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Archive-name: Amazon/indecnt.txt

Archive-author: as chronicled by Mike Shoemaker

Archive-title: DOMINION:  An Indecent Proposition

     Tom Bradley crouched low, measuring his opponent, and sensed

the match was almost over.

     His adversary, Whip Smith, swayed with exhaustion and

glistened with sweat, having suffered several power moves and

debilitating holds.  At six feet two inches and 244 solid pounds,

Bradley's height and conditioning lent him a visible advantage as

the match pressed on.  The crowd of over fifteen thousand shouted

and shifted as the grapplers studied one another.

     Smith summoned his remaining strength and lunged, but

Bradley ducked under his clumsy offensive and moved behind him.

Smith rebounded off the ropes, and took a flying dropkick from

Bradley, which sent him down.  Moving in on the dazed man, he

jerked Smith to his feet, then pulled him into his arms.  The mat

shuddered as Bradley body slammed him hard to the mat.  He lay

dazed and incoherent, shifting his arms and legs as Bradley

climbed to the top of the turbuckle.  With a smile and wave to

the crowd, he leaped; his elbow slammed into Smith's sternum,

forcing the air from his lungs.  The crowd roared its approval as

Bradley hooked a leg and covered Smith for the three-count.

     "Lookin' good, my man."  Tiger Jackson high-fived Tom as he

returned to the dressing room.  "'Course, Smith ain't exactly a

contender, but you put 'im away pretty well."

     "Yeah, I thought so, too."  Bradley took a towel from a

nearby stack, and began wiping sweat from his arms.  Other

wrestlers passed between the lockers and suited up as they

prepared for their matches.  "Besides, I pinned him two and a

half minutes faster than you did."

     "Hey, I was pacin' myself.  All that counts is who took home

the winner's share."


     "You gonna hang around?"  Jackson secured the knot on his

striped bandana.  "I got a match with Crusher King comin' up.

Even a boy wonder like you might learn somethin'."

     Tom pitched the towel into a hamper, then shook his head.

"Nah, I'm gonna shower and go home.  I wanna catch my highlights

on ESPN."

     "Whatever.  Later, buddy."  Jackson waved and left the

dressing room.

     Bradley slipped out of his tights and boots, and wrapped

himself in a fresh towel.  Though he'd won the match, Smith's

initially vigorous performance had left him looking forward to a

strong water massage.  He was nearly to the showers when a voice

behind him called out, "Bradley."

     He turned, a little annoyed at being stopped short of his

destination.  Leonard Harris, match promoter and notoriously poor

dresser, shook a handful of contracts at him and said, "You were

sharp out there, Tom.  You got potential."

     "I've got more than potential, Harris, and you know it.  If

you'd set me up with someone important for a change, the rest of

the world would know it, too."

     Harris straightened the lapel on his polyester sportjacket,

and walked closer.  "Yeah, well, that's what I'm here to talk

about," he said, lowering his voice.  "See, the fans are warm to

you right now, and I know you can pull a good crowd.  Most of the

singles titleholders are booked up for a while, though--"

     "Then why are you talking to me?  I'm tired of waiting."

     He held out his hands in a "keep it down" gesture, then

leaned closer.  "Let me finish.  The singles belts are busy, but

I can probably swing a tag team match with the state titlists.

If you're interested, that is."

     "Tag team?"  Tom shifted on his feet, a little surprised.

"I don't have a partner."

     "Find one.  Unless you'd rather--"

     "I'll get a partner.  And I'll take the shot."

     Harris gave the kind of smile Bradley associated with used

car salesmen, just after they'd locked their jaws on a choice

deal.  "Great.  Just understand that I can't wait around forever.

I need you and your partner to sign the papers by next Tuesday."

     "No problem."

     They shook hands; Harris' palms were characteristically

damp.  "I'll be waiting.  You got my card."

     As steamimg water beat down on his body, Bradley considered

his options.  Being new to the area, he hadn't acquainted himself

with many wrestlers, leaving him with a small pool to choose

from.  The ones he knew were committed to other partners, or just

not good enough to credibly challenge for the title.  The

champions, a pair of intimidating masked men called the

Marauders, were rampaging through the region like a force of

nature, and the chance of generating a successful team strategy

with a near-complete stranger was slim.

