Another Match 
By Bomur 


Hi there! 
 
This is the first story in the Sue Graham series, first uploaded on  
alt.sex.fetish.wrestling. More to come. Thanks to those who mailed. 
Ta, 
Bomur 
 
Another Match 
============= 
 
    If  there's one thing I hate, it's dirty changing rooms.  With  
all the money they've spent on this place, you'd think they could  
hire someone to clean these places out from time to time.  It's not  
asking that much, is it?  Better lighting too.  Some places are so  
dark and dismal that when I walk in I feel a strong urge to keep  
walking on out.  Still, beggars can't be choosers, and I don't  
suppose I can complain too much. 
 
    Sue's the name, in case you don't already know, and  
wrestling's the game, as they say around here.  Must admit  
though, for some it's not much of a game.  A job, perhaps.  
Obsession, maybe, for a few.  A game? Naw.  Not many of the girls  
I know would say that... I know some that get off on the idea  
that men get turned on watching them wrestle, so I suppose that  
makes them exhibitionists.  Maybe strippers are the same.  Me?   
Well, this is something that I'm good at, and for the moment,  
that'll have to do. 
 
    This changing room is awful.  I'll have to talk to Barney  
about it, maybe he can get something done about it.  I'm sure  
most of the other girls feel the same.  Oh, Barney's my manager,  
by the way.  Some call him a pimp, but not when I'm around.  He's  
all right.  He helped me get where I am today,  so I guess I'm  
sort of grateful to him. 
 
    Tonight I've got this big match at the Arena,  where most of  
the bigger league fights are held.  Don't be surprised that you  
haven't read about it in your daily rag, because this is private  
members stuff, all upfront subscriptions and no questions asked.  
Us girls get good pay, and the men get what they want, which is  
to watch us wrestle up close and in the flesh.  Even got these  
custom built arenas, and the Arena is probably the best of them.   
Shame about the changing rooms, though. 
 
    I get changed as quickly as possible.  Don't want to spend  
any more time in this hole than I have to.  My outfit for tonight  
is a red bikini, French cut (that's high on the thigh, for those  
who didn't know).  League rules say two piece only, no one piece,  
no topless.  If you get to be a big name you can customise a  
little, but the League have to approve it.  I'm not a big name  
yet.  Someday, maybe. 
 
    There's a small bathroom next door, so I go in and do the  
necessary, and I'm pleasantly surprised to find hot water and a  
flushing toilet.  Score one for Barney. Some things are more  
important than others, and no-one wants to find themselves in a  
body scissors with a full bladder! 
 
    A bang on the door lets me know that it's time I was getting  
ringside. I do a quick check on my gear, grab my dressing gown  
and head for the door.  In the corridor there's little noise and 
no people, so I trot to the stairs and go up. 
 
    Near the top of the stairs is some guy who holds up his hand  
and signals for me to wait. He's listening to something on his  
earpiece, and hardly pays me any attention at all. Suits me.  
Besides, the stairwell is well lit, and it allows my eyes time to  
get accustomed to the light, and I know that it's very bright up  
top.  In the past, a few girls have gone charging up the stairs  
and been completely dazzled by the main lights up top, and by the  
time they can see properly, they were already screaming their  
submission. 
 
    Oh yes, that's another thing.  Submissions only.  None of  
this poncy falls and pins shit. Even a knockout isn't the end of  
it. There are a few who specialise in knocking a girl out, with a  
piledriver or whatever, then get them in into their favourite  
(and usually extremely painful) hold and just wait for them to  
wake up. It's something to avoid, if you can. 
 
    The grade of the match determines the number of submissions  
required.  Regular matches, like this one tonight, are just one  
submission.  Bigger matches,  like non-title matches between two  
of the top wrestlers, are best of three.  Title matches are best  
of five.  Occasionally, there are specialist matches, grudge  
usually, where the required number of submission are set by the  
league, but they're comparatively rare.  I imagine they must  
charge a fortune for a seat at one of those.  I'll have to ask  
Barney about it someday.  I've never been much interested in that  
side of things. 
 
    The guy with the earpiece waves at me to go on up the stairs.  
 I take a deep breath and climb the few remaining stairs to the  
top. 
 
