Ring Girl, Part Two
By Sonofjack, sonofjackwell@gmail.com
The continuing story of Susie the ring girl...


The day after I knocked out two heavyweight champions while serving as the
ring girl I had forty-seven messages on my voicemail. I don't even know how
most of these people got my phone number. Most of the calls were job offers
and requests for interviews,

I knew I would need help sifting through all this so I turned to the man who
has been my rock for the past year. I asked Wilbur for help. Unfortunately, I
disturbed him at a time when he was rearranging his action figures.

"Susie, please, can't you see that I'm very busy. Can't you get someone else
to help you?"

"I'm sorry, Pooh Bear; I didn't mean to bother you," I told him. I gave him a
quick titty fuck to make it up to him. Since Wilbur was unavailable, I called
the friend who'd set me up with the ring girl gig to begin with. He got me in
touch with a female agent. I thought it best to get a female agent because any
man that works too closely with me for more than a few hours inevitably fall
head over heels in love me because I'm so sweet and sexy and all around
awesome.

While I waited for my agent to get in touch with me, I surfed the net and
discovered that I'd become an internet sensation. Most of the stories focused
on how smokin' hot my body is and how impossibly beautiful my face is. But
almost as many stories emphasized how incredibly strong and unbelievably tough
I am.

If I'd have known that beating up on men would have garnered this much
positive attention, I would have started doing it more publicly years ago. As
it is, I've been privately beating up men since I was nine years old starting
with my father and my eight older brothers. But don't think I'm a bully. I
only beat up men who deserve it. That, of course, includes any men who doesn't
do whatever I tell them to do.

Before Wilbur, I've always been the boss in any romantic relationship I've
been in. I've mostly gone out with athletic, muscular men who I've dominated
with my vastly superior strength. I'll admit that I enjoyed dominating these
much bigger men and making them grovel on their knees and kiss my pretty feet
and adorable toes. So beating up two more big men was no kind of big deal for
me. The fact that these particular men were called heavyweight world champions
didn't matter to me one little bit. To me they were just two more weak men to
dominate.

It's different with Wilbur, of course. Wilbur is my precious little Pooh Bear,
and I do whatever he tells me to do.

My previous boyfriend - the one I broke up with when I met Wilbur - was very
tall, muscular and handsome. He was also very strong for a man. He could bench
press nearly four hundred pounds. I used to love to go up to his barbell
loaded with that much weight and easily lift it with one hand over my head. I
would lift it up and down several times with one hand, and then I switch and
do the same thing with the other hand. I would do this often to remind him who
was boss. It was easy.

Poor Bobby cried and cried when I broke up with him to be with Wilbur. Then
again, all the men I've broken up with have cried and begged and pleaded for
me to take them back. I have that effect on men.

Anyway, I went online and started reading all the stuff about me. Some of it
wasn't very flattering. For example, some jerks said that it was all a hoax.
They said that no woman who looked as good as me could also be so strong. I
liked the part where they said I looked so good because that is very accurate.
However, the part where they said that I'm not very, very strong is not
accurate at all.

I only wish I could get twenty or thirty of these guys in a room together. I'd
show them how strong I am. The truth is, when I knocked out each of those
heavyweight champions I wasn't even using 30% of my strength. I could easily
beat up twenty or thirty men without even messing up my hair.

Even worse, some trolls posted that my boobs looked fake or that my ass and my
lips were enhanced. Unfortunately, that's a byproduct of being as beautiful as
I am. I guess it make sense though. I possess almost impossible beauty; as a
result, some people just don't belief it. I'm like the Loch Ness Monster of
beauty.

In one of my interviews after the fight I mentioned that I grew up in
Sheboygan, Wisconsin so someone on the internet dubbed me the "Sheboygan Ring
Girl", and the name stuck. By noon the next day "Sheboygan Ring Girl" was the
most popular search on Google.

