Like a lot of popular events, the Burning Man Project in the Nevada desert attracts fringe events every year that have very little to do with the original themes of the project. One such is "Caveman Carlos" and his fighting cage. Rather like a boxing booth in a fairground, Carlos offers to fight anyone in an MMA fight inside the cage. He wears a simple loincloth, as befits a "caveman", as well as it being comfortable in the desert heat. He issues a challenge in the Nevada paper every year a month before the event, then takes on the successful responder.

The particular year of this story concerns a simple spelling mistake. The response that most struck him was from "Futuristic Phyl". "We are polar opposites," wrote Phyl, "which is why a fight between us would be so popular. I look to the future, whereas you look to the past. Let’s settle our differences in that cage of yours. As for fighting, you will find (to your cost) that I’m fast, strong, adaptable and unpredictable. I will be arriving in a ‘Galaxy Cruiser’, a vehicle built for the future."

"I’d hate to have to change a wheel on that," thought Carlos, as the vehicle arrived on the particular day; and certainly the top of each tyre was up to his chest. Shading his eyes from the intensity of the sun, he went out to greet this Phyl, who had just opened the door of the giant monster on wheels.

"What the - ?!" Carlos said to himself, as the shapely, attractive form of a young woman’s rear view slid gracefully out of the "Galaxy Cruiser".

"Is this a joke?" he demanded, as Phyl turned to face him, leaning easily against it.

"No, it’s no joke," she replied, "and hi, I’m Phyl."

"I don’t fight girls!" he insisted. "I was expecting to see Phil, short for Philip."

"Oh, I see," she replied, "well I’m Phyl, short for Phylis. You can’t have noticed the "Y" in my name."

She infuriated him, standing there smiling in her skin-coloured leotard, and wearing a snorkelling mask.

"Why are you wearing that mask?" Carlos demanded.

"To protect my eyes from the sun. Also, it’s very bad for my complexion."

"If you want to insult me …" he shouted, grabbing her forearm in his right hand, and raising his other hand. His punch missed her by a whisker as – fast and adaptable – she leant out of its path, while whipping off his loincloth. Taking advantage of his follow through, she replied to him in kind, knocking him down on the sand.

"You certainly have the manners of a caveman," she hissed at him. "Get in that cage now, or I’ll drag you in there!" 

Sitting on the sand, Carlos felt vulnerable for the first time that he could remember. He looked up at the furious woman, brandishing his loincloth, and pointing to the cage. He would have to fight her now. How else was he ever going to get his self-respect back?

He reluctantly followed Phyl into the cage, resenting the fact that he was obeying her. Once inside, he tried to parley with her, explaining that he couldn’t fight a woman.

"Really?" snapped Phyl. "Is that why you tried to hit me?"

"That was because you were making a mockery of – ah, shit!"

A hefty kick in the balls interrupted him. Her boot (the same light tan colour as her leotard) made an obscene sound as it landed, to cause temporary disablement. Carlos sank to his knees clutching his wounded manhood, his face contorted in agony.

"Oh, poor baby, did that hurt?" jeered Phyl, before raising him to his feet by mockingly holding his chin. She took a step back and adopted a fighting stance. Carlos had no choice but to do the same. They circled, then Phyl unleashed a high kick which he skilfully avoided. Despite herself, she understood there and then that he was going to be a very difficult opponent.

She tried again, aiming for his leg, and for a second time he made escape look all too easy, before scooping the kicking leg up and hooking it under his arm. "Not so easy, is it?" he snarled into her face, while she was forced to hop to stay upright. "If you can’t cheat by aiming for the balls, you’re useless."

He swiftly switched legs, and heaved her left one leg up vertically, so she had to balance with one hand on the sand. As he held her boot against the side of his face, his cock rested against her sex, the scanty material of her leotard being all there was between them. Despite her perilous situation, Phyl couldn’t help wondering indignantly, "Why isn’t he getting an erection?"

Carlos allowed her to drop onto the sand, keeping hold of her ankle, and kneeling. She sensed that he was one of those men who enjoyed inflicting pain on a woman for its own sake. He loved glaring into her face, and he began to move his closer, no doubt so he could gloat. Her left fist smacking into his mouth put paid to that idea.

Furious, Carlos swung her round with his immense strength, so that he held her across himself, his right hand locking her left arm, and his left hand pulling her back towards himself by her chin, as in a camel clutch. He then forced her on her back and locked her right leg. It was just as well Phyl was fit and trained in dancing and gymnastics, otherwise his pressure on her leg would have been unbearable. On the other hand, she needed to get out of the hold and take the initiative.

"Always use whatever is available to hand," her mother had advised her about fighting, when she was growing up. There was only one thing that fitted that category - sand, and plenty of it. Phyl scooped a handful and hurled it in Carlos’s face. 

Temporarily blinded, he leapt away from her, and put his hands to his eyes, kneeling. Phyl waited for him to remove them, then let him have it. Her left fist crunched into his chin. She hit him so hard that it put him on his back. For the first time, she took the dominant position, and punched him in the eye. 

"You should have worn a snorkelling mask!" she told him without laughing, for this had become a bitterly contested fight. Kneeling so she straddled him, and sitting on his manhood, she threw her left fist into his ear, knocking his head to the side. External sounds, such as the odd engine starting up, became foggy for Carlos. The only thing that wasn’t now muffled for him was the pain in his ear.

"What’s wrong with you?" Phyl demanded, schoolgirl pinning him, and grinding her hips against his middle. "Every man I’ve known would have got an erection by now," she reprimanded him, moving her nether regions up and down against his cock. "Or do you just live to fight, and have no sexual interest, or ability, whatever?" 

