Christian had always been a "good boy". He had done well at school, and his devoutly religious parents were quietly delighted with him. He passed his exams with distinction and was accepted to study divinity at a prestigious university. He was destined to enter the Church and – as he and his family saw it – to serve God.

We may scoff. But he was very much in the tradition of Chaucer’s "poor parson of the town", rather than the friar. He believed he had a calling to help the poor and "tend his flock", rather than hypocritically preach, while boozing, guzzling and womanising on the quiet.

But there was one problem; one terrible, devouring temptation: women. Poor Christian was 19 and a healthy young man. Of course he liked women! But the girls he met at church and in his classes were – he couldn’t help thinking it, even though he knew it to be wrong – as boring as a wet Sunday afternoon in February. By a cruel chance, he came late to the scramble for accommodation and ended up having to share digs - and his roommate was none other than Louise, a strapping, buxom, fun-loving 19-year-old student of dance.

The university authorities were aware of this sensitive situation. They contacted the church authorities and informed them; but they thought it would do Christian good to have temptation so near. If he succumbed to it, they would just throw him out (while no doubt casting furtive glances at any passing choirboy).

Christian and Louise got on surprisingly well. But his weakness was a problem. He found himself thinking about Louise and her dancing. He tried to imagine her in her tricot. Then a terrible thought came to him. She was out at the moment. All he had to do was to go into her room and find out which drawer she kept it in. He need only see it and perhaps feel it.

But he was too far gone. Once he found it and felt it, he had to take it into his room and put it on. He imagined her nubile body inside it. Overcome with lust, his thoughts led him to masturbate, wondering about Louise in the sensual garment that he now wore. He imagined it clinging to her large breasts, her broad, round bottom, her long, tapering legs …

"YOU DIRTY BASTARD! I suppose you didn’t hear me come in, you were too busy moaning to yourself, wanking! I was just on my way out again to my dance class, but I couldn’t find my tricot. I was going to knock on your door to ask if you’d seen it, but then I heard the sound of you jerking off, and muttering about boobs, bum and legs. So now I’m going to call the university and tell them I’m sharing accommodation with a pervert!"

Disaster! Appalling! Here he was, caught, no question. A young theologian with an otherwise unblemished record discovered in an act that would get him thrown out of university and the church.

"Lou, I’m sorry, I’m totally in the wrong, I know," he implored. "But don’t get me thrown out."

"No, my mind’s made up. Where’s my phone? If you’ve stolen that as well, you’ll be in even more trouble!"

"It’s on the table in the kitchen, where you left it. I saw it when I made a cup of coffee."

"Thank you. But – you let me know where my phone was even though I was going to inform on you?"

"Of course."

"Of course," she repeated, mellowing. "It’s what you would do. You’re a good man, Christian, and I’m not going to inform on you now. I’ll tell you what I want you to do instead. I want you to be a practice dummy for me to work on my wrestling holds."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I’m in an MMA club," she answered proudly, "it complements the ballet, and I have a match coming up."

Christian gulped at the thought. But he happily agreed, and they set off for the gym, she leading him by the hand, he still wearing the tricot at her insistence. Walking slightly in front as she was, he wondered if the swaying of her magnificent round bottom was entirely natural – of course it wasn’t. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Right, down you get," she told him. "On your bum, it’s head scissor time!" Facing him and balancing on her hands, Louise wrapped her supple thighs round his head.

"Try and prize my leg off," she told him, so he dutifully applied his left hand to her left leg, to no avail. "You can’t can you?"

"Nnggno," he answered, from his toned prison.

"’Nnggno’, indeed!" she echoed him. "A man’s hands are no match for a woman’s legs. You can KO your opponent with a good head scissor." 

She increased the pressure on his neck a little, to emphasise the point. Unless he closed his eyes, Christian couldn’t help looking along the tops of her thighs to where the V of her leotard just (about) maintained her modesty. If he forced his eyes upwards, they took in her flat stomach and her beautiful, large round breasts.  

Louise moved across him, but kept the scissor going, ramping up the pressure a bit more. This way, he was forced to see her face smiling down at him; but only after his eyes feasted on the urgent curves of her leotard nipping in at her narrow waist. Then of course, he couldn’t avoid seeing her breasts again. It was unexpectedly exciting to see a woman’s breasts from underneath. Nothing told him more than that who was in charge. "Just you remember it," was what her smile seemed to be telling him, too.

Using the scissor, Louise steered him onto his front, meanwhile tightening the grip of her thighs a bit more. This was when it ceased to be a novelty for Christian and became an ordeal. Breathing grew harder, and she was inflicting pain on his neck and jaws.

She grabbed his left arm by the wrist and levered him onto his right side. There seemed to be endless variations to this one hold. For her part, she still wore the same smile, because she was enjoying herself. Yes, she needed to practice. But she had been angry at Christian’s invasion of her privacy, and there was an element of punishment to her actions as well. Plus, she was satisfying a woman’s innate love of teasing and distracting a man with her body. 

She moved onto her back. It dragged him towards her on his hands and knees, while she thrust her legs in the air. His face was right up against her sex now. 

"Fantasise about my body, do you? Well get a load of this!" she murmured, moving round to face away from him, so that his eyes took in the glorious semi-globes of her buttocks. Supporting herself on her hands, she forced him down on his front, but with his head twisted to the side within the iron grip of her thighs. As a bonus, she was able to observe his massive erection inside the tricot as well.

