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Old 12-Oct-15, 01:22
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Default The Future Beckons.

Here's another story featuring Miss Stacey Soloman, shortly after her comprehensive thrashing of the two teens, Phil and Dave ( See A New Direction For CAI ).

THE FUTURE BECKONS PART ONE


The placid surface of Coniston Water was beginning to lighten as dawn began to paint its palette. Soon, the ephemeral wreathes of early morning mist hanging over the lake would give way to the revealing light of a new day. Stacey sat in her car, drinking coffee from the thermos flask, watching the still, silent waters before her, and she contemplated her future. In truth, her future though much brighter than she had anticipated a few weeks ago, was still far from clear. After publicly humiliating and annihilating those two young upstarts Dave and Phil, the direction that she should choose for her career was still unclear.
There had been opinions expressed that said that her Singing and Presenting careers had been irrevocably damaged by her very raunchy performance in the wrestling ring. That to perform in these areas required a squeaky clean image, not one of bare breasts and public lewd behaviour with two minors. Perhaps the jury was still out on that one, after all, bare breast exposure had not seemed to do a lot of harm to the career of Madonna.
The fact was that she liked wrestling. She especially liked wrestling men. Hell, she liked to destroy men in front of paying spectators. She did not consider herself sadistic in the slightest; she just like to put forward her side of the argument regarding which was the superior sex.
Maybe, subconsciously, she had already made up her mind and had moved things along a bit. She was certain that the CAI would be more than happy to arrange some more very lucrative matches for her. They had said as much and she knew for certain that they had made record profits from her fight with the two boys, both from gate receipts and video sales. The public had never seen anything like it. It was Femdom for the masses.
With that in mind, she had visited a local wrestling venue in the nearby town of Barrow-In-Furnace, with a view to seeing what the grassroots wrestling game had to offer. She had taken the precaution of wearing a dark, short wig and spectacles and went un-noticed as she took her seat. It was a typical Fleapit venue, like a lot of others up and down the country. She found the program dull and uninspiring. The actual hall was grubby and tawdry and more seriously, the wrestling itself was dire. The show was an all male program with the performers going through a series of poorly executed, choreographed moves that struggled to get even a faint smattering of applause from the largely disinterested crowd, that only showed any animation when the “Special Challenge Event” was announced. That turned out to be a “Have A Go” match between a resident Champion and a member of the public who fancied his chances of winning £100. The challenger had put his name down the previous week and it was something that seemed to happen on a weekly basis. It was Wrestling’s take on the old Fairground Boxing Booths. The actual contest proved to be a great disappointment, with the challenger being a nineteen-year-old boy with no experience who was probably drunk, when he signed up and now regretted it in the cold light of day, a week later. His opponent, the “Undefeated Champion Who Will Fight All Comers”, turned out to be a masked wrestler who was about 3 stone overweight, 5 feet nine inches tall and as close as the mask would allow, about 50 years old. Hardly electrifying material. Despite all this, the “Champion” won with contemptuous ease, as the boy was like a rabbit in the headlights and was scared shitless.
The fact was that she was used to the CAI and any comparison with this was like comparing Sunday Pub League with the Premiership. Sure, there was theatre and drama within the CAI matches, but these here were blatantly fixed matches, and to a person who had wrestled to huge crowds, the fixing was very obvious, with “victims” actually assisting their aggressors. And the very small crowds seemed to be buying the deception.
Stacey left in disgust before the end of the farce, but only after making up her mind to contact the owners of this charade and make them an offer that they could not refuse.


TO BE CONTINUED.

Last edited by bonnie4444; 12-Oct-15 at 01:24. Reason: typo
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  #2  
Old 19-Nov-15, 00:17
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Default Re: The Future Beckons.

Here's the next part of "The Future Beckons".

