Amazon/indecnt
                          as chronicled by Mike Shoemaker
                         DOMINION:  An Indecent Proposition
                      Tom Bradley crouched low, measuring his opponent, and sensed
                                     the match was almost over.
                          His adversary, Whip Smith, swayed with exhaustion and
                   glistened with sweat, having suffered several power moves and
                 debilitating holds.  At six feet two inches and 244 solid pounds,
                 Bradley's height and conditioning lent him a visible advantage as
                 the match pressed on.  The crowd of over fifteen thousand shouted
                         and shifted as the grapplers studied one another.
                          Smith summoned his remaining strength and lunged, but
                  Bradley ducked under his clumsy offensive and moved behind him.
                   Smith rebounded off the ropes, and took a flying dropkick from
                   Bradley, which sent him down.  Moving in on the dazed man, he
                 jerked Smith to his feet, then pulled him into his arms.  The mat
                   shuddered as Bradley body slammed him hard to the mat.  He lay
                    dazed and incoherent, shifting his arms and legs as Bradley
                   climbed to the top of the turbuckle.  With a smile and wave to
                   the crowd, he leaped; his elbow slammed into Smith's sternum,
                 forcing the air from his lungs.  The crowd roared its approval as
                    Bradley hooked a leg and covered Smith for the three-count.
                       "Lookin' good, my man."  Tiger Jackson high-fived Tom as he
                  returned to the dressing room.  "'Course, Smith ain't exactly a
                           contender, but you put 'im away pretty well."
                         "Yeah, I thought so, too."  Bradley took a towel from a
                     nearby stack, and began wiping sweat from his arms.  Other
                     wrestlers passed between the lockers and suited up as they
                   prepared for their matches.  "Besides, I pinned him two and a
                                 half minutes faster than you did."
                      "Hey, I was pacin' myself.  All that counts is who took home
                                        the winner's share."
                                                 "True."
                        "You gonna hang around?"  Jackson secured the knot on his
                   striped bandana.  "I got a match with Crusher King comin' up.
                         Even a boy wonder like you might learn somethin'."
                        Tom pitched the towel into a hamper, then shook his head.
                  "Nah, I'm gonna shower and go home.  I wanna catch my highlights
                                             on ESPN."
                         "Whatever.  Later, buddy."  Jackson waved and left the
                                           dressing room.
                        Bradley slipped out of his tights and boots, and wrapped
                   himself in a fresh towel.  Though he'd won the match, Smith's
                  initially vigorous performance had left him looking forward to a
                  strong water massage.  He was nearly to the showers when a voice
                                 behind him called out, "Bradley."
                        He turned, a little annoyed at being stopped short of his
                 destination.  Leonard Harris, match promoter and notoriously poor
                  dresser, shook a handful of contracts at him and said, "You were
                             sharp out there, Tom.  You got potential."
                       "I've got more than potential, Harris, and you know it.  If
                  you'd set me up with someone important for a change, the rest of
                                   the world would know it, too."
                       Harris straightened the lapel on his polyester sportjacket,
                   and walked closer.  "Yeah, well, that's what I'm here to talk
                  about," he said, lowering his voice.  "See, the fans are warm to
                 you right now, and I know you can pull a good crowd.  Most of the
                     singles titleholders are booked up for a while, though--"
                        "Then why are you talking to me?  I'm tired of waiting."
                         He held out his hands in a "keep it down" gesture, then
                  leaned closer.  "Let me finish.  The singles belts are busy, but
                   I can probably swing a tag team match with the state titlists.
                                  If you're interested, that is."
                        "Tag team?"  Tom shifted on his feet, a little surprised.
                                     "I don't have a partner."
                                   "Find one.  Unless you'd rather--"
                             "I'll get a partner.  And I'll take the shot."
                       Harris gave the kind of smile Bradley associated with used
                   car salesmen, just after they'd locked their jaws on a choice
                 deal.  "Great.  Just understand that I can't wait around forever.
