______________________________

All characters and situations in this story are fictional, and any
resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

The content of this story is suitable for adults only and should not be
read by anyone under twenty-one years of age.
______________________________

With a few irritated strokes on the keyboard attached to the ancient PC
upon which she kept the records for her business, Maria deleted Carol
Snyder. Next, she wrote a check reflecting the five weeks remaining on
Carol's three-month club membership. Finally, Maria opened a security panel
adjacent to her desk, and deactivated the plastic swipe card that granted
Carol access to the gym.

The only thing that remained was for Maria to confront Carol and let her
know she had overstayed her welcome. Maria slipped the check into an
envelope and glanced out the six-by-eight foot window that formed one wall
of her minuscule office. Nothing about the view had changed. Five women,
regulars all, were engaged in a variety of struggles with Maria's no-frills
collection of weightlifting equipment. On one side of the room, two
sisters, Becky and Jean Wilson, faced each other doing curls. Ann Carter,
silver haired and fifty eight, did bench presses on the other side of the
room. Her friend, Michelle Taylor spotted for her. A skylight provided what
sunlight the clouds overhead permitted, and a door on the far wall led to a
vestibule and the street beyond.

Maria stood and felt the butterflies in her stomach. Without thinking,
Maria bent, reached under the top of her sweatshirt, and made a quick
adjustment in her brassiere. A flick of her wrist below the waistband of
her sweatpants made a similar adjustment to her briefs.

Annie Carter was a wonder to behold, and Maria stole a second to admire
her. As near as Maria could tell, Ann had never been out of shape, bench
pressed more than most women half her age, and was a walking advertisement
for the benefits of lifelong exercise. As she watched her silver-haired
client's shoulders, neck, and forearms ripple and strain, Maria sent up a
silent prayer that she could do as well when she was pushing sixty.

Maria's eyes finally settled on the center of the room, where Carol Snyder
was casually working her way though a set of squats.

* * *

Carol had arrived late in the day. She knew it would be her last workout as
a paying customer at Maria's. For the past three weeks, Carol had been
looking for a confrontation with Maria, and it seemed she was about to be
rewarded. In fact, the fireworks had probably been inevitable from the day
Carol first stepped through the front door two years ago.

Carol Snyder had been new in the neighborhood. She and her husband had
recently followed a job offer into town. Always on the stocky side, Carol
had asked one of her new neighbors if there was a health club she could use
to tighten things up. Leaning over the fence on a blustery autumn day, the
neighbor had quickly given her the names of a couple of fitness club chains
with local branches. Finally, after a pause, she had said, "Of course, you
could just go to Maria's with me.

"What's Maria's?"

"Maria's is kind of local. It's not as fancy as those other places, but
it's a lot of fun, and it's not as expensive as those other places. Lots of
the girls from the neighborhood go there."

Carol had made an instinctive inspection of her dark-eyed neighbor. She was
probably in her mid-thirties--several years older than Carol--and not
particularly thin. Jeans had hidden the woman's legs from scrutiny, but
Carol could not help but admire her hips, which had been large but seemed
well-shaped. The rolled up sleeves of her red-checked flannel work shirt
had revealed tight forearms. The double chin that afflicted so many of the
female members of Carol's family had been nowhere in evidence.

"I'll tell you what," the neighbor had continued. "Let me finish here. Then
I'll get changed and we can take a walk. It's about a mile and a half from
here."

One of the direct effects of the fundamentalist religious revolution that
had swept the planet a generation ago had been a series of blockades and
embargoes effectively eliminating all nonmilitary contact between countries
of differing faiths. In the United States, the resulting $25 per gallon
gasoline prices had suddenly made walking and bicycling more popular than
they had been for a century. On the flip side of things, while much of the
world struggled with only marginal success to feed itself, North Americans,
as both women's hefty physiques illustrated, had never had problems keeping
their tables full.

A sly smile had played across her neighbor's face. "This'll be fun. I'll
introduce you to the girls, and you can meet Maria. Maria's a hoot; You'll
love her. See you in about an hour."

"By the way," she had continued, extending her hand over the fence, "I'm Linda."

"Carol Snyder." Carol had said, taking her neighbor's hand. "Good to meet you."

"Likewise; see you soon."

A little over an hour later, both women, clad in sweat suits and light
jackets, had rounded a corner, coming to a stop in front of a nondescript
two-story building. A single-door entrance and a high, reinforced plate
glass window had extended the width of the building from just above eye
level to about a foot below the top of the first floor. The windows on the
second floor had been covered with blinds that looked like they had not
been opened since biblical times. An address number above a mail slot
adjacent to the frosted glass panel door cut into the weathered brick
facade had indicated the entrance. Behind an elevated plate glass window, a
neon sign had said simply, "Maria's." Another sign had been clearly visible
taped into the front door: "No Men Allowed." next to the door and below the
sign, someone had added some reinforcement in weather-beaten magic marker:
"This means you, @$$^%&e!"

Carol might have walked past the place twenty times since she had moved
into the neighborhood. By it's appearance, the building had looked like it
housed a run-down bar or a "social club," places that brewed the sort of
trouble neither Carol nor her husband had any use for.

Linda read Carol's mind and smiled. "It's just as bad as you think it is,"
was all she had said, and opened the door.

Carol had followed her neighbor through the small vestibule on the other
side of the door and found herself in Maria's weight room. For a few
seconds, she had frozen in place as an expression of uncomprehending shock
had taken hold of her face.

First, the place had been ancient. One of the mirrors on the far wall had
been cracked, as was the plaster behind it. Thankfully, the soft overhead
illumination, delivered exclusively by one of the most grime-encrusted
skylights Carol had ever seen, had obscured most of the details. The women
making use of the facilities had been as motley a crew as the building was
worn. Carol would later come to refer to it as "broken in," but her initial
impression had been that of a horror story.

Nevertheless, the sight that had riveted Carol's attention had nothing to
do with the weight room. That had been the appetizer. Through a wide
opening in the back had stood the main course, and as soon as it had
registered in her field of vision, Carol's eyes had locked onto it like a
those of deer caught in someone's headlights. Centered under a single light
fixture hanging from the two-story ceiling in the shadowy back room had
been a square, thickly padded, full-sized wrestling mat laid over a
spring-loaded, elevated platform bounded by three thick ropes stretched
through heavily padded turnbuckles attached to four well-cushioned poles.
Even from a distance, it had been obvious that the ropes were frayed and
the mat had a buildup of well-worn patches, stains, and grime that could
have come from nothing but years of hard use. Maria's had been a club where
people had been coming to wrestle for a long time--certainly since before
Carol was born.

After a split second, Carol's attention had been distracted by movement in
the shadows on the far side of the ring. As her eyes had adjusted to the
light, it had become obvious that the figure, a large woman of
indeterminate age, had been adjusting the mats surrounding the ring.
Sensing Carol's gaze, the woman had turned, dropped the corner of the mat
with which she had been struggling and stepped forward.

"Can I help you?" she had asked.

Before Carol had formed a coherent answer, Linda had stepped in. "Maria,
this is my new neighbor, Carol. Carol, this is Maria DeSalvo."

Instantly, Maria had held out a work-hardened hand to Carol.

"Hi, Honey. Welcome to my place."

For a second, Carol had stood there with her jaw hanging open. Instantly,
Maria had realized what was happening. She turned to Linda. "You didn't
tell her anything, did you?" was all she had said. It hadn't really been a
question.

Having fully grasped the situation, Maria had turned her attention back to
Carol.

"Linda is a b%$@&." she had stated directly. "She should have warned you.
If you're looking for juice bars, aerobics classes, and a 12-step weight
loss plan, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place"

Maria had put her hands on her hips and rocked back on her heels, making a
quick professional appraisal of the woman in front of her, while giving
Carol ample opportunity to do the same. As was her norm for the upcoming
winter months, Maria had been dressed in a loose sweatshirt and baggy
sweatpants. She had made no effort to disguise her bulk, which was
substantial, though well-proportioned for someone of her years--years which
had been plainly revealed in the laugh lines surrounding her flashing dark
eyes, and in the thick tangle of salt and pepper gray hair that had framed
her face.

"On the other hand," Maria had said as she started circling around Carol in
an effort to inspect her potential client from all sides, "If you want to
get some good, healthy exercise, work out your aggressions, and turn some
flab with muscle . . ." Maria had continued her circumnavigation.

Carol had been surprised when Linda, instead of stepping aside for the
older woman, had made no effort to move, simply standing in the way. The
smile that had appeared on Linda's face had contained more than a hint of
challenge in it. After the briefest of pauses, Maria had returned a sly
grin.

Before Carol had realized what was happening, Maria had hurled a shoulder
block into Linda, and Carol's dark-haired neighbor had been sent sprawling.
Strangely, Linda had been smiling from ear to ear as she brushed her hair
out of her eyes. Maria had leaned down, offered her hand, and helped Linda
to her feet.

"You need to work on your manners, honey," was all she had said, smiling.

After one last smile at Linda, as if to say, "You asked for it--What did
you expect?" Maria had returned her attention to Carol

". . . I think you might like it here," Maria had concluded.

* * *

Maria watched Carol work through her set of squats. The fact that she knew
she had to do it didn't keep Maria from hating to tell Carol to leave. It
wasn't that Maria particularly liked or disliked Carol, she just hated to
lose the business. Maria ran her place the way she wanted to, and for that
privilege she had long ago abdicated the possibility of ever getting
rich--or even prosperous, for that matter.

Maria remembered when Linda had shown up with Carol. Linda could have told
Carol what made Maria's place different from most of the other health clubs
in town, but she hadn't. Linda liked to watch girls go into shock when they
realized that Maria DeSalvo was a long-time professional wrestler. The gym
was almost a convenience, providing Maria with a minimum--very minimum most
years--amount of financial security and allowing her to wrestle whenever
and wherever she wanted to.

Based on the posters displayed near the entrance, Maria wrestled often. She
featured prominently in virtually all of the posters tacked to the wall,
and it was rare month when two or three weren't added. In fact, Maria would
have been happy to close her place early this evening. She was scheduled to
wrestle in a tag-team bout later that night, and the upcoming match was far
more interesting to her than anything she expected to happen before she
locked up.

Maria glanced at the photographs decorating the back wall of her office.
Many had been signed by women with whom Maria had become fast friends,
although the pictures themselves suggested the opposite was most likely the
case. Maria figured prominently in virtually all the pictures, and the
other women were a virtual who's who--though some would prefer the term
police blotter--of the biggest, best, and downright meanest heavyweights
from the past twenty years of women's professional wrestling.

The oldest photo featured Maria's innocent, baby face contorted in agony as
her opponent, a fifty-six-year-old battle-axe from out of state, tried to
choke Maria into unconsciousness with a simple but well-applied headlock.
Maria would never forget that bout. It had lasted something like fifteen
minutes. After the show was over, Maria had been handed a check for all of
$25.00. A week later, the photo had arrived inscribed with a note: "Let's
do it again--" and a signed by her opponent. Barely out of her teens, Maria
had been hooked for life.

Maria featured prominently in most of the rest of the pictures. Some were
posed photos of her with different tag team partners, but most featured
Maria on the attack against any one of the many women she had battled over
the years. None of the pictures were likely to be judged suitable for the
society pages of the local paper. A few of them would not have been out of
place in a nudist magazine.

Maria smiled as she remembered the expression of jaw-dropping awe on Carol
Snyder's face the first time she had caught a glimpse of Maria's rogues'
gallery. Silently, Carol had taken it all in, including the posted list of
fees adjacent to the open door of the office. Maria knew the fees were
tough to beat. The neighborhood had never been a target for gentrification,
and Maria priced herself accordingly.

"Try out the equipment with Linda. Talk to me later if you want to come
back," Maria had said. Turning toward Linda, Maria had pointed to the sign
posted below the list of fees.

"Remember the rules, Linda. . . . No wrestling until she takes lessons. No
exceptions. Got it?"

No two girls ever reacted in exactly the same way to their first encounter
with Maria's. Some were instantly repulsed, but many were at least mildly
curious. Initially, Carol appeared to have fallen into the latter group.
She and Linda had worked back and forth with the weights as partners, both
of them beginning to perspire freely.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, Carol had realized that the two blondes
who had been using weights on the other side of the room had walked over to
the ring and were stretching, obviously as a warm-up in preparation for
activity to come. From the moment the two women had locked up, Carol hadn't
been able to take her eyes off them. Linda had watched for a couple of
minutes, then she had quietly whispered in her neighbors ear. "It's even
more fun than you think it is."

Like most of Maria's clientele, Carol had fallen hook, line, and sinker.
She had enrolled in Maria's class, learned the basics, and spent six months
losing her dignity, making new friends, and having a good time. For most
women. things continued that way for a long time. A lot of girls had been
coming to Maria's for years, still doing what they had been doing during
their first three months: winning, losing, and--mostly--laughing.

Carol, being the fire ball that she was, had been different. Maria had seen
the warning sign three months ago. In a nutshell, Carol had started winning
too often. As a result, she had started looking for tougher competition,
and her search had inevitably led her in Maria's direction. A several weeks
ago, Carol had run head-first into one of Maria's unwritten rules: Never
wrestle a client. It was fine to demonstrate holds, discipline, and coach,
but never, ever, under any circumstances, climb into the ring for a serious
match with a client. No exceptions.

"I don't wrestle my clients," Maria had said.

Carol had persisted. "Why not?"

"It's my place, so I make the rules." Maria had responded, "If you don't
like them, you know where the door is."

Carol had pushed. Maria had known she would. After that first challenge,
she had taken out her frustration on herself, pumping herself up feverishly
for a number of weeks. She also had systematically laid waste to many of
her regular sparring partners. A few weeks ago, she had challenged Maria
again. Once again, she had been informed of Maria's policy. Furthermore,
Maria had warned Carol not to continue: Keep it up, and you can find
someplace else for your workouts.

As a parting shot, Maria had added, "The next time you want a piece of me,
make sure your locker is cleaned out before you open your fat little
mouth."

Carol had disappeared for three weeks, only to reappear forty-five minutes
ago, wearing a nondescript sweatsuit. Without a word to anyone, she had
stripped off the sweatpants and started warming up. Under her Carol's top,
Maria had recognized the print pattern of a familiar one-piece
swimsuit--Carol's standard wardrobe when she wrestled. Additionally, Maria
had realized Carol was making an effort to show off her legs. Those short,
blocky legs would never win a beauty pageant, but their overdeveloped
muscles had left more than one beaten victim writhing in the center of
Maria's ring, groaning with pain, thankful for the good fortune to have
been able to submit before her ribs had cracked. Lethal was a good
descriptive adjective for Carol's leg scissors.