THE FUTURE BECKONS PART TWO


Stacey followed up her plan the very next day and contacted the office of the people who in her mind were responsible for the sporting travesty that she had witnessed the day before.
In actual fact, they were not the type of people that she had expected. They were a family run business that had been promoting wrestling, on and off, since the mid 1960’s. A gentleman who had since died had started it and the business was now run by his daughter, a charming woman, in her late 40’s.
Stacey had been careful to disguise her very pronounced Essex accent in her original ‘phone call, when she had put forward her proposal. It was that she would challenge their resident Champion on the next Bill and she was prepared to put up £1000 if they would match the sum, with the winner taking all. She would be masked and wrestling anonymously and the fight would be over four 5-minute rounds. There would be no falls, only Knockouts and Submissions, with either ending the round. Also ropes would not intervene the action and there would be no disqualification.
She was amazed that the soft-spoken woman immediately accepted her proposal on the lone proviso that they should meet. If Beth----that turned out to be her name---thought that the match was viable, then it would go ahead.
Now there was the first hurdle to cross. Stacy had not thought this through. She had expected to remain “incognito” throughout the affair. In retrospect, it was obvious that the Promoters would have wanted to meet her; they did not know if she could even wrestle. Now Stacey was worried that when her true identity was revealed, they might not be so certain that their man could beat her. There was nothing else for it, she would have to meet Beth and hope that all would go well.
In reality, she need not have worried about the meeting. True, Beth was surprised to discover her real identity, but she said that the surprise was a pleasant one. She said that she found it hard to believe that one of CAI’s big stars would “slum it” in the provinces, and understood why Stacey insisted on the mask and complete anonymity. She was curious as to why Stacey thought that she could beat their Champion. He was a rough house brawler, who had been earning his living fighting against all comers, four or five times a week, in small venues up and down the country, for the past twenty years. He was crude but effective, whereas Stacey was a relative newcomer, who had only seen the glamorous side of the wrestling game. Beth told her that the Champion was not interested in meeting “this ridiculous girl” but that he was so sure of victory that he would put up the £1000 stake out of his own pocket. Beth of course was delighted. She was sure that she could sell the match, and it wasn’t even going to cost her. It was win/win all the way.
Stacey, on the other hand, was confident in her own ability. Girls fighting within the CAI had real ability. They had received intensive wrestling training from the best in the business and were all extremely fit and dedicated and importantly had a lot of experience fighting bigger, heavier males. Female wrestlers tended to be faster and more flexible than their male counterparts and in the main, not that much behind them in the strength department. In short, she had seen him fight and was not expecting to lose. The fight was on and would take place in three weeks time.


TO BE CONTINUED.
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  #3  
Old 01-Dec-15, 19:16
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Default Re: The Future Beckons.

Here's Part Three of "The Future Beckons". As usual, I have included some pictures to illustrate the finishing move used by Stacey. They are there purely for illustration.