It was getting close to noon so I went to find Wilbur to ask him what he
wanted me to make him for lunch. I went to his man-cave and peeked in the
door. (I'm not allowed to enter Wilbur's man-cave without permission.) He was
sitting at a tray table with his computer in front of him stroking his tiny
little dick and repeating "Oh, baby, fuck me, fuck me, baby. Put those big
tits in my face."

I left without saying anything and went to our bedroom and threw myself on the
bed and began sobbing. He was jerking off to some internet whore! I couldn't
see who it was, but it really didn't matter. He had the hottest girlfriend in
the world - the biggest downloaded image on the internet - the woman that
millions of men all around the world dreamed about fucking - and he was
masturbating to someone else!

I was more than willing to do anything that he wanted me to do to him sexually
without him even having to ask. I was eager to be his living sexbot. My last
boyfriend, Bobby, almost killed himself when I left him, and Wilbur is in the
other room jerking off to some skank.

A couple of hours later I heard Wilbur talking on the phone to one of his dork
friends. "Have you seen this new internet babe? . . . Yeah, the one they're
calling the Sheboygan Ring Girl . . . I know! . . . She's sooo smokin' hot . .
. She's supposedly incredibly strong too . . . Yeah, I jerked off to a picture
of her in a sexy bikini that's posted on the internet . . . ."

It turns out that Wilbur was jerking off to a picture of me and he didn't even
realize it. This was confirmed when I heard him tell his friend, "What? . . .
You think she looks like Susie? . . . No way! The Sheboygan Ring Girl is way
hotter than Susie!"

As if! But I guess it makes sense. The only woman in the world that could be
even half-way as hot as me is me. Still, Wilbur should have known that I was
working as a ring girl last night. He should also know that I'm from
Sheboygan. He definitely knows that I'm incredibly strong. It's kind of hard
to see how he didn't connect those dots.

The next day my female agent Frieda and I began devising a plan. "We have to
strike while the iron is hot, darling," she told me.

"Okay, so where do we start?"

"We can start anywhere," she said, "Because you, my darling, are going to be
an easy product to sell."

"You mean because I'm so smokin' hot and beautiful?" I ask.

"Exactly, darling! With the boobs and the ass and the face and the hair! When
you factor in that you have the strength to.... Exactly how strong are you,
dear?"

"I don't know. How strong do I have to be?" I ask.

"For example, are you strong enough to set new world records for women's power
lifting?"

"Easily," I reply, "But why not set new world's records for men's power
lifting?"

"You can do that?" she asked.

"Oh, sure; easily," I reply. "I'm sure I could at least triple whatever the
current records are."

"Darling, E! is just going to eat you up!"

"But first there's something I want to get settled," I tell her.

"What, darling?"

"There's a lot of talk on the internet that says that I didn't really knock
out two heavyweight champions with one punch each. Or some trolls say that I
did but that it was a fluke."

"And you want to prove them wrong. Is that it?"

"Exactly!" I liked Frieda. She understood that a woman has to maintain her
dignity.

Frieda and I discussed it. I explained to her that I wanted to fight both
those guys again and schedule both fights for the same night. I couldn't see
any reason to drag this thing out. Frieda asked me, "Wait, why are there two
heavyweight world champions. There's only one world." I explained to her about
the different sanctioning organizations.

After checking on the internet, Frieda came back to me and said, "There are
not just two recognized heavyweight world champions; currently there are four!
Sports are so stupid."

"Tell me about it!"

So Frieda arranged for me to fight all four champions in one night. There was
some resistance from the four champions, but I just went all over TV and the
internet and called them chickens until they all agreed to fight me.

There was a slight hold up when the champion whose jaw I broke refused to face
me in the ring again. When his sanctioning body put pressure on him to face me
in order "to redeem the prestige of our championship belt", he opted to
retire. We had to wait a couple of months so that they could hold a tournament
to determine a new champion.

I did have to give in on a couple of point. For one thing, I want to just go
ahead and fight all four of my opponents at the same time. I figured I could
save time if I just beat them up all at once. I knew that none of them could
hit hard enough to hurt me. Unfortunately, it was decided that I would have to
face them one at a time.

