No Rules By Brittany

She was 24, and a knockout. 5' 7", about 125 lbs, shoulder-length brown hair, 34 D, and toned. A tiny bit of a belly, but she was repetitive with all who would listen that her devotion to kickboxing was melting that away.

She was also quite full of herself, which was, truth told, annoying.

I, however, was none of the above. At 36, I was 5'9", 180 lbs, a bit overweight. But I worked out, religiously, and although not in male model shape, my arms and legs were toned, and I was strong. I was especially proud of my arms, thanks to hundreds of sweaty hours with weights. I was also her colleague.

As attractive as she was, she did little for me. That mouth! Always blabbering away about how good she was at this, or how much she paid for that, or how she was better than this person for this or that reason. Probably 15 times a day, the thought SHUT UP screamed through my brain, but I kept my tongue.

Until this morning. As usual, we were on the road, preparing to inspect another piece of property. This one was in a tough part of town, and even though it was fairly early in the morning, you could never assume the area was safe. On the opposite side of the street, three disenchanted teens sat sulking on a set of stairs, staring.

"You know what?" I offered, "You stay in the car, and I'll do the walk-through."

Kerry looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Come on, look around," I answered. "You'll be safe in the car. I'll only be a few minutes."

She let out a little laugh. "Why don't you stay in the car, and I'll do the walk. I can take care of myself.probably better than you can take care of yourself." She laughed again.

Unfazed, I got out of the car, as did she, and we did our job. 15 minutes later, we were back inside and driving away.

"That was stupid," I said. What if they were thugs? I can keep myself safe, but then to have to worry about you, too, is a lot for one guy."

"Like I said," she sighed, "I can keep myself safe. Unless they had, like, guns, I probably could have kicked their asses." She paused, looked at me, and added, "As easily as I could kick yours."

"You're so full of yourself," I snapped. "You think your lame kickboxing is really self-defense? These are people, you idiot, not workout bags. They'll hurt you bad."

"Like I said," she said in a singsong voice, "I wouldn't lose. Maybe I should prove it on you."

"Yeah, like I'm going to hit a girl."

"Woman, you Neanderthal. I knew you'd wuss out anyway. Your fragile male ego couldn't handle me kicking your ass."

I'll hand it to her---she knew how to push buttons. I felt my rage flame up, and, throwing chivalry out the window, responded, "Name the time and place, girly."

__________

She did. 6 PM, her house. She told me she lived alone (no surprise there) and she worked out in her basement, where she'd be able to kick my ass in private. Yeah, whatever, I thought.

She answered the door, wearing a workout bra, gym shorts, and a smirk. She led me downstairs, and I took off my jacket, revealing my sleeveless t-shirt and gym shorts. Seeing that her feet were bare, I kicked off my sneakers, too.

"So what's the plan?" I asked. I felt kind of silly, preparing to fight a girl.

She tossed a pair of boxing gloves my way. "Put those on, and when you're ready, we start. This isn't a tournament or anything, so we just end it when someone gives up. Unless you're scared or something, we don't need to make any special rules, do we?"

Again with the taunt. "No, no special rules. But, uh, don't we need to tape our hands or something before we put these on?" I had never boxed, but I had seen all six Rocky movies...

She rolled her eyes. "I said, no rules. So if I feel like taking my gloves off and slapping you around after you're down, my hands can't be taped."

Obviously, she had put some thought into this, and although I felt a millisecond of anxiety, I smiled and agreed, "OK, no rules."

I slipped on the gloves, which were nothing like I remember from the movies. Those were, well, padded, I guess. These were almost flat, and went on like mittens. Hitting her with these would hurt, I thought.

"They're workout gloves, moron," she said as she walked to the middle of the matted area. I glanced at her for a second, and surprisingly, seeing her in the bra and shorts, motioning me to her, I got a little excited. She was quite beautiful, I mused.

Quickly replacing the image of her with one of a bloody, sweaty Stallone in my head (to avoid sporting a hard-on), I met her in the middle of the mats. She put up her hands, as did I, and we began.

No dancing around, as in real boxing. We circled each other slowly, both looking for an opening. I waited for her to do something, to know how I should fight. If she was going to token hit, or all-out slug, I had no idea.

She tagged my upper right arm with a solid punch that made me wince. Seeing that it had registered, she smiled, and followed up with another one. That one hurt too, surprising, since my arms and shoulders were well muscled. But she had the set the tone clearly. This was to be a slugfest, at least on her part.

I, however, still had misgivings about punching a girl, no matter how hard she hit. My misgivings were quickly dissipated, though, as she tagged my left arm full-force, again making me wince. She smiled again, and feinted a punch towards my stomach. I lowered my arms to block it, and instead she landed a strong left on my upper arm. So far, it was 4-0, her favor.

I threw a punch at her head, which she blocked. I threw one at her stomach, but she read it and turned, so I only grazed her side. As she completed her turn, she throttled my head with a kick that came out of nowhere. It landed solidly on my ear and cheek, and I went down, stunned.

