"So why has our membership dropped drastically?" the boss of the cfnm gym demanded of the two heads of department.

"Because we’ve gone woke," Sarah, of the women’s department, answered bluntly.

"It’s not that at all," claimed Matt, of the men’s department.

"What do you mean by that, Sarah?" asked the boss.

"Because he’s started to market leotards and sports bras for ‘trans women’, i.e., men," Sarah claimed contemptuously. "It puts both men and women off coming here."

"It’s not true at all," Matt held his ground. "It’s you with your traditional ‘men should look like this, and women should look like that’ attitude."

"So how many of those leotards have you sold?" Sarah asked, already knowing the answer (none).

"I’ve had enough of this," the boss told them. "Sort it out between you, and get the membership back up, otherwise you’ll both be on notice."

Sarah and Matt argued some more – traditional versus "progressive" – until they both agreed it could only be decided in the customary way for that gym, which was in the ring.

Matt chose not to wear one of his new leotards, but opted to go naked as the rules of that gym required. Sarah chose to wear her trademark black, figure-hugging leotard and dark pantyhose. The contrast with her blonde looks was striking, as it was meant to be.

The pair of them had disliked each other from the start, and the wonder was that their close working environment hadn’t resulted in a trip to the ring earlier. Now that they were facing each other, the man naked and the woman confident in her outfit that emphasised the shapeliness of her body, she outrageously mocked the size of Matt’s penis. Bending down to get a better look, as it were, she made a "tiny" gesture with her thumb and forefinger.

Furious, Matt high kicked, but she darted underneath it. He tried a broadside kick, but received a nasty rap on the shin from a stonewall of defence. Sarah had her arms raised in textbook style to meet his vulnerable shinbone. 

Encouraged by her two successful responses, Sarah decided it was time for her to attack. She, in turn, high kicked. But Matt was equal to it and dropped almost to kneeling to avoid it. He very nearly got her with a reply when her foot landed – she only just avoided his left fist. The look of alarm on her face told him he had scored a moral victory.

But moral victories are all very well. They might gain points on technicalities in a formal match. But they don’t count for much when your opponent is glaring at you, feet poised and fists clenched.

Looking for a first strike, Matt tried a right hook. Stung by her previous lapse, Sarah banged it away with her raised left arm. Their arms resembled the thrust and parry of swordplay, and the ferocious look on Sarah’s face could have come from a medieval death match with swords or daggers.

She swung her left fist – got him! Her knuckles stormed into his Matt’s jaw in a brutal hook. There was no experimental jab about this punch, and it had him reeling. 15 minutes earlier, she had been a smart office lady in a neat skirt and top, surreptitiously applying makeup before the boss came in to see them. Now, she sent a man spinning after a punch to his face.

She followed up with a right to his opposite jaw.  God, that felt good! Make a mockery of women by marketing sports bras and leotards for men, would he? Yeah, well have one of those on your jaw, you weirdo! 

It sent him down onto the canvas, supporting himself on his right hand. It’s difficult to think of a more vulnerable position – as if there was a sign above him, which read, "Come on, send me sprawling!" So Sarah did just that. One pantyhose-clad foot stormed into the side of his face, dazing him. He shook his head and realised she had put him on his backside and was now glaring down at him with one foot on his chest.

She pushed down with her foot, not even needing to kick, and it felt as if his chest was being compressed. So this was what it was like to be dominated by a woman. He had often wondered. Sarah turned to go back to her corner, as it were, but Matt took her by surprise by grabbing hold of her near, right leg.

He stood up, keeping a hold of it, and she resembled a ballerina the way she tried to remain upright. She tried very hard, and not without elegance, but it was hopeless and down she went. He was on her, taking advantage of his greater weight. Now she was the vulnerable one. He glowered above her, readying his great ham of a right fist. You won’t look so pretty after this …

Sarah snapped her strong legs shut around his middle, and the air seemed to exit his body in a "whoosh!" The body scissor was the one move she could make, given her position. But she played her only card brilliantly, crossing her feet over above his back. 

She seized his left arm and heaved it between her legs, turning the body scissor into a triangle choke. Using both hands, she yanked him towards herself, and crossed her legs over his neck. This combination of pulling him towards her with her hands while pushing him away with her legs put a huge strain on his shoulder joint in particular. It felt as if flames from it licked all the way down to his fingertips. 

Perhaps she knew he was left-handed, because that was the arm she concentrated on. She continued her onslaught on it by lying to his side and once more dragging it by the wrists through her legs into an armbar. What started as a feeling of "pins and needles" in his fingertips ended by no feeling at all when she finally let go. It was as if he didn’t have that arm any more. 