Maria had to admit that Carol had more natural ability than many of her
other clients. There was little more Carol had to earn from Maria within
the confines of their current relationship.

The women who had been using the weight room were finished, and they all
knew something was up. Carol had made no secret about her desire for a
match with Maria. By mutual unspoken agreement, everyone in the place had
realized the two women needed some quality time alone, and the room had
cleared out. Following her partner out the door, Ann had turned at the last
minute. Ann and Carol had formed a combustible mixture almost from the
moment they had met. The older woman's eyes had locked with Carol's, and
smiling maliciously, she had blown Carol a kiss--the proverbial kiss-off.

As Maria stepped out of her office, Carol turned to meet her.

Carol had seen Maria's newest handbill before she had walked in the door,
so her first words were a statement, not a question.

"You're fighting tonight."

"That's right." Maria had replied. "Are you planning to be there?"

"Actually . . ." Carol put her hands on her hips and appraised Maria with a
steely gaze that missed nothing. "I was wondering if you'd consider a
pre-match practice bout--something to work the kinks out of those old bones
of yours."

Instantly, Maria straightened her back and thrust out her chest, providing
Carol Snyder with an eyeful of pure physical intimidation. At a little
under six feet tall and over two hundred pounds, Maria was nothing if not
imposing.

Carol was indeed younger and maybe even a little quicker than Maria. Both
women were built on stocky frames, but compared to Carol's fireplug
physique, Maria was the Rocky Mountains.

"Get out of here, Carol," Maria sighed dismissively. "Your membership is
canceled. Here's a check to cover your unused gym time. Don't call. Don't
come back. Don't even let me see your fat little face again."

Carol's jaw dropped in astonishment. She had heard stories about Maria's
willingness to dump clients, but she hadn't really believed the older woman
would go through with it. True, she had found another gym and wasn't
planning to renew her membership, but Carol had wanted to control her own
departure. Angrily. he spun on her heel. In one, smooth motion, she grabbed
her sweatpants from the floor and stalked toward the door. Halfway across
the room, Carol looked over her shoulder at Maria, who was already
following her former client toward the exit.

"F$%# you, Maria! You suck!" Carol spat. Reaching the door, Carol's left
arm shot out, and she ripped the poster for the night's matches off the
adjacent wall--a souvenir of her time at Maria's.

"You $@#&%!" screamed Maria as she charged exit.

Carol was halfway through the door when Maria slammed into it from the
other side. The impact of Maria's door on Carol's generous derriere sent
the smaller woman reeling onto the sidewalk to the sound of a deadbolt lock
sliding home behind her. She didn't fall, but she didn't regain control
until after colliding awkwardly with the sidecar attached to a Harley
parked on the street in front of Maria's entrance. With her bruised butt
smarting the whole time, Carol had struggled into her sweatpants on the
sidewalk and stalked home, cursing under her breath the whole distance.

* * *

Maria rested her leg on a rickety table in front of a cracked mirror and
idly painted her toenails. The color matched her flaming red lipstick. Next
to her, Donna Giacoma, Maria's tag-team partner, finished applying a last,
heavy layer of eye shadow. In a pool of light on the far wall of the
curtained-off area that formed a dimly-lit, makeshift dressing room for all
the evening's participants, their opponents performed a similar set of
rituals.

Both teams wanted to look their best for their upcoming battle. A healthy
market for video downloads of wrestling matches had existed for years. The
traditional compensation structure stipulated a 65/30 split in the
royalties between the winners and losers. Whoever supplied the ring took
five percent and whatever fee they could get away with charging a ringside
audience--most of whom were usually no strangers to the mat themselves. The
sight at least moderately attractive people turning into animals during the
course of a bout seemed to have an appeal to whoever paid for the
downloads, so in made good business sense for all the women to be at their
most attractive--at least when they entered the ring.

According to the garishly colored poster tacked inside the warped display
frame on the front of the building, the main event for the evening was to
pit Maria DeSalvo and Donna Giacoma, two hometown heavyweights, against a
couple of barnstorming professionals who billed themselves as the Bombshell
Blondes, in an all-out, no holds barred, tag-team brawl. Beneath the
unrelenting hype of the handbill, more than a little reality existed. Maria
and Donna had a long-standing violent relationship with their blonde
opponents, whom they knew as Roberta--Bobbie--Schultz and her sister,
Sheila. Now both in their early thirties, the two blondes were had met
Maria some ten or twelve years ago. Maria had forgotten the circumstances,
but one way or another, she had found herself rolling around the mat with
Sheila, the older of the two. The two women had been evenly matched, and
the bout had ended in narrow victory for Sheila. Though they lived in
separate cities, Sheila had immediately offered Maria a chance to get even.
Furthermore, she had mentioned she had a sister with whom she occasionally
tag-teamed. If Maria was interested . . .

Now, every six months or so, Maria and the sisters did their best to get
together. A comfortable schedule had been worked out, with each team
traveling for alternate matches. Depending on circumstances, Maria and the
blondes had indulged themselves in all sorts of matches, either singly or
with every imaginable combination of partners. Lately, however, tag team
matches had predominated, and Donna was Maria's partner of choice. The
royalties, which were the only real differentiation between amateur and
professional wrestlers, were an added bonus for an activity in which any of
the women would have happily participated for free.

A little shorter and younger than Maria, Donna was in her late thirties.
She had wrestled for years, both with and against Maria. Inch for inch,
Donna might have been a little thicker than Maria. Unlike Maria, however,
whose massive chest and barrel of an abdomen provided the foundation for
what had once--briefly--been a classic hourglass figure, the dark-eyed,
black-haired Italian was a pear. Everything she ate went straight to
Donna's rear. Since Donna considered her two best friends to be pasta and
beer, her lower half had quickly become a monument to excess. At five feet
nine inches tall, Donna admitted to 207 pounds, but any opponent who had
the misfortune to find themselves trapped under her would have told you she
was easily ten pounds heavier.

A sharp crash, followed by a bellow of pain, emanated from the outside the
curtained-off entrance. In the shadows off to her side, Donna's husband,
resting after having disposed the evening's opponent in a match that had
ended a little over an hour ago, leaned forward.

"Sounds like it's time." he said.

Barely a minute later, two bodies, a man and a woman of indeterminate age,
both arm in arm and drenched in sweat reeled into, then staggered through
the curtain--more of a sheet, actually. Seconds later, another pair,
looking much the same, only more so, followed suit. Hanging from the waist
of the second of the men was a shredded rag that on close inspection might
have once been a pair of briefs. The first male was simply naked, and his
muscular blond partner wasn't far from it. Her once-white brassiere had
lost both straps and hung from her hips. The pieces elastic and cotton that
had once covered her unshaven pubic mound clung stubbornly in defiance of
gravity to her thigh. She kicked them away, collapsed on a padded bench
against the far wall next to her partner, and kissed him. "We won." was all
she said.

All anyone heard from the distant corner of the bench onto which their
exhausted opponents had collapsed were curses and moans. Then the woman,
another disheveled blonde, big boned, heavily-muscled, and just as
well-clad as her recent opponent, stood shakily on still gleaming,
sweat-streaked legs. Before anyone knew what was happening, she had punched
her partner in the face, sending him reeling to the floor. Growling under
her breath, she staggered away to lick her wounds elsewhere.

Donna looked at Maria and smiled. "Sore loser," she observed.

The head of a woman obviously in late middle-age appeared at the edge of
the curtain. She looked first at the Blonde Bombshells, who were already on
their feet, then at Maria and her partner. "Girls," she said, "we're ready
when you are."

Bobbie stopped and smiled mirthlessly at Maria and her partner as the two
barefoot blondes padded out of the dressing area. Slowly, she flexed her
biceps. Maria was impressed. As Bobbie had put on weight since they'd last
met, and none of it was fat.

As she and Donna followed their blond opponents toward the waiting match,
Maria realized they were in for a good, hard fight. Maria had always hated
blondes, and the Schultz sisters never gave in easily.

* * *

The woman who, by virtue of owning the building, both promoted and
announced the matches--the same woman who had summoned the wrestlers from
their changing area--was, of course, a dishwater blonde.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the middle-aged announcer began, speaking into a
hand-held microphone attached to one of the cheapest PA systems ever
assembled on the planet. "Tonight's final match is a heavyweight tag-team
women's grudge match."

Maria stood in the corner and observed that the announcer, based on the
amount of aging skin her dress was showing, was just as much an
exhibitionist as most of the wrestlers were. Not that it mattered. The
posters and the sign on the door made quite clear that these matches were
for adults only--and probably not all of those, for that matter. In many
ways, wrestling had returned to its ancient roots; it was an
unapologetically violent sport practiced by adults and for adults. In many
cases, the real purpose of a match was to provide the participants with an
otherwise unavailable opportunity to discharge the frustrations of daily
life with a willing partner. Tonight, that was certainly the case for
Maria.

There was nothing neat, clean, or new about the makeshift arena. The ring
was old and stained. The ropes were frayed and torn. The ring posts were
padded with a thick layer of old innerspring mattresses--the same sort of
padding that extended for a good twelve feet on all sides of the
spring-loaded, raised ring apparatus. Placed around the ring to safely
break the impact of any wrestlers who might find themselves ejected, the
padding was usually a secondary measure. There were no seats--spectators
simply stood belly up to the apron, and the bodies of the assembled crowd
usually caught any combatant who went over, under, or through the ropes.
For that reason, the room was kept hot enough to encourage the audience to
dress minimally. Metallic clothes, jewelry (even wedding rings), and shoes
were all forbidden for both the wrestlers and the audience--who, in many
cases were one and the same. Wrestling was a rough sport--arguably the
roughest--and there were few rules, but common sense was expected to be
universal. If a wrestler's opponents ended the evening in the hospital,
competition would be impossible to find, and where's the fun in that?

Maria leaned back on the ropes and felt them sag under her weight. As she
watched Donna bounce in place along the edge of the spring-loaded mat,
Maria was conscious of a small, rising cloud of grit. Wrestling was as
ancient sport, and, like Maria's own gym, the place reeked of the ages;
Maria felt right at home.

"In this corner. . ." The announcer gestured to the barefoot, black-suited,
blonde duo. "Weighing in at a total combined total weight of 413 pounds, we
have Sheila and Bobbie Schultz."

Both blondes immediately went into what Maria could only describe a classic
bump-and-grind as they danced out of their corner toward the center of the
ring. Both women wore thick-strapped, black, V-necked suits with low backs
that did nothing to hide the love handles at their waists. The gyrations of
the two blondes also made quite clear to the audience that their suits were
designed to provide a moderate amount of coverage and absolutely no
support. Not that Maria or her partner cared--they were far more concerned
with the smooth ripple of musculature that played like a symphony across
the surface of her opponent's exposed arms, legs, backs, and shoulders.

". . . And yes, guys, Bobbie's divorce just became final today," the
announcer added as Bobbie leaned over the top rope, which immediately
sagged under the load of her torso, and gave the spectators who had jostled
their way to ringside an eyeful of everything she had to offer.

The breakup of Bobbie's short-lived marriage had been the direct result of
her profligate ways. Many men would not have described either Bobbie or her
sister as attractive. Both were built like draft horses. Bobbie in
particular had a face that did her no favors. By the time she was in her
twenties, bags had begun to form under her eyes, and her cheeks had begun
transforming themselves into jowls. A tangle of dull blonde
shoulder-length, hair, obviously the victim of one too many amateur perms,
framed Bobbie's face.

To compensate for the face nature had not bestowed upon her, Bobbie had
quickly learned to flaunt the curves she had been granted in abundance.
Additionally, after being repeatedly dumped for smaller, prettier girls as
a teenager, Bobbie had decided that, as far as men were concerned, the more
the merrier. She liked men, and, since they weren't about to be
particularly loyal anyway, she figured she might as well enjoy all the
variety life had to offer. Immunizations for AIDS and all the other STDs
had been developed and quickly made mandatory by the Center for National
Health before Bobbie had been born. Despite the incessant proselytizing of
the army of religious zealots that afflicted the country, Bobbie had never
seen any reason to ignore the sensual opportunities made safely available
by medical progress.

During the some of the briefest proceedings on record, Bobbie had made her
point of view quite clear. She showed no remorse. She had never made a
secret of her habits, and she had seen no reason to change due to what she
had quickly come to consider to be nothing more than an inconvenient

entanglement. If her husband didn't like the way she was, Bobbie had
reasoned, he should have thought about that before he had married her.
Thankfully, there had been no children.

While her younger sister blatantly advertised her post-bout availability,
Sheila turned to face her corner, pulled up the back of her suit, bent at
the waist, and sent a clear shot of her ample rear at her dark-haired
opponents.

The crowd roared.

Like her younger sister, Sheila, had not been blessed with a particularly
pretty face. Only in her thirties, the older blonde was already beginning
to show signs of developing the visual aspect of what Donna had once
described as a grandmother from hell. Unlike her sister, however, Sheila
had a solid marriage that had produced two beautiful children.

As intended, Maria was infuriated by Sheila's display, and she had started
to charge the center of the ring when something to her left caught her eye.
When she turned, Maria realized she recognized one of the voices coming
from her left. Dressed in a shapeless, tentlike pink cotton house dress and
standing next to her husband was the squat, chunky figure of Carol Snyder.
The two women's eyes met, and Carol immediately flipped Maria the bird.

Already on edge for her upcoming bout, Maria replied in kind, leaning over
the top rope and shaking her fist at her former client.

"In this corner," the announcer continued, gesturing in the direction of
Maria and Donna, "weighing a combined total of 435 solidly-packed pounds,
their opponents: Donna Giacoma and her partner, Maria DeSalvo."

Maria and Donna immediately stepped out of their corner and into the
brightly-lit center of the ring. Both women, clad in matching flaming red
one-piece suits, raised their arms in mock salute to the crowd. In addition
to showing off each woman's imposing bulk, their display blatantly
advertised the fact that neither woman had shaved in many years. Donna in
particular, with her black hair, deep Mediterranean skin, and heavy gut,
took on the visual aspect of a gorilla, albeit one with a pretty face
plastered in far too much makeup and smothered in a vat of the cheapest
perfume known to man.

Neither woman smiled, and the crowd replied with a roar of approval.

Suddenly, Maria heard one voice cut through the din. "You S%$#!" Both women
turned on their heels, and Maria found herself staring once again at Carol
Snyder's upturned ringside face. Instantly, Maria started though the ropes,
only to be held in check by her partner's hand on her shoulder.

"What's going on, Maria?"

"That's the girl that's been giving me all the trouble for the last few
weeks. I finally got rid of her this afternoon."