THE FUTURE BECKONS PART THREE


Well, the big day was finally here. She was standing in the ring, facing the “Fight Anyone” Champion and despite the fact that he was overweight and did not look very fit, he looked supremely confident. Stacey was wearing a black one piece, cut high at the legs, as favoured by a lot of Japanese lady wrestlers. It made her already superb legs look like they went on forever and of course, showed off her pert, taut bottom to perfection. She had teamed it with black wrestling boots and a black laced up wrestling mask. The whole effect was dramatic and slightly menacing, which was just what she wanted. Her opponent was wearing large red trunks, above which, his belly protruded. He also wore red boots and a red ski type mask.
As they came together at ring centre, Stacey appeared to have a height advantage of about 3 inches, but was giving away a lot of weight to her opponent. She looked that she might also have a considerable advantage in the fitness department. In her eyes, it looked as if he trained on pies and pints and she was confident that her speed and skill would run him ragged and he would soon be exhausted. Once at ring centre, he immediately tried to intimidate her, by invading her space, his big belly pushing hard against her. She was having none of that macho bullshit and backed off slightly, before shaking hands and returning to her corner.
The atmosphere before the bell sounded was electric and Stacey decided to give the punters a show. The Champion came out of his corner, with a strange slow, stiff legged gait that exactly suited Stacey’s game plan. Almost as the bell was ringing, Stacey charged from her corner and delivered a peach of a flying dropkick to his chest. It was the last thing that he was expecting and although by no means hurt, it caught him off balance and he was propelled heavily back into his own corner. Stacey had always been fast and she was back on her feet and running again towards her surprised opponent, before he had collected his wits. Another nimble jump brought her feet into the champion’s ample belly, and grasping his head at the same time, she fell backwards into a perfect Monkey Climb. Those sleekly wonderful legs completed the move, propelling him overhead, to land flat on his back in ring centre. The move was such a surprise, that it knocked the air out of his lungs, leaving him momentarily stunned and lying prostrate on the canvas.
Now the wrestling ring is definitely not the place to be having a nap. Before he had even recovered his wits, Stacey had once more regained her feet, leaped into the air and brought one of those deliciously sexy legs, crashing with great force, across his throat, in a perfect legdrop. The crowd witnessed the effect of this, as the Champions legs involuntarily jacknifed into the air.
Unfortunately for the Champ, Stacey was just getting going. Seizing his ankles, she dragged him nearer one of the corners and positioned him diagonally. She then ducked under the top rope and from a position on the apron; she climbed onto the top turnbuckle. Stacey did not usually use high-risk Arial manoeuvres, but she had caught the Champ so cold, that she had decided to take the risk. As she stood poised on the turnbuckle, her natural height and the height of her perch, gave her the appearance of an avenging angel. Wasting no time playing to the gallery, she leaped and for a moment, seemed to hang motionless in the air, before crashing down upon her victim: one knee smashing into his ribs and the other, driving deep into his big belly. The effect was immediate as the Champion rolled into a tight foetal ball, his face a mask of agony. He tried to get up, but fell back down, his feet beating a tattoo upon the canvas. It was likely that he would have been counted out, but Stacey was having none of that, and pulled him to his feet, where he stood crouched over, unable to fully stand up. Even standing thus, he required the support of the ropes to keep from falling over again. Stacey knew that he was ripe for the taking and went to the other side of the ring, before running full tilt at him. The running kick hit him with tremendous force; the sole of her wrestling boot exploding against the side of his head, with enough force to send him between the top two ropes and out of the ring, before falling to the floor below the ring. He crashed onto the unpadded surface in a totally uncontrolled fall, and lay motionless.
This should have been a Knockout, but the rules of Health and Safety prevailed and proceedings were halted, whilst a doctor examined the Champion, in order to see if he was fit to carry on. Stacey was livid as she waited and watched the battered Champion regain his senses, as the Doctor checked his reflexes and pupils, until he was sure that he was not unfit to carry on. Only then, was he allowed back on his feet, to make his way up the steps to the ring apron. Immediately he was standing on the apron, Stacey resumed her onslaught, landing two hard Forearm Smashes, and then grabbing his head, and pulling him over the top rope, back into the ring. It was obvious that the Champion had not fully recovered his senses as he remained seated on the canvas. Stacey wasted no time,
and positioning herself behind him, she dug her fingers, claw like, into the nerves at the base of each side of his neck. When this hold is properly applied, it is excruciating to the victim, and Stacey applied it perfectly. At first, her victim struggled furiously, and although the ski mask prevented everyone from seeing the agony he was feeling in his facial expression, his bellows of pain were a good indication of that. As the Nerve Hold began to take effect, his struggles grew more and more feeble. When asked by the referee, if he wanted to submit, it seemed that he was unable to even answer. After what must have seemed an eternity to him, Stacey released the terrible hold and watched him fall sideways, where he remained, twitching spastically.
Stacey gazed on the scene with fascination. She had of course known that the nerve hold, which she had applied, was a devastating one, but she had not really expected the result that she was witnessing. This man was of course overweight and not in the first flush of youth, but he had still been a very powerful professional wrestler and she had rendered him thus. He lay there, apparently unable to rise, twitching like someone receiving electric shocks or someone with the palsy.
Deciding to end this pathetic show, she seized his ankles and dragged him on his back, towards ring centre. She now folded his right shin behind his left knee and then held his left leg under her right arm. She now threaded her left arm through his legs and firmly grasped her right hand. She now threw her right leg across his body and turned him over, in a similar manner to a Boston Crab. Stacey stood and looked at the crowd, before sitting down and placing that perfect bottom into the small of his back, whilst simultaneously pulling his legs back, thus completing the Sharpshooter. The screams of agony that came from the Champion’s throat bore witness to the incredible pain that this hold produced, and that same pain immediately cleared any cobwebs that might have remained in his brain, courtesy of the Nerve Hold. The Champion knew that he had to get out of this hold and the only way to do that was to submit to this masked girl. His hand became a blur as he repeatedly beat the canvas and said the words, “I give. I submit. Get her off me.”
Stacey was only dimly aware of the continually clanging timekeepers bell, but she knew that she had got the first point and so reluctantly released the hold. She heard the Referee announce that she had taken the first point by way of a submission, with a Sharpshooter, in the time of 2 minutes and thirty seven seconds of the first round. She had stamped her authority on this match, for all to see, and she could not wait for Round Two.