    Even with the wait on the stairs, it takes my eyes a few  
seconds to adjust to the light, so I just stand there and listen  
the polite applause.  No announcements, no compere or anything  
like that.  I think it's all handled by TV screens that are  
scattered around for the audience to look at between matches. 
  
    The ring is square.  I know that sounds like a joke,  but  
it's always struck me as odd that they should call it something  
that it's not.  This particular one is like a judo mat, only  
smoother. 
No ropes,  another league decision.  Doesn't bother me at all,   
I've never cared much for the ropes. Now I know there are loads  
of cameras dotted around,  but I've never been able to work out  
where 
they are.  Not that I'm going to be allowed too much time to go  
looking for them. 
 
    Above the ring and around the edges of the hall are the  
indicator lights, which at the moment are showing all green. When  
these go out, the match starts.  There are all sorts of signals  
that these lights give out, but the only ones I'm interested in  
tonight are the greens going out, like I said, and the red ones  
that indicate a submission, just in case either of us don't hear  
it. 
  
    I turn and look at my opponent for tonight, and have a hard  
time stopping myself from laughing out loud.  Barney did warn me.  
The girl is tall, black, lightly oiled (is that legal?) and  
wearing a tigerskin twopiece that looks like it just came from a  
real tiger.  Her name, believe it or don't, is Jungle Bunny. 
 
    She's eyeing me something rotten.  Ah, one of those.  Some  
don't engage in eye contact at all, even during the match, but  
others insist on trying to intimidate before the green lights go  
out.  Well, waste of time with me, Bunny.  Barney told me all  
about you.  You're strong, you're fast, and you've got a real  
high opinion of yourself, but you can be beat, just like anyone  
else. That's what I intend to teach you. 
 
    I step onto the mat, and so does she, only on the opposite  
side. As usual, I do a few stretches,  keeping an eye on the  
green lights. So far, so good.  Sometimes some jerk in the  
control box somewhere switches them off before both girls are  
ready, which usually means a very short match. As a rule, the  
audience don't care much for those. That's not to say that any of  
the girls string out a match to give the audience value for  
money,  although some like to play cat and mouse if they're  
confident of an easy victory.  It's just that the best game plan  
is to feel a girl out,  find out what she can take and what she  
can't, then go for the kill.  
 
    I look at Bunny again.  She's got strong looking shoulders.   
That could be bad news.  I like armlocks, and she looks like she  
could power out of most of the ones I get on her.  Looks can be  
deceptive, of course, but it's something to bear in mind.  Might  
try some of those old Judo holds. 
 
    Actually,  she's got a strong looking everything.  Muscular  
legs and arms, defined stomach, even a thick neck. Chokes and  
strangles are allowed, and although they don't score, like I  
said, they make a score shortly afterwards almost inevitable.  I  
doubt I'll be able to throttle Bunny without a real struggle.  No  
matter, I'll find something to make her cry for her daddy. She's  
still eyeing me. Silly bitch. 
 
    I walk towards the centre of the mat, keeping one eye on the  
green lights and the other on Bunny.  She walks towards me, doing  
the same.  Rules say no contact until the match starts, so we  
stand and wait. 
 
    For all of three seconds.  The lights go out and the match is  
on!  And she just stands there, looking at me.  Then she grins.   
I could get to like this one.  I start to circle her, and she  
does the same.  It's us two that are going to start this match,  
not some nerd in the control box. 
 
    She stops and raises her hands with an unspoken question in  
her eyes.  Oh yes!  I like her even better now.  The good old  
'Trial of Strength' lockup is a bit old hat days, but it's still  
loaded with possibilities.  Besides, it's a nice and simple  
opportunity to gauge each other's strength.  Of course,  she  
probably has something else in mind, but I don't plan on staying  
still for long either. So we come together and interlock hands. 
 
    As we turn the power on, I realise that she's probably  
stronger than me. I mentally run through the holds I can turn  
this into, but she jerks me forward and knees me in the gut.  I  
was half expecting it, since it was one of the things I was  
planning to do to her, but it still drives all the wind out of  
me.  She jerks me forward again, and knees me again, only this  
time lower down, in the bladder. Thank God I went before the  
match, otherwise I would have wet myself now. As it is, my legs  
give way. 
     