                  I need you and your partner to sign the papers by next Tuesday."
                                              "No problem."
                         They shook hands; Harris' palms were characteristically
                            damp.  "I'll be waiting.  You got my card."
                       As steamimg water beat down on his body, Bradley considered
                 his options.  Being new to the area, he hadn't acquainted himself
                    with many wrestlers, leaving him with a small pool to choose
                 from.  The ones he knew were committed to other partners, or just
                     not good enough to credibly challenge for the title.  The
                      champions, a pair of intimidating masked men called the
                    Marauders, were rampaging through the region like a force of
                  nature, and the chance of generating a successful team strategy
                              with a near-complete stranger was slim.
                        Troubled with these thoughts, he re-dressed and left the
                  arena, to the private parking facility to the rear.  He stopped
                  next to a weather-beaten Mazda and fumbled around for his keys.
                    The thought of a title match pleased him for more than just
                    professional reasons; after all, he'd make more money from a
                  championship loss than he would from a win over a lesser-quality
                  singles opponent.  He might even be able to buy a newer used car
                                          after the bout.
                      Bradley looked up as a sleek black Lamborghini rolled toward
                    him, its engine purring with restrained power.  He passed a
                   lingering glance over the glossy, aerodynamic countours of its
                 body, and hoped he'd one day know the special thrill of owning so
                  elegant--and expensive--a vehicle.  It slowed as it neared, then
                              stopped behind his car, blocking him in.
                       He pulled his duffle strap higher onto his shoulder as the
                 car shut off, and the door on the driver's side slid up and open.
                 A strikingly beautiful woman emerged, and turned toward him.  Her
                   height struck him at once--she was eye-to-eye with him in her
                  heels--as did her strong, well-toned physique.  The neckline of
                    her skintight miniskirt was cut for a suggestive peek at her
                                          ample cleavage.
                                             "Mr. Bradley?"
                            He smiled.  "That's me.  What can I do for you?"
                       She walked to him, the heels of her hip-high boots clacking
                   on the asphalt, and extended a hand.  "Hello.  My name is Ava
                      Winchester.  I've been looking forward to meeting you."
                      Her grip was surprisingly strong.  "Thanks.  I'm flattered."
                          She looked away briefly, a cool summer breeze playing
                  through her thick brown hair, before meeting his eyes again.  "I
                   saw your match tonight, and I'd like to compliment you on the
                                  victory.  You were impressive."
                        "Thanks again.  I'm happy with it."  The more he examined
                   Ava's delicate face, and her strong, supple body, the more he
                    hoped he'd be occupied with something more interesting than
                              SportsCenter that evening.  "Nice car."
                                              "Thank you."
                       "I don't guess you'd consider a trade."  He patted the roof
                  of his Mazda, and said, "With a paint job and a rebuilt engine,
                                  this one would get you around."
                         She smiled, her brown eyes sparkling in the glow of the
                     overhead halogen light.  "I'll pass."  An awkward silence
                      followed, as she fumbled with her hands and exhaled.  He
                  considered asking her out for a drink, but decided to wait until
                    she'd made her intentions plain.  He could tell she wasn't a
                  groupie, but he doubted her sole reason for approaching him was
                 to praise his victory.  "Mr. Bradley," she said finally, clasping
                  her hands.  "You're probably going to laugh at what I'm about to
                         suggest, but I have an offer for you to consider."
                       Tom didn't like the sound of her statement.  He'd heard the
                 same thing too often from well-meaning churchgoers trying to herd
                                   in the strays.  "Offer away."
                        "I'd like to wrestle you at my private facility, and for
                        each pin you win, I'll pay you one million dollars."
                        Tom smiled, slightly dumbstruck.  This was more like the
                   indecent proposal he'd been hoping for.  "Wrestle me?  What do
                                             you mean?"
                       "Just what I said.  I have a wrestling ring on my grounds,
                 and I'd like to compete with you.  All the moves and rules you're
                                       used to would apply."