Donna glared at Carol, then turned her attention back to her partner.

"Ignore her, Maria. You can deal with that little %&*%$ any time. I don't
know about you, but I came here to stomp those two blondes just like we did
six months ago." Donna stood with her hands on her wide-spread hips. If not
for the obstruction of Maria's imposing chest, Donna's chin would have been
in her partner's face.

Maria paused, then she growled. "You're right, G%$ d^$%*t."

Maria shot one last glare at Carol and pulled her massive left leg back
into the ring. The two older women stalked to the center of the ring where
the announcer was ready to complete the last of her responsibilities.

"Your referee for this match will be . . ." The middle-aged woman gestured
to a young, disheveled slab of masculine beef in briefs and an obviously
damp T-shirt entering the ring from the far side. Donna immediately
recognized the bedraggled heavily-muscled wrestler as the guy she had
watched her husband turn into dog food earlier in the evening.

To the amusement of all concerned, Donna put on her most sarcastically
innocent face, stepped forward, and confronted the guy.

"Back for more punishment, Sammy?" Donna asked. Pinching her nose, she
continued, "You could have at least showered--you stink."

It was a lie--Donna couldn't have smelled an overturned garbage truck
through the cloud of her own perfume. The hefty, dark-haired Italian smiled
viciously and surprised the guy with a not-too-gentle shove; he staggered
backward for several steps before recovering his balance. Microphones
picked up every word, and the crowd roared with laughter. For the some of
the audience, this was the best part of the show.

As part of a side bet, Sammy and Donna's husband had agreed that the loser
of the earlier match would be required to referee one of women's bouts.
Upon winning, Donna's husband had immediately specified the final match of
the evening for his opponent's penance. Consequently, Sammy found himself
back in the ring surrounded by four very large, very violent women. Without
exception, all the participants were known to be united by their profound
disrespect for male referees. To make matters worse, the participants
themselves had specified a grudge match, in which the presence of referees
was traditionally not tolerated. His foolish bet had placed Sammy in a
position where a further beating--one likely to be at least partially
delivered by the wife of the opponent who had humbled him, for that
matter--was all but inevitable.

When Sheila protested, the announcer put her hands on her hips and glared
up at the big blonde. "Since you know the rules, you know I can assign a
ref if I want to. Regardless of how you feel about it, he--" she pointed at
Sammy "--will check for foreign objects, give any instructions he sees fit,
then decide the winner from ringside. You can forfeit the match if you
don't like it, in which case you can pay for your own gas to get back to
that S^%##$%@ of a town you live in."

A mental picture of having traveled for two straight hours each way and
coming away with nothing but a sore rear end formed in Sheila's head. She
stalked back to her sister.

"Look," Bobbie said, smiling at her sister as she pointed to the salute
evident in his briefs that indicated Sammy's unbidden appreciation for the
sight of Sheila's thick, rolling derriere. "He likes you."

"S^$#!"

"I think it's cute."

"You would." snarled Sheila.

Outside the ring, feverish activity was taking place. All four wrestlers
were obviously in no mood to tolerate the presence of any sort of obstacle
to the latest in their long string of hostile encounters. Bets regarding
how long it would take the women to dispose their unwelcome guest were
frantically placed and covered.

The announcer unplugged her microphone, kicked the cord out of the way, and
left the ring. The four women gathered around Sammy for his final
inspection and instructions. One glance at the women's faces told him he
was in for a rough night. Sammy didn't even bother to try to explain the
rules; they all knew them, such as they were.

Nominally, this was to be a tag-team bout, with only one member of a team
in the ring at a time. Tags were to any part of the body, but most of the
women took that to mean they could jump in and out of the ring at any time.
The fact of the matter was that the only rules the wrestlers ever followed
were the ones they wanted, anyway. The poster for the show made clear that
this event was for adults only, and brawlers like the women surrounding
Sammy were the reason. Briefly, any tactic that didn't draw blood or
involve a fist to the face was fair.

Sammy wasn't worried about the hopeless task of maintaining order; he just
wanted to escape with his skin intact. As was made painfully obvious by the
laughter of the ringside audience, his dignity had already been left far
behind. Nevertheless, with no alternative in sight, Sammy plunged on.

"Lets see the fingernails, ladies."

Four pairs of closely trimmed, painted fingernails were immediately
displayed. So far, so good.

". . . and the toenails, please."

In sequence, both blondes lifted their feet to allow for the traditional
referee's inspection, shaking their bulky, overdeveloped hamstrings in the
process. Sheila, in particular, appeared to have lethally massive legs.

His inspection complete, Sammy turned from the blondes and ran into a stone
wall. Maria and her partner stood in front of him with their legs slightly
spread and planted firmly on the mat. Inboth cases, their hands were
folded over their chests. Neither Maria nor Donna was smiling.

"There they are," Maria said, pointing in the direction of her toes. "Feel
free to get down there and take a look if you like."

"Come on, honey," prodded Donna. "We don't have all night."

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Finally, displaying characteristic
impatience, Bobbie moved forward and kicked Sammy in the back of the leg
sending him sprawling in front of Maria's railroad tie legs. As the ref
tried to regain his footing, Sheila quickly stepped over and planted a knee
on his shoulder, forcing him to his hands and knees.

Leaning on her leg, Sheila bent at the waist to get closer to Sammy's ear.
"What do you think, lover? Does she pass?"

Red-faced with embarrassment, Sammy nodded.

Sheila motioned to Maria, who moved away, though not before "accidentally"
grinding her foot into one of the mortified referee's hands. Briefly, Sammy
was treated to a close-up view of the quivering, gelatinous layer of
cellulite that had led opponents who liked living dangerously to refer to
Maria as the cheese queen of wrestling. With a smile, Donna took her
partner's place. With a flick of her wrist, the dark-haired wrestler
signaled Sheila to remove her foot from Sammy's shoulder. Donna turned and
settled the weight of her not-insubstantial rump on the referee's
shoulders, held his head firmly in place with her thighs, and rotated her
feet slightly to allow for easy inspection.

"What do you think, honey." Donna asked as she leaned forward and bent down
toward Sammy's ear. "Aren't they pretty?"

As Sammy mumbled an incoherent response in the center of the ring, Donna's
husband, watching his wife's antics from ringside doubled over with
laughter.

Smiling sweetly, Donna released her scissors and bounced her full weight
onto Sammy's shoulders, hammering him face-first into the mat. She casually
walked away, brushed her hair away from her face, and flicked the bottom
edges of her suit to cover her exposed rump. Sammy had struggled to his
knees by the time Donna sauntered over, bent, and, smiling from ear to ear,
offered her hand in assistance.

"What's wrong, big boy," she asked. "Did you lose your balance?"

Sammy didn't say anything. Anger was replacing embarrassment, and he batted
the proffered hand away. Instantly, an "oooooo" sound rose from the
audience.

Once more on his feet, Sammy again surveyed the four women, all of whom
wore expressions ranging from Sheila's amused smile to Donna's unconcealed
smirk. The older of the Bombshell Blondes stepped forward to be the first
wrestler searched for concealed weapons.

"I'm ready," Sheila said. Quickly, she raised her arms, and the referee ran
his fingers lightly over her suit. The well-defined, clearly visible
pattern of Sheila's erect nipples was enough to convince him that there was
nothing that could possibly be concealed in the black, form-fitting fabric
of her suit. The fire in Sheila's eyes convinced Sammy that his search had
best be a quick one.

With a final growl, Sheila stalked to her corner and started stretching
against the turnbuckles while Sammy turned his attention to her partner.

Smiling lasciviously, Bobbie Schultz stepped toward the well-built, if
somewhat bruised, referee. The broad, chiseled chest and six-pack belly in
evidence beneath Sammy's perspiration-drenched T-shirt interested Bobbie.
Always on the lookout for new carnal opportunities, Bobbie wanted to
inspect the referee more closely, and the required search for concealed
objects seemed to be the prefect opportunity for some hands-on research.

Bobbie stepped up to within one foot of the referee. The heat from the
overhead lamps had increased the temperature in the ring to the point where
all of the women had quickly developed a fine layer of glistening
perspiration. Bobbie smiled, licked her lips, and locked her eyes with
Sammy's. "Are you ready to check me out?" she asked, putting on her most
artificially innocent smile.

Cautiously, the referee began to pat down the hip area of Bobbie's

well-filled blacksuit.

The next thing Sammy knew, Bobbie had launched herself forward, locked her
legs around his pelvis, and, as he staggered backward under her weight,
trapped him in a modified bear hug. As the referee desperately tried to
maintain his balance, Bobbie repeatedly heaved her chest and belly into his
abdomen while grinding her hips onto his pelvis. Simultaneously, she worked
her hands up and under his arms, then she grabbed him roughly by the side
of his head.

While both the audience and other three wrestlers looked on, Sammy
staggered backward into the ropes which immediately sagged and groaned
through the turnbuckles as he struggled under Bobbie's assault. To add to
the referee's embarrassment, she tilted his head back, jammed her thumbs
into his cheeks, and planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss on his
forcibly-parted lips. When she finally let go, it was obvious that Bobbie
had nearly choked the sputtering referee with her tongue.

Carefully, Bobbie unwound her legs. With her chest and belly continuing to
pin Sammy against the ropes, she seized both of his wrists, then slapped
his open hands into a cupped position on top of the cheeks that had formed
just below the elasticized leg holes of her suit. In mock excitement,
Bobbie moaned sarcastically as she indulged in several more exaggerated
pelvic grinds while propelling Sammy's hands on a guided tour of her lower
back and rump.

Somewhere in the process of her carnivorous assault, Bobbie had managed to
shred the ref's T-shirt, the pieces of which fell to the ring apron when
she finally backed away.

"Find any concealed weapons?" Bobbie asked with a leering smirk. Not
receiving an answer, the blonde casually turned tail and sauntered along
the ropes to her corner.

Slowly, the laughter from the audience died away, and Sammy struggled off
the ropes, his face very nearly the same shade of red as that to the suits
worn by the two brunettes standing in the center of the ring. Donna stepped
up first.

"Hi," she said, placing her hands behind her head and presenting the ref
with the great, expansive acreage of her torso. "Remember me?"

Confronted with Donna's immensity, and not yet recovered from Bobbie's
assault, Sammy resolved to work fast. The wide scoop neck of her suit made
clear that, unlike her partner, Donna had nothing to hide upstairs. What
she lacked in size, Donna made up in exhibitionism. The top of her suit
covered almost all of her nipples when she stood erect--barely. A quick,
unavoidable glance into the rift between her breasts--she had once jokingly
called it the Grand Canyon--allowed for a clear visual inspection to the
bulging roundness of her belly. A quick tactile exploration of the
abdominal panel of Donna's suit was as far as the referee wanted to go.

Sammy, as Donna's subtle gyrations intended, was obviously also having a
problem keeping his eyes off the damp, dark fringe border surrounding the
inner border of the leg holes in her suit. Retreat seemed to be the best
strategy as far as the fiery brunette was concerned--especially with her
husband, the man who had not long ago battered him nearly into road kill,
watching in fascinated amusement not twelve feet away. Sammy had put up a
good fight, giving as good as he got at the beginning of the match, but he
had still been forced to crawl from the ring bruised, beaten, and
thoroughly humiliated. Donna's earlier butt-bounce had served to convince
Sammy that she would be more than happy to pick up where her husband had
stopped.

Without any reluctance, Sammy stepped back, but Donna wasn't ready to quit.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Donna put her hands on her hips. "Why so shy" Don't
you like brunettes?"

The hefty wrestler didn't wait for a reply. Instead, she advanced until she
could place her hands on his shoulders. Then, she pulled the referee close
enough for Sammy to feel the heat of her breath.

"Don't I get a kiss, too, big boy?" Donna asked innocently and leaned forward.

Before anyone knew what had happened, Sammy had both hands on his face as
he reeled around the center of the ring howling in fury.

"She bit my nose!" he screamed as tears streamed involuntarily from his
eyes. "The G%$#&@ b*&%# bit my nose!"

Meanwhile, Donna stalked past her partner, leering satanically.

"He's all yours, Maria." Donna said with a smirk.

* * *

Across the ring, Maria noticed Sheila had left the ring and was standing on
the apron behind the turnbuckles. Her sister, Bobbie, had stayed in the
corner. Obviously, Bobbie had been chosen to start the match for the
Bombshells, which suited Maria just fine. As she approached Sammy, a plan
finished taking shape in Maria's mind. She flashed a smile at the advancing
blonde--it was the last remotely friendly exchange the two women would have
for some time.

Most referees unfortunate enough to find themselves dealing with Maria in
the ring put the chore off as long as possible. The reason was twofold.
First, Maria's substantial endowments necessitated an industrial-strength
superstructure to keep them under control. She never entered the ring
without a topside underlayer of elastic and spandex in place. Referees were
required to at least attempt to inspect the broad expanse of her chest for
potential weapons. That inspection didn't have to be difficult. In some
cases, similarly endowed women--and the sport was full of them--had been
known to lean over and pop their bosom to facilitate the referee's
inspection. Sammy would have been more than happy if Maria had been such a
case. She wasn't.

The second reason referees postponed dealing with Maria DeSalvo for as long
as possible was because, keyed up for a match, she didn't willingly permit
any sort of tactile contact. Maria's response to any sort of physical
inspection--specifically the required inspection of her bosom--was
virtually always explosively violent. Sammy had already had a tough night,
and, barring a miracle, it was about to get worse--Sammy approached Maria
with the care one might normally reserve for a live nuclear warhead or an
IRS audit.

"C'mon ref!" yelled Sheila, leaning halfway into the ring over the top
rope. "Hurry up and check the old cow's udders already!"

Standing midway down the apron from the corner in which Donna Giacoma
stood, Carol Snyder fired off another volley of verbal abuse. Donna replied
by raising a leg at the squat blonde, assuming a pose that resembled
nothing so much as a urinating dog. Livid, Carol charged, only to be sent
sprawling when Donna's well-placed kick caught her square on the side of
her head.

"Save it for later, b$#@c!" yelled Donna as Carol struggled to her feet,
straightened her shapeless tent of a dress, and staggered unsteadily back
to her husband.

Sammy tried the diplomatic approach.

"How about it, Maria? Just let me take a look--back first."

Maria replied with a sneer, but she turned, giving the referee a good look
at her huge expanse of her back, much of which was revealed by the low-cut
scoop of her suit. The thick white spandex panel of her brassiere cut a
horizontal swath across the center of her back, defining a fleshy role
across the top as it went. A similar roll was evident where the bottom
scoop met Maria's massive gluteal muscles. Sammy didn't see anything, but
to forestall any doubts, Maria reached behind, gathered the top of the leg
holes, and lifted while she bent at the waist. The view left nothing to the
imagination.