Phyl was so busy insulting him that she had lost concentration on the pin, moving a little away so she could look down on him, literally and metaphorically. Carlos took advantage of her exposed chin, and punched. He could see it dazed her, so he put her over his shoulder and lifted her, fireman-style. 

"Women who behave like whores get treated like them!" he growled, "so let’s show off your pretty arse to anyone who wants a look!" He did a turn around the cage, pointing her bottom at every angle of it.

This might have been humiliating for Phyl, but at least it gave her time for her senses to clear after that blow on the chin. She was all too aware when he lifted her against the side of the cage, with his hands around her throat. Carlos’s hands were like the hangman’s noose on her throat. It was imperative she escape. It was that or death.

"Always use whatever is available to hand," came back to her again. This time it was the mesh of the cage. She push-kicked against it, grabbed Carlos’s head, and the pair of them tumbled down onto the sand, Phyl on top. They grappled, hissing and cursing each other, both searching for an elusive advantage. 

During the confused struggle, Carlos allowed his already damaged and painful ear to be exposed to further harm. There wasn’t the room for a punch, so Phyl slammed her forearm against it. Carlos yelped in pain, momentarily helpless, so she sat on his chest to one side, and locked his arms over her strong, supple thighs. Then she began to exert pressure. She pulled his right arm up a little, too, so it pushed slightly against her lovely, abundant breasts.

"I wonder if that’ll do the trick," she thought, still obsessing over his lack of an erection.

When Carlos yelped by the time his arms felt as if they were red hot, Phyl lay across him. She trapped his left arm underneath her right thigh, and locked his right arm, before twisting it. Carlos yelped some more, but she ignored it, enjoying her dominance. Her strong right hand gripped his forearm and bent it to her will. Her left hand steadied her right arm as it twisted and manipulated his suffering limb. By now, Carlos was wailing and howling.

"If it’s that bad," Phyl began, "why don’t you tap out? Oops, silly me – you can’t!"

By the time she relented, he was calling on God for help. But he must have decided to stay out of it, because Phyl effortlessly hauled him onto his front. Kneeling over his back on her left knee, she continued to lock his weakened right arm, by pulling it upwards with her trusty right hand, but keeping it in place with her right thigh. For good measure, her left hand pulled Carlos upwards by his forehead, while her right thigh on his shoulder did the same job as it was doing with his arm. Shades of the camel clutch again!

This seemed to give her an idea, because she opted for a camel clutch pure and simple after that improvised (but effective) hold. Kneeling astride her victim – which is surely what Carlos had now become – Phyl hauled him upwards with both hands under his chin. Meanwhile, she sat on the small of his back in the orthodox way. His ribs were at full stretch, his neck strained, and his stomach ached with the exertion. 

But she couldn’t be traditional for very long, and she now raised Carlos to his feet, using the camel clutch to pull him up by his chin from behind him. Once she had him upright, displaying a dancer’s dexterity, she brought her right leg over his shoulder, and raised herself on his back, holding them both steady with her right hand still under his chin. Her left hand seized his left forearm, in case he should get any ideas about fighting back. If there were such a hold as a standing camel clutch, that would be it.

Drawing on her training as a gymnast, Phil now leapt off him, and did a glorious somersault to land on her feet.

"I’m giving you a sporting chance," she told Carlos. "Come on, you failure as a man!"

They glared at one another while they circled, like two furious, snarling cats. Phyl kicked hard and high, but Carlos warded it off with his arm. She struck again with her opposite knee, but it was met by his left arm. Carlos punched; Phyl swerved out of the way.

"Is this what you meant to do?" she taunted, her right fist careering into his chin. It was a fine, solid cross, and deserved to be seen by a crowd of thousands. It had Carlos in disarray, unable to form any kind of defence, let alone counterattack. So Phyl helped herself to his balls, her right boot smacking devastatingly into them, and hitting the cock head for good measure.

Carlos’s yell was his loudest yet. He roared in pain, before collapsing with it. He toppled down onto the sand and lay moaning in the foetal position, while clutching his manhood. Phyl placed her boot on the side of his face, relishing the part of the dominatrix. Then she  lay beside him, put him in a headlock in her left arm, and twisted his right arm with her free hand. Returning to her preoccupation, she rubbed her left calf against his cock, and it rose in response.

"At last!" she exclaimed, before slipping behind and underneath Carlos. She gripped his head in a sort of reverse sleeper, before raising him to a sitting position, then brought him back down again, returning to the headlock. She started rubbing her right boot and her left calf up and down his cock, while she gripped his neck in her right arm. Carlos began to breathe quickly (as much as he could). Her formidable hold of his neck, coupled with her foot and leg ministrations, threatened him with a crisis. He gritted his teeth. He hoped. He implored. He pleaded. Then he surrendered, shuddering and quaking in her grasp.

"I did it!" Phyl crowed in triumph. "You’re a man, with a man’s weakness, after all!"

She waited for each spasm to subside, before celebrating her victory. Then she made him lick the mess he had made off her boot. After that, she hurried off to the "Galaxy Cruiser" and returned with a dog's lead and collar, which she fastened around Carlos’s neck. Then she made him crawl to the vehicle.

"This is how it’s going to be from now on," she told him, holding the lead. I’m taking over the cage, and I will invite men to challenge me, just like you did. I will proceed to beat them up and emasculate them, just as I’ve done with you, and I’ll call it my ‘Beaten Man Project’. That will be nice, won’t it?"

Carlos said nothing.

"ANSWER!" Phyl insisted.

"Yes, it will be very nice," he answered hurriedly.

"Of course it will! Now stay still, like a good boy, while I fasten your lead to my car."

He understood she was going to drive away, with him attached by the lead to the car. He could only hope she would drive slowly. But his worries were interrupted by a wave of exhaust fumes and flames, as the "Galaxy Cruiser" burst into life. Perhaps it was a "Burning Man Project" after all.