Mystery woman strikes again

Men were fascinated by her. For a start, she was beautiful (it always helps). She had abundant blonde hair, full breasts, a narrow waist, and rounded hips, thighs and bottom, with long, tapering legs. She also had hypnotic, “come-to-bed” eyes. When she fought she usually wore thigh-length boots to match the colour of her leotard. The boots themselves were feminine in the extreme: the “shoes” were pointed, with high stiletto heels. Next, the leather emphasised the shapeliness of her calves, before enclosing each knee, and then ran for about another 3 inches up her thighs. She also favoured dark tights, and claimed there was ideal room above the tops of her boots to hold a man’s neck captive. Finally, she also liked to fight wearing ear rings (blue on this occasion), which sparkled if the lights caught them through her hair.

What about Tony, the man she now challenged? He was a competent wrestler, and had won rather more matches than he had lost. He had heard of the exotic Natasa, of course, and that she was a Hungarian beauty renowned for her fighting expertise. He had, however, never seen her wrestle. Men tended to be disdainful of women’s wrestling, privately thinking of it as a joke among themselves. But they feared Natasa. She occupied their thoughts more often than any of them cared to admit. Those who had seen her fight never forgot the experience, and tended to change clubs – sometimes even move to another town – rather than get one of her dreaded challenges.

It was too late for Tony. But he felt confident enough as the referee introduced him. Indeed, he received generous applause and a few cheers, which made him smile, and show off his physique to the crowd. Then the ref introduced Natasa, who continued to stand as she had done when Tony was introduced, right hand on hip, and smiling at the crowd.

But then the ref gave Natasa a brief advertisement. “Be sure, she’s strong enough to beat any male,” she seemed to gloat, pointing up at a big screen which showed Natasa holding a helpless man above her head with one hand, while her other hand steadied his foot. Then the ref praised Natasa’s head scissor skills, and you saw her with her hands on the canvas, her body arched upwards, and gripping an unfortunate man’s neck in her thighs with, sure enough, his ears just beyond the tops of her boots. Tony maintained his poise, but began to look thoughtful. “She can even kill an opponent with her legs!” crowed the ref, pointing at a depiction of Natasa entrapping another unlucky man (who looked a bit like Tony, just to disconcert him some more). “Or at least send him to hospital,” continued the ref, with a fourth picture of Natasa, in a different outfit, ensnaring man number three. “Oh shit,” mused Tony, forgetting his poise, and putting his hand up to his mouth. “Like her previous opponent,” concluded the ref, indicating a defeated man on a stretcher. “Oh, bloody hell,” Tony thought, in despair.

“Get ready Tony,” brayed the ref, “Fight!” And all the while, Natasa had stood with her hand on her hip, smiling lazily.

The crowd fell silent. Natasa beckoned Tony to “come on”, with her index finger. They both adopted fighting stances. Still shocked from the ref’s introduction, Tony concluded that his best hope lay in getting a decent blow in first. He tried a punch. Natasa, notwithstanding her boots which were more suited to evening wear, skipped aside and blocked it; then, taking hold of his fist, planted ladylike pointed toes smack into his balls. As she did it, her eyes displayed wanton pleasure. They communicated pure sex. Tony felt sick. Where was the ref, for God’s sake? That was a foul! But the ref was in the front row of the crowd, smiling and nodding at Natasa’s strike. Straight away, her dainty polished boot had damaged Man where he is most vulnerable.

Temporarily helpless, Tony collapsed in pain. Natasa pulled him up by his legs, and placed her boot over his face, before shifting him onto his back. Facing away from him, she locked his right leg between her left calf and thigh, and started to force it the “wrong” way in a figure four. Pain scorched its way from Tony’s foot to his ankle, then along his shin bone, and up to his knee. The audience could hear his yell.

The “ref” nodded again, smiling more broadly, as Natasa bent Tony’s body so that he was lying face-down, with her legs hooking his middle in a body scissors. She steadily exerted pressure, chiefly on the vulnerable lower ribs and stomach. She casually moved her hand through her hair, while her legs turned up the heat. Tony’s mouth opened in pain, but no sound came out. She added to his discomfort by taking hold of his head and twisting it.