    As my knees hit the mat I find myself looking at her navel. I  
realise that I've got a hand free, and that means that she's got  
a hand free too.  Then I realise that hers  is on the back of my  
head. The pain in my belly is slowing up my thinking way too  
much.  I use my free hand to deflect the knee that's racing  
towards my jaw, but it still hits hard, and although the match is  
only seconds old I'm lying on my back with feet tucked up behind  
my backside and a large dose of black muscle looking down on me  
with professional malevolence. 
     
    One part of my mind can't get over how quick she is.  I'm no  
slouch, but she's beaten me to the punch with every move so far,  
and the next one could put me away.  If she decides to go for a  
kneedrop to the belly, I'm in real trouble.  The other part of my  
mind is yelling DO SOMETHING YOU STUPID COW and other such  
pleasantries.  As luck would have it, she decides to step around  
me, probably intending to go for my head.  It only takes a  
second, but as she takes her first step I free up a foot, and as  
she takes her second step I twist and kick her hard on the  
kneecap. 
 
    I hear her howl as I twist away. Score one for me. My first  
one tonight,  and I'm bloody glad of the breathing space I hope  
it's bought me. That's got to have hurt her.  Knees can be really  
dodgy, and a weak knee can put a girl out of this game for good.   
I take a breath, get up from all fours to one knee, and turn. 
 
    I'm looking at her navel again, only this time two strong  
hands clamp themselves on either side of my head and two thumbs  
start pressing up on the underside of my jaw.  shit Shit SHIT how  
did she recover so fast?!  By rights she should be still rolling  
around on the mat holding her knee.  I know I'm in real trouble  
now.  Her hands are just keeping my head steady, but it's her  
thumbs that are doing the real damage, and I can't even open my  
mouth.  I grab hold of her wrists to see if I can reduce the  
pressure, but it doesn't seem to make any difference. 
 
    She lifts me slowly into the standing position,  hands still  
on my head and thumbs that feel like they'll explode into my  
mouth at any second, and I look her in the face.  She look back  
at me, then grins.  Then that unspoken question is in her eyes  
again.  But she's not asking me to submit, oh no, that would be  
far too easy.  She's asking if I'm ready for her next, and  
possibly final, move. And I realise what it's going to be. Big uh  
oh.  She gives me a strange look, I suppose to say  'ready or  
not, here it comes!' and so she lifts me into the air. 
 
    NO NONO NONONONONO OH GOD NO!  I clamp my thighs either side  
of her body to try and take the strain off of my jaw, but the  
leverage isn't there. If my hands hadn't been holding her wrists,  
her thumbs would be pressing against the roof of my mouth by now.  
 They still might yet. I try to submit but all that comes out is  
a kind of gurgling noise.  Saliva starts bubbling out of my mouth  
and running down my chin. I know that the jerk in the control  
tower will signal a submission if he feels a wrestler is wanting  
to submit but is unable to make themselves understood, as can  
happen with some choke holds.  But there's no sign of the red  
lights. The pain is starting to get so bad that I might black  
out, and if I go slack now Bunny will rip my jaw out just by  
standing still! 
 
    NONONONOSUBMIT SUBMIT SUBMIT SUBMIT but I can't say it. Hold  
on, I can feel she's changed her stance a little. If she's been  
looking up at me then the spittle that's been bubbling out from  
my clenched teeth has been running down my chin and into her  
face. Not sure why, but I can get the pressure to ease up just a  
little bit with my hands on her wrists.  My thighs have a  
slightly better grip on her, but I'm not high enough to get a  
knee on her shoulder.  I get an idea.  It's going to hurt, but I  
might just be able to get out of this. 
 
    First I've got to change position with my hands. It's tricky,  
because if I get it wrong the best I can hope for is to wake up  
in hospital.  Worst case means being awake though the whole  
thing.  Very quickly, so as not to lose my grip, I move my hand  
up her wrist a bit. There's a slight increase in pressure, and I  
think my eyes are starting to stream because they're clamped shut  
so tightly.  My face must look a picture.  I must get Barney to  
get me a video of this.   
 