                      He considered what she'd just said:  that she wanted to face
                  him in real wrestling competition, and that she'd pay him seven
                    figures for every pin he won.  His dates often used playful
                    Greco-Roman freestyle action as foreplay--matches he enjoyed
                    letting his girlfriends win--but Ava was calmly discussing a
                   head-to-head confrontation of a coldly professional kind.  Tom
                     decided that this woman needed to be kept away from safety
                                   scissors.  "Miss Winchester--"
                                    "Please, call me Ava," she said.
                        "Right.  Ava, either you've got an Uncle that thinks he's
                 Napolean, or you've got more money than good sense.  I mean, I'll
                    be happy to lose a few on purpose, but for a million bucks a
                         fall...hell, I'd pin my own mother for that much."
                                  Ava seemed unfazed.  "Mr. Bradley--"
                                         "Please, call me Tom."
                      "Fine.  You may rest assured of three things, Tom.  First, I
                     am not deluded, psychotic, or otherwise mentally impaired.
                  Second, I'm a primary shareholder in Amatech Conglomerated, and
                  have more money in one mutual fund than you could collect in an
                      evening of pins.  Finally, I intend to prevent you from
                                   collecting any of the money."
                       He scratched the back of his head, trying to decide whether
                 to roll around with her for the sheer lewd thrill of it, or to be
                    kind and send her elsewhere.  Tom's id and superego clashed
                  momentarily, his libido prodding him to leap at the opportunity,
                  and his conscience wagging a finger of still-unresolved Catholic
                  guilt; he sighed as his conscience won the fall.  "Ava," he said
                 finally, "You're a beautiful woman.  Correction:  you're the most
                 stunningly attractive woman I've ever met.  And if you'd asked me
                  to dinner or out for coffee, I'd've jumped at the chance.  But,
                   I'd feel too much like I was taking advantage of you.  I know
                 some female wrestlers, maybe I could introduce you to them and--"
                       She moved her left hand from behind her--he hadn't noticed,
                     but she'd kept it obscured the whole time--and held out an
                 envelope fat with something square.  She dropped it on top of his
                                          car with a thud.
                        "That's ten thousand dollars, Tom.  Just for showing up."
                       Tom blinked, regarding the envelope cautiously.  He figured
                   it wouldn't hurt to count it, and picked it up.  The money was
                   there, in hundreds, all the bills crisp from the mint.  In his
                   mind, greed nailed conscience from behind with a metal folding
                                               chair.
                        She stepped closer, her face deadpan.  "I'm serious about
                   this.  You're a good wrestler, and I'd like to face you.  You
                         have nothing to lose, and immense wealth to gain."
                       "Well," he said, re-sealing the envelope, "If somebody put
                  you up to this, then they're out ten thousand bucks.  I might as
                                      well see this through."
                         She smiled, and Tom saw a hint of something dangerous.
                   "Excellent.  I'm looking forward to it."  She gestured to her
                         car, and said, "I'll be happy to take you there."
                        Tom was thrilled.  Not only was he going to grapple with
                     this exquisite woman, but he was also going to ride in her
                  exquisite car as well.  Money, a gorgeous woman, wrestling...the
                    whole thing was twisted and oddly exciting.  "Can I drive?"
                                           "I don't think so."
                         The drive to Ava's home went without incident, and they
                     passed the time chatting about the weather and the recent
                    fortunes of other wrestlers.  She surprised him with astute
                   observations on move strategy, and realized she was more than
                   just a casual fan with a peculiar fetish.  They arrived at her
                     estate half an hour later, in a secluded, wooded area that
                     bordered the ocean.  She fed a keycard into a slot at the
                 outskirts of her property, and a wrought-iron gate lifted and let
                   them through.  The road twisted through the surrounding forest
                  for at least half a mile, before terminating in a circular drive
                  adjacent to her villa.  The three-story mansion was a pillared,
                   ornate fusion of classic architecture and modern streamlining,
                  its intricate detail and proximity to the rolling surf making it
                             impossible for him to guess at it's cost.
