Cymbaline had decided to take a vacation, about three months after her encounter with Eileen. The beautiful blonde wrestler had watched her careful investments make her about fifty thousand dollars during that quarter, so she decided to make a trip to Montreal. She had never been there, and the heat in New York was beginning to get oppressive. Silently, she once again thanked Nikki for her million-dollar gift, strangely received after Cymbaline had defeated her.

Three days later, she walked into Kennedy International Airport with her usual strong, self-confident gait, dressed in a shot navy blue sleeveless dress, with white high heels and taupe stockings. As she boarded the plane, a tall, blonde woman went to a pay phone and placed a call to New Orleans. At the other end of the line, a pale brunette smiled as she hung up the phone, then picked it up and made a call to Montreal. She had a brief conversation, then hung up and returned to her workout on a universal gym.

After an uneventful flight, the plane landed in Montreal. Cymbaline debarked and went to Customs and then to the car rental desk. Another tall, blonde woman watched her there. When Cymbaline left the desk, the blonde went over and gave the young woman there some money in exchange for a look at the rental record. When she found what she wanted, she left the counter and went to the nearest pay phone.

Cymbaline enjoyed the drive through the city from the airport, marveling at the coexistance of the old French-Canadian architecture and the modern city. She checked into a four-star hotel in the city center, and unpacked her suitcase. She washed her face with cold water, then looked at her watch and decided to go out and eat. Accoring to her travel agent, the hotel itself had a wonderful restaurant and Cymbaline, not wanting to drive around after the flight, decided to avail herself of its cuisine. She went downstairs and was directed into the bar, being told they needed a few minutes to find her a table.

When she was seated, she enjoyed a meal of roast duck, potatoes au gratin, steamed vegetables, and chablis. She lingered over a second cup of coffee, then returned to her room.

As she walked through the door of the large room, she noticed a long, lean figure laying on her side on the bed, wearing a black minidress of the same design as her own. It was a woman with dark blue eyes and long jet-black hair. Cymbaline would have guessed that they were about the same age, but there was no certainty in that guess. The blue-eyed beauty rose from the bed. She slipped on a pair of white high-heels before standing. She was the same height and build as Cymbaline, and she offered the blonde a wintery smile, with a slightly cruel edge. "Nikki sends her best." There was a strong French accent. "My name is Louise."

"I am Cymbaline. You didn't waste much time."

"The best things in life are those which are begun quickly." The brunette stepped forward and pressed herself nipple against nipple with Cymbaline, just as Nikki had done in New York. It was obvious that neither of them wore anything under their dresses, and both women seemed to shudder slightly at the contact. Cymbaline felt the back of the right hand of the brunette against her abdomen, as the woman said: "I challenge you."

Cymbaline took the hand and they both gripped. Hard enough to draw a gasp from both of them. Neither spoke, but both gasped under the pressure from the other's grip. After five seconds, beads of sweat began to appear over their upper lips. Each felt the nipples of the other boring into her own, feeling her breasts swell against the other's. "I accept," the blonde replied through gritted teeth. "Here and- now?"

"No," Louise replied, also through gritted teeth. "Tomorrow- afternoon, at my home, in- my gymnasium. The details are- in the envelope I have placed- on your dresser. There- are several- possibilities. As is the custom with our- clique of strength, two- of three will win."

"Very well, then," Cymabline said. "Until- tomorrow."

They continued to grip each other for another twenty seconds, both reluctant to end their test of strength without a winner, both reluctant to break the sensual contact between their breasts. They finally relased each other's hands and Louise left without another word and without looking back. Cymbaline opened a bottle of Perrier and looked at the contents of the thick envelope. She read through the information left behind by her new rival and felt an odd excitement building up in her.

Although that had been different, there had been a terrible chemistry between she and Nikki, a desire to overpower, then humiliate, then destroy. She knew that if she and Nikki ever met again, one of them would probably die under the strength of her rival. It had caused a strange lust to grow in her. She had felt when she had dueled with Eileen, just days after her more brutal encounter with Nikki.

She had felt many of the same things from Louise. There was the desire to overpower the brunette, to prove to both of them that her strength was the greater. She had felt the same feelings from Louise. This time, there was no desire for destruction, as there had been with Nikki. But, at the outset, there had been none with Nikki either.