     Troubled with these thoughts, he re-dressed and left the

arena, to the private parking facility to the rear.  He stopped

next to a weather-beaten Mazda and fumbled around for his keys.

The thought of a title match pleased him for more than just

professional reasons; after all, he'd make more money from a

championship loss than he would from a win over a lesser-quality

singles opponent.  He might even be able to buy a newer used car

after the bout.

     Bradley looked up as a sleek black Lamborghini rolled toward

him, its engine purring with restrained power.  He passed a

lingering glance over the glossy, aerodynamic countours of its

body, and hoped he'd one day know the special thrill of owning so

elegant--and expensive--a vehicle.  It slowed as it neared, then

stopped behind his car, blocking him in.

     He pulled his duffle strap higher onto his shoulder as the

car shut off, and the door on the driver's side slid up and open.

A strikingly beautiful woman emerged, and turned toward him.  Her

height struck him at once--she was eye-to-eye with him in her

heels--as did her strong, well-toned physique.  The neckline of

her skintight miniskirt was cut for a suggestive peek at her

ample cleavage.

     "Mr. Bradley?"

     He smiled.  "That's me.  What can I do for you?"

     She walked to him, the heels of her hip-high boots clacking

on the asphalt, and extended a hand.  "Hello.  My name is Ava

Winchester.  I've been looking forward to meeting you."

     Her grip was surprisingly strong.  "Thanks.  I'm flattered."

     She looked away briefly, a cool summer breeze playing

through her thick brown hair, before meeting his eyes again.  "I

saw your match tonight, and I'd like to compliment you on the

victory.  You were impressive."

     "Thanks again.  I'm happy with it."  The more he examined

Ava's delicate face, and her strong, supple body, the more he

hoped he'd be occupied with something more interesting than

SportsCenter that evening.  "Nice car."

     "Thank you."

     "I don't guess you'd consider a trade."  He patted the roof

of his Mazda, and said, "With a paint job and a rebuilt engine,

this one would get you around."

     She smiled, her brown eyes sparkling in the glow of the

overhead halogen light.  "I'll pass."  An awkward silence

followed, as she fumbled with her hands and exhaled.  He

considered asking her out for a drink, but decided to wait until

she'd made her intentions plain.  He could tell she wasn't a

groupie, but he doubted her sole reason for approaching him was

to praise his victory.  "Mr. Bradley," she said finally, clasping

her hands.  "You're probably going to laugh at what I'm about to

suggest, but I have an offer for you to consider."

     Tom didn't like the sound of her statement.  He'd heard the

same thing too often from well-meaning churchgoers trying to herd

in the strays.  "Offer away."

     "I'd like to wrestle you at my private facility, and for

each pin you win, I'll pay you one million dollars."

     Tom smiled, slightly dumbstruck.  This was more like the

indecent proposal he'd been hoping for.  "Wrestle me?  What do

you mean?"

     "Just what I said.  I have a wrestling ring on my grounds,

and I'd like to compete with you.  All the moves and rules you're

used to would apply."

     He considered what she'd just said:  that she wanted to face

him in real wrestling competition, and that she'd pay him seven

figures for every pin he won.  His dates often used playful

Greco-Roman freestyle action as foreplay--matches he enjoyed

letting his girlfriends win--but Ava was calmly discussing a

head-to-head confrontation of a coldly professional kind.  Tom

decided that this woman needed to be kept away from safety

scissors.  "Miss Winchester--"

     "Please, call me Ava," she said.

     "Right.  Ava, either you've got an Uncle that thinks he's

Napolean, or you've got more money than good sense.  I mean, I'll

be happy to lose a few on purpose, but for a million bucks a

fall...hell, I'd pin my own mother for that much."

     Ava seemed unfazed.  "Mr. Bradley--"

     "Please, call me Tom."

     "Fine.  You may rest assured of three things, Tom.  First, I

am not deluded, psychotic, or otherwise mentally impaired.