At last, Louise relinquished the scissor. Lying to his side on her back, while forcing him onto his, she heaved his right arm through her thighs, locking it from the wrist. Then she used the arm to lever him onto his knees. From behind him, so she was practically sitting on the small of his back, she locked his arm in the crook of her right arm, and yanked it, making him yell in pain. Even in his agony though, a small part of his brain told him that his arm was pushing against the soft, pliant flesh of her breast.

Louise graduated to her most ambitious hold yet. Still from behind, she pulled him half up to his feet, and returned to the scissor, including his supporting left arm in it. At the same time, she continued to lock his right arm, hauling it behind him. It was an arm triangle choke plus, and (she later told him) an invention of hers that she was very proud of.  

When she thought Christian’s roaring might disturb neighbours in the bloc, she allowed him to flop down onto his front. But there was no respite for him. She knelt on her left leg and half-scissored his neck in the crook of it. At the same time, she seized his left wrist and pulled his arm upwards, past his head, which made the half-scissor just as effective as a full one. 

"Oh, God!" he wailed.

"Don’t blaspheme!" she scolded him. (Curse her, she was right, he thought.)

But then she let him go. "I think that’s enough now," he urged, rubbing his neck and taking great gulps of oxygen.

"What do you mean?" she fired back, wrapping her arms around his head from behind in a sleeper. There was no smile now – she hadn’t practiced all her moves, and she dam’ well meant to!

Louise pulled him down above her, using the sleeper. Then she swapped the sleeper for a headlock/choke, trapping his unfortunate neck in the crook of her right arm. Not content with that, she snaked her legs round his front, and – to pile on the insult – proceeded to tease his erect penis with her dainty, strappy, ballerina flat through the tricot. At the same time, she trapped his near, left arm with her left arm, just in case he got any ideas. 

She hauled him onto his front, but still above her, swapping arms to continue the headlock. His left arm was secured under her right arm, while his right hand was stuck underneath her back. His neck was really sore by this time. The strength of her legs was a given; but that of her arms, Christian found a mystery. Equally bad, if anything was going to divert his attention from his troubled neck, it was the wrong thing: the fact that his body was pressed hard against the woman he found the most desirable of all the women he knew.

Louise was wearing down his will to endure. She moved seamlessly to a rear naked choke, choosing to face him. Lying above and across him on her side, she kept the headlock going, while locking his left arm in her thighs. Her variation on the hold meant she could look at her victim’s face. As she gripped his neck in her linked arms and used her thighs to bend his arm at an unnatural angle from the elbow, she was satisfied to view the progress of her work as etched in his face. She wasn’t a sadist, but a serious MMA fighter, and this practice was very important to her before her match.

Christian started to think there were as many variations of headlock as there were head scissor. For she now had him on his front, while she sat on the small of his back. With her trusty left arm never letting go of his neck, she took his right hand and proceeded to lock the fourth finger, bringing more shouts of pain from him. 

When Louise let go at last, he seemed to fold in a heap, breathing in again as if the air were precious. His right arm flopped uselessly. She took a few moments to give him a bit of a rest while he groaned and begged for this to be the end of it. But it wasn’t. 

"Not any more, PLEASE!" Christian moaned, as she once again drew his right arm under her left arm, while she tried to revive him a little by tapping his face. Kneeling behind him on her right leg, she hooked her left leg over his left shoulder, so he wouldn’t be able to use that arm, and continued her torture of his other arm, forcing it up and behind him. 

But she was keen to work through her holds – or rather the variations on her favourite holds. So it was back to the head scissor. Lying beyond his head on her back, she ensured he was on his back, then once again placed those wondrous thighs of hers around his neck. His attempt to dislodge her right leg, with his severely weakened right hand, was laughable. 

Louise stretched out.  If she had done it to show off her splendid, curvy figure, it would have been worthwhile in itself. But no; she did it to afford her the maximum grip on Christian’s neck. She pulled his hair too, just for the hell of it. For his part, he was still comically trying to free himself from her legs.

No, there were definitely more varieties of head scissor than headlock, Christian thought glumly, from his new enforced position, on his front.  Louise heaved his right arm and locked it to the side of him, while – yes – keeping his neck encased in her thighs.

"You touch my tits, and you really will be in trouble!" she told him with mock severity. Mock, because she was the one who held him by the wrist, so that his hand hovered an inch or two above her right breast. How he would have loved to touch them too! (Had he not been in such pain, that is.)

Well, it had been an excellent practice, so it was time for a bit of self-indulgence. Keeping Christian on his front and securing his arms - though it’s doubtful they could have achieved much now – Louise folded her legs behind his neck, pushing his face up against her sex. 

"How much do you know about women, Chris?" she teased. "I bet all those nymphomaniacs in your church have shown you what to do, eh? Go on, go to work!

Louise enjoyed one last bit of struggle for the sake of it, swinging the surprised, protesting Christian onto his back, so she could kneel either side of his face. Gripping him by the hair, she engulfed him intimately; so much so, that he passed out.

What a successful practice that was! She felt triumphant, and posed over him for no one’s benefit but hers. As for Christian, Louise was a generous person (when she wasn’t fighting) and happily forgave his earlier sin.