Nikki had been her greatest challenge. She knew that she would find others who would approach or equal Nikki as a rival. Louise's strength was nothing to be dismissed. But she knew that Nikki was preparing for the final showdown between them. Cymbaline had done so, as well, and would continue to do so.

But each contest brought soemthing new into her life. With Nikki, it had been the dark need to destroy a rival. With Eileen, it had been a strong competitiveness, every bit as strong as with Nikki, but without the destructive desire. She wondered what would come out of her coming duel with Louise.

At one o'clock the following afternoon, Cymbaline rang the bell at the address provided. She was wearing a powder blue minidress with a navy blue sash for a belt, without stockings, and matching blue high heels. A tall, strong-looking brown-haired woman in a red dress opened the door. Instantly, she and the blonde sized each other up as potential rivals. Within a minute, each knew that a test of strength between them would be long and difficult. And each, for her own reasons, longed for it.

With undisguised hostility, the darker haired woman simply gestured, taking Cymbaline's handbag from her. Cymbaline went inside and followed the woman's pointing finger. There was a double door at the end of the hallway which Cymbaline closed after she had gone through. It clicked as it locked, and a deadbolt automatically slammed home.

Louise was across the gym, about twenty feet away, dressed in a red minidress, adorned with a white sash, and white high heels. The two women approached each other across the hardwood floor. There was sudden hatred in their eyes, the hatred of two beautiful animals bred for combat. They stopped, nipple to nipple and the hands again gripped underneath. "Since you were- challenged," Louise said, grunting, "the honor- of the first- choice is yours."

"No brutal- kiss or- slapped faces?"

"Nikki enjoys the- brutality. I do- not." Each woman had a faint sheen of sweat on her face.

Cymbaline nodded. It was time to turn up the intensity between them. "Your grip- is strong. Are your arms- strong?"

"Yes." There was pain in each woman's expression as the grip went on. The swelling breasts were hurting as well. Still the eyes full of hatred stayed locked.

"As strong- as mine?"

"Yes." Louise felt her nipples hardening so much they began to hurt.

Cymbaline was in similar discomfort, but the intensity had to be built further. "All who do- this, have a- favorite contest. What would your-title be- if you were to- choose one?"

"The- choice is- yours. What would-you like to be called?"

Cymbaline's eyes were ice-blue. "Arm- Wrestler."

Louise nodded slightly, just once. "Then- test your arm- against mine and- earn the title- Arm Wrestler- if you can. But one- of us- will have it." The two women stepped slightly apart and the grips eased. The hands remained gripped, however.

The two women made their way over to a small table, basically an elegant two by four with a two legs on either side. The tabletop was about four and a half feet high. They released each other's hand as they took positions on either side. Each woman removed the sash she used for a belt. Under the table, each woman stepped out with her right leg.. The inside of each woman's thigh met the other, pressing strongly. Cymbaline wrapped her sash around the thighs and tied them tightly together.

When she rose and the two women clasped hands, their fingers interlocked, Louise wrapped her sash tighly around their clasped hands and wrists. Once the two women were secured, their eyes met once more. And, as the ice-blue eyes met the dark blue eyes, both women knew that neither of them would give any mercy at all to her opponant. The muscles of the arms were taut and ready, having been that way since Cymbaline first entered the room.

Since Nikki had challenged her, Cymbaline realized that there need not be a reason to meet another woman like this, but that the thrill, the intensity, of the contest, which took on a life of its own, was enough.

Louise, for her part, was in her forties. No one could tell for sure, and she could attract men much younger than heself as lovers, and keep them. She engaged in a duel of strength to satisfy in her own mind that she could keep up with the younger women who should, by all rights, be able to overpower her. But she felt a certain satisfaction in that, even when she had been defeated, no one had easily overpowered her.

Nikki had first brought her into this three years before, in a long and brutal duel which had left Nikki as a clear winner. It had brought out a strong desire in Louise to continue, to demonstrate that she could keep up, that was still not only beautiful, but a physical match for any woman her size.

It short, it had become much more than just a craving in each of these strong, tawny women, to test their strength against each other. The only stronger craving was to win.

