Amazon Jane: Her Side of the Story
by M.C.
 


Author's note:

After I wrote and posted "Amazon Jane", which appeared about a week ago, I
reread it on the site (where I invariably see all the typos that I missed
while proof reading), and the idea occurred to me to rewrite the story from
Jane's point of view as I didn't really develope her character very well. So
this is the story from Jane's perspective. Ideally, both sides should have run
concurrently within the same story, but as I said, the idea didn't occur to me
until afterwards and it would probably be redundant to include Mitch's
thoughts again in this one. I'll leave that concept for a future story. So,
without further ado, here is Jane's side...

I can't believe this guy! Is he crazy or what? That handsome new hunk who
recently moved into this apartment complex actually thinks he belongs in a
tough-man tournament. I mean sure, he is fairly large and strong, and he may
think himself quite the athlete, but he obviously has no idea what he's gotten
himself into. In a tough-man fight just being strong and athletic isn't
enough, you have to be mean and tough as well. Because once you enter that
ring it's a brutal, no-holds-barred war where the combatants will do virtually
anything to win; and this Mitch guy strikes me as being way too soft for that
kind of battle. How do I know so much about tough-man competitions you ask?
Well, because I've been in a few myself in the various places I've lived and
I've never been beaten. Not bad for a woman, eh?

I think I should put that last statement in perspective. When you think of a
woman, you're probably thinking of a five foot-four inch, 115 pound petite
little thing. I happen to stand six feet tall, weigh 275 pounds and I'm VERY
strong. My arms measure eighteen inches around and my thighs are twenty four.
And if that's not impressive enough, I also hold a third degree black belt in
Tae Kwon Do (I began studying the Korean the martial art form at the age of
five, twenty-two years ago). So you get the idea - I'm one big, strong, tough
lady.

But do you want to hear irony? I'm also a nurse. Yes, you heard me correctly,
I'm the head nurse of the largest hospital in this county. In fact I moved to
this pretty, middle-sized city in the first place because the position became
available. It's a much quieter and cleaner city to live in than Los Angeles
where I grew up, or any of the other places I've lived in. And I also thought
this might be a good place to settle down and start a family someday.

There's just one problem though, when you're a big, strong, powerfully built
woman, guys aren't exactly fighting over themselves asking you for dates.
Truth be known, in the three months I've been here I haven't been asked out
once. Which brings me back to Mitch, my handsome new neighbor. I like him,
like him a lot actually. He's tall, athletic, soooo dreamy, and appears to be
unattached. Every time I see him in the hallway or the car park I smile and
say "hello". He seems nice enough, but he also seems to be keeping me at arm's
length as all men tend to do. So my question was therefore, how do I break
down his walls? Then one day while we were doing our laundry together, he
mentioned that he was going to participate in the city's annual tough-man
tournament at the YMCA next week; and I saw my chance. "So Mitch," I said to
myself, "you think you're a tough guy do you? Maybe they'll be a 'little'
surprise waiting for you next week."

The Next Week at the Tournament.

"Well hello there honeybunch," I greeted my handsome neighbor as he climbed
into the boxing ring for his first (and last) match of the evening. "Remember
me?" Boy (or should I say "girl"), you should have seen the look on Mitch's
face when he saw me standing there waiting for him. I was wearing my favorite
fighting outfit - a shocking pink, one-piece, skin-tight bathing suit which
accentuates my best - that is to say my most powerful - features; my eighteen
inch arms, twenty-four inch thighs, and, last but not least, my forty-eight
inch breasts. I'm sure I was the last thing Mitch expected to see.

He remembered our conversation in the laundrymat where he mentioned his
participation in this tournament, which I suppose was a good sign; but then
went into the usual male macho act that my male opponents always seem obliged
to do."You're a woman," (yes honey, I am indeed). "But...but you might get
hurt."(thanks for your concern, but I'm a six foot, 275 pound, muscular
martial arts expert. So you should be the one worried about getting hurt)."Are
you sure you really want to do this?" (Yes, I most definiately do)...and so on
and so forth.

