No one knew what the issue was between Joanne and Rick. The two well-known regulars at the MMA club had behaved quite normally towards each other the evening before, yet here they were facing off in the ring. They had hired the ring a week or so earlier, as members were encouraged to do, but they wanted no spectators and no commentary. (The author of this account was a little reluctant to publish it, but it is a legal requirement that details of every fight must be available, in case of serious injury, so the cctv still recorded it, sound included.)

Of course, once they hired the ring, the gossip started: "I had no idea", "What’s it all about?" and so on. But the pair never let on. The committee dictated the familiar rules, the most well-known one being that every mixed match must be cfnm, and left them to it.

Yes, every mixed match must be cfnm; but the rules didn’t stipulate that the woman must be beautiful. That was an extra, which Joanne, blonde, buxom and shapely in her black leotard, happily met.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Rick asked, showing her his formidable right fist.

"I’ve been looking forward to it all week," she replied, hands on hips and matching his stare.

Rick didn’t believe in squaring up, and made his move, looking to seize Joanne by her right shoulder. She elbowed his arm off course, aiming to strike him with her left, but he caught her fist in his beefy hand. Each tried to break the stalemate by switching their target to the other’s face. Joanne caught Rick’s left fist by his wrist and had marginally more success by at least reaching his chin with the palm of her hand. But it was hardly a knockout blow, and she only managed an irritating push. Muffled insults and curses punctuated their struggle.

When Joanne attempted a headlock, she landed herself in serious trouble. Rick grabbed her right leg and her waist, and she had to hold onto his head to avoid falling backwards. He made the most of his advantage and lifted her off the canvas. She struggled and wriggled and he had a difficult job raising her to where he wanted, but he eventually succeeded, and he held her over his shoulders.

Perhaps he regretted the fact that there was no audience, because he held her there like a trophy. He laughed when she tried to grab his cock but failed to reach it. (They’re all the same, these "lady" wrestlers, he thought.)

Then he threw her. But she landed very well, on her right hand and left foot, brilliantly improvising a trip behind his left leg with her right leg, to bring him down to her level. 

She pounced on him like a cat, eager to make up for her lapse in being thrown in the first place. But he resisted stubbornly, and they indulged in some unseemly, confused grappling, made more bitter and intense by their mutual loathing. Rick managed to impose a partial head lock, which she resisted by trying to push him off her with her elbow at his neck. As before, neither was a knockout blow, but Rick would be winning on points had this been a formal match. The look of fear on Joanne’s face confirmed this.

He let her go suddenly, taking her by surprise, so she collapsed onto her back. He pressed home his advantage by jumping across her and grabbing he left leg in both his hands to lock it. Linking his arms, he heaved her leg up so that her boot pointed to the ceiling, earning cries from her. 

Rick tried to do the same with her other leg. But there was still plenty of contest left in the spirited young woman, and he suffered a glancing blow to the chin from her boot instead. It stung him, literally and metaphorically, into another attack. Lying across her on his side, he trapped her left arm between his thighs and head locked her. Her right arm was wedged under his right shoulder.

The bear-like grip of Rick’s left arm around Joanne’s neck threatened to drain the life as well as the oxygen out of her. She thought it was like trying to wrestle a wild animal, and his hand on her mouth and chin was like an ugly, hairy paw.

But he wasn’t content to inflict a single, match-winning hold on her. He wanted to demonstrate his catalogue of moves. Squatting on the middle of her back, he hooked her lower legs into the grip of his arms, so that her body was like an inverted C, for a Boston crab. He chose to face the same way as her, thinking he could better gauge her suffering that way. And certainly, he placed near-unbearable strain on her body from her ankles to her shoulders. 

If Joanne’s body hadn’t been so toned and supple, he would have broken her with the hold. As it was, she gritted her teeth and prayed she struck lucky in the interval between holds when it came. 

But she didn’t. He now lay over her and imposed another head lock on her. Worse, his position suggested the "doggystyle" act, and he enjoyed rubbing his genitals against her buttocks, while reinforcing the headlock. Ugly in appearance, ugly in nature, that was Rick. (Not that the author is biased, you understand.)

Joanne tried to "bump" him off her by raising her body, but he laughed, asking if she were joining in the doggystyle game. She muttered some curse, but it was too muffled to be discernible, as his choke almost prevented her from breathing. 

He felt her go limp. Had she passed out? He wasn’t certain. You could never tell with these bitchy women, he thought; born actresses, the lot of them. He placed his right knee on her shoulder, pulled her hair and felt her thigh, probing to see if she was acting or not. He still wasn’t certain, reasoning that they’re so devious, you can’t trust …

Joanne whipped her arms around his neck and head locked him in turn. Yes, she had been "playing dead" and sensed him lose concentration. It wasn’t as if he could call for a referee either – hadn’t he just been suggesting a sex act? 

She gripped his neck for all she was worth and pulled him about the mat by the hold. Keenly aware of the disparity in strength between them, she hoped that by keeping him constantly on the move, he wouldn’t have time to react and fight back. The ploy worked. Rick may have been very strong, but he wasn’t all that clever, and he couldn’t anticipate. By keeping him on the move, she reinforced the head lock as effectively as he had done earlier to her.

Joanne whisked them both over so that while she was able to kneel comfortably on one knee, he needed to support himself on one hand, with one knee awkwardly on the mat, in no position to hold him up. That way, he could offer no resistance to the headlock, and she wouldn’t need to use precious energy dragging him about the mat. 

"Payback time, eh?" she asked softly, recalling his earlier headlock on her. Rick muttered something which may well have been "Fuck off."