    Now my hand is up to the bottom of her hand.  So far so good.  
 Now for the other side. It suddenly occurs to me that the jerk  
in the control room may give a red light for me just when I'm  
about to escape from the hold. Oh Lord I hope not, not after what  
I've been through already.  I start praying that he's still  
asleep. Good.  Both hands are in position and no red lights. 
 
    I've only been able to get this far because she's distracted  
by something. I don't want to think about what would happen if  
she hadn't been. Anyway, this has to be done right, with little  
margin for error.  So, first I press my thumbs against the balls  
of her thumbs and hope that relieves the pressure even more.   
Then, without waiting to see if it works, throw a leg out and ram  
my knee where I guess her head is.  No second chances.  Here  
goes... DONE.. DONE! YES! 
 
    I'm on my back again, and I've rarely been so glad about it.   
My knee made a really solid connection, and I heard her grunt. I  
don't know where she is, or what condition she's in, but frankly  
I'm happy just to be able to open my mouth.  I think I know which  
way she fell, so I roll away from where I think she is,  get to  
my hands and knees, and look up. 
 
    She's still lying on the mat. YES!  I try to get up quickly,  
but my arms and legs feel like they weigh a ton. I'm almost to my  
feet when she stirs, does a little monkey flip, and is standing  
upright.  But she looks a little dazed.  She obviously wasn't  
expecting an escape.   Score one for me again.  All right, let's  
see if I can't get her a little more worried.  I try and put the  
pain in my jaw and mouth out of my mind, and I smile at her.  
 
    A look of dismay crosses her face.  YES!  Then a look of  
irritation,  then one of resolve. Well, it was to be expected, I  
suppose.  Still, she's got to be worried.  Anyone who can get out  
of that and smile about it is not to be taken for granted, to say  
the least.  Hell, even I would worry me at this point. 
 
    We start circling again. This time, she's definitely less  
sure of herself.  Her footing is very cautious, as though she's  
expecting me to rush her at any second and she doesn't want to be  
caught off-balance.  Sensible, but not what she would have done a  
minute ago.  I close on her.  She backs off, but only for a  
second, then comes to meet me. 
 
    YAAAAGGH!  I raised my hands at the last second before we  
connected, expecting another head attack, but she went underneath  
for a bearhug!  Not a particularly good move unless you've got  
the strength to pull it off, and my ribs are suggesting that  
she's got what's required, and then some.  Jesus, how does she do  
it?  She's been one step ahead of me since we stepped onto the  
mat, and it's starting to get on my nerves! 
 
    She lifts me off my feet  (she's a little taller than me -  
why didn't I notice that before?) and applies a bit more  
pressure.  I groan.  Still, things could be worse.  My arms a  
free, so an escape shouldn't be too difficult to manage.  Hmm.   
In fact,  I think she deserves a little of her own medicine.  I  
clamp my hands on either side of her head.  A flicker of surprise  
crosses her face, and she looks directly into my eyes.  I press  
my thumbs into the soft flesh just under her jaw and turn on the  
pressure.  Well, Bunny, let's see how you like it! 
 
    Good Heavans, it that what I looked like? How ghastly!  Her  
eyes have screwed shut and her mouth is locked into a sort of  
rictus grin, with her lips peeled back. She's got nice teeth.   
Let's 
increase the pressure a little. Very soon, she'll have to let go  
of my ribs and try to pull my hands away.  When she does,  I'll  
have to make sure my feet are positioned level with hers,  
otherwise she'll knee me. Then, a little skip to the side... ah,  
there go her arms!  I slide down her body and step between her  
legs.  Great!  Now the sidestep.  
 
    I would have liked to have had her dangling across my back  
like this, which would probably have scored very quickly, but I  
can't think of an easy way to do it.  Instead, I go for a nice  
little hip throw. Except that I throw her down by her jaw, giving  
an extra little push with my thumbs as I let go. 
 
    The audience gives a little collective gasp.  First I've  
heard from them all night.  She hits the mat hard and starts  
wailing like a banshee.  Now for the finish.  I press a foot onto  
her hip and roll her onto her belly.  Normally, I'd be careful  
about this, but she's obviously out of it, so I can afford a bit  
of style.  I do three things simultaneously :  I sit down on the  
small of her back;  with my left hand I reach around her neck;  
with my right I reach under her armpit.  For the grand finale,  I  
lock my hands together just behind her shoulder and tighten  
things up.  
 