I toyed with Mitch's pride by grabbing my long brown hair which was tied into
a ponytail and twirling it around in front of him (I know it's a girlie thing
to do, but I just love teasing macho guys before I fight them). Then I flexed
my huge biceps (I can be a bit of a show-off sometimes) and pointed to my
thighs. I teased him into fighting me (or shamed him). Before we began, I
formally introduced myself with a firm handshake, making sure he felt the
strength of my grip for several seconds. The formalities over, Mitch and I
began our fight.

Well, perhaps 'fight' is too strong of a word; Mitch's 'education' would
probably be a more accurate description of what we did - with me being the
teacher and him the student. I taught him a lesson I'm sure he'll never
forget. Let me elaborate...

As I stated before, I'm a large and very strong woman. It's probably due to a
combination of my genetic make-up (both of my parents are well over six feet
tall) plus years of weight training. I entered my first tough-man competition
quite by chance though. When I was a nineteen year-old freshman at the
university I joined a sorority - I figured I'd at least have some friends thay
way. As my initiation rite they had me enter the school's annual tough-man
competition. Well, I surprised them alI (including myself) by winning
it...beating up nearly half the football team in the process - which didn't
exactly make me the most popular girl in school. That's how I earned the
sobriquet "Amazon Jane". Instead of considering it an insult however, I
consider it a term of endearment.

It was during that first tournament that I discovered something very
interesting about myself - that I really enjoyed the fighting; especially the
feeling I got after pounding a big, strong, tough man into submission. It
was...well, a very erotic sensation (I actually had an orgasm while beating up
the defending champ to win the title). So a few weeks later I entered the
citywide tough-man competition which I also won, and then successfully
defended my title for the next three years. I'm sure all the tough men in town
heaved a collective sigh of relief when I left do my post-graduate studies at
another university where they had a better nursing program.

Wherever I studied or worked since that first contest, I'd check to see if
there was a tough-man tournament; and, if there was, I entered - and, eight
years later, I'm still undefeated. How is this possible you ask? It's really
rather simple: this big, strong girl knows how to fight, and likes it. O.K.,
so it never made me very popular with guys, but I had all but given up in that
department anyway... until I met Mitch that is.

There was something about this guy that ignited a fire inside of me. It could
havd been his gorgeous looks, his strong, athletic body, or his availability;
but whatever the reason I knew I had to get closer to him. I tried being
friendly when we met, but that didn't seem to get me very far. Then that day
when we did our laundry together and he mentioned his participation the
tough-man competition, I had the opening I needed. I went over to the "Y" and
asked the head official to pit me against Mitch in the first fight of the
evening. He wasn't very cooperative initially, but after I 'reasoned' with
him, he came around to seeing things my way (I guess being drapped across a
big woman's thighs and spanked opens ones mind, if you catch my drift - wink).

But that still left me with a dilemma: what should I do when I faced Mitch in
the ring? Should I beat the crap out of him? That wouldn't get me very far
with him now would it? But letting him win is not my style; and besides, he'd
probably get his ass kicked by his next opponent anyway. I wanted this guy in
a bad way; so what's a girl to do? In the end I decided to just slug it out
with him and let the chips fall where they may.

Although I deliberately tried to pull my punches and not to hit Mitch too
hard, I still gave him a bloody nose and several bruises on his chest by the
end of the first round. And when he managed to hit me in the shoulder, I just
laughed it off (I do get a little cocky in the ring sometimes, I guess it's
just my nature). In the second round, after I noticed Mitch's left eye began
to close and his jaw started to swell, I decided to leave his face alone and
switched my attack to his mid-section for the remainder of the fight.