Second, I'm a primary shareholder in Amatech Conglomerated, and

have more money in one mutual fund than you could collect in an

evening of pins.  Finally, I intend to prevent you from

collecting any of the money."

     He scratched the back of his head, trying to decide whether

to roll around with her for the sheer lewd thrill of it, or to be

kind and send her elsewhere.  Tom's id and superego clashed

momentarily, his libido prodding him to leap at the opportunity,

and his conscience wagging a finger of still-unresolved Catholic

guilt; he sighed as his conscience won the fall.  "Ava," he said

finally, "You're a beautiful woman.  Correction:  you're the most

stunningly attractive woman I've ever met.  And if you'd asked me

to dinner or out for coffee, I'd've jumped at the chance.  But,

I'd feel too much like I was taking advantage of you.  I know

some female wrestlers, maybe I could introduce you to them and--"

     She moved her left hand from behind her--he hadn't noticed,

but she'd kept it obscured the whole time--and held out an

envelope fat with something square.  She dropped it on top of his

car with a thud.

     "That's ten thousand dollars, Tom.  Just for showing up."

     Tom blinked, regarding the envelope cautiously.  He figured

it wouldn't hurt to count it, and picked it up.  The money was

there, in hundreds, all the bills crisp from the mint.  In his

mind, greed nailed conscience from behind with a metal folding


     She stepped closer, her face deadpan.  "I'm serious about

this.  You're a good wrestler, and I'd like to face you.  You

have nothing to lose, and immense wealth to gain."

     "Well," he said, re-sealing the envelope, "If somebody put

you up to this, then they're out ten thousand bucks.  I might as

well see this through."

     She smiled, and Tom saw a hint of something dangerous.

"Excellent.  I'm looking forward to it."  She gestured to her

car, and said, "I'll be happy to take you there."

     Tom was thrilled.  Not only was he going to grapple with

this exquisite woman, but he was also going to ride in her

exquisite car as well.  Money, a gorgeous woman, wrestling...the

whole thing was twisted and oddly exciting.  "Can I drive?"

     "I don't think so."

     The drive to Ava's home went without incident, and they

passed the time chatting about the weather and the recent

fortunes of other wrestlers.  She surprised him with astute

observations on move strategy, and realized she was more than

just a casual fan with a peculiar fetish.  They arrived at her

estate half an hour later, in a secluded, wooded area that

bordered the ocean.  She fed a keycard into a slot at the

outskirts of her property, and a wrought-iron gate lifted and let

them through.  The road twisted through the surrounding forest

for at least half a mile, before terminating in a circular drive

adjacent to her villa.  The three-story mansion was a pillared,

ornate fusion of classic architecture and modern streamlining,

its intricate detail and proximity to the rolling surf making it

impossible for him to guess at it's cost.

     "Nice digs," he said, closing the Lamborghini's passenger

side door.  "Didn't I see Robin Leach here once?"

     "Absolutely not."  She aimed her alarm remote at the car,

and it chirped obediently.  "He eats too much, and I don't like


     She gave him a short tour of the home, leading him through

room after room of sculpture, priceless paintings, and ornate

fixtures that put most galleries to shame.  It made him wish

she'd painted a yellow line on the floor for visitors to follow.

One false move would send him tumbling into financial ruin.

     "Relax," she said, and took his arm in hers.  "This isn't

Sachs.  I won't hold you liable if you knock something over."

     "That's nice to know," he said, his head craning for a

better view of a Dali original.

     They stopped as a maid walked in from an adjacent hallway,

heels clacking on the tiled floor.  She was a frosted blonde,

wearing a short servant girl skirt and black hose.  Her fair hair

and bright blue eyes were offset by a perfect tan.  "You're

back," she said, and looked at Tom; he evaluated her delicate

features and well-curved physique, and pronounced her Ava's

equal.  Looking him up and down with a sly smile, she asked, "Is

this the man you were talking about?"

     "Yes.  Tom, this is Anna, my maid.  She's the only permanent

staff I have here."

     He took her hand, and gave her fingers a light kiss.