From the other side, those men fortunate enough to be at ringside found
themselves face to face eyewitnesses to a battle between gravity and
spandex for control of Maria's hanging bosom. For now, spandex seemed to
hold the upper hand, but everyone knew that, once the blonde's got their
hands on Maria's suit, that was likely to change. Pulling both hair and
tights were tactics everyone expected to see employed. All the women
reinforced their suits before using them in a match. Even so, most lasted
fewer than three bouts. For most wrestlers, both men and women, extracting
a submission from their opponent wasn't enough; it was just as important
that the loser be humiliated in the process.

Maria turned and snapped the bottom of her tights back over her rear. She put her hands on her hips, cocked her shoulders, looked the ref in the eye, and asked, "What's next, Sammy?"

Slowly, Sammy surveyed the specimen in front of him. Maria was about as
tall as he was, but she probably outweighed him by better than forty
pounds. Unbidden, the observation came into his mind that half of that
forty pounds was probably mounted on her chest, and he'd just had a
close-up view of a good deal of the rest. Maybe she would just . . .

"Don't even think it." Maria said in a tone of completely artificial
friendliness. She had noticed that the bulge in Sammy's briefs was once
again growing. Maria knew her chest had that effect on men, and she reveled
in it. Well into her forties, Maria was certainly not above having a little
fun with the younger, flustered, but not entirely unattractive referee.

Maria cupped both her breasts in her hands and said, "Here they are, ref.
Take a good look." Then Maria continued, "But this is as far as you go. If
you touch me. . ."

Sammy looked pained.

"You know I have to check inside."

"Trust me; I'm clean."

Like a fly approaching a spider's net, Sammy moved closer. He gazed into
Maria's heartless eyes with the pained expression of a condemned criminal
facing the last person on earth who might pardon him. Helplessly, Sammy
looked to the announcer/promoter for some sort of eleventh-hour commutation
of his sentence. He realized he was like looking at a stone wall. The
audience hung on his every move.

"Got to do it, Maria."

"You're welcome to try."

Sammy felt like he was moving in slow motion. Carefully, gently, he
approached Maria. At the last minute, Sammy decided to make his tactile
inspection from the waist up. He knelt slightly and placed his hands just
outside Maria's hips. For the briefest of seconds, Sammy allowed himself a
moment of pure admiration. Maria was a huge woman, but, taken on her own
terms she was a monument.

Sammy's hands just barely brushed the fiery red fabric covering her hips.
His touch was so light he barely felt the texture of the cloth. Unbidden,
the referee's eyes drifted to the inside of Maria's legs. As had been the
case with her partner, a distinct fringe of dark tufted hair was
observable, albeit shot through with gray. Gently, almost as if they
weren't there at all, Sammy's hands continued upward, only to bump ever so
gently into the prominent roll of a love handle.

Maybe she'll let me . . . Maybe I'll get away with this . . .

The audience saw Maria's eyes opened wide.

"Sonofa--!"

Sammy felt Maria tense, and her weight shifted. In the back of his mind,
something said, "Oops. . ."

For a split second, Sammy caught a glimpse of Maria's face. Her mouth was
contorted into a snarl, and her eyes blazed like headlights from hell.
Instantly, Sammy shifted gears into full reverse and hurled himself away
from Maria with so much force he ended flat on his back on the mat. As he
struggled to get his bearings, Sammy realized Maria's knee lift had missed
him by inches. The mat under Sammy's back rolled and heaved as if it had a
life of its own. Whether or not Sammy had done his job, the search for
concealed weapons was over. The sight of Bobbie hurling herself out of her
corner at Maria's back provided all the incentive needed to convince Sammy
that the match was definitely underway, and the best place for him to be
was anywhere but in the ring.

* * *

Bobbie had started he charge the second Maria's bare foot had left the
surface of the mat. Maria and her partner outweighed Bobbie and her sister,
and the blondes had decided to try to even the odds with a sneak attack.
Bobbie reasoned that connecting with a surprise drop-kick to Maria's
exposed back might do some serious damage to her massive brunette opponent.

Maria felt the spring-loaded mat move heave under the force of Bobbie's
pounding legs. Instinctively, she aborted her assault on the sprawling
referee, dodging just enough to the left to avoid Bobbie's flying feet.
Instead of plowing feet-first into Maria's exposed back, Bobbie just
clipped the side of the larger woman's rib cage with her flailing left
elbow before crashing butt-first into Sammy's deep, muscular chest.

Sammy's world had quickly come to contain only two important landmarks.
First, at the edge of his field of vision, a very red suit containing a
very large, very dangerous, woman was moving steadily closer, albeit in
seeming slow motion. Second, off to the side, he saw three ropes marking
the perimeter of the ring and comforting shadows beyond. Sammy did not
deliberate. Nothing in the darkness could possibly be as dangerous as the
large, furious, red mass bearing down on him. With focused determination,
Sammy started to rise, only to be smashed flat once again by a
tightly-stretched black wrestling suit sprouting two tree trunks and
stretched over a huge, airborne rear end that seemed to come out of
nowhere.

The audience roared as Sammy and Bobbie tried to get disentangled from each
other. All Sammy wanted to do was reestablish his bearings and get out of
the ring. To that end he used both arms to shove Bobbie's right leg and
hips off his face, then he propped himself up on one arm to assess the
situation. In another set of circumstances, the sight of Bobbie Schultz's
mop of blonde hair resting between his legs might have been welcome. Now,
however, neither the wrestler nor the ref was very happy about their mutual
entanglement. The audience's laughter only made it worse.

Maria couldn't have been happier. Barely stifling a laugh, she watched
Sammy struggle to his hands and knees and crawl across Bobbie's upturned
face and heaving chest on his way to the safety of the distant ropes.

The temptation was too much to resist. Maria grabbed the waistband of
Sammy's briefs firmly and pulled. Sammy sprawled flat on Bobbie's face as
Maria brutally yanked away his last remaining shred of dignity. Without the
slightest bit of success, Bobbie struggled to extricate herself from under
the ref's lower abdomen while Maria taunted her. "Have an eyeful, Honey.
There he is."

Maria then calmly tossed the remains of Sammy's briefs over her shoulder
and out of the ring, then she went to work.

A mask of gleeful anticipation played across Maria's face while she watched
her black-suited opponent's belly and hips twist and writhe in an a
desperate attempt to heave the referee's muscular bulk off her immobilized
face and chest. Never one to ignore an opportunity, Maria howled with glee
as she slammed a perfect flying elbow drop into Bobbie's exposed and
vulnerable lower abdomen. The expression on the trapped blonde's face
turned to instant agony as Maria's gut shot made her lower half turn
momentarily to jelly. Bobbie's involuntary agonized groan echoed across the
ring.

"That's the way, Maria!" screamed Donna from the corner. "Do it again!"

Maria rolled off her stricken blonde victim. Smirking like a cat that had
just eaten a canary, she reached down, grabbed a handful of Sammy's hair,
and hauled the beaten referee to his feet. While Bobbie curled into a ball
and tried to struggle to her feet, Maria gave Sammy a few words of wisdom.

"When a lady of class, like I am, tells you not to touch her, you should
listen." the gray-haired wrestler growled. "To do anything would be
offensive. You wouldn't want me to think you were offensive would you?"

Bobbie was on her hands and knees when Maria viciously gut-punched Sammy
back to the canvas, adding yet another bruise to his thoroughly abused
belly. In response, Sammy wrapped both arms around his aching gut, rolled
under the ropes and collapsed off the apron onto the mat below.

* * *

Momentarily satisfied with her handiwork, Maria happily turned her
undivided attention to Bobbie. From Maria's perspective, her black-suited
opponent needed help getting to her feet. Ever the soul of refinement,
Maria rushed to Bobbie's aid. With one hand, Maria grabbed her opponent's
heavily-muscled upper arm; the other went directly to the blonde's hair. A
quick yank brought the hefty blonde to her feet, and a powerful heave sent
her careening into the far corner. Bobbie's impact against the turnbuckle
sent a shudder through the ropes and left her momentarily dazed in the
corner. For Bobbie, the bout was not going as well as she had hoped it
would.

Like a wild animal, Maria charged the corner and nearly hurled herself
through the ropes. Bobbie had managed to dodge, taking nothing more than a
glancing blow to her side in the process. Maria came to a stop with her
head, chest, and left arm completely outside the ring between the top and
middle ropes. Meanwhile, Bobbie slid out of the corner, turned, and fell
into a classic wrestler's crouch. By the time Maria had assumed a similar
posture and started to circle out of the corner, Bobbie, despite ruined
hair and smeared makeup, was ready to continue.

"Any time you're ready, tubbo." Bobbie sneered at her hefty opponent.
Cautiously, the women circled toward one another, each one looking for an
opening. Now that the referee had been disposed of, both wrestlers were
free to indulge their predisposition for violence to its fullest.

With a resounding crash, the two women locked up in the center of the ring.
Instantly, their arms, hands, legs and feet were all over each other, each
one trying frantically to find some way to damage the other without being
injured in the process. For a few split seconds, Maria thought she would be
able to suplex Bobbie to the mat. The older, heavier woman had taken the
high road, and almost managed to wrap both her arms over and around the
black-suited blonde's waist when she felt Bobbie's heavily muscled arms
wrap around her left leg.

Bobbie heaved and drove her opposing shoulder into Maria's thick belly.
Maria crashed painfully to the mat with Bobbie on top of her and in full
control of her left leg. Bobbie didn't waste a second making up for the
bruising agony she had suffered from Maria's earlier elbow drop. All of the
younger blonde's weight was concentrated on Maria's leg, which she bent
painfully back over the gray-haired woman's head. Mercilessly, Bobbie
ground away at Maria's leg, wrenching and tearing for all she was worth,
using the leverage of the modified step-over toehold to try to tear Maria's
hamstrings and simultaneously ruin her left knee. Finally, with all her not
inconsiderable weight balanced on Maria's trapped led, Bobbie slammed her
right knee viciously low into her immobilized victim's belly.

As the audience howled, Maria screamed in pain. Desperately, she kicked her
free leg while flailing her arms in all directions, looking for a way out
of her predicament. Not only was her leg trapped, but Maria's monumental
rear end was also bent skyward and had inadvertently been placed on full
public display. Without needing to look, Maria was acutely aware that,
besides being painful and debilitating, Bobbie's expert leg hold had
stretched the bright red fabric of her suit embarrassingly tight through
her widely spread legs.

Bobbie worked the hold for all it was worth, using her own hefty thighs for
balance and finally achieving prone position balanced on Maria's trapped
leg. Grinning like a madwoman beneath he mop of sweaty blonde hair, Bobbie
hugged Maria's lower leg to her chest with one arm.

"Like shooting fish in a barrel," Bobbie growled. To Maria's wide-eyed
horror, Bobbie made a fist with her free hand, took careful aim slammed a
punch into the older woman's overflowing left cup.

Maria screamed in agony as the inertia from the black suited wrestler's
attack brought deliverance within reach. Bobbie's head came within Maria's
reach, and the middle-aged woman instantly had both of her hands full of
damp blonde hair.

"Grab the hair and the body will follow," had long been one of Maria's
favorite strategies. Her first wrench made Bobbie scream. A second hearty
yank slid the blonde into a position that allowed Maria to work her free
leg under Bobbie's thick, black-clad belly. Maria's third twisting wrench,
coupled with a quick belly kick sent Bobbie somersaulting over Maria's
head. Maintaining a death grip on the blonde's hair until a split second
before her crash landing assured the most painful, hip-smashing impact
possible.

Maria did not wait to see if her strategy had been effective. As she
subconsciously repackaged her battered left breast, the gray-haired
heavyweight lunged for her corner, where Donna Giacoma was already halfway
through the ropes.

From ringside, Maria heard one voice rise above the rest ". . .
yellow-livered coward!" Through a veil of tangled hair, Maria could see
just well enough to identify the chunky figure of Carol Snyder, shaking her
fist at ringside.

Donna charged past Maria like a house on fire. The two women slapped palms
on the run, providing little more than lip service to the idea of one
partner tagging the other into the match. Not that it mattered to the
audience--this was, after all a grudge match. Based on past history, the
audience knew things were likely to get a lot rougher before the match
ended.

* * *

Donna's flying tackle flattened Bobbie just inches from Sheila's
outstretched hand. As Bobbie went down face first, Donna clawed her way up
the blonde's legs, struggling to her feet as she went. By the time she
reached Bobbie's waist, Donna was on her feet. Maria's partner grabbed two
hands full of Bobbie's suit and belly-dragged her by the tights back into
the spotlit center of the ring.

Immediately, Donna went for the blonde's head, but Bobbie had other plans.
When the muscular blonde saw Donna's thick, fleshy ankles, her arm shot
out. Donna suddenly found herself yanked off her feet by an opponent she
had thought was ripe for the picking. A couple good shots, Donna had
reasoned, and their blonde rivals would have no choice but to crawl home
once more with their tails tucked firmly between their legs.

Unfortunately for Donna, Bobbie had other plans. Before Donna had finished
bouncing on her ample butt, the younger, more muscular blonde was all over
her. One of Bobbie's hands went for Donna's mane of thick jet-black hair.
With her other hand, Bobbie sunk a vicious uppercut deep into her
opponent's abundant gut. Finally, while Donna gasped and wheezed in shock,
Bobbie wrapped her railroad tie thighs around her opponent's neck and
squeezed for all she was worth.

Donna's reflexes took over. She poured everything she had into trying to
rip her head free of Bobbie's legs. Suddenly desperate for even the
smallest breath of air, Donna forced her work-hardened hands between her
adversary's thighs, writhing and clawing like a wild animal.

Bobbie hung on for dear life, heaving and groaning as she concentrated on
keeping her legs locked together during Donna's wild gyrations. Locked
together in a primal test of strength, will, and stamina, the two women
twisted and rolled across the mat in a brutal contest which could have only
one of two outcomes. If Bobbie kept her steel cable thighs wrapped around
Donna's throat long enough to choke her whale-like victim unto
unconsciousness, the match would be over in record time. On the other hand,
if Donna managed to pull her head free, she stood an excellent chance to
inflicting some serious damage to the full-figured blonde. Bobbie had been
struggling without a break for the better part of five minutes. Despite
giving as good as she got, Bobbie's aching belly was feeling the effects of
the punishment Maria had so gleefully dished out earlier.