Kerry laughed and put her gloved hands on her hips. "Have I proven my point, wuss-ass? Give up?"

I staggered to my feet and motioned her to continue. No mercy, I thought. Now I had a point to prove. I launched a punch to her mid-section, which connected, but seemed to do no harm. "100 sit-ups a day," she taunted, "it's like a rock."

She followed up with another smash to my right upper arm, feinted one at my head, then one that connected with my left arm. My arms were now killing me, and it was painful just to keep them up to fend her off.

I threw a shot at her head, but she dodged, so I hit her shoulder instead. Again, no register in her face of pain, and she responded almost instantaneously with a blow to my arm, followed by one to my stomach.

It didn't knock the wind out of me, but man did it hurt. It was all I could do not to double over. But that would be too dangerous. I raised my hands as best I could and aimed one towards her smug mouth. Seemingly effortlessly, she swatted my punch away, and landed a solid blow to my face. It knocked me back, but I stayed on my feet. As I regained my orientation, I caught sight of the bottom of her foot coming straight at my face. I couldn't react quickly enough, and was greeted by a foot-to-the-mouth blow. This time, I did go down, hard.

She laughed and raised her hands over her head, doing a little dance. "Had enough yet?"

I rolled on to my knees and shook my head to clear it. I couldn't lose to her, and no way would I give up. No rules echoed in the back of my mind, as I started to get to my feet. As I slowly stood, I whipped the glove off my right hand, and pulled off the other one. "I'm only just getting started," I replied.

She lowered her eyes, smirked, and shook her head. Likewise, she took her gloves off and sauntered to the middle of the mats, fists clenched, gleam in her eye. I trudged to the center myself, trying to hold up my burning, aching arms.

Kerry wasted no time in stinging my arms with her ungloved fists. Three, four unanswered shots in a row. My arms kept dropping lower, and I was simply unable to keep them up to protect myself. It was obvious I couldn't out-box her---painfully obvious. I needed a new plan.

I threw myself forward and grabbed her wrists with my hands. This surprised her, and she gave way to my momentum. I raised my burning arms up over our heads and slowly started to push her back. Gaining her bearings, she started to push back, and we ended up motionless, each pushing the other, me with a slight advantage because I still had her wrists locked in my hands.

When I knew I could hold her no more, the pain in my arms becoming too great, I snapped our arms down and to the side, releasing her wrists. With the same fluid movement, I grabbed her around the neck and brought her down into a headlock.

Squeezing with all my might, I flexed as tight as I could, and glanced down at my red upper arm. The muscles bulged, and I allowed myself a smile finally. This could be the end. I kept moving in a circular pattern so that she could not get her balance and try to counter the move. No coughing, no gurgling, just heavy breathing---from both of us.

She pawed at my upper arm for a few seconds, and feeling its solidity, gave up on that. She punched it a couple of times---feeble because of the angle from which she tried, but, unbeknownst to her, they hurt nonetheless.

Finally, just as I thought she was ready to give up, she locked her fingers around my wrist and pulled. Amazingly, my arm started to give, and despite my resistance, she was loosening my lock around her neck. I tried to flex, to fight her, but the battering my arms had sustained was taking its toll. They were too weak to counter hers, and within 30 seconds, she freed herself from the headlock and now had my wrist in her hand.

Wasting no time, she twisted my wrist and then my arm, and within seconds she was behind me, my arm behind my back, twisted, being pushed up towards my shoulder. I cried out, and I heard her giggle. She then without notice pushed me face-forward into the wall. Because it was so unexpected, I had no time to prepare, other than to turn my head. My cheek met the concrete wall formally, and I literally saw stars.

Kerry backed me away from the wall and returned the favor, quickly putting me in a headlock. As she did, I pawed at her upper arms, and felt their solidity, their well-defined musculature. Unlike her, however, I did start to cough, and gurgle, as she started to squeeze the life out of me. And as she did, I locked my hand around her wrist to pull it off, but unlike mine, her arm wouldn't yield. I brought my other hand up and with both tried to dislodge her arm, but she wouldn't budge.

"Give up?" she taunted, tightening her grip even more. I hadn't even the strength to reply at this point, as my aching arms fell loosely and uselessly and I fought to breathe.

Sensing that I had been beaten and the fight was over, she let me go, and I fell to my knees, hands to my throat. She laughed again, walked over to me, and grabbed me from behind by the hair, pulling my head back to look up into hers.

"I told you I'd kick your ass," she said. "Admit that I did and we can end this." Then she released my hair.

I massaged my throat and slowed my breathing. Never, I thought. I stood up, faced her, and thought about my next move. As I faced her, I noticed her sweat-covered body, the way her muscles shone, her cocky posture. Unbelievably, I wanted her at that moment, even though I despised her.

As if she read my mind, she smiled and looked down at herself. She put her arms behind her back, and unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Then she looked back at me and smiled.

"This is the only way you're ever going to get to see these, wuss. If you won't give up, then we're still fighting. I'll give you a little thrill, though, before I knock you out for good."

