You all know Tony; or at least, you know his type - the most "in" person of the "in" crowd. He sails through exams, gets a great job, women adore him (or at least, his money and influence), and everyone thinks it’s the wittiest thing if he just says, with a quizzical look, "It rained yesterday".

But there’s always the occasional person who doesn’t like him. One such was Amy, who worked with him. While she mostly kept her thoughts to herself, she found it nauseating the way colleagues fawned over him. He was fairly new to the job, and she rather longed for the days when they used to go to the pub after work and have a laugh or a moan about the day’s events. Now they just awaited Tony’s latest thoughts, as if he were Chairman Mao.

Tony noticed her independence, and it puzzled him. I mean, why wouldn’t a good-looking girl like her fall for his obvious charms? She wasn’t rude, just sceptical, with remarks like "Are you sure about that?" while others would just utter, "How true!" Then fate intervened.

"Coming to the pub, Amy?" someone asked as they were getting ready to leave.

"Not this evening, I’m off to my self-defence class," she answered.

"Now if self-defence is what you’re into, I can help you a bit there," Tony said, to general exclamations of admiration from the others.

"Well, I’ve paid for these classes, so I’d better go," she told him, trying to edge herself away.

"Paid? I could show you all you need to know for nothing! It would be my pleasure!" he boomed. "Name your time."

"Are you sure?" she asked, trying not to look sly.

"Absolutely!" he roared.

"All right," she agreed. "I know a little gym where we can book the ring on Saturday."

"Perfect! It’s a date!"

*****

"You never told me the man had to be naked," Tony complained once they were in the ring. 

"Didn’t I?" she asked archly, amused to see him out of sorts for once, "do you want to call it off?" She felt his standing with all the hangers-on would be damaged if he did.

So did he. Not only that: he was fascinated by the way she looked in her fighting outfit. It was a white leotard, conventional enough at the front, resembling a one-piece swimsuit. Its fairly low neckline hinted at the exquisite shape of her breasts. At the back, it might just as well have been a bikini, because she was bare from the small of the back to the shoulders. Dynamic black-and-white MMA gloves, and white boots rounded off her striking appearance.

"Okay," he said, his good humour restored, "try and hit me."

Amy jabbed with her left; with a jerk of the head, he evaded it. She fired a right, and the merest flick of his head saw it sweep past his face. He gave his supercilious laugh at her futile efforts.

"Laugh this off," Amy thought grimly, launching a huge left hook – which "swished" past his reclining form. A right hook fared no better. 

A left cross so very nearly got him in the eye. So very nearly. All the time he wore an infuriating smile. Amy knew he was just doing this to feed his ego, and to impress her. Well yes, she was impressed by his skill, but she couldn’t bear his superior attitude, and would never consent to a date with him, which all the other girls longed to have. He sensed this, which made him all the more determined to "tame" her.

A right cross was batted away, then another left cross went over his head. An attempted uppercut made her stumble, and he laughed at her loss of dignity. (Amy’s dignity was very important to her). 

She was visibly tiring, whereas he – curse him – looked as if he’d been relaxing in the sun. She tried to catch him out with a body shot, but aiming low and missing caused her to fall. She would have landed on the mat if Tony hadn’t swept in from behind and lifted her up, his right hand a little too low on her stomach, and his left pawing her left breast. Amy protested, but he just chuckled, enjoying his free grope.

"You dirty b-" Tony’s right hand went over her mouth, so she never finished her insult. 

He lowered her to the mat, then let go of her mouth and (reluctantly) her breast. She tried to leave the ring, but he grabbed her and turned her to face him. What she saw – a massive erection – enraged her.

"You’re supposed to be giving me a free lesson, instead you’ve had your dirty hands all over my body - and look what it’s done!" Amy shouted, pointing at his erection.

She aimed a kick at it, but he diverted it with his arm. She left kicked sideways at his head, but he moved slightly further to the side to render it harmless. He ducked under a right high kick. 

In short, her feet fared no better than her fists. Her efforts and exertions were met with the same easy, almost lazy, defence. The more tired she became, the more self-satisfied and patronising he grew. Of course he was an expert in self-defence, she thought bitterly as he edged away a right kick aimed at his knee. He’d probably go home and compose a symphony after this.

She high kicked again. Tony deflected it (naturally), then caught her leg in full stretch and scooped her up effortlessly again, but so she was facing him this time. Then he let her drop, rather painfully, to the mat, landing on her right knee. He kept a hold of her left arm and locked it – his first offensive move of the session – before letting go so that she slumped down fully on the mat, humiliated and embarrassed.

"Well, I don’t think I can show you anything else," he addressed her as she lay on her side. "You’re too wayward. You have plenty of spirit, but it’s untamed."

"I could say the same about your ego," Amy murmured.

"Haha! Yes, certainly plenty of spirit," he laughed, pretending not to be stung by her remark. "Well, I don’t think I can do any more to help you, I’ll see you on Monday."