Through rapidly diminishing consciousness, Donna never ceased to struggle,
and an escape plan soon became clear. Their mutual thrashing and rolling
had brought both women to within three feet of the ropes when Donna managed
to use her weight advantage to roll to her knees, twisting her neck and
forcing Bobbie to her back in front of her. For a moment, Donna's face
looked like a flattened red blowfish trapped in Bobbie's murderous vice.
Donna's constricted field of vision was dominated by a huge, black horizon
formed by the rippling musculature under her opponent's
perspiration-stained tights. Beyond the mountains of Bobbie's full
chest--rounded mounds that each gyrated to its own wild rhythm while the
blonde struggled against increasing fatigue to maintain her deadly
scissors--the only part of the blonde's face not covered by damp, ruined
hair was her mouth, which seemed locked in a permanent growl.

Donna was keenly aware of the proximity of the area where the fabric of
Bobbie's tightly-stretched black suit took a dive between her legs, forming
the most intimate of triangles. Briefly, Donna considered launching a head
butt or worse into that sensitive region, but chose not to. As has been
mentioned earlier, Donna Giacoma considered herself to be a lady of grace
and elegance. She left such underhanded tactics women of less
refinement--unless, of course she was desperate. Also, the overpowering
scent emanating from the triangle was obviously winning its battle with the
vat of perfume Bobbie, like the other three wrestlers, had applied prior to
the start of the match. From Donna's point of view, she might be knocked
unconscious by the her opponent's odor alone if she didn't escape soon.

A quick blow to Bobbie's belly proved unsatisfactory. The agony inflicted
by Maria's earlier elbow drop had become a substantial bruise, but the
blonde wrestler was far from ready to call it a night.

Grimly, Donna powered to first one leg, then the other, forcing Bobbie back
on her shoulders. Finally, as her shoulders glistened with exertion, Donna
got both her hands under Bobbie's thighs and shoved for all she was worth.
Slowly, she felt the pressure diminish, though not enough to keep the
friction from Bobbie's thighs from making her feel like the hair was being
ripped from the side of her head.

Bobbie felt her legs weaken, too. When she felt Donna's head begin to move,
she knew she needed to mount a new assault. For her part, Bobbie knew she
was tired and needed to get out of the ring--soon. All Donna needed to do
was tag Maria, and Bobbie knew this match would be quickly and painfully
over. With her last reserves of energy, the exhausted blonde crunched her
injured belly, shot both hands into Donna's hair, and released her
scissors.

Suddenly able to breath freely, Donna filled her lungs reflexively. The
pause took only a fraction of a second, but it was all Bobbie needed to
slam both her legs deep into Donna's gelatinous belly and monkey flip the
shocked woman into the corner where Sheila was waiting with open arms.

Donna crashed onto her back and slid spread-eagle into the corner with
Bobbie hot on her heels. Working on her last reserves of strength, Bobbie
grabbed Donna's suit under her armpits and, with a single monumental heave,
yanked the hairy brunette to her feet. Finally, after several frustrating
minutes as a spectator, Sheila was presented with a target. She hauled off
and caught Donna with a punch to the center of her chest.

The impact of Sheila's blow sent Donna reeling back into Bobbie's arms.
While Sheila climbed into the ring, Bobbie locked Donna in place with a
standing full nelson. For a brief moment, Donna was immobilized and on
display for the ringside audience. To any spectators who had placed money
on the Maria and Donna--and there were many; betting had been spirited and
evenly distributed--the picture was not a pretty one. The expression on
Donna's face was a mixture of surprise, exhaustion, and horror all topped
off by a straggly mop of ruined black hair. Her thick, heavy arms were
locked awkwardly above her head and clearly displayed her thickly tufted
underarms, beneath which foot deep stains already marred the appearance of
her blazing red suit. Donna's tights themselves had seen better days.
Thanks to Bobbie's abuse, the shoulder straps had been stretched out of
shape, and the elastic around her rear was ruined. The vast expanse Donna's
rump, which had been kept at least somewhat under wraps at the beginning of
he match, was now completely revealed by tights had come to be no more
effective than a thong.

Sheila went to work with a vengeance. While Maria screamed bloody murder
from the far corner and tried desperately to work the kinks out of her
abused right leg, Sheila leaned back into the corner and slammed a
two-legged kick into Donna's already-pulverized belly with enough force to
drive both Bobbie and Donna several steps backward. Bobbie released her
grip on Donna and as the dark-haired wrestler clutched her belly and
collapsed to her knees. Bobbie's clubbing forearm to the lower back sent
Donna sprawling, and the blonde finally exited the ring after a largely
ceremonial slap of her sister's hand.

* * *

The brutality that followed could only be described as a horror show in
which Donna was unwillingly cast in the starring role.

Sheila had hauled the big, dark Italian to her feet, slammed her back into
the corner, and worked her over with all of her better than twelve years of
professional wrestling experience. At the practiced hands of her two blonde
tormentors, Donna had been choked, kicked, punched, gouged and mauled into
semi-conscious oblivion. The beating had taken little more than a couple of
minutes, but Sheila and her sister knew their business. When Sheila finally
stepped back to catch her breath, Donna had been ravaged. From the base of
her neck to the middle of her thighs, Maria's partner was simply more
bruise than not.

For most of the time, Bobbie had simply wrapped Donna's head in a modified
sleeper hold while Sheila had rained blow after blow into their red-suited
victim's front. After Donna had been suitably "tenderized,"
Sheila--groaning audibly at their adversary's weight--had scooped Donna up
and inverted her over the ropes. Bobbie had then locked Donna's fleshy legs
in place while Sheila used the brunette's hair to lift her parallel to the
surface of the mat. After a quick, vicious knee to Donna's back, Sheila had
released her victim's hair, resulting in a skull-busting impact with the
surface of the mat. Bobbie released Donna's legs, and the hefty brunette
sagged to the mat in a heap.

Sheila glanced over her shoulder and saw Donna's husband standing belly up
to the apron howling abuse in the direction of the Bombshell Blondes.
Sheila made a mental note to stay at least one arm's length away from the
edge of that part of the ring.

For all the damage the blonde duo had inflicted on Donna, Sheila noticed
that Maria had not yet recovered enough from her own injuries to reenter
the ring. The heavier of the two brunettes was still massaging her leg,
although she seemed more preoccupied with what appeared to be a ringside
argument involving a short, hefty, decidedly apoplectic woman wearing a
shapeless pink housedress. Sheila figured that the guy standing behind her
must have been her husband. Mr. Pink Housedress seemed willing to watch the
match, but his wife looked like she might need to be kept from climbing
into the ring herself. In Sheila's professional opinion, guy was likely to
have a tough time restraining his wife if she decided to join the fray.

Not that Sheila cared. As far as she was concerned, the more the merrier.
Besides, the woman obviously had plenty of issues with Maria, but none with
either Sheila or her sister. Additionally, the fireplug in pink had to be
at least thirty pounds lighter and five inches shorter than any of the
women in the ring; she just didn't pose a threat.

Sammy and the woman who had set up the evening's matches stood at ringside.
Sammy had found himself a jockstrap and another T-shirt, albeit one that
had seen better days. The referee looked distracted. Despite the punishment
the Sheila and Bobbie had heaped on Donna, it seemed unlikely that he would
stop the match and declare the blondes to be the winners.

With each passing minute, the ref actually appeared to be less and less
interested in anything happening inside the ropes. Instead, he seemed to be
focusing exclusively on Bobbie, who despite her exhausted condition seemed
to have enough energy to distract Sammy by flashing her well-developed
boobs repeatedly in his direction. Underneath his bumps and bruises, Sheila
reflected, Sammy was actually sort of cute, and Bobbie, drenched,
disheveled, and reeking, was looking positively carnivorous.

From Sheila's point of view, not a lot could keep the two sisters from
enjoying the rewards of sweet revenge for the beating Maria and Donna had
administered at their last meeting. Donna in particular had embarrassed the
blondes during their last match, and Sheila viewed the abuse she had just
heaped upon the hefty brunette as payback in part.

As Maria turned back to the horror story that the match had become, Sheila
started a series of moves designed to both inflict one final embarrassment
on Donna Giacoma's wrecked body and force Maria into the ring--not that and
forcing was needed. Sheila and Maria's rivalry had lasted for years, during
which neither one had willingly passed up a chance to lay her hands on the
other. If Donna had submitted before Maria and Sheila had a chance to lay
hands on one another, Maria would probably have murdered her own partner.

Donna really didn't know where she was anymore. Nevertheless, she started
to struggle to her feet, activity that did not escape Sheila's notice. The
big blonde reached out to her opponent. Donna was obviously indisposed, and
for an instant, it looked as if Sheila was about to help her to her
feet--and, in her own fashion, she did just that. With one hand, Sheila
grabbed a thick piece of Donna's cheek and used it to haul her opponent to
her feet. As Donna wavered unsteadily on her feet, Sheila's other hand
gathered up the front of Donna's already distressed red suit.

"Time to set the puppies loose, honey." said Sheila. The sound of Sheila's
voice was enough to begin to pull Donna back to the land of the living, and
she did her best to prepared herself for the assault she knew was sure to
follow.

A few years earlier, Maria and Sheila had set up a wager of sorts for their
bouts. An exposed breast was to be worth $5, to be paid to the exposer by
the exposee. Both breasts were, naturally, worth $10. Pubic exposure cost
the victim another $10. If a wrestler's suit was not ruined, and she
managed to re-cover herself during the course of the match, there was no
payment. Neither woman nor any of their partners had seen a reason to
change the rules. The exchange was a private deal, but there was no
question that the men--and some of the women--in the audience enjoyed the
fleshy finale that often resulted.

So, far, none of the wrestlers had earned any extra money, but Sheila had
decided to change that. The blonde shifted her grip from Donna's cheek to
the front of her face, mashing her palm into her brunette opponent's nose,
momentarily obscuring her vision in the process. Donna immediately grabbed
Sheila's wrist and forearm with both hands. Using the face claw as a
stiff-armed brace, Sheila yanked and twisted the front of Donna's tights
beyond all reason. At one point, the ravaged cloth was stretched a full
three feet away from the Italian wrestler's thick torso. With their already
minimal support eliminated, Donna's fleshy breasts collapsed to the base of
her rib cage, their gelatinous masses rolling and quivering as she
struggled to remove Sheila's claw from her face.

Satisfied, Sheila released Donna's face and tights, using her free hand to
smack the brunette on the side of the head at the same time. In response,
Donna released the blonde's wrist and staggered against the ropes. Sheila
allowed herself a satisfied smirk. The shoulder straps on Donna's suit had
been permanently stretched out to almost three times their original length.
Elastic sewn into the straps had been torn loose and hung limp from the
frayed edges of the cloth. The neckline of Donna's tights, which had once
dipped suggestively low, now scooped below her navel. Donna hung on the
ropes, the newly revealed rolls of her glistening belly heaving as she
gasped for breath. Exhausted, brutalized, and humiliated, Donna
nevertheless fell into a crouch and prepared to fight her way to her
corner. As she did so, what was left of her suit's now-useless shoulder
straps slipped one after the other to Donna's elbows.

"Ten bucks, b$#@$," sneered Sheila as she ducked and dodged easily under
her dark-eyed opponent's arms. With the elegant precision of a master of
her craft, Sheila shot one arm between the larger woman's thighs, locked
her hand securely into the naked flesh ofDonna's exposed rump, and heaved
her howling victim to her shoulders. Grunting from the effort as she fought
to keep her balance. the big blonde heaved Maria's beaten partner to her
shoulders. Sheila staggered and stumbled every step of the way as she
hauled her unwilling cargo out of the corner. By the time Sheila had
reached the center of the ring, most of the audience was staring in
slack-jawed admiration at the symphony of glistening muscular sensuality
that had bulged and rippled across the blonde's arms, back, and legs with
every step.

In the center of the ring Sheila paused. Carefully, she oriented herself,
then Sheila cocked her head and whispered into Donna's ear, which, with the
rest of her head, was locked face-first against the top of the older
blonde's chest.

"Happy landings, Porky,"

For maximum effect, Sheila flexed her thighs and bounced, using the surface
of the mat as a springboard. Sheila grunted, heaved with all her might, and
bodyslammed Donna's screaming carcass halfway across the ring into the
corner shared by the brunettes.

Donna hit the mat with a sound like that produced by a sack of wet cement
dropped from two stories onto a piece of plywood. Before the pulverize
woman's breasts had stopped bouncing on either side of her chest, Maria had
slapped her partner's hand to make the tag. Maria then ducked through the
ropes, and with one eye on Sheila, she shoveled Donna's semi-conscious mass
under the ropes and out of the ring. A quick glance into her partner's eyes
assured Maria that Donna was indeed still home, but there was no doubt it
would be some time before anyone would be answering a knock on the door.

The last thing Maria registered before turning her attention to Sheila, who
waited patiently in the center of the ring, was the sorry sight of Donna on
the apron, using the ropes to struggle to her knees. The sight made Maria
furious. Her half naked partner looked like she had just been fished out of
a garbage disposal.

* * *

Maria didn't need any encouragement to commit mayhem, but Sheila couldn't
resist taunting her anyway.

"Come on, cheeseball," Sheila sneered. "Let's see it you've still got what
it takes for a real fight."

The last thing Maria heard before the two long time rivals met was a scream
echoing over the audience's more generalized din.

"Rip the old hag's head off."

Carol Snyder's voice was unmistakable.

Like an animal, Maria lowered her head and charged. The attack was as
powerful as it was unsophisticated. Sheila had learned years ago that the
best thing to do when Maria went into raging bull mode was to dodge and
redirect he attack. With that in mind, Sheila twisted out of the way at the
last minute. As she dodged, the full-figured blonde leaped, grabbed Maria
by the hair, and hurled the gray-haired wrestler's head at the mat.

Maria was not even conscious of her predicament until her own inertia,
coupled with Sheila's not insubstantial weight, sent her body into a
skidding, face-first collision with the grimy surface of the mat. The first
thing Maria saw when she tried to raise her burning face and chest was a
thick, crimson smear spread across the mat: a classic skid mark composed of
her own lipstick.

Sheila's own graceless landing coincided with Maria's. The ring was shaken
to its foundation by the simultaneous booming impact of over 400 pounds of
furious femininity. Sheila came to rest on her belly at right angles to
Maria's splayed-out carcass. However, while Maria was stunned by the shock
of her impact, Sheila had been prepared. Smoothly, the big blonde rolled to
her feet, stepped around her opponent, and straddled Maria from behind.