                        "Nice digs," he said, closing the Lamborghini's passenger
                         side door.  "Didn't I see Robin Leach here once?"
                        "Absolutely not."  She aimed her alarm remote at the car,
                  and it chirped obediently.  "He eats too much, and I don't like
                                             cameras."
                       She gave him a short tour of the home, leading him through
                   room after room of sculpture, priceless paintings, and ornate
                    fixtures that put most galleries to shame.  It made him wish
                  she'd painted a yellow line on the floor for visitors to follow.
                    One false move would send him tumbling into financial ruin.
                        "Relax," she said, and took his arm in hers.  "This isn't
                   Sachs.  I won't hold you liable if you knock something over."
                         "That's nice to know," he said, his head craning for a
                                  better view of a Dali original.
                       They stopped as a maid walked in from an adjacent hallway,
                   heels clacking on the tiled floor.  She was a frosted blonde,
                 wearing a short servant girl skirt and black hose.  Her fair hair
                    and bright blue eyes were offset by a perfect tan.  "You're
                   back," she said, and looked at Tom; he evaluated her delicate
                    features and well-curved physique, and pronounced her Ava's
                  equal.  Looking him up and down with a sly smile, she asked, "Is
                               this the man you were talking about?"
                      "Yes.  Tom, this is Anna, my maid.  She's the only permanent
                                        staff I have here."
                          He took her hand, and gave her fingers a light kiss.
                                             "Charmed."
                            Anna giggled.  "Will you be going straight to the
                                            gymnasium?"
                      "That depends on Mr. Bradley."  Ava looked at him, and said,
                 "Are you tired after you match?  I can put you up for the evening
                                          if you'd like."
                       Tom considered her offer, but decided that the sooner they
                   were rolling around together, the better.  And if Anna were to
                 join in....  "Nah, I've had plenty of time to rest.  I might need
                              something fresh to wrestle in, though."
                        "Not to worry," said Anna.  "We've fresh togs for you to
                           wear.  You're a size twelve boot, aren't you?"
                                             "That's right."
                          "Then follow me," said Ava.  "I'm anxious to begin."
                       The boots, kneepads, and tights were a perfect fit.  After
                 changing, he was led to the east wing, where he found a two-story
                  complex equipped with free weights, resistance machines, aerobic
                    devices--a private training facility of unsurpassed quality.
                  Behind the weights was a half-court for basketball, and adjacent
                                   to that was a wrestling ring.
                        "I don't believe it," he said, as they guided him to the
                 ring.  "Somebody must've drugged my coffee or something.  I mean,
                                         look at all this."
                       "Trust me," said Ava, as he ran a hand down the cold metal
                  cornerpost, and along the ring apron.  "You're perfectly lucid."
                   He noticed her studying him, smiling slightly, leading him to
                    wonder if there weren't hiding an ulterior motive after all.
                        "Look," he said, making a final attempt to reconcile his
                    knowledge that she was unfairly overmatched.  "Have you been
                     training with anyone?  Or should I show you a few basics?"
                      "Anna and I train every day.  We've become quite even in our
                  matchups, so I thought it might be time to try a male opponent."
                                        "Just thought I'd ask."
                        "I'm going to change now.  Go ahead and get familiar with
                  the ring--it should be what you're used to."  He felt compelled
                      to watch her sway from side to side as she walked away.
                       He spent some minutes testing the flexibility of the ropes,
                      and practicing a few rolls to feel the give of the mat.
                   Satisfied that the ring was regulation, he began limbering up.
                  Anna came to the ring first, dressed in a black high-cut pelvic
                  leotard--thong-backed, to his delight-- and a matching half-top.
                       Her thick blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
                                 "Hi," she said, stepping into the ring.
                      "Hi."  Anna's beauty was breathtaking, and he had to make an
                  effort to compose himself.  His tights wouldn't do much to mask
                                        his true intentions.