    A chicken wing.  The simplest ones are the best, I always  
say.  Even with a free hand, there's nothing she can do.   
Actually, she's now somewhat dependant upon my keeping my balance  
and not jerking her in any particular direction.  If I do, a  
disconnected shoulder joint is the least of the possible outcomes. 
 
    She wimpers.  No submission yet, though.  No red lights.   
Apparently, the microphones around the mat are sensitive enough  
to pick up her saying the word 'submit'  so quietly that even I  
don't hear it.  Oh, I don't think I've mentioned that.  To  
submit, you must say the word 'submit'.  Nothing else will do.   
Not 'yes' or 'ok' or even 'give'.   Another quirky League rule.   
The only exception to this is if your mouth or throat is being  
attacked, in which case you probably wouldn't be able to say the  
word properly.  Thats when the guy in the control box comes in.   
You know about him. 
 
    She can talk.  She can say it if she wants to.  The pressure  
I'm putting on her throat and jaw isn't enough to stop it.  She  
wimpers again.  All right then Bunny, you want it, you're going  
to get it.  I slowly start to lean back, at the same time pulling  
her shoulder closer to my chest.  The wimpers get louder then the  
screaming starts.  Her free hand starts pawing my leg.  I  
continue to lean back. 
 
    She still hasn't given in!  What to do?  Well, I suppose I  
could dislocate her arm, then drag her up by it then give her a  
few Irish whips on it, and see what she says then.  Cripes.  No,  
let's go back a little further first. 
 
    She screams again.  "NOOO!!!  SUBMIT!!!! SUBMIT SUBMIT  
SUBMIT!!!!"  
 
    All right, dear, once is enough.  I let go and look up to see  
the red lights.  Suddenly, there's this thunderous applause!   
Going from dead quiet to Bunny's screams to this wall of noise is  
a bit much for the old ear drums.  I wince and stand up.  To make  
matters worse,  a voice comes over the PA:  "THE WINNER IS SUSAN  
GRAHAM!  SUSAN GRAHAM!" 
 
    Ick.  I smile and do a 360 degree turn, giving a little wave,  
 then head for the stairwell.  I don't look back at Bunny. 
 
    Barney is waiting for me back in the changing room.  "Are you  
alright?" he says.  This is almost always the first question  
Barney asks me after a match. 
 
    "Yeah, Barney.  Fine."  I ache in a few places,  I'm dog  
tired, but I feel pleased with myself.  I've done the job. 
 
    "She nearly had you."  Barney always does a post-mortem. 
 
    "I wasn't worried.  The jerk in the control room might have  
given it a red light though." 
 
    Barney looks at me strangely.  "Jerks." 
 
    "Huh?" 
     
    "Plural.  There's a panel of them.  I've told you before." 
 
    That's right.  He has.  I remember now.  They work on a  
simple majority system.  I keep forgetting stupid details like  
that.  It isn't that important to what I do, and it's not  
something I can do anything about, and such things I tend to  
forget.  If someone can show me how the fact that there's a whole  
load of jerks watching monitors in the control room can be used  
to my advantage, I'll make more of an effort to bring it into the  
forefront of my thinking.  Otherwise, forget it. 
 
    I notice that the changing room looks cleaner.  Barney must  
have done some clearing up. That's sweet.  Still, I'd better get  
cleaned up myself. 
 
    As if Barney has read my mind,  he walks past me towards the  
door, then pauses. "Mr. Lewis would like a word with you before  
you leave.   Try to be civil." 
 
    I don't much care for Mr. Lewis.  He always looks at me as  
though he's trying to picture me naked in his mind.  "Is it  
anything important?" I ask, a note of irritation in my voice that  
I hadn't intended.  It's not Barney's fault. 
 
    Barney's halfway out of the door already. "Maybe,"  he says,  
and pauses again "but I don't think it's anything to worry about.  
 Get changed and go and ask him. Oh, congratulations on another  
good match and another win. See you later." 
 
    "Bye, Barney." I say to the closing door. 
 
     Oh well.  Time to find out if I can get the shower to work  
properly. 
 
Copyright (c) Bomur 1996