Sheila's tangled blonde hair formed a curtain over the top half of her
face, and her sadistic leer left no doubt in the audience with regard to
the dark-suited wrestler's intentions. Confronted with a flattened
opponent, Sheila went to work. First, she gathered together a handful of
Maria's thick, gray hair and wrenched the older woman's head and torso
viciously from the mat. Maria's face contorted in an uncontrolled howl of an
imal rage. Those ringside spectators with quick eyes and the proper
viewpoint were treated to a flash of well over a foot of cleavage while the
screaming wrestler's bosom briefly hung suspended above the ring before
Sheila once again slammed Maria's face into the mat.

Without a break, Sheila continued her assault. Despite her own not
insubstantial chest, which the plunging V-neck of her black tights
displayed to good effect, Sheila was at least a little jealous of Maria's
monumental bosom. The blonde did a spread-legged deep-knee bend on top of
her red-suited opponent's broad back and scooped both hands under the
sweat-stained spandex panel stretching under Maria's shoulder blades.
Sheila then curled the older woman's brassiere strap up and away from her
back. The side panels of Maria's brassiere cut deep, painful furrows into
her underarms. To the delight of those audience members already gawking at
Sheila's bulging biceps, Sheila slowly straightened her legs--in the
process showing off her massively developed thighs and hamstrings. Maria
hung in painful suspension until Sheila reached a full upright position--At
which point Sheila released the heavy spandex panel, which snapped
painfully against Maria's back as the older woman once again fell flat on
her face. This time, Maria managed to get her elbows under her.

As she stood over her foe, Sheila noted with satisfaction that Maria's
chest now swayed much more freely than it had at the start of the match.
Already twenty bucks ahead on the night, Sheila saw no reason not to
continue adding to her winnings. Once more, secure in the knowledge that
Maria would not have hesitated to do the same thing had their positions
been reversed, Sheila went to work.

"GNNNNNGGGGGGHHHHH!" Maria groaned as Sheila slammed a knee into her back

"Do it again!" Maria heard Bobbie howl from the corner.

Once more, Maria moaned in agony as Sheila slammed her knee into Maria's
prominent love handles.

"What's wrong, you fat old sow?" Sheila's voice dripped venom as she
reached for Maria's arm--the first step in setting up a shoulder-wrenching
arm bar. "Isn't this fun?"

Maria's response was both incoherent and unprintable.

Desperate for any relief from Sheila's unrelenting punishment, Maria rolled
to the side and inadvertently brushed against Sheila's ankle. A quick,
twisting turn of the ankle sent Sheila to the mat, and suddenly neither
woman held a clear advantage. Both wrestlers instantly locked up in a
tangled, twisting, four hundred pound mass of rolling, struggling flesh
that careened around the ring like nothing so much as a loose cannonball.

After several minutes, the two women came to rest at the edge of the mat
with Maria on top of her blonde opponent, trying furiously to lock a
two-handed choke onto Sheila's lovely blonde neck. For her part, the
black-suited blonde had managed to drive both hands up under Maria's jaw in
a perfect chin-push. Sheila's thickly muscled arms assured that Maria, try
as she might, would never be able to complete the choke. Below the waist,
both women were locked in a mutual grinding, wrenching leg scissors. From
time to time, their thrashing legs shot through the ropes, threatening
unwary audience members with a kick in the face or worse.

Maria struggled mightily against Sheila's arms, which felt like nothing so
much as steel pillars bent on permanently dislocating her jaw. Try as she
might, Maria could not wrap her heavy, wrinkled hands around her opponent's
tantalizingly close throat for the choke-out that she was sure would result
in the brunettes ending another match victorious over the Schultz sisters.
For her part, Sheila was trapped in a frustratingly defensive position. As
soon as she removed her arms from under her opponent's chin, Maria was sure
to drop on her like nuclear destruction.

Neither women had a clear advantage, and for the past few minutes, they had
both been having the time of their lives--despite the expressions of mutual
fury plastered on their faces, both women would have been happy to continue
the bout forever.

As they struggled on the edge if the ring, the toll the past few minutes
had taken on each of the wrestlers was clearly evident. Each woman's
exposed skin was covered with a grimy slick, the result of rivers of
perspiration mixing with the dusty grit that coated the well-worn mat and
ropes. Neither wrestler's liberally applied perfume had survived their
mutual exertions--the thick, primal odor permeating the ring was all Sheila
and Maria.

Despite Maria's best efforts, Sheila's drenched black tights were still
somewhat intact, although the neckline of the blonde wrestler's suit now
featured a jagged diagonal tear out of which the large, dark nipple of
Sheila's freely swinging right breast routinely danced. Below the waist,
Maria had been more successful. As the two women had rolled and grappled
across the ring, Maria had managed to work her bare foot inside the strip
of cloth between the blonde's legs. A quick thrust of her leg against the
cloth stirrup had "accidentally" torn away the strip to a point just an
inch below Sheila's navel. Locked together as the wrestlers were, the
damage was now temporarily obscured by Maria's huge, perpetually grinding
hips. Nevertheless, when the two women separated, both knew it would be
immediately obvious that Sheila's tights had been transformed into a
form-fitting tube the bottom of which ended in such a way as prove beyond a
shadow of doubt that Sheila was a natural blonde.

The torn remains of Maria's oversized brassiere lying several feet across
the mat provided mute testimony that the struggle had not been one-sided.
With their support removed--and Sheila had not been particularly gentle
when doing so--Maria's rolling middle-aged bosom displayed a sea of stretch
marks barely contained by her low-cut red suit. When not threatening to
fall out of the front of her tights, Maria's breasts, the left one of which
now featured a nasty bruise courtesy of Sheila's younger sister, tended to
bulge uncomfortably from her armholes.

Before Sheila had entered the ring, Bobbie had already stretched the lower
half of Maria's flaming red suit into a thong. Cloth still covered some of
the older woman's heavily-thatched pubic mound, but the expanse of
salt-and-pepper hair bordering the remaining fabric and extending down her
inner thigh could in no way be described as conservatively modest.

Inwardly, Maria laughed. As she continued to grind away at the blonde
pinned under her, Maria watched one of the ringside male spectators get
knocked flat on his back when the guy's wife noticed obvious appreciation
of the two brawling wrestlers rising unconcealed in her husbands' briefs.

"All's fair in love and war," Maria thought and tried to grin.

Sheila sensed Maria's distraction and shifted in an effort to throw the
heavier woman off to the side. Sheila could feel fatigue beginning to
settle into her arms, and she knew she had to find a way out from under
Maria quickly. Automatically, Maria shifted to counter Sheila and went
nowhere fast. Something--or someone--had grabbed the gray-haired woman's
ankle. While Maria struggled to regain her balance and control, Sheila slid
out from under her. Maria clutched furiously at what was left of Sheila's
tights while her blonde opponent slipped away. The only thing to fill
Maria's grasping claws was air.

When the hand on Maria's ankle fell away, Sheila was long gone. Frustrated
and furious beyond profanity, Maria kicked blindly in a vain effort to
decapitate her unknown assailant. The only thing Maria saw when she looked
at the ringside crowd was Carol Snyder, wearing a malicious grin as she
wrapped her arm around her husband's waist.

In their corners, neither Donna not Bobbie had been able to make out what
had happened. Donna in particular was aware that some sort of interference
had taken place--she just hadn't seen the details. Bobbie, who had been
about to charge into the ring to rescue her partner anyway, was simply
happy to see Sheila back on her feet. Donna was as recovered as she would

get from her earlier beating and was obviously anxious to reenter the fray.
Bobbie put one leg through the ropes in preparation for a retaliatory
strike if Donna decided to charge to her partner's aid.

Sheila staggered to her feet, and Maria immediately bulldozed her opponent
into the far ropes. The force of Maria's impact bent the ropes nearly to
the apron, almost spilling the two wrestlers into the audience. At the last
minute, the spring-loaded elasticity of the ropes kicked in with a loud
groan, and both women were heaved awkwardly upright at the edge of the mat.

Maria immediately forced Sheila against the ropes and wrapped the blonde up
in a perfectly executed headlock. Sheila's face contorted as she tried to
avoid being smothered by the side of Maria's bosom and simultaneously
asphyxiated by the juices flowing from the older woman's unshaven left
armpit. Meanwhile, Maria gleefully cranked the hold for all she was worth.
Both wrestlers staggered out of the ropes, looking like nothing so much as
participants in some sort of dance of mutual destruction. Sheila blindly
punched, pulled hair and jabbed with her elbows while Maria continued to
pour on the pressure. At one point, Maria cranked the headlock hard enough
that her quivering left breast finally bulged free of her tights.

Once again, the two women bounced off the ropes, and Sheila managed to
secure a particularly effective hold on what was left of Maria's tangled
salt-and-pepper gray hair. Blindly furious and in pain, Maria released the
headlock and walloped Sheila in the belly. Maria's first punch nearly
lifted the hefty blonde wrestler off her feet. A second punch forced Sheila
to double over, releasing Maria's hair at the same time.

Despite her aching belly--beyond a shadow of doubt, Maria's jackhammer
gut-shots would have had a smaller girl on her knees begging for
mercy--Sheila charged. Maintaining a doubled-over position, Sheila powered
herself in low between Maria's legs, grabbed both of her opponent's
tree-trunk thighs, lifted, and drove Maria, howling with fury, nearly
through the far ropes.

Instantly, Sheila reached over the ropes, grabbed Maria's much-abused hair
with her left hand, and hauled her opponent into a sitting position on the
middle rope. In an instinctive effort to avoid falling out of the ropes,
which sagged miserably under her huge, exposed rear, Maria threw one arm
over the top rope and used her free hand to try to dislodge Sheila's hand
from her hair.

Donna realized her partner was defenseless; the bulky brunette was halfway
across the mat before Sheila's first punch sank deep into the pit of
Maria's stomach.

"UUUGGGGGGNNNNNNHHHHH!" Maria's agonized groan echoed over the audience.

Sheila's second blast was aimed substantially lower, and the audience
gasped in unison as Maria folded in half.

Sheila turned from Maria to meet Donna's flying charge just in time to
watch her sister blindside the hefty brunette with tackle of her own.

Donna didn't know what had hit her, and she didn't care. She locked her
legs around the blonde's midsection and held on for dear life as the
inertia from Bobbie's charge sent both women skidding painfully across the
mat. As Donna's luck would have it, Bobbie ended up on top, locked between
Donna's unyielding legs. Donna came away with a bruise down the side of her
right hip that would ache for the rest of the week. Nevertheless, for the
time being, Donna had enough adrenaline running through her system that she
hardly noticed the impact.

Beneath her, Bobbie could see Donna grinning like a madwoman. The dark
haired wrestler's legs were locked around Bobbie's midsection in a death
grip, and the younger blonde was suddenly aware that her abdominal organs
were being steadily, mercilessly forced into places nature had never meant
them to go. Bobbie opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Frantically, Bobbie grabbed Donna's head by the hair and used it to lift
her black-haired tormentor off the mat. Donna replied by making a grab for
the blonde's two substantial dangling breasts, but she missed, settling
instead for two hands full of Bobbie's tights. Like the professional she
was, Donna maintained the pressure of her brutally effective scissors while
she went to work on Bobbie's suit. The whole business only took a split
second. Donna opened a small hole in the center of the front of Bobbie's
suit, just below the apex of its plunging V neck. Then, as Bobbie's eyes
opened wide in impotent realization of what was about to happen, Bobbie
snapped the V apart and tore the suit in half, leaving a gaping rent that
that was nothing less than the visual definition of full frontal nudity.

"Twenty bucks, B&%$@!" Donna sneered a split second before Bobbie slammed
the back of the black-haired wrestler's head into the mat.

Donna saw stars, but she didn't quit. Unable to do anything else, Bobbie
continued her brutal head-bashing while Donna continued to turn the blonde
wrestler's guts into jelly.

Across the ring, Maria had used the distraction provided by her partner's
attack to try to salvage her position. While she was no longer entangled in
the ropes, Maria was still leaning against them. Maria's stomach ached, but
Sheila's low blow had not been quite low enough. A quick glance across the
ring convinced Maria that Donna was likely to at least keep Bobbie occupied
for the foreseeable future. Given a couple minutes to recover, Maria
believed she might just be able to put Sheila away.

Maria tucked her exposed right breast into place, fell into a classic
crouch, and prepared to lock up once again with her hefty blonde adversary.
As Maria took her first shuffling step toward her waiting foe, neither she
nor Sheila saw the two heavily-muscled arms that shot across the apron,
grabbed Maria's ankles, and sent her toppling toward the waiting blonde.

As Maria pitched forward, off balance and out of control, her eyes bulged
wide in horror. Sheila didn't know what to make of Maria's ungainly attack.
Neither woman had ever been particularly subtle in the ring, but Maria's
attack seemed in retrospect to be downright awkward. Nevertheless, like
every other wrestler she had ever met, Sheila was in the ring to win any
way she could. Without hesitation, Sheila torpedoed Maria, snapped herself
upright, and sent the older woman flying to a back-wrenching, belly up
crash landing in the center of the ring.

Sheila was determined not to give her older rival a moment of respite.
Maria's impact in the center of the ring had knocked both of Maria's
breasts free, and Sheila was on top of her victim before they had time to
completely settle to the sides of her heaving rib cage. With a handful of
Maria's hair, Sheila yanked her stunned foe into a sitting position.
Displaying not a care for any discomfort her unsubtle pawing might cause
her opponent, Sheila rammed her free hand between the older woman's legs
and, groaning with the monumental effort required, wrenched her massive
opponent into an inverted position. The job took everything she had, and
Sheila staggered noticeably with the effort, but she held Maria upside down
long enough to allow the middle aged woman's ample bosom swing and droop
uncomfortably almost to the base of her jaw before smashing her once again
to the mat with a perfectly executed body slam.

If Maria had any common sense, she would have forced herself to remain
immobile on the mat while Sammy counted her out.

On the other side of the mat, Bobbie was still locked in Donna's death grip
scissors. The blonde had given up on trying to crack her black-haired
tormentor's skull. Instead, Bobbie seemed to have decided to concentrate
her attack on the broad expanse of Donna's exposed belly, which appeared to
be turning the color of pulverized meat under the hot glare of the overhead
lights.

With a low moan, Maria rolled onto her side and started to rise.

The match had suddenly become a race to see whether Sheila could destroy
Maria before her sister surrendered to Donna's gut-ruining scissors. With
strip of cloth that had once formed the crotch of her black wrestling suit
dangling between her legs like a demonic tail, Sheila tore into Maria like
a chain saw.

Unceremoniously, Sheila picked Maria up and body slammed her a second time.
If anything, the tooth-rattling impact was harder the second time around.
Sheila didn't care. The only way she could win was for Maria to surrender
be counted out, either way was fine with Sheila. Altogether too aware of
her sister's predicament, Sheila lifted Maria to her knees. Before her
victim could collapse, Sheila kicked Maria in the stomach, sending the
older wrestler back once again toward the ring apron.