The second thing was, I objected to the title "heavyweight champion". "Do I
look like a 'heavyweight'?" I asked. After checking Frieda explained to me
that the title of undisputed heavyweight champion of the world was the title
with the most prestige and glory. It was also the title with the most earning
potential.

"Besides, darling, no one in their right mind could ever confuse you with your
slender waist, your flat tummy, and your tight tushie for a heavyweight."

In the weeks leading up to the fight, I did a lot of interviews. For some
stupid reason people kept asking me what I was doing to train for the fight.
Train? Why did they think I needed to train? I was only going to beat up four
men. I told one interviewer, "Does a tornado have to train to blow houses
down?"

I decided to wear the same bikini I wore when I was a ring girl. I did this
because a.) I wanted to look extra smokin' hot and b.) because... well, really
I just wanted to look EXTRA SMOKIN' HOT! A few people tried to talk me out of
wearing my six inch candy apple red pumps during the match, but no way! They
made my ass and legs look amazing!

I wish I could report that the fights themselves were amazing and spectacular,
but that just wasn't so.

I was advised before the fight by Frieda to not simply knock each of the men
out in the first five seconds. "We have to give the audience their money's
worth." It seemed stupid to me. Didn't everyone want to see the smokin' hot
babe with the amazing rack beat up the four strong men one after another? But
I agreed to follow Frieda's advice.

In the first three fights, I spent the first two minutes of the first round
bobbing, weaving and dancing around so that my opponents could not land any
punches. I laughed and talked trash as their hardest punch met nothing but
air. I made it clear to everyone watching that I was much too fast and skilled
for my opponents.

In the last minute of the first rounds, I would stop dancing and stand still.
I would let my opponents hit me at will. They tried hitting me in the face, in
my rock hard abs and on my round, full spectacular breasts. I continued to
laugh and talk trash as their hardest punches bounced off me with no effect
whatsoever. All their punches did was make their own hands hurt.

In the second round, I would come out and throw my first punch. In all three
cases my first punch would land and lift my opponents several feet into the
air. When they landed, they were out cold. In the first fight I used a right
cross. In the second fight I threw a left jab. In the third fight I won with a
right uppercut.

Each of my first three fights ended about fourteen seconds into the second
round. Ten of those seconds was the time it took for the referee to count my
opponents out. Poor babies.

The fourth fight took longer. In that match, my opponent started crying and
refused to fight. After seeing what I did to the other three champions, he
forfeited without even trying. Instead, he crawled to the center of the ring,
groveled at my feet and begged me not to hurt him. I told him I wouldn't if he
kissed and licked my high heels as a way to show his gratitude and
subservience.

The crowd roared their approval as my opponent spent the entire first round
groveling and worshipping at my feet. As I looked around at the men in the
crowd, I could tell that most of them wished they could take his place.

When the first round ended, he went back to his corner. I went over and got
the card for the second round and held it over my head as I walked around the
ring three times being sure to wiggle my ass as I did. The audience went
insane!

When the second round began, my opponent (although you really couldn't
rightfully call him that anymore) began to stand up. "Ahem!" I said. He looked
at me, and I pointed down. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled
across the ring to me where he resumed worshipping my feet.

When I complimented his groveling and his foot kissing he told me he was in
love with me and pleaded with me to allow him to serve as my love slave. "I'll
do anything you command me to do. I'll worship you like the goddess of power
and beauty you are, Mistress. I wouldn't just kiss the dirt beneath your feet;
I'd consider it an honor to BE the dirt beneath your feet."

"That's sweet," I said, "But I've got a boyfriend."

"Yes, Mistress, but if you would just consider making me your boyfriend
instead, I would gladly spend the rest of my life serving you in any way you
wanted me to. You're slightest suggestion would be like one of God's own
commandments."

It was then that I told him to stand up. I knocked him out like I did the
other three except I hit him even harder then I hit the first three. I used a
left hook. "That was for suggesting that I would ever leave my precious
Wilby-Poo for a weak loser like you," I told him ever though he was too down
for the count to hear me.