I slowly peeled off my shirt---slowly because I could barely move my pained arms. Tossing it to the side, I joined her in the middle, raising my fists to about hip-high, which was as far as I could.

Sweaty, weary, and horny, I circled her slowly, looking again for an opening. She, however, was just sweaty, and like lightning, landed a solid punch to my chest. I tried to bring my arms up, and she followed up with shots to my throbbing arms, then worked her way down to my stomach, pounding away on me, encountering no resistance and little defense.

I was backed up into the wall, nowhere to move, and getting pummeled. But just like that, the punching stopped, and she took a few steps back. I staggered away from the wall, and she greeted me with a full-force kick to the mouth, propelling me backwards. My head slammed into the cement wall, and I simply slid down the wall and landed on my ass on the floor.

Kerry bent down, grabbed my hair, and lifted me up. With her left hand, she again pummeled my stomach and chest until they were red and raw. Again she stopped abruptly, and took a few steps back. Although I knew what was coming, I couldn't command my body to do anything to fend it off. A spinning side-kick smashed into my cheek, sending me staggering several steps to the right. Then she was on me, grabbing me like a linebacker and taking me down to the mats.

We rolled over each other, each trying to gain the advantage. That took about 10 seconds to determine, as she came out on top and quickly pinned my throbbing arms to the mat with her knees. The pain that shot through them was excruciating, and I felt a tear roll down my face. I looked up, and could see her glistening stomach above me, with those chiseled abs. I pushed against her knees with no luck, and bucked my body hoping to knock her off. Again, it was futile, and she giggled at my useless attempts to escape.

She looked down at me, almost with pity, and then grabbed my hair and yanked my head up and forward, so that my face was buried in her stomach. I felt her adjust her legs, as her knees came off my arms. But before I could take advantage of it, I realized that she had straightened her legs and was clamping them together around my neck---a perfectly executed head-scissor.

She dropped to her side, quickly adjusted, locked her ankles, and increased the pressure on my neck. With my face buried in the crotch of her damp gym shorts, I was helpless. My arms were useless at loosening her grip, and as her hands were free, she continued to pound on my upper arms with her fists.

Darkness crept into the periphery of my vision, and I realized that I had lost. No matter what kind of training or workouts I had done, she was clearly stronger, in better shape, and superior. It angered me to admit it, at least to myself.

"Tell me that I kicked your ass," she said, again as if reading my mind, "and I'll let you go." To emphasize that she was in control, she clenched her legs together even tighter, drawing faint coughs from me as I started to become dizzy. Nonetheless, knowing I was beaten, I opened my mouth to concede, but no sounds came out. None could.

"I see that you're trying to give up, " she said, mockingly-understandingly, "so I'll help you." With that she released her scissor-hold around my neck and kicked me over to my back. I was too weakened to do anything, so I just lay there, massaging my neck, coughing, staring up at her wonderfully sexy body. She stared down at me and placed her sweaty foot on my face, covering my mouth, pinching my nostrils shut with her toes.

Instinctively, my hands went to her foot to dislodge it, but like all attempts I had made this evening to overpower her physically, this too was futile.

"I'll know that you've given up when you put your hands down at your side, and slide off your shorts. If you try to escape, I'll thrash you all over again. Do we understand each other?"

I nodded under her foot, understanding that she wanted abject humiliation to be a part of her victory over me. I reached down, grabbed my shorts by the waistband, and by bending my knees, was able to slide them off. Once done, I relaxed my knees again, lying there prone, naked beneath her feet.

"Excellent," she exclaimed. "Now, I'm going to take my foot off your face. If you move or try to get up, I will beat you again. Now stay there."

I did as I was told, thankful to get the smell of her sweaty foot out of my face. She walked over to the side of the mat for a second, slipped off her gym shorts to reveal a skimpy little thong, did something that made a clicking noise, and sauntered back over to me.

She placed her foot on my penis and pinched, just like she did to my nostrils. I cried out, but with her other foot, she kicked me in the face.

"Just lie there," she commanded. "This will be over in a minute."

I bit my tongue and remained on the floor, looking up at this glistening, chiseled woman who had out-muscled, overpowered, physically beaten, and sexually humiliated me. She lifted her arms and flexed while atop me. I saw a flash, heard a whirring, and realized that she had just had a victory picture taken of her total domination over me. I was ashamed, yet aroused.

"Stay there," she barked, and I complied. She walked over to the side again, did some more clicking, and in a moment returned. She knelt down beside me and held a picture over my face. Yes, it was her victory pose, straddled over my prone, naked, bruised body, foot on my flaccid manhood, flexing for the camera. And she looked awesome.

"This is my coupon," she purred. "From now on, anytime I want a rematch, you'll oblige me. Any time, any day. You'll come here without question, you'll wear what I tell you, or you'll wear nothing at all. And the first time you don't---the first time you refuse, or even make me wait, or argue about it, I email this picture to everyone at work. Get it?"

She locked her hand around my throat and squeezed. I nodded immediately, afraid to try to escape the hold---afraid she'd fight and destroy me yet again.

I got it.