Maintaining the scissors, Natasa now moved under Tony and locked his arms in a horizontal full Nelson, so that he now had twin agonies. His neck was jerked forward, his arms back and up, while her powerful legs ratcheted up the damage to his middle. Next she attacked his eyes with her fingers, yet still kept her stranglehold of his ribs and waist. He was temporarily blinded by his eyes watering.

Not relenting for a moment, she grabbed his neck in a headlock, still not relinquishing the scissors. This she swapped for a right arm lock. It would have been bad enough for Tony to cope with pain from one attack at a time; but all the while the pointed stiletto heels were locked together, and the leather boots engulfed his raging stomach muscles and rib wall, while the confident lady assaulted the rest of his body in turn. She now graduated to both his arms again, repeating the effect of the full Nelson, before settling for a single left arm lock.

At last Natasa let go of the body scissors, and swapped it for a head scissors, with the bonus of trapping Tony’s right arm in her thighs. She held his neck relatively low down, with the tops of her boots, while his arm was confined in her tights, crackling with static electricity.

“This is what she does best,” murmured the ref to the man next to her.

“She didn’t exactly look like an amateur before,” he replied, dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief.

“No, I’m very proud of her. I love the way she can humble any man,” she concluded with satisfaction.

Tony’s eyes bulged, and he started to gulp for air, while his bicep was being torn. Once again, Natasa appeared absent-mindedly to run her fingers through her hair, while she regarded Tony’s discomfort almost with curiosity. His arm sizzled between the tights of her upper thighs, while his neck was ground by the leather of her boots. Eventually she let go of his arm and moved his head up, so that his neck could now be both squeezed and scorched by the friction of her tights. She positioned him, at first, so that he was facing away from her as she gripped his sensitive neck, before shifting 180 degrees so that his face was engulfed intimately. Both men and women in the crowd sat up and craned their necks, fascinated as to how this would develop. She hooked her legs behind his neck and held him, trapped and suffocating. Raising herself on her hands, the audience could see her smiling, and wondered if it was because she was dominating the match, or dominating sexually.

She changed her position again, so that she sat facing Tony, still with his face imprisoned where she most desired it. Considering the gratification he seemed to be affording her, her next move could be considered to be blatantly ungrateful – she fired her right elbow into his manhood, and calmly watched its effect. Many men in the audience winced, and exchanged glances. They could only guess how Tony felt, because whatever sounds he might make would have been drowned by his confines, and they couldn’t see his face because it was hidden by Natasa’s upper thighs. But it was obvious she was enjoying herself.

Now she broke off her assault on Tony’s manhood, and concentrated solely on the head scissors, her speciality. He had his hands on her thighs, vainly trying to force them apart, and she now held his wrists so that his hands remained on them, feeling the silkiness of her thighs, encased in her tights.

At last she released him, gasping and spluttering, and secured him momentarily in a headlock, before graduating to a schoolgirl pin. With her shapely bottom in view of some of the lucky audience members, she ground her hips against Tony’s while she gripped his wrists. She looked straight into his eyes, as she reinforced her dominance. Once again audience members exchanged glances, sometimes men and women together. No wonder men found Natasa fascinating! And frightening. She moved closer to Tony, so that their foreheads touched, and her breasts rubbed against his chest. All the while she stared into his eyes.

Suddenly she swooped his body up, maintaining her grip on his wrists, and inflicted another variation of head scissors on him. She knelt either side of his face this time, although the torment was exactly the same for Tony that it had been previously.

Not content with this, Natasa raised Tony to his feet, and held his jaw for a moment with her right hand. He was so weakened that he couldn’t respond, and some in the crowd were apprehensive as to what she was going to do next. She didn’t tease them for long, for she now leapt at Tony, engulfing him yet again in a flying head scissors. Tony tottered and swayed, trying to remain upright and support her weight, while also struggling to breathe. He didn’t last long, and fell to his knees, still bearing her weight. Natasa moved to either side, trying to dislodge him; he tried to counter and remain as he was. But she prevailed, and he started to fall. On his way down, she grabbed his balls.

There was a confused brawl for a few moments, when many in the crowd struggled to make sense of the action. One minute there was a hold, another a vertical head scissors, until she eventually forced him up into a full Nelson. Having exhausted Tony by smothering him out of breath on a number of occasions, now she switched the pressure to his upper arms and neck, forcing his body back against the softness of her breasts. It was a little too passive for her liking though, and she now locked her arms around his middle.