By the middle of the third round I could see that Mitch had had enough; it was
time to end this. I backed him into one of the corners and slammed my right
fist deep into his stomach. As he keeled over, I whispered,"please Mitch, for
your sake don't try to get up. I really don't want to hurt you anymore. I
think you've had quite enough tonight."

I was standing in front of him with my hands on my hips. He stared up at me
and tried to rise. So I said more forcefully,"I told you to stay down honey.
Because even if you do manage to get up, I'll only put you down again; and you
know that." As I looked down at the handsome man that I just battered, I
noticed he had tears in his eyes. His dream of winning had been completely
destroyed - by a woman. I actually felt sorry for him. I felt like wrapping my
powerful arms around him and squeezing him against my ample breasts. So sweet,
so pathetic. But I had to let him know where he stood."Face it Mitch, you're
beaten. So please stay down and let the ref count you out. It'll be better
that way...for both of us."

Thankfully, Mitch took my advice and made no further attempt to get up (I
would really have hated to hurt him anymore). After flexing my awesome muscles
for the crowd in my standard victory pose, I helped Mitch to his feet and led
him out of the ring. I took him over to the first aid station and began
tending to his wounds - wounds that I myself had given him only a few moments
earlier! The irony wasn't lost on either of us. (I had mentioned to him while
we were doing our laundry that I was a nurse, but I guess he forgot about that
while I was pounding him. Hmmm...I wonder why).

When it was my turn to fight again I told Mitch to keep the icepack against
his jaw and just enjoy the rest of the event as a spectator. My next opponent
was a 300 pound auto machanic whom I had little trouble beating into
submission in two rounds. But the one after him - a muscular, 250 pound weight
lifter - lost his cool and made the mistake of calling me a bitch while I was
bashing him around; and nobody calls me a bitch and gets away with it. I
pounded him senseless and he had to be taken out of the ring on a stretcher
(whereupon my nursing instincts superseded my anger and I administered first
aid to him also; afterwhich he apologised to me).

In the final, I faced the defending champion - a big, tough, former boxer who
had the reputation of being an arrogant bully. I don't like bullies, so I
decided to give this man the beating he deserved. And to add to his
humiliation of being battered by a woman, I laughed and teased him while doing
it (remember I mentioned earlier how erotic it was for me to pound these
rough, tough men into submission? Well this was a classic example. In fact I
had two orgasms during that fight). After the end of the second round I looked
over at Mitch and blew him a kiss; then wondered: was he rooting for me or
against me?

By the middle of the third round I decided to put the former champ out of his
misery. I set him up beautifully and then - WHAM! - hit him with a tremendous
right uppercut to the jaw. The power of my punch lifted his 265 pounds off the
floor and sent him literally flying into the ropes with such force that he
rebounded off them and staggared forwards, right into my waiting fist...and
that was all she wrote. I put my right foot on his chest and flexed my muscles
for the cheering crowd. Another tough-'man' tournament, another victory for
the woman! (My eighth so far. I think I'm going to have to get a bigger thophy
case - giggles).

After receiving my trophy and winners check for $1,000, I climbed out of the
ring and walked over to where Mitch was seated (still with the icepack against
his jaw, poor baby). "Hey good looking, how about giving me a little victory
scmooch?" Before Mitch even had time to answer my rhetorical question, I
yanked him up from the chair, wrapped my powerful arms around him (like I've
been wanting to do ever since I first saw him) and gave him a long, passionate
kiss.

"Ooooh honey. That felt so good. How about another scmooch?" This time I sank
my tongue deep into Mitch's mouth and squeezed him even tighter. After about a
minute, I released him and he fell to the floor, gasping for breath. "What's
the matter tough guy?" I teased as I helped him to his feet. "Are even my
kisses too much for you to handle? You really are a softie aren't you? Tee,
hee, hee." I know I was rubbing it in at this point, but I couldn't help
myself. After beating up four big, tough menI was flush with victory and
horney as hell. Mitch would be mine tonight I decided, whether he liked it or
not."Come on honey," I said as I grabbed him firmly by the hand,"let's walk
home together."