TO BE CONTINUED.
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  #4  
Old 01-Dec-15, 19:36
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Default Re: The Future Beckons.

"She had stamped her authority on this match for all to see
and could not wait for Round Two"

Me neither

Stacey looks like winning more easily than a peak form
City with Aguero, Silva, Ballotelli, Dzeko, Nial Quinn and Denis
Law all up front would against a pub team...look forward
to the ski mask clad no hopers next indignity.....Great stuff
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Old 12-Dec-15, 14:39
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Default Re: The Future Beckons.

Not a Sharpshooter. It's a Texas Cloverleaf. Sorry I'm a wrestling geek. Enjoyed the story though.
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Old 12-Dec-15, 16:14
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bonnie4444 bonnie4444 is offline
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Default Re: The Future Beckons.

I bow to your superior knowledge. Perhaps you could post some pics to highlight the difference ?
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Old 16-Dec-15, 16:32
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Default Re: The Future Beckons.



Here's Nattie Neidhart with the sharpshooter on Michelle McCool. She uses one arm around her opponent's boot. The cloverleaf is more a double underhook around both legs.
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Old 16-Dec-15, 19:12
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Default Re: The Future Beckons.

Rated G,
Thanks for that clarification.
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Old 17-Dec-15, 00:38
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Default Re: The Future Beckons.

Here's Part Four of "The Future Beckons". No illustration pictures this time.

THE FUTURE BECKONS PART FOUR


The Champion, who had often been billed as “The Bar Room Brawler” over the years, was wishing that he were back in a bar, instead of in a wrestling ring, facing this devil woman. As he waited in his corner for the start of round two, he gazed across at his adversary and knew that he had a problem. This was no gawky kid trying to prove to friends how macho he was. This was obviously a trained fighter who was younger, taller, fitter, faster and more skilled than he was, and he guessed that she could even match him in the strength department. His advantages were a considerable weight advantage, which he could use to tire her out. In addition, he had nearly twenty years of dirty tricks to use against her, which he felt sure that she could not match.
When the bell sounded, mindful of her dazzling speed, he came out with the same slow, stiff legged gait. This time however, as her neared her, he started to make placatory gestures. He then, after placing one hand behind his back, he slowly extended the right hand. It was that old chestnut, the fake handshake. A slow smile spread across his face, invisible under the ski-mask, as he saw her take the bait and go to complete the “sporting” handshake.
His humour was short lived however, as upon clasping his hand, she drew him towards herself and smashed her shoulder into his face. He was more surprised than hurt by the shoulder block, but the backhanded chop across the side of his neck and the huge Forearm Smash which connected under his jaw were a different matter. As he stood rooted to the spot, he was wide open to the vicious Head butt, which caught him across the bridge of his nose. By now, she had backed him into his corner and the ensuing Snap Mare, which took him into ring centre, seemed like the closing sequence of a series of well-practiced moves. The Brawler was slightly winded after landing flat on his back and was unprepared for Stacey’s next move. She had positioned herself against the ropes and after a short run up, she leaped into the air and crashed down with her shin onto the Brawler’s already damaged nose.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. The Brawler howled, grasped his face then rolled onto his front, whilst at the same time drumming his feet on the canvas in distress.
Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Stacey calmly straddled his back, and after placing her feet slightly forwards, she pried his hands from his face. She now pulled his arms backwards and upwards, before neatly draping them over her raised thighs. She had him trapped in a textbook Camel Clutch and she was about to make him suffer. Reaching forward, Stacey clasped her hands under his chin and pulled his head back strongly. The effect was to put an extreme reverse curve on his spine. She held the position for 10 seconds, before relaxing the hold again. This cycle was repeated several times and each time she was rewarded with groans of pain from the helpless Brawler.
“Oh, stop complaining. Most men would pay a lot of money to have me do this to them”, Stacey mocked, “Oh, but I was forgetting that you are going to be paying a lot of money, when you lose that £1000 to me.”
“I’m going to kill you, you fucking bitch,” the Brawler spat out, savagely.
“No, you’re going to submit to me again, but before that happens, let’s have a good look at you”, Stacey replied.