“Ah yes,” muttered the ref, to the man next to her. “I know what’s coming now …”

Briefly Natasa held him like this, before raising him up and over her body in a German suplex. In a superb display of strength and skill, Natasa had the man glide over her body at an ever-quickening pace, and land in a slam on his neck and shoulders, facing away from her.

“Beautiful!” stated the ref, shaking her head in admiration, and fuelling an admiration of her in her neighbour.

Tony’s neck and shoulders had suffered an almighty blow against the canvas, but Natasa wasn’t going to ease her attack now. She yanked him up by his legs, turned him round, and prized his head and chest under her legs, while holding his legs in a Boston crab. This increased the agony in his neck and shoulders, while heaping stain and pain over his whole body, forced as it was into such a perverse angle. By pushing his chest down on the canvas, Natasa was able to turn up the heat as well. Tony began to groan, and it became too much for some in the audience to watch.

There was general relief when Natasa let go of the hold and swapped it for a now-familiar head scissors. This time, she lay across him while she locked his neck in her thighs, facing away from him. She stretched out voluptuously on her back, and crossed her legs around her victim’s neck.

Cheers came from some of the women in the crowd when Natasa worked herself onto her hands, moved round so that she was facing Tony, and trapped his face right up against her sex. She put her head back and gripped the feminine vice around the hapless male, while the tops of her boots occasionally tickled his ear lobes, as an additional, minor irritation for him. One stiletto heel was locked over the other, as she cranked up the torture on his neck and face. Tony panicked and struggled; then he went limp, unconscious.

The crowd roared their cheers, as Natasa pointed at her prostrate opponent. She raised her arms in triumph, and still the crowd applauded and cheered. The noise died down when it became apparent that Tony was stirring. They couldn’t help admiring him as he attempted to get up, although someone shouted, “Stay down, you idiot!”

But no, he was kneeling – until a punt kick from Natasa slammed into his right thigh. Ironically it shot him onto his feet; unfortunately for him it lined him up perfectly for a high kick. One pointed, shiny boot blasted his face. Giving him no time to recover, Natasa was in at him with her right elbow, striking his left jaw. The ref licked her lips as a left fist, enclosed by a painted, glossy thumbnail, sailed into the man’s face.

“She used to work as a night club bouncer,” the ref explained to the man beside her, “But they sacked her because she preferred starting fights to stopping them.”

Natasa was merciless. While Tony was still desperately trying to stay on his feet after her punch, she now clubbed his stomach with her right leg. Bringing her leg down, she next punched him on the jaw with a straight right, her blonde hair flowing prettily as she delivered it. Then she pivoted round, and struck him with a backward high kick, the stiletto heel doing vicious damage.

For the second time, men in the crowd winced as she perched elegantly on her right toes, held Tony’s head, and propelled her left boot into Tony’s balls. While he gasped and blundered about in pain, she struck his left jaw with her right knee. Never one to waste anything, while her leg was still in the air, Natasa brought it back and assailed his right jaw with her foot.

Budding pugilists and boxers in the crowd sighed with pleasure at her next blow. It was a consummate straight left, which smacked into Tony’s chin. A photographer captured the moment brilliantly: the woman’s blonde, wavy hair; her strong yet feminine arm; her fist shooting her opponent’s head backwards; her beautiful, full bosom; and her lascivious, round bottom.

Next she chose a right uppercut into Tony’s stomach, bordering his ribs, which she followed up with a left uppercut under his tormented chin. This would have had him on his back if she hadn’t grabbed his wrists. But it was only so she could knee him in the balls, after which she spun round, agile as a ballerina, and backward-kicked him in the chest with her left leg. Bringing it down, she repeated the move with her right leg, this time going high for the face.

He was down, sitting, his face a picture of suffering. Natasa acknowledged the applause before moving to finish Tony off. Sure enough, it was a head scissors. But Tony was already beaten really, and couldn’t take any more punishment. As those by now familiar tights, boots, and ladylike legs enveloped him once more, it was obvious there would be no resistance from him. A little blood trickled from his mouth.

For the second time, Natasa felt him go limp. She stood up and raised her arms in triumph again, while the crowd cheered, clapped, and stamped their feet.

“He won’t be doing any fighting again for a little while,” the man next to the ref suggested.

“He won’t be doing anything again. Ever.”