     Anna giggled.  "Will you be going straight to the


     "That depends on Mr. Bradley."  Ava looked at him, and said,

"Are you tired after you match?  I can put you up for the evening

if you'd like."

     Tom considered her offer, but decided that the sooner they

were rolling around together, the better.  And if Anna were to

join in....  "Nah, I've had plenty of time to rest.  I might need

something fresh to wrestle in, though."

     "Not to worry," said Anna.  "We've fresh togs for you to

wear.  You're a size twelve boot, aren't you?"

     "That's right."

     "Then follow me," said Ava.  "I'm anxious to begin."

     The boots, kneepads, and tights were a perfect fit.  After

changing, he was led to the east wing, where he found a two-story

complex equipped with free weights, resistance machines, aerobic

devices--a private training facility of unsurpassed quality.

Behind the weights was a half-court for basketball, and adjacent

to that was a wrestling ring.

     "I don't believe it," he said, as they guided him to the

ring.  "Somebody must've drugged my coffee or something.  I mean,

look at all this."

     "Trust me," said Ava, as he ran a hand down the cold metal

cornerpost, and along the ring apron.  "You're perfectly lucid."

He noticed her studying him, smiling slightly, leading him to

wonder if there weren't hiding an ulterior motive after all.

     "Look," he said, making a final attempt to reconcile his

knowledge that she was unfairly overmatched.  "Have you been

training with anyone?  Or should I show you a few basics?"

     "Anna and I train every day.  We've become quite even in our

matchups, so I thought it might be time to try a male opponent."

    "Just thought I'd ask."

     "I'm going to change now.  Go ahead and get familiar with

the ring--it should be what you're used to."  He felt compelled

to watch her sway from side to side as she walked away.

     He spent some minutes testing the flexibility of the ropes,

and practicing a few rolls to feel the give of the mat.

Satisfied that the ring was regulation, he began limbering up.

Anna came to the ring first, dressed in a black high-cut pelvic

leotard--thong-backed, to his delight-- and a matching half-top.

Her thick blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

     "Hi," she said, stepping into the ring.

     "Hi."  Anna's beauty was breathtaking, and he had to make an

effort to compose himself.  His tights wouldn't do much to mask

his true intentions.

     "I'm the referee," she said.

     "Oh, okay.  I hope you're not gonna play favorites."

     "Don't worry.  I'll be impartial."

     "I should hope so."  The voice was Ava's.  She was walking

toward them, wearing a black interlaced posing suit, which left

all but her breasts and lower body exposed.  It was cut to the

waist on the sides, and dipped low in front.  Her full, raised

breasts were barely concealed.  Matching boots and kneepads

completed the ensemble.  "Mr. Bradley will certainly need an

impartial official."  She bounded onto the apron, and leaped over

the ropes.  He noticed that the rear coverage of the suit was

equally minimal.

     Tom took a deep breath, and shook his head.  "Goddamn it,

what are you trying to do to me here?  How can I possibly

concentrate?  I mean, you're both--both just--oh, man...."

     "Relax."  Ava ran her hands over her breasts, down her

chiseled midsection.  He decided that she and Anna were built

precisely to his tastes:  they were tall, strong, and athletic,

with lean physiques and ample feminine curves as well.  "You'll

have other things on your mind once we've started.  Like

surviving."  She moved toward him.  "Let's go."

     He shrugged, and backed up a few steps, where they began to

circle one another.  Anna withdrew to a nearby corner, and leaned

over to watch, her hands on her knees.  Ava's face became

focused, her eyes never straying from his, her body tense.

     They locked up, collar and elbow, and he moved first, going

behind her and embracing her waist.  He lifted her and brought

her to her knees, where he forced her to her stomach.  His

intention was to use only mat wrestling, and to immobilize her

with some simple holds.  He wanted to reduce her pain and

suffering as much as possible, while getting at least one pin.

Or a few.  Or ten, if she were still game....

     Her body twisted in his arms, and she broke free.  Rolling

to the side, she jumped lightly to her feet, and crouched low.

     "Excellent," he said, grinning.  "You got out fast."

     "Don't patronize me," she said, and they locked up again.

