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
turnbuckle. 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.”

“True.”

“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 sport
jacket, and moved 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
nonplused. “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 steaming 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 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 contours 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. “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 Sports Center 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
girlfriend’s 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 Napoleon, 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 chair.

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 its 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 cameras.”

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.
“Charmed.”

Anna giggled. “Will you be going straight to the
gymnasium?”

“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 corner post, 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 coherence.

“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. “How…how in the hell
did you do that?”

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 wonder.”

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 worldwide, something he was surprisingly
uncomfortable with. He steeled himself, determined to
take control of the match.

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 leg lock, 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 consciousness, 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 broken.”

“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 lie 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 consciousness.

“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 while.”

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 therapy.”

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 massages…
hot tubs… group 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.”

“What?”

“You.”

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 pro?”

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 adversary.”

“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.”