But there was another purpose to her goading, which was to distract him before suddenly changing position – more devious trickery, thought Rick. That was how these bitches so often countered male strength, he thought grimly, as she lay across his chest and maintained the lock in her linked arms. His near, right arm was trapped on the mat under her right thigh, and there was precious little he could do with his "free" left arm because it was in the wrong position.

Joanne could feel him weaken as she denied him oxygen. Be patient, she told herself, and he won’t be able to offer much resistance to what you want to do. She tried a change of hold without any distraction. It worked! She had debilitated him so much she was able to impose a change of hold on him. 

Rick was now in an ungainly position, on hands and knees with his head on the mat and his backside in the air. Joanne pinned him by lying over him, facing down his body, with her arms still linked around his neck. As a bonus, her breasts prodded the back of his head. (That’s another thing those bitches do, mused Rick, they use their tits to torment us.)

Encouraged by her success, Joanne put him through another change of hold. Straddling his upper body, she snapped her arms shut around his neck again, but this time included his left arm in the hold. Her left leg over his right arm meant that it couldn’t do anything, as before. Meanwhile, she was seriously choking him.

When she finally relinquished the headlock/choke (in all its forms), Rick thankfully gulped down mouthfuls of oxygen. But that made his situation worse, because he became light-headed as well as being weakened. Before he could sober up, she forced an armbar on him. Lying at a right angle to him, she dragged his left arm through her thighs and locked his wrist in her hands. Then she heaved away, straining every nerve and sinew from his shoulder to his fingertips. 

Switching to his other arm, Joanne knelt to his side on one knee and trapped it between her left arm and her hip, while clawing his face. Dirty fighting? Yes but again, Rick could hardly complain after his "doggystyle" antics. 

But it was a prelude to her favourite octopus. She was the acknowledged master of the hold among the women at the gym. She pulled Rick to his feet, then leapt onto his back. While he staggered about, trying to bear the weight, she coiled her limbs around his body like a snake (or an octopus). Her right leg sandwiched his neck, while her left leg ensnared his left arm in a monster scissor. He had been trying to use that arm for support too. But that was not all: using both hands, she locked his right arm behind him. 

Joanne hauled away at his right arm, the way she had with his left arm earlier, while her strong thighs squeezed his neck and left arm. All the while, Rick tottered about, trying to stay on his feet, with this clinging source of a thousand injuries stuck to him like a limpet.

When Rick could bear it no longer, he dropped to the mat. Joanne sprang off him the moment she felt him go, and as soon as he bumped painfully onto the mat, had his right leg and arm imprisoned in the crook of each of her arms, for a leg arm lock. Kneeling behind him, the pretty young blonde smiled broadly down at his agonised face, while she ratcheted up the pressure on his right limbs. 

Opting for a bit more "payback time" she inflicted a Boston crab on him. She chose the more usual method of facing away from her opponent (or victim), while she squatted over him with both his legs bent backwards in the crook of her arms. Just as he had done to her, she imposed near-unbearable strain on his legs, stomach, ribs and spine.

Just as Rick earlier had been keen to use – or demonstrate – his extensive array of holds, Joanne now was eager to dominate with as many of hers that she could before she broke him. Half lying behind/underneath him while she had him on his knees, she gripped both his wrists and pulled his upper body back towards her, while she pushed him away with her knees in the small of his back for a cavernaria. She gave his spine no respite at all, while she now went to work on his neck, shoulders and arms too. She was delighted to hear him yell in pain – a bit more payback time!

Returning to the wrestling textbook, Joanne now imposed a camel clutch on the man she was humiliating. Straddling the small of his back, she hooked his arms over either knee, grabbed his chin in both hands, and hauled away as if she was in a tug of war match. His bones and muscles creaked and complained under this latest onslaught. His spine received yet more agony, while his neck, ribs and stomach got a nasty dose of torment too. 

Using her position on the small of Rick’s back, Joanne returned to a headlock. Linking her arms around his neck and throat, she made him choke and work for every breath. He vainly tried to prize himself free with his near, left arm. But firstly, it was in an awkward position to make much difference; and secondly, she’d weakened him considerably and his effort was puny.

She dragged him up to his knees. Kneeling behind on her left knee, she linked her arms around his neck again, this time incorporating his right arm in the lock. (Even if she had weakened him, she still wasn’t going to take any chances by leaving his right arm where it could be dangerous.) Meanwhile, she intensified the power of the hold, frowning with the effort. The back of his head "rested" on her left thigh, while her surprisingly strong arms punished his neck and throat, making his eyes bulge.

Yes, surprisingly strong, thought Rick. "She’s going to beat me," he thought again, at which he was mortified to get an erection. He had heard about defeat boners before, but he didn’t believe what he heard. He groaned with anger, pain and embarrassment. 

Now what? The buxom, curvy blonde raised him off the mat and carried him on her shoulders. Again, just as he had done to her earlier. She was determined to disgrace him, he thought, as he was marched around the ring on the girl’s shoulders. 

Joanne reached around his leg and gripped his rigid penis. They’re all the same, these "lady" wrestlers, he bitterly remembered thinking. She was insulting and abusing him. She had won, and now she was intent on dominating him and ruining his self-esteem. And the worst of it was, in a small corner of his mind that he never knew existed before, he liked it. He hated himself for it.

But she hadn’t finished there. She hooked his legs over the top rope on either side of a corner post, so he was upside down with his hands on the mat. Then her hand properly went to work on his penis. "She’s done this before," thought Rick. "She’s beaten up a man and then masturbated him upside down so that his semen … oh, no!"

His face was covered in the stuff. He dropped to the canvas, with his arms over the bottom rope. He wretched with revulsion, at himself for losing so shamefully, and at the horrible fluid on his face. Meanwhile the blonde victor posed with her boot on his spent penis, smiling almost lazily in her triumph.