He had actually shown her nothing, except to confirm what a show off he was. As she heard him turn to leave, she seethed with resentment and thirsted for revenge. Quick and silent as a cat, she sprang up, noiselessly ran after him, and launched an almighty kick in the balls from behind. He froze in agony, before letting out a roar of pain. He fell to the mat, and she got him on the way down with a second kick to the balls with the other, left foot. 

"Never turn your back on an opponent if they haven’t tapped out or conceded defeat," she snarled, kicking him back down as he attempted to get up. Her foot caught him viciously on the right side of his head, particularly the ear. "You should know that!"  

Tony reached up and flung his right arm round her neck, looking to headlock her. As he pulled her down, she punched him ferociously in the ear she had only just kicked. The unexpected shock of a second blow to the ear, coupled with the disorientation it caused, made him loosen his grip on her neck.

Amy flung herself free, then knelt on her left knee over his back. Seizing his right wrist, she hauled that arm up to lock it under her right thigh at the shoulder. Her left hand threatened his head and face. Tony let out another cry of pain as she levered his arm further up by the wrist, while pushing his shoulder down with her thigh. 

Getting into her stride, she knelt so she straddled his backside, and locked both his arms behind his back. You could call it an inverted full Nelson. Wrestling was her strong point, as Tony was finding to his cost.

"How does it feel, lying helpless under a woman?" she asked unpleasantly.

"I’ll try anything once," he replied through teeth gritted with pain. Amy smiled despite herself.

From her position, the natural progression was to a camel clutch. Squatting over the small of his back, with his shoulders over her legs, she yanked his upper body up with both hands under his chin, while keeping his mid-section locked tightly where it was between her thighs. Tony had an idea what to expect, and sure enough hot barbs of pain zoomed from his neck down his spine. There they multiplied and fanned out along his ribs and into his chest and stomach.

Amy forced him down. Lying over him, she locked his arms under hers so that they were stretched beyond his head in a horizontal full Nelson. For good measure, this position pushed his manhood into the mat as well. It was the more painful because he still had a full erection. He tried to push up with his head on the mat to relieve it, but she pushed it down with both hands. Meanwhile the muscles, nerves, tendons and bones struggled to meet the strain on his arms from his shoulders to his fingertips. 

Modifying the hold, she let go of Tony’s right arm, but moved him onto his side so he was lying on it, while she kept the lock on his left arm. Yet all the time she was moving. He found himself on one knee. Then she raised him to an ungainly position, on his feet but stooping low over her right thigh (still with that left arm locked). Her speedy alterations bewildered him. 

She wouldn’t keep still, but kept changing the hold until she settled for a very complex (and painful) one. She had at last let go of his now useless left arm, only to lock his right one in the crook of her left arm. With her right leg wound around his left leg, and off the mat, she half scissored his neck in her left leg, forcing his neck downwards. Tony didn’t know it, but she had him in an octopus. As both her feet were off the mat, he was supporting the two of them, while his chest felt as if it would burst, because his neck was being wrenched to double back from the rest of his body. 

All the while she heaved and manipulated his limbs, in particular his right arm, with the sickening sound of bones cracking. Having wished she would keep still, now Tony longed for her to move. Anything must be better than this. 

She seemed to answer his thoughts. She relinquished the hold, somersaulted so that her legs were in the air, and snapped her thighs shut tightly around his neck. He knew what this hold was: a flying head scissor. As before, he had to support the pair of them on his feet, while she swung to and fro. His body strained just to be able to remain standing, while he staggered and faltered to keep up with her. 

Showing a dexterity that he never dreamt she had, she swung herself up so she sat on his neck and shoulders. She stared down at his face, watching how he winced with every effort to stay on his feet. 

Tony did well to stay up for so long, though Amy wouldn’t admit it, even to herself. But eventually he succumbed and fell on his back. She pretty much stayed where she was, landing on top of him, facing upwards and still scissoring his neck.  Supporting herself on her hands, she stretched luxuriously, while tightening the grip of her powerful thighs around his neck. 

But she wanted a change. So she lay across him, still keeping the scissor going. It made no difference to Tony – she still imposed this choking grip on his neck. He couldn’t see the point of it, because his neck remained in that fleshy prison.

Oh blimey, she’s moving again, he thought, as they ended up in a reverse head scissor. But then he breathed the sigh of a man when a woman takes his penis in her hand. She moved up his body so the hold was now a reverse face-sit, and the pair of them went to work, as it were.

Amy tugged away as mercilessly as she had earlier on his other limbs. Her grip on his cock felt as strong as that of her thighs on his neck, and he briefly fantasised about being in bed with her. That did it. With a stifled shout, he came. She had defeated him in more ways than one.

Amy stood over the vanquished Tony, one foot on his spent cock, and flexed in triumph and satisfaction. 

"Here’s to my untamed spirit!" she laughed. Then, turning away from him to leave the ring, "See you on Monday."

(No one saw him on Monday. He resigned from the job with immediate effect, unable to face her.)