"Are you really sure you want to walk back with me Jane?" he asked meekly."I
mean, an hour ago you battered me to a pulp; didn't you?" (Oh God. Is there
anything in the world more fragle than a man's pride? I'd really like to take
this guy across my knee and spank what's left of his ego out of him. But if I
really want him to be mine, I'll have to play this a bit more tactfully).

"Please don't be like that Mitch," I said as sympathically as I could. "Just
because I beat you up in the tournament tonight doesn't mean we can't at least
walk home together...can't be friends. We both live in the same apartment
complex and it's only a few blocks away (I squeezed his hand even more
firmly). So come honey, let's go." Hand-in-hand we left the YMCA and began to
make our way home.

We walked together in an errie silence for a few minutes, neither one of us
seemed to know what to say. Finally, Mitch got up the courage to look me
straight in the eye and said,"Jane, I really don't consider myself a
chauvanist, but you - a woman - really did kick my ass but good tonight... as
well as everyone else you fought."

Relieved that the ice had finally been broken, I began to laugh. "Yes Mitch, I
certainly did; didn't I?" I then went on to explain to him why I did it -
partially as a way of getting to meet him, and partly to prevent him from
getting an even worse beating from another competitor. It took Mitch a little
while to appreciate the irony of what I was saying - that I beat him up to
protect him, and that I took it easy on him. And while he was struggling to
come to terms with what I was saying, we arrived at my apartment; just as my
passion for this man was reaching the point of exploding.

I unlocked and opened the door, lifted Mitch's 230 pounds up in my powerful
arms as if he were a child and carried him inside...straight into my bedroom.
I tossed him on the bed and quickly began to remove my pink bathing suit.
"Whatever clothes you still have on after I pounce on you will be ripped off
Mitchie," I warned (he managed to remove his boxer shorts just seconds before
I leaped on top of him). I sat on his chest with his head in-between my
massive thighs, only a few tantalizing inches from my pussy. "Come on honey,
in honor of her victory tonight the toughest 'person' in the city wants a
handsome man to pleasure her." I grabbed him firmly by the back of his head
and forced his face up into my womanhood. "So let's get to work handsome!"

To describe to you in words the erotic joy Mitch and I experienced that night
would be virtually impossible. Suffice to say that it was a night of passion
that neither of us will ever forget. Though unsure of himself at first (being
completely under the control of a strong, dominiant woman will do that to a
guy), I was soon able to break down Mitch's resistance. And once he came
around to accepted the fact that I was the superior in our relationship, the
floodgates were opened and he released a torrent of sexual passion that
sustained us both throughout the night. With my greater strength I bent and
shaped him to my will - and he, like a docile little puppy, complied; well
most of the time anyway.

Every once in a while though, Mitch's innate masculine urge to take control of
our lovemaking attempted to reassert itself. When it did, I simply batted it
down and then used my powerful female body to put him in his place. The first
time he tried, I pinned him under my massive breasts and smothered him until
he begged forgivness. The next time, I placed my huge tuchie on his face and
farted (it was an accident, I swear it; tee, hee). I didn't let him up until
he kissed and carressed my butt. And when Mitch ejaculated prematurely all
over the bed, I took him over my thighs and gave him a spanking for being a
'naughty boy'. Then I sat him on my knee and bounced him up and down as a
mother would a small child (he came again as I was doing this but this time I
just hugged my 'little Mitchie'). It was a night of pure, passionate
lovemaking with the superior female in complete control - just as it should
be.

Sometime around dawn - right before sleep finally overtook us - I put my
muscular arms around my lover and squeezed him tightly against my breasts
again. "Pleasent dreams snuggums," I whispered softly in his ear.

His reply sealed our fate together. "I love you Amazon Jane - you big, strong,
gorgeous hunk of woman. And there's nowhere else on Earth I'd rather be then
right here, snug in your incredibly awesome body."