Simon Cheviot, the promoter of the CFNM Wrestling League, was "wining and dining" Adrian Cotswold, their main sponsor. Cotswold had provided the funds to host the upcoming season’s events in a brand-new arena, that his money had helped to pay for. They were coming towards the end of their meal, and Cheviot was enthusiastically describing the demonstration they had planned for their visit to the arena in a few minutes’ time:

"The whole idea of this arena is that it’s like one of those intimate theatres, where the audience is very much a part of the performance. Just as those theatres have dispensed with a stage, we’ve discarded the traditional ring. The seating is still raked, of course, and the match takes place in the orchestra pit, as it were.

"We’ve arranged for a friendly match tonight. It’s between Sharon Foster, and Nick Tyrone. Sharon’s a tall girl, as tall as Nick. She’s deceptively strong, but without any obvious, bulging muscles. She keeps herself in A1 shape, which explains how she’s so athletic when she fights. Nick’s a strong man, and a formidable wrestler. I’m confident that they’ll put on a good show for us." Cheviot concluded, smiling, though he was unpleasantly aware that Cotswold looked a little bored.

They arrived a few minutes after the scheduled start, at 8 PM, and as they took their seats in the front row, Cheviot was uncomfortably aware that something wasn’t quite right. "Make it look real," he had told them; and they were either supremely good at acting, or something had gone wrong. 

Nick carried Sharon over his shoulders, and she made to grasp his penis. Before she could, he slammed her. The mats in the arena were softer than the canvas of a ring, so she wasn’t stunned, even if she did get a nasty jolt. Nick understood this, and he headlocked her before she could recover. Then he raised her to a sitting position, his right hand bringing her up by the chin while he knelt behind her.

He tried a sort of half-slam now, from his kneeling position, banging her back down by her head, then planting his knee on her shoulders to pin her. In just a couple of minutes, he had put on a convincing display of wrestling, and he knew it. He also knew who Cotswold was, and if he could impress him enough … who knows?

Sharon sensed Nick’s concentration straying, because his knee was now a sort of token gesture on her back, rather than a restraint. It was easy enough to roll away from it, and she jumped to her feet to confront him, now also on his feet.

"Bastard!" she shouted, her face inches away from his, and their bodies touching.

"What’s wrong? Can’t stand the pace?" jeered Nick.

"Er, guys…" interrupted Cheviot, nervously.

"You keep out of this!" snapped Sharon. "This was supposed to be a fucking friendly, you asshole!"

"Well, ok, if you want it all tame and cotton wool – ah, shit!"

Sharon’s right fist smacked under his chin. He staggered back a few steps, furious.

"Oh, so that’s how you want to play it, is it?" he challenged her. "Well two can play at that."

Nick struck with a left cross, but Sharon was swiftly under it out of harm’s way. Getting frustrated, he tried a similar strike, but she glanced it off her right arm.

"You’ll have to be quicker than that!" she taunted him, cracking his jaw with a right hook.

His head swung to his right side, and he momentarily staggered. She fired her right knee up at his face, but he managed to ward it off. It was a ploy though, because just as he relaxed after his successful defence, her right foot homed in on his jaw. He blundered around the mats, and Sharon half-circled him, leapt in the air, and a flying left kick cracked into his chest. Nick gulped, breathing with difficulty. He hadn’t even seen the next kick coming. It got him sideways on, square on the chin, and he collapsed.

How the hell did it all happen so fast? One moment he had her where he wanted her; the next, he was on his hands and knees with his forehead on the canvas, cursing the woman who had just put him down. For her part, she was delighted. She had a brief gloat, commending herself to the invited guests, then she seized his legs. She hooked them under her surprisingly strong arms and raised him to a handstand. One or two women facing them in the audience looked away, as his "defeat boner" was blatant. (Whether they would have done had their husbands not been sitting next to them is another matter.)

Sharon let him flop to the mat after some moments of displaying him upside down to the audience, and stood with one foot on his backside, while she acknowledged their cheers. Then she walked away a couple of paces, mocking Nick to the crowd.

"Bitch!" thought that man, fury and the desire for revenge giving him strength. He got up while Sharon was still facing away from him. A couple of swift, silent strides brought him to her. He grabbed her from behind and lifted her, mauling her left breast as he did so, drawing protests from the spectators. In response, she hooked her left heel up sharply into his balls.