                                      "I'm the referee," she said.
                          "Oh, okay.  I hope you're not gonna play favorites."
                                   "Don't worry.  I'll be impartial."
                       "I should hope so."  The voice was Ava's.  She was walking
                  toward them, wearing a black interlaced posing suit, which left
                   all but her breasts and lower body exposed.

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  It was cut to the
                   waist on the sides, and dipped low in front.  Her full, raised
                    breasts were barely concealed.  Matching boots and kneepads
                    completed the ensemble.  "Mr. Bradley will certainly need an
                 impartial official."  She bounded onto the apron, and leaped over
                   the ropes.  He noticed that the rear coverage of the suit was
                                          equally minimal.
                        Tom took a deep breath, and shook his head.  "Goddamn it,
                     what are you trying to do to me here?  How can I possibly
                     concentrate?  I mean, you're both--both just--oh, man...."
                         "Relax."  Ava ran her hands over her breasts, down her
                   chiseled midsection.  He decided that she and Anna were built
                  precisely to his tastes:  they were tall, strong, and athletic,
                  with lean physiques and ample feminine curves as well.  "You'll
                      have other things on your mind once we've started.  Like
                          surviving."  She moved toward him.  "Let's go."
                       He shrugged, and backed up a few steps, where they began to
                 circle one another.  Anna withdrew to a nearby corner, and leaned
                     over to watch, her hands on her knees.  Ava's face became
                     focused, her eyes never straying from his, her body tense.
                       They locked up, collar and elbow, and he moved first, going
                   behind her and embracing her waist.  He lifted her and brought
                     her to her knees, where he forced her to her stomach.  His
                   intention was to use only mat wrestling, and to immobilize her
                     with some simple holds.  He wanted to reduce her pain and
                   suffering as much as possible, while getting at least one pin.
                           Or a few.  Or ten, if she were still game....
                       Her body twisted in his arms, and she broke free.  Rolling
                   to the side, she jumped lightly to her feet, and crouched low.
                          "Excellent," he said, grinning.  "You got out fast."
                        "Don't patronize me," she said, and they locked up again.
                          It was her turn to move first:  she slid behind him and
                 jerked his arm into a hammerlock.  He winced; the move sent sharp
                      pain through his shoulder, much more than he'd expected.
                      Turning him in place, she took him under his body and around
                  his neck, and--to his shock--lifted him into her arms with ease.
                 A second later, she was holding him high above her head, her arms
                    fully extended, supporting him with no apparent difficulty.
                        "I told you I was serious," she said, and then pulled him
                   back to her; turning with his downward momentum, she spun and
                                   power-slammed him to the mat.
                       Dazed and shaken by the press-slam, he was vaguely aware of
                  her dropping astride his chest, and of Anna delivering a three-
                     count.  Ava lightly patted his cheek, to bring him back to
                                             coherence.
                       "Hello," she said, a sly smile on her face.  "Are you sure
                                        you're up for this?"
                       He shook his head, trying to clear it, as she stepped back
                    and pulled him to stand.  "How...how in the hell did you do
                                               that?"
                       Ava winked at Anna.  "The mechanics of the move are pretty
                        simple, Tom.  If you'd like another demonstration--"
                        "Never mind," he said.  He re-gained some stability, then
                                 said, "Okay, let's do this again."
                      They came to grips, and she shot a knee into his midsection,
                  bowling him over.  Ava lifted him up and slammed him down, then
                    launched into the ropes as he lay prone.  She leaped on the
                 rebound--gaining easily ten feet in height--and landed across him
                    with her body.  She followed this with a succession of elbow
                              drops, punishing his chest and sternum.
                      He lay helpless, more pain lancing through him than he'd yet
                 felt in his professional career.  She stood and paced around him,
                                     considering her next move.
                              "You can pin him again, probably," said Anna.