"That's for my sister." Sheila snarled, remembering Maria's elbow smash at
the beginning of the match. "Quit now while you still can," Sheila added as
an afterthought.

Something unintelligible came out of Maria's mouth, and a small river of
drool started to dribble from the side of her lips. Once more, Sheila
lifted Maria to her feet. Amazingly, the woman was still conscious--at
least for a few seconds. Grimly, Sheila shoved Maria against the ropes. One
after the other, Sheila heaved Maria's thick, damp arms over the top ropes.

"Say goodnight, Maria," whispered Sheila.

The impact of Sheila's first shot to Maria's belly showered the ringside
spectators with a fine mist of pulverized sweat and slammed Maria back into
the ropes with enough to bend her double. Instead of standing on her own
two legs and leaning back on the ropes as she had been, Maria was obviously
hanging from the top rope while her legs dangled uselessly below her.
Maria's eyes were glazed and expressionless.

Sheila, a sadistic leer seemingly installed permanently on her face.
stepped up to Maria, yanked her head back by the hair and delivered two
successive clubbing forearm smashes to the side of the middle-aged
wrestler's head. Maria's head rolled forward and stayed there. Sheila,
grabbed the top rope in both hands, rocked forward, then yanked back for
all she was worth, catapulting Maria toward the center of the ring.

Propelled by the force of Sheila's catapult, Maria staggered a few steps
across the ring. Suddenly, one leg gave way, then the other, and she
skidded to her knees. For a second, it appeared Maria might rise to her
feet. Then, as she toppled forward face down, spread eagle on the mat, it
became obvious to everyone around the apron that the bout was indeed
over--a fact that had already been seconded by the announcer and the
referee. Sammy had rung the bell to end the match before Maria's face had
hit the mat.

Sheila didn't bothered to check and see if Maria was still a threat.
Instead, she sprinted across the ring to where Donna and her sister were
still locked in mortal combat. Without hesitation, Sheila slammed a kick
into Donna's exposed back. Spasmodically, the black-haired woman's legs
loosened, allowing Bobbie to crawl free and gasp for the first full breath
of air she had taken for over five minutes.

Officially, the match was over, But Sheila didn't care. Ecstatic with the
knowledge that she had won the match, Sheila yanked Donna to her feet. As
she had done to Maria, the heavyset blonde slammed a forearm into the side
of Donna's face.

"I just wanted to get your attention, dear,"

Staggered, Donna muttered something unspeakable, so Sheila punched her in
the stomach.

While Bobbie struggled to her hands and knees and tried to keep her stomach
under control, Sheila scooped Donna up and bodyslammed her to the mat next
to her beaten partner, who was at least showing signs of life. After a
misplaced attempt at rising, Maria had decided to wait until the ring
stopped spinning.

Glistening like she had just stepped out of a shower, and reeking like she
had never been in one, Sheila brushed her tangled hair away from her eyes,
put her hands on her hips, and fixed the two brunettes with a haughty
glare.

"Better luck next time, girls." was all Sheila needed to say.

* * *

For some time, the post-match crowd milled around at ringside. Sheila took
her time collecting herself before she finally turned to help her sister
out of the ring. Bobbie, however, seemed to have other plans. She wasn't
standing quite upright yet, but Bobbie saw her sister already had her arms
around Sammy. Both of them appeared to be heading for the comforting
shadows that spread out on all sides of the ring.

From the looks of things, Sheila was going to have a few hours to kill
before she could collect her younger sister and head home. A gentle sigh
escaped Sheila's lips. She wasn't surprised. Her sister might be wantonly
profligate, but at least she was predictable.

Outside the ring, Sheila watched the audience divide itself into two
groups: those who were leaving and those who were going to hang around. The
ring was a semi-permanent installation, and the activities of the evening
often left members of the audience eager to make use of the facilities
themselves after the show. As far as Sheila could tell, this audience was
perfectly normal. Most likely, about half of the audience looked like it
was going nowhere in a hurry. The last of them would probably leave around
dawn.

Sheila stepped off the apron and jumped heavily to the padding below. If
memory served her correctly, there was a place just down the street that
opened at about 6:00 a.m. and served an excellent breakfast. All she had to
do was find a way to amuse herself for the next several hours. Back in the
ring, Donna's husband was helping his wife to her feet while Donna
simultaneously tried to help Maria pull herself together. The sight of
Donna and her husband sent a pang of loneliness through Sheila. She wished
she could have brought her husband along, but somebody had to stay home and
watch the kids.

Thinking about her husband also made Sheila suddenly aware of her clothes
or lack thereof, but a quick glance around the dimly lit room made her
forget her concern. Between a heating system that was set for the comfort
of the wrestlers and an overhead lighting system that seemed to measure its
output in BTUs, the place was a hotbox. If the promoter, who had apparently
lost her dress and was obviously preparing to armwrestle another woman old
enough to be Sheila's mother, was any example, varying degrees of nudity
were more likely to be the rule than the exception.

Sheila looked on with idle amusement as the promoter and her opponent, both
deep into the far end of middle age, struggled with one another. Both women
appeared to be evenly matched, but eventually, the promoter forced the back
of her opponent's hand to the table. Without a word, the other woman
removed her bra and put up her opposite hand.

Suddenly thirsty, Sheila strolled over to the corner she and her sister had
recently shared. Years ago, she had learned to place essential supplies,
one of which was a bottle of water, in the corner under the ring whenever
she wrestled. The water was there to kill the inevitable post-match
dehydration. Happily, the two liter bottle of seltzer she had stashed was
still in place. Sheila relaxed, unscrewed the bottle top, and savored a
long, slow drink.

* * *

Sheila was sitting idly on the edge of the apron after taking a couple
drinks when something in the air made her glance over her shoulder at the
corner recently shared by Maria and Donna. A small knot of people had
gathered, and Maria was backed up against the edge of the mat in heated
discussion with someone Sheila couldn't see. Down the side of the mat,
Sheila could see that the owner/promoter of the premises hurrying toward
the growing cluster of people, and the flow of individuals away from the
ring had reversed itself. Sheila slid off the apron and strolled over to
the growing crowd.

"You're washed up, Maria."

"F#%@ you, Carol." replied Maria, facing away from the ring with her elbows
resting on the apron. In her left hand, Maria held a container similar to
the one from which Sheila had been drinking. A minimal effort on Maria's
part had been made to clean up after her match. The crotch of her suit had
been repositioned and, despite to the wrecked state of the elastic at the
leg holes, now provided far more coverage than had recently been the case.
Maria's bosom was once again under cover of sorts--though the distance
between the front of her damp, grimy suit and her nipples was clearly a
matter of fractions of an inch. Up close, the stretch marks and clear
vascularity of her heavy breasts provided unimpeachable evidence of her
advancing years.

"S@$%#^ you, Maria! You just got your tail whipped. You're old, overweight,
and over the hill--anyone in this room could wipe up the mat with that fat
a$$ of yours!"

* * *

For a moment, Maria didn't say anything--she just leaned back and made a
long, measured inspection of her former client.

"Someone grabbed my legs." Maria growled between clenched teeth. "Someone
interfered."

"Yeah, right," replied Carol, her voice dripping with disdain.

Maria had known Carol was going to be trouble from the moment she had laid
eyes on her that evening. As far as Maria was concerned, Carol had just
confirmed what Maria already knew: This night had a villain, and her name
was Carol Snyder.

Maria turned away, tilted her head back, and took a deep drink of water.
Carol had planted herself, hands on hips and chin jutting forward, not two
feet away. Slowly, Maria turned to face Carol once again. Carol started to
speak and noticed a small river of liquid dribbling from between Maria's
lips. Before Carol could say anything, Maria blew a mouthful of water
directly into Carol's face.

"You B#@%$!" Maria screamed. "You just cost me that match!"

Instantly, Maria had her hands around the shorter woman's throat. By the
time Sheila arrived on the scene, Maria had slammed Carol against the ring
apron, wrapped her dress around her neck, and was doing her level best to
choke the life out of her former client. Between the two of them, Sheila
and the middle-aged promoter had managed to separate the two women, but not
before Maria had enlarged the diameter of the neck on Carol's dress by a
good four feet.

Maria was already halfway through the ropes as Carol stepped out of the
remains of her dress, revealing a well-filled plain, white brassiere and
fully-packed, white, high-waisted briefs. Two steps into the ring, Maria
turned and pointed back at Carol.

"Get that little, blond sack of "S@$% up here! I'm gonna give her a lesson
she'll never forget!" Maria stalked to the far corner and bounced against
the ropes.

Sheila grabbed the promoter's microphone and decided to have a little fun.
Carol and Sheila each climbed through the ropes at the same time. Sheila
marched purposefully to the center of the ring and gestured toward Carol
and her much larger opponent. Sheila already knew the answer, but, as an
audience gathered around the apron, she decided to milk the moment.

"Are you sure about this, honey?" Sheila asked innocently, in the tone a
grade school teacher might use when addressing a six-year-old. "Take a good
look . . . She's awful big, and she's really, really, mad. You could get
hurt."

Carol didn't say anything--she just spat on the mat and ground the juice
into the stained surface with her bare left foot.

"Well, okay." muttered Sheila just loudly enough for the microphone to pick
it up. Sheila motioned to the two wrestlers.

"Did either of your have any particular rules in mind?" she asked.

"I promise I won't kill her." was all Maria said. Six feet away, Carol
Snyder stood and glared.

Sheila smiled innocently. "Sounds like we have issues here, folks." With
obvious enjoyment, the big blonde wrestler continued. "Because you two
girls seem to be such good friends, we'll have a few rules. First, no
biting and no blood. Second, no broken bones and no blows to the face."

Maria's face showed nothing but sullen disinterest.

"Isn't this is just great?" Sheila continued, despite being dressed like a
stripper who had been interrupted I the middle of her act, to project the
squeaky-clean demeanor of a Sunday school teacher. "Aren't we having fun?
That's it for the rules. Winning is by oral submission or by a three-point
point pin to the count of five."

Carol started to say something, but Sheila raised her index finger to stop
her. Sheila had known Carol would object to the three point pin--both
shoulders and rear end pinned immobile to the mat for a count of five.

"I know you want to kill each other, dear, and I don't care," Sheila
admonished. "If either one of you can't continue, I want an excuse to stop
it before someone gets hurt."

Sheila took one last look at the two combatants. Despite the obvious
physical differences, this looked like a good match. Carol was young,
fresh, and possessed a killer pair of legs. On the other hand, Maria was
far more experienced and obviously furious. Maria, however, had also been
through one bout this evening already. During the course of that match, the
older woman had been thoroughly worked over. Maria's bruises were painfully
obvious, and exhaustion was clearly evident on her face. If the fight
somehow went longer than fifteen minutes, Sheila's money was on Carol.

Once again, Sheila brought the microphone to her lips.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have two ladies who need to settle their
differences with a good, old-fashioned fight. In this corner we have, at
five feet eleven inches, 221 pounds, and older than she cares to admit,
Maria DeSalvo. Lots of us already know Maria--she's old, she's ugly, and
she's has already had a rough night."

Sheila turned to Carol.

"In this corner we have the challenger . . . "

Sheila held the microphone away from her mouth and smiled a little too sweetly.

"Statistics, dear." Sheila said.

"five-five, one eighty, twenty eight."

Sheila raised the microphone and continued. "at five feet five inches, 180
pounds, and all of twenty-nine years of age . . . "

Sheila pointed the microphone at Carol.

"Carol Snyder."

"Ladies," Sheila finished her spiel and turned to exit the ring. "Go to
your corners and come out fighting."

As Sheila exited the ring and handed the microphone back to the building's
owner, her final words were inadvertently picked up, sounding like a
distant whisper over the audience.

". . . let the beatings begin."

* * *

Maria stepped out of her corner and was met by a perfectly executed flying
drop-kick. Carol's bare feet slammed into Maria's chest and belly like two
jackhammers, instantly blasting the middle-aged wrestler off her feet and
flat on her back. Within seconds of her own crash landing, Carol was on her
feet in a headlong charge that ended in a vicious 180-pound butt drop onto
Maria's exposed inner thigh.

Maria howled in agony as Carol scrambled off the larger woman's belly. A
powerful yank with two hands full of Maria's graying hair jerked the older
woman to her feet. As Maria's bosom spilled out of her top, Carol sent a
kick into her opponent's lower back, and Maria found herself slumped over
the ropes barely six feet from the turnbuckle.

Carol couldn't believe what was happening. This looked like her easiest
match in weeks. The fight wasn't even two minutes old, and she already had
Maria on the ropes. Gleefully, Carol slammed a powerful right cross into
the quivering mass of Maria's exposed right buttock and followed it with an
equally embarrassing left hook into the larger woman's other cheek.

Maria rocked forward in the ropes with each blow while the audience howled
with laughter and the ropes groaned in protest.

Not willing to let up for a minute, Carol ripped Maria off the ropes by the
hair and dumped her back to the mat. A flying axe-handle to Maria's exposed
and already injured abdomen followed immediately. This time, despite her
pulverized belly, Maria was a fraction of a second quicker than Carol had
had believed possible: Maria came away with a handful of Carol's
artificially colored honey-blond hair.

The handful of hair allowed Maria to drag Carol to the mat. Maria was
almost on top of her younger, smaller opponent when Carol managed to get
her feet up and into Maria's stomach. Viciously, Carol kicked her heavier
adversary away.

Carol scrambled to her feet, backpedaling madly across the ring as she fell
into a classic wrestler's crouch. Maria, who had already assumed the
position, stalked the ring with blood in her eyes and mayhem in her heart.
Although she had certainly had time to do so, Maria hadn't bothered to
repackage her bosom. The red tights were obviously ruined, and Maria was
tired of being distracted.

As soon as Carol was on her feet, Maria charged. Like so many women before
her, Carol felt like she had collided with a tank. Maria came in low,
blasted Carol into the far ropes, and slapped a front headlock onto her
opponent before the poor woman even had time to scream. With Carol's face
locked firmly in place, Maria cranked the hold a couple times for effect
and was rewarded with a series of muffled grunts from the depths of her
armpit.

Under her tangled gray hair, Maria allowed herself the luxury of a smile.
After a rocky start, things were starting to come together to her liking.
Carol's face was still smothered in Maria's pit when the older woman
executed a tight backward somersault. The effect of the move was to slam
Carol back-first out of the ropes and into the ring. As an extra added
bonus, Carol skidded on her rear, producing a monumentally uncomfortable
wedgie and opening a tear where elastic met cloth along the bottom of her
white briefs--briefs which were now permanently stained with grit from the
surface of he mat.

