if it wasn't done.  When we got to the bank, Smuckman put his card
in the machine but was having problems with the pin code.  This was actually
quite understandable considering his condition.  As he fumbled with the keypad
with his right hand he said "I can't remember my code."

I pulled his left arm high up his back in a hammerlock and said "Maybe this
will help you to remember,"  After a couple more pain racked attempts, He got
it right and the $140 came out.  I grabbed the money, rushed back to my car
and drove off leaving the very distraught and sore jerk standing outside the
bank.  I'm pretty sure that we will have one less troll on the Internet.