W-668 "Give Up, Lad!"
Gallery size: 300 Full HD pictures
Mixed wrestling, 300 pictures 1920x1080 (FullHD), completely CFNM, no blood.
Adele Roman was a legendary figure in wrestling circles, even a national celebrity. She made headlines the first time she defeated a male opponent, and for a time did media interviews, fronted charity campaigns, opened fetes, and was introduced to Royalty. Now in her early thirties, she was at the height of her career. She was a role model for many women and girls, who admired the way she could beat a man on his own terms, yet was pretty and feminine at the same time. She had written two books on the subject: Ladies, Fight Back! and then its sequel, Beating Them In High Heels. She was rumoured to be writing a third.
But what did men think of her? Ah! Well, you never know what the perpetually-smiling television hosts really think about anything (if indeed they actually do think), so their adulation of her can largely be discounted. There were professional wrestlers who enjoyed her matches from an expert’s point of view. She was, after all, a supremely skilled and accomplished wrestler, and they admired her mastery of the sport.
But then there were the thoughts that dare not speak their name. For every plastic TV host with pure brilliant white teeth, and every experienced wrestler who appreciated her ability to throw, choke, lock and stun, there was someone who had other, secret, reasons for their fascination with her. True, there were the comedians who said they relished the idea of a bout with her – she had fabulous looks, and a great figure after all. She always wore sexy leotards, which showed off her fine legs, trim waist, full breasts, and shapely bottom.
But there was a darker side as well. There were the men and boys who found it hard to come to terms with the idea of a woman beating a man (but couldn’t leave the matter alone, nevertheless). They felt challenged, threatened even, by the thought of this ladylike figure being able to slam a heavier male opponent. Some felt outraged that this woman, who had appeared on fashion walks in swimwear and dresses, could force a man into submission. The more the women and girls applauded, the more these men brooded over their obsession.
One such young man was Ian Hamilton. Now twenty, he had always had a horror of the idea of a woman beating a man in any sort of fight. It could be quite embarrassing, because family comedy featured it sometimes. When he was growing up he could be watching TV with his family, and if it unexpectedly occurred he always felt uncomfortable, while everyone else was laughing. He had to pretend to find it funny.
So when Adele made the headlines when he was fifteen, for utterly defeating her male opponent in a professional wrestling match, he couldn’t sleep for thinking about it. He wrestled himself, and it was the talk of his club. She even opened a hospital ward in Ian’s town, and the local paper featured pictures of her, in a neat skirt and blouse, chatting with patients, and laughing with staff. You couldn’t get away from her!
So now, after five years of this preoccupation, he found himself looking at her website. That’s the trouble, he told himself. Why did he keep returning to the matter if it appalled him? Then he saw it: beneath the pictures of her either throwing a man in the ring, or accepting flowers at some reception, he read, "Private matches arranged", with a number to ring, and the "discreet location" where they were held.
After ringing the number and cancelling the call a few times, he was finally brave enough to continue. The recorded message asked him to provide his phone number, and a time when Adele could ring him for a confidential chat. Done.
"Mr. Hamilton?" Ian recognised her pleasant voice straight away.
"It’s Adele Roman here. Ok you’d like a private match, is that right?"
"Ok. Well I charge ?500 for the first ten minutes, and after that it’s ?1,000."
"Blimey! No wonder you can afford those nice dresses!"
"So you’re not interested?"
"I can’t afford it."
"Well, I do have another offer, but it’s confidential."
"If you agree to fight naked, I won’t charge you anything. It’s for a thesis I’m working on."
"Oh, so the rumours about your third book are true!"
"Well … Anyway, are you interested?"
"Great. How about next Wednesday at midday?"
Ian entered the gym, and there was Adele in the ring, waiting for him and smiling.
"Welcome, Ian! You’re a wrestler yourself, yes?"
"Good. Come and join me, and let’s get started, shall we?"
She looked delectable! She had a daring, lacy leotard on, which gave tantalising glimpses of her gorgeous body. Ian went through the ropes and approached her, standing confidently and easily with her hands on her hips. She put her hands up, inviting him to join her. They gripped. He pushed a little, and she responded.
"Did you ever study military history, Ian?"
"Eh? Er, no."