                        "Probably.  But I'm not through yet."  She pulled him to
                  stand; he wobbled on his feet, still disoriented.  She flew off
                  the ropes again, then jumped and brought him down with a flying
                  clothesline.  He twitched as she slid over his chest once more,
                                        and was counted out.
                        He came to a few minutes later, coughing and weak, barely
                    able to roll to his side.  Ava lay beside him, propped on an
                   elbow, one eyebrow raised.  "You're back.  I was beginning to
                                              wonder."
                        He struggled to sit up, and rubbed his neck.  "I--I don't
                                           get this...."
                            "What's to get?  You're getting your ass kicked."
                         "Thanks."  He staggered against the ropes momentarily,
                  before managing to right himself unassisted.  Anna looked at him
                              closely, trying to gauge his condition.
                          She asked, "Are you okay?  Are you hurt or anything?"
                       He winced at the throbbing pain in his midsection and neck,
                    and felt like he'd just survived a high-speed wreck--barely.
                                "I'm fine.  C'mon, let's go again."
                          Ava shrugged and rolled up, her movements now loose,
                   confident.  A sinking feeling set in that he was trapped, that
                    she'd used his libido and overconfidence to get him into the
                   ring, and that now he was paying the price for underestimating
                 her skills.  His mind raced as he tried to grasp the implications
                   of what was happening:  excuses aside, Ava was dominating the
                   encounter, something he'd never expected to happen.  He'd seen
                    the news reports about the Dominion virus--a strange, sudden
                 phenomenon that had vastly enhanced the bodies and muscle quality
                   of the world's female population--but had only considered the
                     cosmetic implications.  A world of tall, athletic, shapely
                     females seemed like a libidinous dream, but he'd scarcely
                 realized the broader implications.  The match had gone beyond the
                   mere opportunity for financial gain:  if he didn't establish a
                   credible presence, the match might represent a shift in gender
                 dominance world wide, something he was surprisingly uncomfortable
                    with.  He steeled himself, determined to take control of the
                                               match.
                       They circled again, Tom's body still aching from her prior
                  attack, before moving to lock up.  His forearm thumped the side
                 of her head, and he followed this with an arm bar.  He tossed her
                  to her back and fell to his knees, cinching in the lock, trying
                   to slow her and recover some endurance.  She quickly rolled to
                      stand, decreasing his leverage, then forced him slowly,
                  deliberately, back into the ropes.  Anna ordered them to break,
                                and Tom grudgingly released her arm.
                        She swung a clothesline at him, and he reflexively ducked
                    and rushed to one side.  He jumped and hit her with a flying
                  dropkick, which staggered her back, then whipped her across the
                   ring.  On the return, he landed a reverse flying elbow, which
                   sent her down.  With momentum finally on his side, he jumped,
                  targeting her forehead with his knee.  Unexpectedly, she rolled
                  away, and his knee met the mat with painful force.  She gripped
                     his ankle and cinched in a leglock, twisting his knee with
                   alarming force.  He groaned as she cinched the move in.  Anna
                    dropped to one knee beside him, ready to accept a submission
                                        should he offer one.
                       Ava dragged him to ring center, where she stepped over his
                  leg, then fell back and locked in a figure four.  He flailed his
                    arms, pain lancing through his weakened knee, as Ava applied
                        brutal pressure to the joint.  He fought to maintain
                     conciousness, before his vision spun, blurred, then faded.
                       When he came to, Anna was massaging his leg, feeling it for
                 deformities.  "Seems okay," said Anna.  "I don't think anything's
                                              broken."
                         "That's good," said Ava, a predatory smile on her lips.
                                  "I'm not through with him yet."
                       He ignored her remark, and tried unsuccessfully to sit up.
                    Ava dropped and slid to him, and wrapped her legs around his
                  chest, just under his arms.  The air rushed from his constricted
                     body as she rolled to her knees, sat down on his side, and
                   tightened the hold.  Her breath came in shuddering gasps, eyes
                   fluttering as erotic warmth pulsed over her from within.  She
                    cupped her breasts and stroked her fingers over her visibly
                  stiffened nipples, no longer content to suppress the sensations
                                             she felt.