Cheviot put his head in his hands. He had meant to impress the sponsor, Cotswold, by putting on a display of skilled, professional, wrestling. Instead, he was showing him a brawl, which was getting dirtier by the moment. He looked back at them, and Sharon now held herself against Nick with her left leg around his neck, while her right foot slammed into his balls.

He yelled out in pain while she landed on her feet, and thrust her right elbow back sharply into his chin. The ferocity of the blow surprised Nick and he fell backwards, taking Sharon with him. She landed above him, face up. What a bit of luck, thought Nick, clutching her around her neck in a choke. She struggled as he increased the hold mercilessly.

How should a woman get out of that? Well, the wrestling manuals won’t tell you this, but if she rubs her rear against a man’s penis, it’s odds on he’ll be distracted. Cheviot groaned when he saw what she was doing, and there were one or two tuts from the more genteel spectators. But it worked. She felt his penis harden, and his grip on her neck weaken. She sprang up; he followed, furious with himself for losing his concentration, and received his punishment in the form of her right foot smacking sickeningly into his balls.

Nick lurched forward in agony. Sharon accepted the invitation and brought her left knee up into his chest. It was too much. He crumpled and sank down onto the mat.

Giving him no chance to recover, She heaved his right arm up into a lock, sitting on his shoulders to give her more purchase. Once he cried out, she swapped the hold for a cross face. ("At least we’re seeing some proper wrestling, at last," thought Cheviot, bitterly.) Again, once Nick yelled in pain, Sharon exchanged holds, this time for a camel clutch.

Cheviot settled back in his chair. He was proud of Sharon and admired the way she went through a "routine" of holds. So many wrestlers, he considered, spent too much time trying to break their opponent with just one hold. True, it could work, but it didn’t give the audience much for their money. Whereas Sharon kept you guessing.

She certainly kept Nick guessing, as pain raged in his body from punches, kicks, and elbows; specifically, his balls, his arm, his chest, and now his neck. What was she doing now? Of course, she was hauling him up to his feet. She linked her hands under his chest and yanked. Some in the audience laughed, as she deliberately displayed him to them in the most ungainly pose, with his feet and hands still planted on the canvas, while his unattractive backside pointed at them. This laugh at his expense was not lost on Nick, despite his pains.

"Bitch!" he spluttered with rage, once he was on his feet. Sharon back hand slapped his face in response. She warded off an attempt at an answering punch and shouted, "This is how it’s done!" swinging her left fist in a hook that was so hard that it brought him back down to his hands and knees.

"Congratulations!" she said to him, genuinely pleased. "You’re the first man I’ve brought down that way, and I’ve a feeling you’re not going to be the last!"

She swooped down on him, attempting to put him in a choke, but he surprised her by grabbing the back of her head, and pulling her forward. He struggled to get to his feet this way, with Sharon persevering in the attempted choke. It was pretty confused, clumsy stuff from both combatants, and Cheviot stirred uncomfortably in his chair. 

Honours were even in this cameo performance, which featured more mutual loathing than technical ability: although Nick succeeded in standing up, Sharon maintained a choke of sorts, by way of a rather unconventional "piggyback". She now swayed to and fro, hoping to bring him down again, and he struggled to remain on his feet. With one extra heave, she swung over to his front, and clamped her legs round his neck in a flying head scissor.

But she was too successful, and the momentum had them both tumbling onto the mat, she on her back, still in the act of "scissoring", and he sitting. Sharon’s position gave her an advantage, and she seized Nick by the head and his left arm, while hauling him upright, hooking her left leg around his middle, to give his chest and ribs a thump. She released him, giving him a moment to cough and gasp, then charged him, head down. He went down like a skittle, and she stamped on him, for good measure.

Sharon stood over him, and rested one foot on his stomach, toying with him. She could have ended the match then and there, but there was too much fight left in her, and she wanted to show off some more. (She, too, knew who Cotswold was, and sought to impress him.) So she pulled Nick up once again, and punched him in the balls. The audience winced as one, and Cheviot groaned with embarrassment. Nick didn’t have the luxury of embarrassment, and he just groaned.

Sharon pushed his head down and brought her left leg round his neck in a scissor; but Nick got a hand under her left foot and shoved her away. She responded with a lightning left knee to the balls, and a shocking right punch to the jaw. Nick folded over her knee with a howl, while his jaw throbbed. It was only Sharon’s voluptuous body hard against him that stopped him collapsing forwards, so she moved back a step, and brought her right knee into his balls. Then he went down!