       It was her turn to move first:  she slid behind him and

jerked his arm into a hammerlock.  He winced; the move sent sharp

pain through his shoulder, much more than he'd expected.

     Turning him in place, she took him under his body and around

his neck, and--to his shock--lifted him into her arms with ease.

A second later, she was holding him high above her head, her arms

fully extended, supporting him with no apparent difficulty.

     "I told you I was serious," she said, and then pulled him

back to her; turning with his downward momentum, she spun and

power-slammed him to the mat.

     Dazed and shaken by the press-slam, he was vaguely aware of

her dropping astride his chest, and of Anna delivering a three-

count.  Ava lightly patted his cheek, to bring him back to


     "Hello," she said, a sly smile on her face.  "Are you sure

you're up for this?"

     He shook his head, trying to clear it, as she stepped back

and pulled him to stand.  " in the hell did you do


     Ava winked at Anna.  "The mechanics of the move are pretty

simple, Tom.  If you'd like another demonstration--"

     "Never mind," he said.  He re-gained some stability, then

said, "Okay, let's do this again."

     They came to grips, and she shot a knee into his midsection,

bowling him over.  Ava lifted him up and slammed him down, then

launched into the ropes as he lay prone.  She leaped on the

rebound--gaining easily ten feet in height--and landed across him

with her body.  She followed this with a succession of elbow

drops, punishing his chest and sternum.

     He lay helpless, more pain lancing through him than he'd yet

felt in his professional career.  She stood and paced around him,

considering her next move.

     "You can pin him again, probably," said Anna.

     "Probably.  But I'm not through yet."  She pulled him to

stand; he wobbled on his feet, still disoriented.  She flew off

the ropes again, then jumped and brought him down with a flying

clothesline.  He twitched as she slid over his chest once more,

and was counted out.

     He came to a few minutes later, coughing and weak, barely

able to roll to his side.  Ava lay beside him, propped on an

elbow, one eyebrow raised.  "You're back.  I was beginning to


     He struggled to sit up, and rubbed his neck.  "I--I don't

get this...."

     "What's to get?  You're getting your ass kicked."

     "Thanks."  He staggered against the ropes momentarily,

before managing to right himself unassisted.  Anna looked at him

closely, trying to gauge his condition.

     She asked, "Are you okay?  Are you hurt or anything?"

     He winced at the throbbing pain in his midsection and neck,

and felt like he'd just survived a high-speed wreck--barely.

"I'm fine.  C'mon, let's go again."

     Ava shrugged and rolled up, her movements now loose,

confident.  A sinking feeling set in that he was trapped, that

she'd used his libido and overconfidence to get him into the

ring, and that now he was paying the price for underestimating

her skills.  His mind raced as he tried to grasp the implications

of what was happening:  excuses aside, Ava was dominating the

encounter, something he'd never expected to happen.  He'd seen

the news reports about the Dominion virus--a strange, sudden

phenomenon that had vastly enhanced the bodies and muscle quality

of the world's female population--but had only considered the

cosmetic implications.  A world of tall, athletic, shapely

females seemed like a libidinous dream, but he'd scarcely

realized the broader implications.  The match had gone beyond the

mere opportunity for financial gain:  if he didn't establish a

credible presence, the match might represent a shift in gender

dominance world wide, something he was surprisingly uncomfortable

with.  He steeled himself, determined to take control of the


     They circled again, Tom's body still aching from her prior

attack, before moving to lock up.  His forearm thumped the side

of her head, and he followed this with an arm bar.  He tossed her

to her back and fell to his knees, cinching in the lock, trying

to slow her and recover some endurance.  She quickly rolled to

stand, decreasing his leverage, then forced him slowly,

deliberately, back into the ropes.  Anna ordered them to break,

and Tom grudgingly released her arm.

     She swung a clothesline at him, and he reflexively ducked

and rushed to one side.  He jumped and hit her with a flying

dropkick, which staggered her back, then whipped her across the

ring.  On the return, he landed a reverse flying elbow, which

sent her down.  With momentum finally on his side, he jumped,

targeting her forehead with his knee.  Unexpectedly, she rolled

away, and his knee met the mat with painful force.  She gripped

his ankle and cinched in a leglock, twisting his knee with

alarming force.  He groaned as she cinched the move in.  Anna

dropped to one knee beside him, ready to accept a submission

should he offer one.