                              Biting her lower lip, she moaned as her arousal
                 intensified, and alternated the pressure between a death grip and
                  something she felt he could tolerate.  Try as he might, he could
                  neither roll her off nor pry her python-like legs away.  He was
                    helpless to prevent her from squeezing the life out of him.
                      "Poor guy," Anna sighed.  "I hope there's something left for
                       me.  Ava, I don't think he can signal a submission--"
                        "Good."  Ava lifted one of his faltering arms, and licked
                                    and nibbled his fingertips.
                       The burning heat washing over her reached a fever peak, and
                   she decided to terminate the encounter with her favorite hold.
                    She opened her legs, allowing him to roll prone, then moved
                   forward to lay on her side.  Holding the back of his head, she
                 pulled his face against her lower body, then slowly, agonizingly,
                 clamped her legs around his skull and interlaced her ankles.  She
                   writhed and bucked in time with her sexual rhythms, lower back
                      arched, breasts jutting out, glistening with a sheen of
                    perspiration as she squealed and screamed with each passing
                 climax.  The sensation of his head trapped between her thighs, of
                     his face crushed against her sex brought her to frequent,
                 sustained orgasm of incredible intensity.  Tom grit his teeth and
                   groaned as she abused him, too weak to resist.  As his vision
                   clouded into a field of flashing points, he realized he'd been
                  completely dominated, and that the world--and his perception of
                                    it--would never be the same.
                       "He's coming around," he heard Anna say, as he drifted back
                                          to conciousness.
                        "Yes, but I think he's had enough.  I don't want to risk
                                     injuring him permanently."
                        Tom opened his mouth to speak, but all that emerged was a
                  hoarse gasp.  He lacked the energy to lift any part of his body
                                           from the mat.
                        He felt them unlacing his boots, and they slid them off,
                      followed by his kneepads.  Ava asked, "How do you feel?"
                                    "B-bad," he groaned.  "Real bad."
                      "Don't worry," she said.  "You won't be going anywhere for a
                                              while."
                      After what he'd just gone through, and the humiliation borne
                    from it, Tom wished they'd dump him by the side of the road,
                    rather than keep him around.  If they had some strange snuff
                 climax planned, he was helpless to prevent it, and hoped that his
                         corpse would be identifiable if it washed ashore.
                         Ava crawled over him, and sat across his stomach, still
                   tingling with arousal.  Anna reached to behind Ava's top, and
                   unclasped it; it dropped away, revealing her perfect breasts.
                     "I'll admit that I called you here for more than athletic
                 purposes, Tom," she said, sliding her hands over the warm skin of
                  his ribs and chest.  She lowered over him, and pressed the stiff
                 points of her nipples against his pectorals.  "I've wanted you at
                 my mercy since I first saw you wrestle.  You didn't win any pins,
                  but you do get the consolation prize."  Her lips met his warmly,
                     passionately, her tongue working into his mouth.  The kiss
                           lingered for some moments, before she parted.
                      They pulled away his trunks, then slowly, sensuously removed
                  their clothing.  In spite of his fatigue and exhaustion, he was
                  no less overwhelmed by the sight of them.  They crawled to where
                    he lay, and stroked and fondled him, their lips, hands, and
                      bodies sliding over him and eliciting instant response.
                            Working in tandem, Ava and Anna used Tom in every
                    conceivable way, losing all control in their passions.  They
                   enjoyed their union for long hours, alternating between tender
                   caresses and erotic frenzy, leaving him coated with sweat and
                 their fluids.  Satisfied and exhausted, they carried Tom from the
                   ring, to molest and caress him in the hot tub.  They concluded
                    the evening by depositing him in a guest bedroom, where they
                                dropped onto him and fell to sleep.
                          He awoke to find Ava atop him, riding his post-sleep
                   erection.  She snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him.