That's the problem. You let a man grovel and worship your feet in front of a
capacity crowd of spectators, and the next thing you know, they think that
they're good enough to be your love slave.

Anyway, that's how I became the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world.

After being interviewed on ESPN, I went home to show Wilbur my four new belts.
Boy, was he going to get lucky tonight!

Unfortunately he wasn't in a very good mood. Something happened to remind him
of how disappointing the final season of Game of Thrones had been. (I wish
he'd get over that already.) He said he was too despondent to listen to my
news. He told me, "You can be so selfish sometimes."

To make it up to him I dressed as Supergirl and bent some crowbars into
pretzels before making sweet, sweet love to my sweet Pooh Bear.

My fame became so big that Frieda had to hire an assistant to help her field
all on my endorsement offers. I also could have made millions of dollars
making personal appearances only I didn't want to be away from Wilbur. He
doesn't like to travel except to go to RPG tournaments and comic book and
various science fiction conventions.

Frieda did arrange for me to do that thing where I broke all of the men's
world power lifting records in one day. Actually it would be more accurate to
say that I shattered all the men's world power lifting records. I simply added
25% to whatever the existing records were and went out and lifted that much. I
could just as easily have tripled all the old records, but Frieda advised me
to "always leave them wanting more."

I didn't just break the old records though. I did it with sass and style. For
example, when I broke the clean and jerk record, I didn't just hold the
barbell over my head for a couple of seconds and then drop it like the men do.
I gave it some feminine flair. I held it aloft for ten seconds, and then I
dropped my right hand and continued holding it over my head with just my left.
And as a capper, I spun the barbell around like a baton six or seven times
before carefully putting it down.

The video of that garnered more than one hundred million hits on YouTube in
the first twenty-four hours. There were more than sixty thousand marriage
proposals in the comments section. Wilbur, who by now had figured out that I
was the Sheboygan Ring Girl, was one of the few men on the planet who didn't
watch the video. "I can watch you do that in person any time I want to," he
stated nonchalantly.

He had a valid point. In fact, he could watch me do it naked while I
erotically blew bubbles or sat on an elaborately decorated birthday cake if
that's what he wanted.

Unfortunately, being the undisputed world's heavyweight champion wasn't as
cool as I hoped it would be. For one thing I discovered that the champion
doesn't just stay being champion. She's expected to defend the championship
over and over!

There were a couple of problems with that. For one thing, why would I want to
keep beating up men over and over? How boring! I've already proven that no man
has what it takes to challenge my strength, my fighting skills or my
all-around awesomeness. Why should I have to keep proving it?

But it turns out that other then the millions of dollars in endorsements for
being photographed wearing the right brand of shoes or whatever, I don't keep
getting paid for being champion. I thought that the job came with a handsome
salary, but no! I only get paid if I keep fighting. So I thought, "Fine! If I
have to keep beating up men to get paid so be it!"

However, Frieda couldn't find any male fighters brave enough to go up against
me. No matter how much money the promoters offered the other boxers just to
get in the ring with me, none of them wanted to face the humiliation of being
beaten up by such a petite, pretty girl.

This, of course, doesn't make any sense at all. Judging by the hundred or so
emails I get every day from men begging me to dominate and humiliate them in
private, you'd think that at least one top-ranked contender would agree to get
humiliated and dominated in public. One thing was for sure, none of the former
champions who already faced me wanted to get back into the ring with me.

I thought about becoming the champion in the top four or five MMA
organizations, but that sounded kind of boring. It would just be too easy.
Besides, those MMA guys are so grim and serious. I was more the flamboyant and
fun loving type. And let's face it, it would take some special kind of idiots
to be willing to face me in any kind of combat sport.

And then Frieda got a call from professional wrestling....

(To be continued)

_______________________________

So that was Part Two. What did you think? Do you have any suggestions for Part
Three?

Send your comments to sonofjackwell@gmail.com

Your comments are ALWAYS welcome.

I also write custom stories on commission so if you like my writing style and
you have an idea that you'd like to see turned into a story, drop me an email.
I'm always ready to consider new story ideas....