     Ava dragged him to ring center, where she stepped over his

leg, then fell back and locked in a figure four.  He flailed his

arms, pain lancing through his weakened knee, as Ava applied

brutal pressure to the joint.  He fought to maintain

conciousness, before his vision spun, blurred, then faded.

     When he came to, Anna was massaging his leg, feeling it for

deformities.  "Seems okay," said Anna.  "I don't think anything's


     "That's good," said Ava, a predatory smile on her lips.

"I'm not through with him yet."

     He ignored her remark, and tried unsuccessfully to sit up.

Ava dropped and slid to him, and wrapped her legs around his

chest, just under his arms.  The air rushed from his constricted

body as she rolled to her knees, sat down on his side, and

tightened the hold.  Her breath came in shuddering gasps, eyes

fluttering as erotic warmth pulsed over her from within.  She

cupped her breasts and stroked her fingers over her visibly

stiffened nipples, no longer content to suppress the sensations

she felt.

       Biting her lower lip, she moaned as her arousal

intensified, and alternated the pressure between a death grip and

something she felt he could tolerate.  Try as he might, he could

neither roll her off nor pry her python-like legs away.  He was

helpless to prevent her from squeezing the life out of him.

     "Poor guy," Anna sighed.  "I hope there's something left for

me.  Ava, I don't think he can signal a submission--"

     "Good."  Ava lifted one of his faltering arms, and licked

and nibbled his fingertips.

     The burning heat washing over her reached a fever peak, and

she decided to terminate the encounter with her favorite hold.

She opened her legs, allowing him to roll prone, then moved

forward to lay on her side.  Holding the back of his head, she

pulled his face against her lower body, then slowly, agonizingly,

clamped her legs around his skull and interlaced her ankles.  She

writhed and bucked in time with her sexual rhythms, lower back

arched, breasts jutting out, glistening with a sheen of

perspiration as she squealed and screamed with each passing

climax.  The sensation of his head trapped between her thighs, of

his face crushed against her sex brought her to frequent,

sustained orgasm of incredible intensity.  Tom grit his teeth and

groaned as she abused him, too weak to resist.  As his vision

clouded into a field of flashing points, he realized he'd been

completely dominated, and that the world--and his perception of

it--would never be the same.

     "He's coming around," he heard Anna say, as he drifted back

to conciousness.

     "Yes, but I think he's had enough.  I don't want to risk

injuring him permanently."

     Tom opened his mouth to speak, but all that emerged was a

hoarse gasp.  He lacked the energy to lift any part of his body

from the mat.

     He felt them unlacing his boots, and they slid them off,

followed by his kneepads.  Ava asked, "How do you feel?"

     "B-bad," he groaned.  "Real bad."

     "Don't worry," she said.  "You won't be going anywhere for a


     After what he'd just gone through, and the humiliation borne

from it, Tom wished they'd dump him by the side of the road,

rather than keep him around.  If they had some strange snuff

climax planned, he was helpless to prevent it, and hoped that his

corpse would be identifiable if it washed ashore.

     Ava crawled over him, and sat across his stomach, still

tingling with arousal.  Anna reached to behind Ava's top, and

unclasped it; it dropped away, revealing her perfect breasts.

"I'll admit that I called you here for more than athletic

purposes, Tom," she said, sliding her hands over the warm skin of

his ribs and chest.  She lowered over him, and pressed the stiff

points of her nipples against his pectorals.  "I've wanted you at

my mercy since I first saw you wrestle.  You didn't win any pins,

but you do get the consolation prize."  Her lips met his warmly,

passionately, her tongue working into his mouth.  The kiss

lingered for some moments, before she parted.

     They pulled away his trunks, then slowly, sensuously removed

their clothing.  In spite of his fatigue and exhaustion, he was

no less overwhelmed by the sight of them.  They crawled to where

he lay, and stroked and fondled him, their lips, hands, and

bodies sliding over him and eliciting instant response.