Maria had planned the move perfectly. She landed on her hands and kneed
just inches from where Carol was lying on her back. Cackling like a fiend,
Maria dove on top of Carol, and immediately wrapped both massive arms
around the blonde wrestlers head. The lights went out in Carol Snyder's
world as her face was suddenly enveloped by Maria's damp gelatinous chest.
Lying on her back as Maria jammed as much of her not inconsiderable weight
onto her as possible, Carol did the only thing she could think of--she
wrapped her legs around Maria's torso and squeezed for all she was worth.

Maria grunted under the pressure applied by Carol's scissors and slammed
everything she had into her smothering bear hug. Both women groaned from
the pain as they tried to squeeze a submission out of their mutual
opponent. For nearly a minute, they struggled, locked in a death-like
stalemate. Finally, maintaining her bear hug the whole time, Maria managed
to work herself into a squatting position. Carol knew she was being lifted
off the mat, but she couldn't see what was happening. With nothing else to
do, Carol squeezed harder and held on for dear life.

Moaning in pain as Carol proved just how effective her scissors could be
against and already injured belly, Maria nevertheless lifted the smaller
woman and assumed a waddling gait as she staggered toward the nearest
corner of the ring. About three feet from the turnbuckle, Maria decided to
show Carol who was in charge. First, Maria shifted her grip on Carol's head
and allowed the chunky blonde to pop her head out from the center of
Maria's chest. As soon as Carol did that, Maria shifted her two-handed grip
to a location beneath her opponent's fleshy jawline. Maria's grin reeked of
sadism.

"You know, I could just choke you out here and now," Maria hissed, "but
that wouldn't be any fun."

The ropes shivered and shimmied as if they had been knocked off their
moorings each time Maria rammed Carol's back into the heavily-padded
turnbuckle. It took a number of turnbuckle-to-kidney shots to force Carol
to release her grip on Maria's brutalized abdomen, but ultimately she had
no choice. After one particularly vicious impact, Carol's
disproportionately massive legs sagged apart and she collapsed backward
into the corner. Maria, of course, immediately slammed a knee low into the
young blonde's exposed belly. Carol doubled over in front of Maria, who
calmly dug her hands under the back of her opponent's brassiere and ripped
it to shreds.

As Carol's breasts fell free, Maria was surprised to see her younger
opponent's face begin to redden. When Carol had wrestled at Maria's, she
had never seemed particularly prone to embarrassment. Nevertheless, Carol
was obviously uncomfortable, and Maria had never been one to ignore
something that might be used against an opponent.

Feeling in total control of the situation, and altogether quite oblivious
of her own exposure, Maria put one hand on Carol's doubled-over head and
used her free hand to pull her opponent's left arm out to the side. When
she saw Carol using one of her hands to try to cover her exposed breasts,
Maria almost laughed out loud.

"Silly girl--and you think you're ready to wrestle ME," Maria thought.

With both hands on Carol's outstretched arm, Maria pulled the young blonde
wrestler out of the corner, cranked the arm two complete turns, and, with a
third twist, flipped Carol to the mat. As Carol lay flat on her back, Maria
stepped around and lifted one of the disoriented blonde's thick ankles. The
scream howling out of Carol's mouth inspired Maria to turn her ankle twist
into a step-over toehold. Deliberately, the larger woman bent and twisted
Carol's leg into one position after another, each more painful than the
last. Finally, as Carol lay moaning below her, Maria bounced her left knee
off the fleshy mound just above her victim's pubic bone. Carol screamed
like a banshee.

At ringside, Carol's husband was slowly going mad while Maria punished his
wife. Midway through the match, Donna and her husband had wandered back to
the ringside area. When Sheila told them what was going on, both Donna and
her spouse had immediately taken up positions on either side of Carol's
husband. Right now, Both Donna and her husband were wrapped around the guy
like two anacondas as they struggled to keep him from charging to his
wife's aid. Sheila prepared to lend a third hand if it was needed.

Carol's wild scream was just the beginning of the vengeance Maria wanted.
The only way Maria was going to be happy was for Carol to end the night
both beaten and mortified. Maria decided to go for the latter first. Once
more, Maria bent and spread Carol's legs. Then, slowly enough to permit
Carol ample time to digest exactly what was about to happen, Maria reached
down and back between her blonde victim's legs. Carol gasped in horror as
Maria ran her hand under her damp white briefs, gently caressing the chunky
blonde's broad rump. Suddenly, Maria grabbed the back waistband of Carol's
briefs and ripped with all her might. The white cloth parted instantly, and
Carol Snyder was permanently separated from her last shred of dignity.

The remains of Carol's briefs joined the pieces of Maria's
industrial-strength spandex and her own brassiere littering the mat.

Maria stalked in circles around her humiliated opponent, giving Carol all
the time she needed to collect herself and continue the match. To the
delight of the audience, Carol turned every shade of red imaginable, but
she didn't quit. Slowly, Carol regained enough composure to begin shuffling
toward Maria in a crouch--a clear signal that, no matter how uncomfortable
she might be, Carol was by no means ready to throw in the towel. Seeing
Carol was indeed going to come back for more, Maria smiled and added salt
to the wound.

Carol gasped in surprise as Maria straightened, calmly stepped out of what
was left of her flaming red tights, kicked the remains out of the way, and
resumed her original posture, shuffling toward an inevitable collision with
the chunky, young blonde. Maria's hand gesture was a clear signal: "C'mon,
baby--Show me what you've got!"

Carol's eyes widened in stunned horror as she tried to take in Maria's
massive, fleshy, threatening bulk. Maria was not just heavy. To Carol,
everything about Maria was suddenly gross, coarse and primeval. Maria's
unshaven arms, legs, and pits made Carol instantly aware of how closely
related humans are to the great apes, and Maria's breasts--well every man
in the place would be happy to tell you about Maria's breasts. The layer of
cellulite--something with which Maria had fought a loosing battle all her
life--hanging from Maria's heavily developed legs was something Carol had
always found to be nothing less than disgusting. The kicker, however, was
the expansive, damp, dense, hairy triangle revealed between Maria's legs.
Try as she might, Carol couldn't avert her eyes.

"What's the problem, baby? I thought you were a wrestler." sneered Maria.
"Does my naked body make you uncomfortable? Remember, honey, this is how
the Greeks did it better than two thousand years ago. What makes you think
I like it any other way?"

Carol was still open-mouthed when Maria plowed into her like a proverbial
ton of bricks. Without inhibition, Maria charged in low, grabbed both of
Carol's legs and dumped the smaller woman on her rear. Just as Carol had
done to her, Maria follow up with a flying butt-drop to the inner thigh.
The impact of over two hundred furious pounds of Maria DeSalvo left Carol
howling and writhing on the mat.

Maria rolled to her knees and grabbed the first thing that came within her
reach: Carol's thrashing lower leg. Maria fell into a sitting position,
trapped her victim's leg under one arm a foot above the knee. What Maria
had planned wasn't likely to gain a submission. In fact, Carol was already
wrenching her leg free when Maria locked her eyes onto the ringside face of
her opponent's husband. Laughing sadistically, the gray-haired wrestler
telegraphed her every move to Carol's ever more horrified spouse. Maria
used her free hand to snatch Carol's ankle and guide her victim's fleshy
calf to a position just in front of her face, which had long since been
transformed into a Halloween fright mask of running makeup and smeared
lipstick. Carol's husband's eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets as
Maria opened her mouth wide, and, like a devil eating fried chicken at a
church picnic in hell, bit Carol's calf.

Carol screamed like a banshee under Maria's vile ministrations. As Carol's
raging husband forcibly dragged the Giacomas several feet closer to the
mat, Maria made a great show of torturing her victim--all the while being
careful not to break the flesh of her opponent's leg. Sheila stepped to the
aid of the Giacomas, and together they managed to restrain Carol's
struggling husband.

After one final check of her workmanship revealed deeply indented
toothmarks which were certain to form clearly defined bruises but showed no
danger of bleeding--Maria was, after all, a professional--Maria rolled to
her feet, reached down, and grabbed a handful of Carol's hair. A quick,
forceful yank brought Carol to her feet, and a vicious forearm shot to the
side of the head sent her back down to the mat.

Maria leaned over her fallen opponent and assumed an attitude of completely
artificial innocence.

"Oh, I'm soooo sorry." Maria's voice dripped venom. "Did I do something
against the rules? I didn't mean to break the rules. I hope I didn't hurt
you."

Maria extended her hand.

"Here . . . Let me help you up"

In a flash, Maria had wrenched Carol's wrist behind her back and straddled
the shorter women. Maria was grinning from ear to ear as gleefully ground
away at a classic hammerlock. Each time the brutal heavyweight slammed the
hold home, Carol howled a little louder. Maria was not gentle. She threw
every ounce she had into every punishing blow. As Maria wrenched a Carol's
trapped arm, the impact of each successive slam rotated the kneeling blonde
wrestler's body counterclockwise on the center of the mat.

"Give up!" screamed Maria..

"NooooooARRRFFGRRRRFHHHH!" howled Carol

"Did you pull my legs?"

"^%#^ you!"

"What?"

"AAAIIIIIIIIIOOOOOOWWWWWW!"

GIVE!"

"Nnnuuuuugggggggnnnnnoooo!"

"Want me to let go?"

"Nnnoooooo!"

Gotcha, b&^*%!"

Carol's profane howl was both unintelligible and unprintable. Maria bent to
her work with a vengeance. For close to a minute, Maria tortured the
blonde's arm. Finally, as much out of boredom as anything else, Maria
changed her tactics. After Carol's interference in Maria's tag team match,
the hefty middle-aged wrestler was obviously more interested in punishing
her former client than in exacting a quick submission.

Maria finally released Carol's mangled arm. Stalking around her blonde
victim's huddled body, Maria decided to inflict one last round of
brutality, then end the affair decisively.

With one hand, Maria grabbed Carol's mangled arm and hauled the younger
woman upright. Maria released her grip on her former client's arm and
watched her sway unsteadily on her feet under the brilliant light in the
center of the ring.

"I heard what you said earlier this evening, Carol." Maria continued
conversationally. "You said I s%$%. You have a very big mouth."

Maria took a step back, pulled her arm back like a baseball player
preparing to hit a home run, and smacked Carol across the face had enough
to send her flying. Carol landed flat on her stomach eight feet away, more
dead than alive. Seconds later, Maria dropped her full, sweaty weight had
onto the center of Carol's back. The beaten blonde's legs were just lying
there, so Maria gathered them in, bent back over Carol's butt, and twisted
her victim's ankles in a fashion that nature had never intended.

Once again, the ring filled with Carol's agonized shrieks.

Maria shifted her position on her former client's naked back. Almost
casually, Maria jammed a knee into Carol's defenseless left kidney. Carol
groaned incoherently, and Maria provided equal opportunity punishment for
the right side.

The end came quickly. Maria planted herself on Carol's lower back, laced
her hands under the blonde's jaw, and heaved for all she was worth. The
spine-wrenching effect of the expertly-applied camel clutch was immediate
and devastating

"Give up, B$#%&!" Carol felt Maria's hot breath in her ear before the first
wrench.

A trickle of drool flowed out of Carol's mouth as she howled.

"It's over. Give!"

Maria heaved a little harder, and Carol screamed in response.

"Give up!"

Maria wrapped her forearm around the front of Carol's face and adjusted her
weight for slightly better leverage.

The only thing that prevented Carol from screaming herself hoarse was the
fact that Maria's huge, beefy arms made opening her mouth all but
impossible

"If you keep this up, I'll just break your back. Now, GIVE!"

Once more, Maria heaved, the powerful musculature of her own back jumping
out into bold relief as she strained to hold her victim's head and chest
upright against the natural curvature of her spine for as long as possible.
Carol's back felt like someone was breaking it into small pieces with a
jackhammer.

"NnnuuuuugggggggnnnnnooooAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW! I QIIIIIIFFFFFF! I
QIIIIIIFFFFFF! OUUUU IINNNNNN! I QIIIIIIFFFFFF!"

With unexpected gentleness, Maria released the pressure on Carol's back,
but she did not climb off her prone victim. Instead, Maria used one hand to
force Carol's face into the mat while she leaned forward over her defeated
opponent's left ear. Carol was unable to ignore Maria's hard nipples
pressed against her shoulders.

"What you did here tonight was very stupid." Maria whispered. "If you ever
interfere with another of my matches again, anywhere, I WILL break your
back. Do you understand me?"

"Mwess."

"That's good," Maria said. She cuffed Carol across the top of her head.

Maria stood and stepped away from Carol, who gingerly rose to her feet. For
a second, the two dripping wrestlers stood facing each other. Neither woman
smiled. Carol tried to hold Maria's gaze, but found she couldn't. After a
few minutes, Carol started to slink out of the ring, taking on the visual
aspect of a whipped dog.

While her victim's husband roared at ringside, Maria slammed her right fist
deep into Carol Snyder's unprotected left kidney. The defeated wrestler
instantly dropped to the mat as if shot and collapsed in a writhing heap.
As Carol moaned and thrashed at her feet like a dying fish, Maria sneered
disdainfully down at the beaten blonde, then without a word, she stalked
out of the ring.

* * *

Three weeks had passed since Carol's semipublic humiliation at Maria's
hands. The injuries Carol had suffered were long since healed, and the
package from Maria had come as a total surprise.

Now, as she gazed at the contents of the envelope, Carol honestly didn't
know what to think. Inside the package, Carol had found a list of names
with postage-stamp-size photos and statistics for about one hundred local
women, all of whom were close to Carol in weight. Maria's business card had
been stapled to the list. On the card, Maria had written one word:
"Interested?"

Beneath the list, Carol had found a check and a note clipped to a
high-quality glossy still photograph--a photograph that Carol knew was a
true luxury item, certainly costing well over $100 to prepare. The image
had been taken by an overhead camera the night of her bout with Maria.
Maria's body crashing into Carol's twisted inner thigh was obscured by a
cloud of flying salt-and-pepper gray hair, but Carol's screaming face
framed by a halo of tangled blonde hair was unmistakable.

The check, which totaled less that a quarter of the cost of the photograph,
was a royalty payment the reflecting loser's share from downloads of the
bout. Consumed as she had been that night, Carol hadn't even realized the
match was being recorded.

Finally, Carol looked at the note. In a firm, unwavering hand, Maria had
written, "Here's a souvenir from your first professional bout. Hope to see
you again soon. --Love, Maria."

copyright © 2005 by D. D. Wrangler