                                     "Good morning," she said.
                        Tom returned her embrace.  It was good, he decided, to be
                        screwed awake by a beautiful woman.  "Where's Anna?"
                        "She's making us breakfast.  And she's getting an icepack
                              for your knee, to prevent any swelling."
                        "Better make that an ice tub.  I'm gonna need total-body
                                             therapy."
                         Ava squealed and bit his shoulder, muffling her cries.
                    Changing her rhythm, she said, "Don't worry.  I know I was a
                 little rough, but Anna and I will pamper you back to good health.
                     We'll subject you to massages...hot tubs...group sex...and
                                anything else we think you'll need."
                         He smiled, and tightened his arms around her.  He wasn't
                 much into hurt/comfort relationships, but in this case, he'd make
                   an exception.  "Ava...that was the craziest night of my life."
                       "I hope I didn't discourage you from continuing.  You're a
                                        talented wrestler."
                        "Discouraged?  Hell, I'm thrilled.  It's not often I run
                   into girls like you two.  You're special."  They kissed again.
                  "Y'know, if I'd won any money, I know what I'd've spent it on."
                                                 "What?"
                                                 "You."
                       She looked genuinely touched by the statement.  "Even after
                                            what I did?"
                         "Hell, yes.  I'll get over my bruises, and like I said,
                     you're special.  Not to mention enigmatic, beautiful...and
                               loaded.  What more can a man ask for?"
                                     "Since you put it that way...."
                       As their rhythm continued, he nibbled the nape of her neck,
                   prompting her to scream and buck.  He took some time to locate
                    her pleasure buttons--her earlobes and the small of her back
                  among them--and, having done so, played her like an instrument.
                  As he brought her successive multiple orgasms, he thought it was
                      interesting that someone so dominant in the ring was so
                                        manipulable in bed.
                         Between peaks, Tom asked, "Have you thought about going
                                               pro?"
                         She nodded.  "That's one reason I brought you here.  I
                                 wanted to see if I could cut it."
                         "I'm glad you mentioned that."  He rolled atop her, and
                   pushed her right leg up and over, altering his angle of entry.
                  Her cries began again, in earnest.  "You see, I've got a little
                                      proposition of my own."
                       Anna came in, carrying a tray of pancakes, eggs, and juice.
                  "Breakfast is served--"  Noticing them hard at work, she put the
                  tray aside and began to unzip her servant's costume.  "Hey, save
                                       some for me, willya?"
                      "Y'know, this is gonna pack 'em in.  A championship tag team
                   match--and a woman on one team."  Leonard Harris checked Tom's
                    and Ava's signatures, and shook his head.  "Hell, they'll be
                                      beatin' down the doors."
                       "Just make sure the Marauders show," said Tom, tapping the
                       man's desk.  "I don't want to miss this opportunity."
                        "Don't worry, they'll be there.  I suspect they'll get a
                    kick out of beatin' up a woman.  They aren't known for bein'
                                       especially sensitive."
                         "Trust me, Mr. Harris," said Ava.  "I don't require any
                          special treatment.  I'll give as good as I get."
                                           "Better," said Tom.
                        "Y'know," he said, as they walked back to the car.  "Anna
                   really ought to be your partner.  If she's wrestling you to a
                            standstill, then you'd be perfect together."
                       "Trust me, I won't let her stand on the sidelines.  But I'm
                      looking forward to being your partner, rather than your
                                            adversary."
                          "That's good.  I'm not sure I'm paid up on my health
                  insurance."  She pulled him close, and they kissed again.  "Now
                 whaddaya say we go study some tapes?  I've got a lot of Marauders
                                      footage in my library."
                        "Later.  Right now, I want to bring you back home and pin
                  you again.  Only this time, I think I'll just bring you straight
                                              to bed."
                                              "Thank God."
                                                     More to follow....
                  (The events and characters depicted in this story are copyright
                             1993 Mike Shoemaker, all rights reserved)
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