They stood there, these two strong women, their eyes locked, and no observer would have guessed that their struggle had begun, not until getting close enough to see new perspiration forming on their upper lips, hearing the harshness of their breathing, and seeing the faintest trembling of the two bound hands. Finally, one of them grunted, and it opened the floodgates for them to each acknowledge their effort in sound.

Each felt the iron hardness of the other's thigh as she pressed herself fully into the combat between them. Their bodies were soaked in sweat in minutes. Even though they had never faced each other before today, each know the type of woman she was facing. And each knew that the other had met Nikki. So each knew that her rival would fight to the finish.

After five minutes of grunting stalemate, Cymbaline pressed the brunette's hand down slightly. Louise gave an agonized cry as she lost ground and, with a cry that bordered on a scream, stopped the blonde for a moment. But Cymbaline had gained the edge and, slowly, agonizingly for both women, Cybaline pressed Louise's arm to the table.

When each had recovered, Louise began untying their hands. Cybmaline reached for the sash which bound their legs, but Louise stopped her. The brunette lifted the light, narrow table over their bound thighs and moved forward, pressing her nipples against the blonde's.

The hands once again gripped and the eyes locked again. "You have earned- the title," Louise said. "You are- the Arm Wrestler- between us."

"You- fought well," Cymbaline replied. "Our hatred- grows."

Each grunted in the grip of the other, which seemed to tighten even more. "Our- duel is far from- complete," Louise said, agony in her eyes.

The nipples of the two women bored against each other, though, apart from their hands, only their nipples were in contact. The electricty flowed between them like a river of hot lava. Each was burned by the contact with other and it showed in their grip, as well as in their breasts.

"We are- two women on fire- in our hatred," Louise said. "I choose- to heighten that- fire. I choose- to test your- strength against- mine- in an- embrace of power."

They released each other's hand and wrapped their right arms over the other's left shoulder. The left arm came roughly about the waist and each woman grabbed her left wrist in her right hand. Slowly, grindingly, each woman began to hug her rival tighter.

Withing a minute, each woman was using all of her considerable strength to try and squeeze the strength and air from the other. Her head rested on her enemy's left shoulder, and neither woman could breathe easily. Within two minutes, new perspiration was forming over each of their bodies.

Their right thighs, tied tightly together, began to buck against each other, as each looked for any weakness in her rival she could exploit. The thigh of her rival felt to each woman like hot cast iron. And the heat from the battle of the locked thighs was spreading into the loins of each woman.

As the duel wore on, minute after minute, each woman was feeling her strength drain away. Each woman was working hard at taking a breath, as though a giant vise was constricting her lungs. Each was in pain, even more pain than when they had arm wrestled and their muscles screamed. Now their muscles were screaming and vision was getting blurry.

Louise had been correct when she had called this contest an "embrace of power". It was much more than a bearhug. There was an intense delicacy about their combat. Each was grunting and straining in her effort to overpower the other, but they were not trying to fling each other around, or lift each other from the ground. Which would have been difficult anyway, as their thighs were bound together.

The two women began to sink, slightly, their legs being unable to support them, until they were straddled over the top of the other's right thigh. Each was eager, yet afraid of the sexual completion that the other offered. Neither could afford to give in to it, lest she lose this battle between their strength.

Now each woman moaned as the battleground between them grew wider. Each strained to hold off what she was feeling but suddenly, each woman screamed, as they fell to their sides, convulsing in each other's grasp. They were pressed together still, locked in each other's strength, but Cymbaline felt herself slipping away into suddenly welcome darkness-

She opened her eyes to see Louise looking down at her. Their hatred had grown even more, she could see that in Louise's eyes, but there was soemthing else there, too. Her thigh was still tied to her rival's and she felt the strong leg of the brunette pressed tightly between her own thighs. Each looked at the other with a hunger to continue the more feminine side of their duel. Louise moved down and pressed her mouth against the blonde's. The kiss started tenderly, but the hatred of the women overwhelmed them and the kiss became a battle of intensity between them. Suddenly, as though by mutual agreement, each broke her face away from the other. With trembling hands, Louise untied the sash from their thighs and each slowly rose, standing before each other, about a foot apart.