"Well frontal assaults sometimes succeed, but they are very costly of troops. In wrestling, they’re costly of strength. Good commanders always look for a flank attack, a vulnerable point, or a way of surprising their opponent. That’s why I’m going to …"
Adele released her hold and linked her arms around Ian’s neck; then, placing her left leg between Ian’s legs, she levered the astonished man over her left thigh, with her left hand still on his neck, and her right helping him on his way. She knelt down, let go, and Ian landed on his back.
"There! You’ve just been slammed by a woman! How does that feel?"
It felt humiliating, especially as that voluptuous combatant asked it with their faces inches apart. She cradled his neck, which tilted his head slightly forward so that his eyes took in that magnificent body, hovering just above his, those breasts swaying slightly from her quickened breathing. The worst (or best) of it was that she had her right leg between his legs now, so while she gave Ian no option but to look at her bosom, that right thigh of hers "accidentally" brushed against his naked manhood.
"Because I love slamming a man!" she crowed. "I love seeing the startled look on his face as his back hits the canvas. But we can’t spend all day chatting, so …"
It was easy to convert the previous "hold" to a schoolgirl pin, so Adele changed to all fours above Ian, but very close to, gripping his arms and sitting on his middle.
"I love a schoolgirl pin," she continued. "Sometimes there’s a very fine line between mixed wrestling and foreplay, and from this hold, things can go either way, wouldn’t you say?"
Her face was almost touching his. She looked into his eyes without any of the hostility of an opponent. She relinquished the hold on one of his arms, touching his lips with hers. Ian responded, and they kissed. For about half a minute, Ian’s mind soared among the stars. He hadn’t had much experience of women, and now this voluptuary, over ten years his senior, was kissing him, her beautiful body on top of his.
Adele gently broke off the kiss, and resumed the pin, smiling down at him. By degrees, her expression took on a more thoughtful look.
"A schoolgirl pin’s all very well," she said softly, "but I think it’s time for a mature woman pin, don’t you?"
Keeping her hold on his arms, Adele sprang up his body, and knelt either side of his head, engulfing him in a head scissors.
"That’s what I meant. Oh yes, the head scissors, my favourite! More like a face scissors, really, wouldn’t you say? Oh sorry, you can’t."
On the one hand, Ian struggled for breath; on the other, all the strength that he had seemed to have gone to his penis. This was useless, because his thoughts and powers should be on the fight. Meanwhile she was suffocating him. Seemingly distant sounds came from him, imploring her to relent.
At length she did and stood up, still bloody smiling, thought Ian, while he lay gasping and shaking from his ordeal, but even after all that with a full erection. She walked around him, her polished high heels flashing when they caught the light; then she stopped and looked down at him, both literally and metaphorically.
"Men have different reasons for requesting a private match," she informed him. "Some are just dirty bastards, who want to get to grips with me, and I send them off afterwards, bruised and sore. You don’t strike me as that sort. No, I think you’re one of those who can’t come to terms with a woman fighter, and you hope a visit to me will get it out of your system. Am I right?"
"Well you must let me know if it works."
Ian was still on his knees when she suddenly struck again, taking hold of his right arm, and wrenching it behind him into a lock. She had him trapped. He should have been on all fours, except she had secured one of his arms, so he just had to endure this helpless position, while pain burned its way through his arm, neck and back.
Adele subtly altered the pressure, forcing him up onto his feet, but he was still at her mercy. She worked her way round behind him, in what is alternatively called a half-Nelson. To add to the pain, she now brought her knee up into his balls from behind. He gasped with pain, made more intense because he still had an erection.
Adele, always ahead with the initiative, now hooked Ian’s right arm in hers, put her other hand over his mouth, and dragged him down to his knees, herself kneeling on one knee behind. In this position it was straightforward for her to wrench his neck back until it in turn was held in a choke by her right arm. Now squatting astride his legs, she locked his left arm in hers. By pushing down, she masterminded a perfect dragon lock. While his neck was dragged back, his stomach was forced forward; but his lower body and legs wrenched back again. Red hot darts of pain fanned out from his central nervous system, to his heels and his fingertips.
When Adele judged he could stand no more, she brought him down facing her, keeping a hold of his right arm over his back, and twisting. Ian cursed with the pain.
"But why damage just one limb when you can do several at once?" Adele asked, mockingly. "Well you may have thought you were Romeo earlier, but you’ll have to settle for a romero instead."