But still she hadn’t finished with it. Just when a bit of life seemed to return to it (even if it was in the form of pain), she sat on the small of his back and locked it behind him. This was too much, and his voice gave full vent to the pain she was inflicting on this one limb. 

It was the worst thing he could have done, because it inspired her to yet further manipulation of it, now twisting it behind him. Having bundled him onto his side, she squatted over him and doubled his arm over from the elbow joint. He seriously wondered if he would ever be able to use it again. She chuckled quietly as he hissed out the words "Sadistic bitch", more talking to himself than to her. 

Sarah lay across his shoulders, pinning him, so that the pair of them resembled the letter T. She still had his left arm locked in her hands, but now she had his other arm locked in her thighs as well. Matt groaned as the "pins and needles" started all over again in his right hand. He knew it was only going to get worse. 

But in fact it didn’t, not in his arm, anyway. Because she lay over his head, facing down his body, and smothered his face in her breasts.

"These are what bras are for," she told him contemptuously, "not some twisted deviant of a man and his puny chest. Here, have the real things in your face!" 

She worked him onto his front and once again locked his left arm behind him, in the crook of her left arm, while pushing his head into the mat. She held his right forearm with her right hand, just in case he got any idea of counterattack. It all amounted to a rather unusual form of pin, with Matt feeling squashed against the canvas, and the now-familiar burning pain returning to his left arm. 

Moving him onto his side, Sarah knelt beside him and locked his right leg over her right thigh, punching him in the ear for good measure. His hearing went all dream-like and blurred, but he didn’t lose all touch with reality, because the pain in his leg was immediate enough. 

Unlike with his arms, Sarah moved quickly onto his opposite leg. Dragging him onto his back – with a few half-hearted threats and complaints from him – she hauled his left leg into the air until it was starting to point down the "wrong" way. The feeble complaints now turned to a wail of self-pity. She locked his leg with her right hand and bore down with her weight on his right shoulder, so that arm was useless. He tried to free his leg from her hold, but all he could use was his left arm and she had so weakened it that it was ineffective.

Nothing beats a schoolgirl pin for a woman to dominate a man. It’s some men’s dream to be overpowered by a woman to the extent that she holds you by the wrists and looks down into your eyes, while her breasts swing above you from her excited breathing. 

Matt had been in his own little world of "inclusive" and "progressive" policies at the gym for too long. He had spent so much time designing clothing for men that was traditionally worn by women, that he had forgotten what the real thing was like. And now the real thing was above him, holding his wrists in her strong hands and staring hard. It was terrifying. But it was also exciting. 

Sarah sensed what he felt. She moved up, so she was on all-fours above him. At that moment she had beaten him, she knew. Oh true, she had defeated him because she was a more skilled fighter, who worked hard in the gym. But it was also her female power that was his undoing, and she placed herself so that he was looking up at her trim waist and round breasts, with hardened nipples, thanks to the excitement of the fight. 

She smiled, relishing the power a woman has over a man. She moved his wrists above his head to reinforce the hold, loving the look of hopeless confusion on his face. She correctly read in it, "I shouldn’t be feeling like this – it’s wrong, it’s immoral – but I can’t do anything about it!" 

So far, she had at least enforced his defeat in a subtle, psychological way. But now she raised the temperature. Keeping a hold of his wrists, Sarah moved up further until she straddled his face. She moved herself around on his face, enjoying the sensations while encouraging him to pleasure her.

Matt did as he was urged to do. It was oddly, disturbingly erotic to be defeated by a woman. The twin globes of her beautiful breasts swayed a little above his head, rather like the flag of a victorious army over its vanquished enemy. 

Sarah reached behind. Matt gave a little jump as slender fingers curled around his erect penis. She laughed as it responded to her manipulations – another symbol of her control over him. He made appreciative, muffled sounds as her skilled, knowing fingers moved gently – then sometimes roughly – along his cock.

She turned round so she could go to work with her pantyhose-clad feet. Matt held onto her firm, round buttocks as he continued his task. Expensive pantyhose sandwiched his penis, and her feet moved up and down on it together. She knew he was close and she went at it furiously - her feet crackling with static electricity under the pantyhose – until he came with a violent shudder.

Victory! Sarah loved it. It gave her a glowing feeling to defeat a man, and she posed over his spent penis. She rubbed her foot in the mess that it had made, then pressed it into his face, forcing the useless male to clean it off with his tongue.