Neither had spoken, and each looked at each other for a long two minutes. Breasts heaved as each woman breathed deeply, both from their exertions against each other, and the desires each felt. Louise reached out with her hand and Cymbaline took it. Each gripped tightly as they prepared for the third and final time that their strength would meet. Each woman took a step toward her rival, her high-heeled feet moving with somewhat less certainty than when they had first met this afternoon.

Each women moaned when their nipples touched, and their eyes locked with hellish hatred that this could be done to her by her rival. Each was in agony, with one more battle between them to decide which woman was the stronger.

"The- choice is- yours," Cymbaline said. "Your- embrace was more- powerful."

"Let us- test the- strength of each- other's legs. Woman- to woman."

When they lay down on the floor, side by side, their head at each other's feet, Cymbaline noticed that the ceiling was mirrored. With her right hand, each woman gripped the upper arm of her rival, lifted her right leg and hooked it against her rival's, thigh against thigh.

But these two women went an extra step and pressed calf against calf. The loser, having her leg pressed backward instead of to the side, would be in agony. The hamstring would stretch much further than it was so designed to do.

Each woman screamed with effort. Each also knew that she would bear bruises from the grip of the other on her arm. Still, the duel continued. For five full minutes, neither woman gained an advantage. Each merely lay in intense pain, using all her strength against her opponant. Two strong, determined opponants, perfectly matched.

Seven and a half minutes. Cymbaline pressed Louise back ten degrees. There was a scream from the brunette which contained so much: agony, frustration, effort. Still, she could not regain the lost ground. But she refused to give up.

Nine minutes. Cymbaline was convinced that she would never cause her beautiful rival to submit, that her strength would never outlast Louise's determination. The two beauties were bathed in sweat, lines of agony etched in their faces as their struggle went on. Both were sobbing in pain now in this, the deciding contest of their duel. The muscular, perfect legs trembled as they fought on.

Ten minutes. Her hamstring being stretched, her agony only increased by her continued efforts, Louise screamed: "Please! Enough! Enough! I submit."

Cymbaline immediately ceased her effort and painfully removed her leg from Louise's. Louise was sobbing in pain and shame at her defeat. The blonde sat up and grabbed Louise's shoulders, pulling her up next to her. Her eyes challenged the brunette to meet her gaze.

"You are a powerful, beautiful woman," Cymbaline said. "You and I have tested each other to our limits. We both know that one of us had to win, but the fire between us was strong. It still is."

The sobbing stopped. Louise looked at Cymbaline, the blue eyes shining.. "You are very strong. It is no wonder that Nikki hates you as much as she does."

"How do you know that?"

Louise smiled. "She is having you followed. That is how I knew that you were in Montreal. She called me and told me. She said that if I wanted a duel with a powerful woman, to go to your hotel. She knew everything about your trip."

Cymbaline smiled. "That does explain a lot."

"And it will give her an advantage if you meet her again. You know that is what she has planned for you, another duel with her. Did you defeat her last time?"

Cymbaline nodded. "You were right when you said she enjoyed the brutality - she does. Our duel ended with her going to a hospital."

Louise nodded grimly. 'Then, if you face her again, one of you will go to the morgue. There are those among us who will challenege you to such duels of strength. From all these sources, Nikki will be able to track your progress, how easily you defeat, or how quickly you lose to, the women who are part of our clique all over the world. And they are everywhere. She will come to meet you again when she feels she is ready."

Cymbaline nodded. "I'll have to be ready for her, then."

"We all know one thing about each other: when any of us are challenged by another, we all will meet the challenger in a duel of strength. Nikki is like a circus ringmaster. When she knows one of us is traveling, she will arrange such a duel. When she travels, she fights herself. She and I have met twice, both very brutal duels, and I lost both times. But if she comes to Montreal again, I will receive a challenge." Louise frowned. "You will accept any challenge, and she will know the outcome. She will call tomorrow, to find out about today."

"Why not sooner?"

Louise smiled. "She will assume that you and I will be together tonight."

Cymbaline smiled back, thinking of the kiss and of their intensity while their legs were bound. "Perhaps we will be."