The first inkling that the Brawler had, regarding the full meaning of Stacey’s words, were when he felt her fingers go to work on the short lace up portion of his mask, situated at the back of his head, and he knew with certainty, that she was going to unmask him.
“No. No, not the mask. Leave the mask alone. That wasn’t part of the wager”, the Brawler roared, as he struggled ineffectually.
“I do believe you’re right”, Stacey purred, “but it’s coming off anyway. If you don’t like it then sue me.”
The Brawler kissed goodbye to over 15 years of tradition as he felt the mask ripped from his head.
Stacey was having great fun as she threw the Brawlers famous mask into the crowd. She now wriggled her wonderful bottom more firmly into the Brawler’s spine, before lifting her feet and crossing them behind his head. The Champion was now trapped in one of the most humiliating holds in mixed wrestling----the Lotus Lock and the crowd loved it. All he could do was shake his hands and bang the canvas, in frustration, with his feet. The Referee was not sure how to interpret the Brawler’s actions, and asked,
“Do you give, Brawler?”
“Never”, roared the Champion.

Stacey decided to milk the situation, and was rewarded by long groans of pain from the helplessly trapped wrestler, as she alternatively tightened and relaxed her thighs. Still holding him very tightly with only those killer thighs, she re-adjusted the top of her one-piece costume. The struggles had caused the bodice to slip a little and she was showing rather more of that wonderful cleavage than she wanted to. At least for the moment. She decided to really increase the humiliation by grasping his forearms and forcing him to repeatedly clap his hands. The net effect of this was more than just humiliation. When his palms connected in each successive clap, the pressure on his shoulders was almost unbearable; normal arms just were not designed to be forced to carry out such manoeuvres as this. Each forced clap came very close to ripping another submission from his throat; only pride prevented it. To the crowd, it looked like a bit of humour, but to him it was anything but.

Here he was, trapped in a lotus lock by a beautiful girl who was forcing him to clap hands like Andy Pandy. She had stripped him of his wrestling mask and was making him look like a complete fool in front of his home crowd and he was not able to stop her at the moment. Everything ends however, and his present predicament was no exception. Suddenly, those lovely but deadly legs, untwined from behind his head and he was back in a normal Camel Clutch.
“OK, big guy, it’s submission time for you”, Stacey said sweetly.
She once again cupped his chin and pulled back. This time however, she inserted her forefingers into his mouth and hooked them inside his cheeks, being careful to avoid his teeth. She then simply pulled. The pain was unbearable. It felt as though his mouth was about to rip and he immediately screamed out his submission, although the words came out garbled, due to the hold that she was applying. He waved his hands frantically, as best he could, trapped in the Camel Clutch and eventually the Referee forced Stacey to break the murderous hold.
The Brawler continued to lie face down as he heard the Referee announce that the mystery lady had once again forced him to submit and now led by two submissions to nil.


TO BE CONTINUED.
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Old 27-Dec-15, 05:53
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Default Re: The Future Beckons.

Here is Part Five of "The Future Beckons" that features an incognito Stacey Solomon. She uses an unusual submission hold that is easier to illustrate than describe so I have included pics of a 15 year old girl using it to force a larger male wrestler to submit. Big for a 15 year old, isn't she ?

THE FUTURE BECKONS PART FIVE.