He knew of the hold. He always thought it was too complicated, and therefore too risky to attempt. Yet here he now was, in the air facing the ceiling, his arms secured behind him by that she-devil underneath, and his legs likewise by her legs woven round his. His shoulders and lower legs were forced downwards and backwards; but his chest, stomach and thighs projected upwards. His nerves and tendons were stretched to such an extreme, he felt they must snap, while his frame was bent and twisted at grotesque, unnatural angles from itself. If she had any humanity about her she would relinquish the hold …
Adele spun. Ian fell 2 feet onto his front, and yelped. In effect it was another body slam. As ever, there was that minx on his back, trapping him by his head and legs into a sleeper. At least it was relatively gentle after her previous assaults – perhaps too gentle, because it was enervating (hence its name).
"That fall hurt, didn’t it?" Adele asked, her body pressing into his back. "Now I wonder why that was! Oh it would have hurt a bit, yes, though not enough to make you yell. It wouldn’t be because of your sky scraper of an erection hitting the canvas first, would it? You bad boy!" she chuckled, and teased him by moving her breasts slightly over his shoulders.
Maintaining the hold, Adele worked him up onto his knees, once more driving his frame into hideous angles away from itself. His head was locked in the crook of her right arm, forming a choke, so that it pointed back, but his chest was thrust forward. Then again, as he was kneeling, his lower legs turned back. Just in case, she gripped his left arm as well. This way, she brought them back down again, with Ian facing upwards. His yells proved the effectiveness of the hold.
Not content with this for long, she manoeuvred Ian onto his front, locking his left leg between her thighs, and gripping his head with both hands. This way, she pulled both his head and his shin towards her, and away from their natural positions. It was straightforward for her now to slip her arms beneath Ian’s, and secure her hands behind his head in a variation of a full Nelson.
Moving up, Adele switched to a head and arm lock – the dreaded suplex. Trapping his head, facing away from her, in her left arm, she did the same with her right arm for his one.
"A certain sort of man can’t accept that the same woman, who likes nice dresses and ‘girly’ things can also compete with men in wrestling," she informed Ian, as if he didn’t know. "He thinks a girl like me, should be swept off her feet by a man. Instead, that’s what I do to him!"
So saying, she suddenly released Ian’s arm and sprang. With his head still trapped in her left arm, he was propelled up and over her shoulder, and slammed for a second time, with Adele following. He landed painfully on his back, with his head still hooked, and level with her left breast. From the corner of his eye, he could see she was still smiling, curse her! (His own face betrayed a good deal of suffering.)
How many legs did she have, for God’s sake? Enjoying the freedom of movement that she denied him, she now secured his right arm between her legs. By moving steadily to her right, maintaining her holds on his head and now his arm, she forced his body upwards to compensate, so that he formed a triangle: his backside was the apex, with both his head and his two feet back on the canvas, with her in between and at right angles.
"That’ll look good on the CCTV," Adele mused aloud. Then, "JOKE!" at his muffled shock and protest. Still laughing, she released him, and he tumbled onto his front once more, whereupon she lay across him and seized his right arm, wrenching it into an arm lock.
"Had enough?" she asked, hearing Ian groan as she worked his arm. "You’ve endured a lot by now. I’ve had men in tears after what I’ve done to you. One man came – would you believe? – the moment I suplexed him. It must have been the thrill of being thrown by a woman! I stopped the fight, and got him a mop and bucket of soapy water to clean the canvas! Come on, give up, lad. I don’t want to hurt you anymore."
"Oh, all right, here we go then…"
Adele swung her legs round to entrap his arm, and grabbed his chin with her hands either side of it. This unconventional hold had the effect of both a camel clutch and an arm bar. The body that had had so much damage already, had to endure yet more perverse stretching and wrenching. Ian’s breathing quickened alarmingly, so she let him drop to the canvas and applied a choke with her left arm. That finished him. She felt his body go limp as he passed out.
"Well you must conclude a fight with a little posing," Adele decided, turning his unconscious body over. "My God, he’s still got an erection! Oh well, how’s this for the cameras?"
She stood with her elegant left boot on Ian: heel one side, and sole the other, of that which had so surprised her when she turned him over. That done, she left the ring and went to work on her next book, Female Fighters and Male Sexual Stigmas.