     Working in tandem, Ava and Anna used Tom in every

conceivable way, losing all control in their passions.  They

enjoyed their union for long hours, alternating between tender

caresses and erotic frenzy, leaving him coated with sweat and

their fluids.  Satisfied and exhausted, they carried Tom from the

ring, to molest and caress him in the hot tub.  They concluded

the evening by depositing him in a guest bedroom, where they

dropped onto him and fell to sleep.

     He awoke to find Ava atop him, riding his post-sleep

erection.  She snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"Good morning," she said.

     Tom returned her embrace.  It was good, he decided, to be

screwed awake by a beautiful woman.  "Where's Anna?"

     "She's making us breakfast.  And she's getting an icepack

for your knee, to prevent any swelling."

     "Better make that an ice tub.  I'm gonna need total-body


     Ava squealed and bit his shoulder, muffling her cries.

Changing her rhythm, she said, "Don't worry.  I know I was a

little rough, but Anna and I will pamper you back to good health.

We'll subject you to sex...and

anything else we think you'll need."

      He smiled, and tightened his arms around her.  He wasn't

much into hurt/comfort relationships, but in this case, he'd make

an exception.  "Ava...that was the craziest night of my life."

     "I hope I didn't discourage you from continuing.  You're a

talented wrestler."

     "Discouraged?  Hell, I'm thrilled.  It's not often I run

into girls like you two.  You're special."  They kissed again.

"Y'know, if I'd won any money, I know what I'd've spent it on."



     She looked genuinely touched by the statement.  "Even after

what I did?"

     "Hell, yes.  I'll get over my bruises, and like I said,

you're special.  Not to mention enigmatic, beautiful...and

loaded.  What more can a man ask for?"

     "Since you put it that way...."

     As their rhythm continued, he nibbled the nape of her neck,

prompting her to scream and buck.  He took some time to locate

her pleasure buttons--her earlobes and the small of her back

among them--and, having done so, played her like an instrument.

As he brought her successive multiple orgasms, he thought it was

interesting that someone so dominant in the ring was so

manipulable in bed.

     Between peaks, Tom asked, "Have you thought about going


     She nodded.  "That's one reason I brought you here.  I

wanted to see if I could cut it."

     "I'm glad you mentioned that."  He rolled atop her, and

pushed her right leg up and over, altering his angle of entry.

Her cries began again, in earnest.  "You see, I've got a little

proposition of my own."

     Anna came in, carrying a tray of pancakes, eggs, and juice.

"Breakfast is served--"  Noticing them hard at work, she put the

tray aside and began to unzip her servant's costume.  "Hey, save

some for me, willya?"

     "Y'know, this is gonna pack 'em in.  A championship tag team

match--and a woman on one team."  Leonard Harris checked Tom's

and Ava's signatures, and shook his head.  "Hell, they'll be

beatin' down the doors."

     "Just make sure the Marauders show," said Tom, tapping the

man's desk.  "I don't want to miss this opportunity."

     "Don't worry, they'll be there.  I suspect they'll get a

kick out of beatin' up a woman.  They aren't known for bein'

especially sensitive."

     "Trust me, Mr. Harris," said Ava.  "I don't require any

special treatment.  I'll give as good as I get."

     "Better," said Tom.

     "Y'know," he said, as they walked back to the car.  "Anna

really ought to be your partner.  If she's wrestling you to a

standstill, then you'd be perfect together."

     "Trust me, I won't let her stand on the sidelines.  But I'm

looking forward to being your partner, rather than your


     "That's good.  I'm not sure I'm paid up on my health

insurance."  She pulled him close, and they kissed again.  "Now

whaddaya say we go study some tapes?  I've got a lot of Marauders

footage in my library."

     "Later.  Right now, I want to bring you back home and pin

you again.  Only this time, I think I'll just bring you straight

to bed."

     "Thank God."

                        More to follow....

(The events and characters depicted in this story are copyright

1993 Mike Shoemaker, all rights reserved)


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