The Brawler was sitting heavily on his stool, as he waited for the start of Round Three. That was something that he had not needed to do in over 15 years of professional wrestling. He was feeling shattered both physically and mentally. This bitch had brought him to this point in only two rounds and he was bereft of ideas. He looked across at her and the mad cow was sitting on her stool and was unlacing and removing her wrestling boots. She was actually removing her boots. She finished and dropped the boots to the floor outside the ring, and left him wondering just what was going on in her head. He also wondered what she looked like under that mask, because he had to grudgingly admit the she looked as sexy as fuck; almost like a dominatrix, considering what she was wearing. He realized that his thoughts were wondering and that he must keep focused on the job in hand, although it looked like a draw was the best result that he could get, with only two rounds remaining.
He was rudely jolted out of his reverie, by the bell to signal the start of the next round and was dismayed to see how quickly and eagerly she sprang from her stool, to meet him.
He had decided that his best course of action was to rely on his perceived advantage in the strength department and to offer her the time honoured wrestler’s invitation to a contest of strength, which he did by extending his outstretched right arm above his head. He waited for Stacey to clasp his hand with her outstretched left hand. He would complete the manoeuvre with his left hand and the strength contest would begin. Ironically, he had intended to be clean and fair in this matter, because he was sure that he would win.
Stacey, however, had other ideas. Her sharp wrestling brain knew that he had the advantage in matters of outright strength and acted accordingly. Before any hands actually clasped, she took a swift half step back and brought her right foot up with dazzling speed into the triangle of the Brawler’s slightly splayed legs. Her instep smashed with devastating force into the Brawler’s testicles. This action would not have satisfied the provisions of the Lord Mountevans Rules and should have resulted in an immediate disqualification for Stacey, but the Referee did not wish to ruin the contest. He was in a dilemma, until he remembered that this was a “No Disqualification” bout. Even so, he felt the need to instruct Stacey not to pull another such blatant breach of fair play. During this admonition, the Brawler continued to roll around the canvas in obvious real distress.
In the best wrestling traditions used by heels for decades, Stacey made placatory gestures to the Referee and apologized profusely for her “moment of madness”. Without being aware of the transition, Stacey had crossed the face/heel line, and was now perceived as the villain of the piece, by the crowd, who were booing her loudly.
Well so be it, she thought. “If you’re now cheering for this fat bastard, instead of me, you’ll see just how bad a heel I can be”.
The Brawler was still down and lying on his back, with his knees drawn up, as Stacey’s huge leg drop landed across his throat, causing the level of abuse from the crowd to go even higher.
Stacey now dragged the Brawler across the ring and positioned him off centre. She then seized his hair and pulled him to a sitting position. Stacey then charged across the ring and bounced back off the ropes, like a stone released from a catapult. To be honest, the Brawler was almost out of it, and knew nothing of what was going as Stacey’s feet smashed into his face with a vicious low level Dropkick, knocking him back down to the canvas.
The Brawler was now barely conscious as Stacey again dragged him back to his feet and after positioning his head between those perfect thighs and after grasping him around his ample girth and then lifting him upright, she brought his head into brutal contact with the canvas in a brutal Piledriver
The crowd were now really baying for her blood at what they perceived as the excessive degree of punishment that she was doling out to the outclassed male wrestler. This actually had a negative effect on the situation and drove Stacey into even more excesses, as she again dragged him up and delivered a second devastating Piledriver to the unfortunate man.
The Brawler was still not knocked out and was actually making weak, though ineffectual attempts to get back up.
“God, but this is one hard bastard”, Stacey thought with reluctant admiration, and right there and then, she decided to finish this penultimate round.
Kicking him again in the head, she knocked him back down to the canvas and then seizing his ankles, she dragged him into the centre of the ring.
Her chosen means of ripping another submission from this man’s throat was a move that she had seen used by an emerging girl wrestler from Canada, who was named Maddison Miles. This girl, although quite solidly built, was a mere 15 years of age; yet she had forced a larger mature male wrestler to publicly submit to her in a quite humiliating fashion. She had practiced the move in training, and although complex, it was considerably easier to apply, once you had weakened your opponent to a sufficient degree; the Brawler was definitely weakened now.
She quickly applied the hold by trapping his legs then turned into the hold. Next, her leg snared his neck and she cranked up the pressure by pulling on her own foot. The effect of all this was swift and spectacular. The Brawler, who was totally trapped in the hold, immediately started to bellow and wave his arms furiously in an obvious sign of submission. Both the Referee and Stacey later claimed that they had not understood that he was submitting and Stacey cranked the hold up even further. After about thirty seconds of this extended torture, the continual ringing of the timekeeper’s bell, eventually brought an end to the poor guy’s suffering and Stacey released him.
The Brawler was now in a really bad way, as he dimly heard that the mystery lady had secured a third submission.


TO BE CONCLUDED.
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