As he landed on his back, Sharon planted herself above him in a schoolgirl pin. She stared into his eyes, while she teased his naked penis by stirring her rump around it slightly. It was fun to do, and always gratifying to see how quickly it aroused a man, even – or perhaps especially – during a fight; but she didn’t want to give Nick time to recover. So she grabbed him by the hair and dragged him back up to his feet.

"You seem drowsy," she reprimanded him. "Wake up!" she insisted, back hand slapping  him with her right hand. Then she made his right ear buzz with a left hook. His mind was dulled, she could tell. It was time to employ some bludgeoning, then. She jumped, and powered a flying left kick at his collar bone. As she’d been in the air, by the time she landed it had brought him upright, since her foot levered him up by the chin.

Strangely enough, Nick regained his senses at this stage, and very nearly caught Sharon out. Her confidence and mockery enraged him, and he lashed out with a right haymaker. Only just in time, she warded it off by jumping backwards on her right foot, and keeping him at bay with her left leg.

"Not bad!" she laughed. "Try again?"

Seething, Nick launched a right kick; still laughing, Sharon caught it and made him hop about on his left foot. The audience laughed, and his face was a picture of hatred and fury. She released his foot, and he swung a left punch that was more roundhouse than hook. Sharon blocked it easily, and banged her left leg in hard under his balls.

As he roared in pain, she swivelled on her left foot, and fired her right leg at his jaw. He partially blocked it, but it still did enough to add to the considerable damage he had already taken. A sharp little palm strike from Sharon on his chin made his teeth clang together – it was a small compensation to her for missing out on the killer blow she thought she had previously.

Nick launched a desperate, almost despairing, high kick; Sharon leant back, blocking it, and responded with another nasty kick to his balls. He breathed in sharply, backing off to buy himself time. He successfully warded off a right kick from Sharon, but didn’t quite manage with a succeeding one, which caught his left ear. That was his hearing (and therefore his balance and judgement) seriously impaired, because his other ear was still "foggy" after her left hook.

There was a palpable sense of climax in the audience as Sharon launched a lightning assault. So fast did her attacks now come, that if you applauded one you would miss the next. She side kicked him in the stomach, knocking all the breath out of him; she caught that "foggy" right ear with a savage left kick. She banged her right knee up under his chin; she flew at him and hammered his left ear with her right foot, while "standing" on his leg with her right foot. With one glorious stroke, she kicked his jaw with her left foot, which she then used as a lever to drag him towards her, balancing on her right hand. Then she sprang from her right foot, catapulted her left knee under his chin, and he collapsed to the mat.

He got up, and she tripped him back down again. She now moulded him around those mats like a piece of clay. She headlocked and dragged him; she put him in a full Nelson with her legs, while balancing on her hands. She tumbled him up and over; she punched him in the face. Now she had him in an armlock; next he was pinned by her knee on his throat, or shouting with pain from a leg lock.

"Come on," Sharon told Nick, kneeling behind him, and preparing to raise him, "I want you back on your feet."

She brought him up, most uncomfortably, mainly by his head. Then she seized his left arm through hers and locked it, before marching him round the mats for a few paces. Then she released him, staring at him as he swayed and staggered. The crowd were silent, all of them seeming to crane their necks as they anticipated her next move.

It was the kick of the match - no, the kick of the decade. Sharon’s superlative high left kick propelled Nick first into the air, and then onto his back. She was on him instantly. She gripped his chin in her right hand and punched his jaw with her left. She followed with a similar one to his ear. She pulled him up by his less bad ear to face her, and asked quietly:

"Have you ever been knocked out by a woman?"

He didn’t answer, because he was incapable of coherent speech or thought, so she never did find out. But she certainly knocked him out herself, with her favourite left hook. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, as Sharon sat on Nick and raised her fists in triumph. She then stood over him, one strong woman with a vanquished man at her feet, and raised one fist in female superiority.

*****

"Wow!" exclaimed Cotswold, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. "Now that was a fight! I thought I was going to get some boring choreographed stuff. Cheviot, I congratulate you!"

"Well thank you," answered that man, relieved beyond expectation. "It’s just a pity that Nick was supposed to be challenging the champion of his league tomorrow evening, and he won’t be able to do any fighting for a while now."

"No problem, put Sharon against the champion instead."

"But it’s an all-male league"

"Great! I’ll come and see it!"