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You close your eyes tight against the speeding foot but it flies overhead. When you look
again, her buttocks press againt the side of your face. Her taut thighs squeeze your
shoulder which she`s straddled, and she pulls your hand up her front. Your chest tenses
and spasms in short bursts, breath continues to fail you. 
     The dark crack between her toned buttocks seems a continuation of the vice-grip with
which her thighs squeeze the top of your arm. You plant a staying hand to her ass, noting
the flexes of her back and shoulders. The flesh of one of her breasts presses the back of
your raised hand, then she turns your wrist and applies pressure. 
     Pain shoots down your arm and into your body. You cry out. Struggling for breath,
you now break sweat as her force charges through your body like a paralysis. The fingers
of your free hand splay out, tense with the agony. She applies yet more pressure and the
pain magnifies. 
     The referee squats before you, knees apart. Her cherry lips smile, and she raises a
brow. You tear your gaze from her to Marcus. He has his hands gripped to his hair,
turning, as if he doesn`t know what to do with himself. When he catches you looking, his
angry face yells at you to do smething. Your manage to draw a sharp, shallow breath, and
then another, but the pain at your wrist holds you still. You can do nothing. 
     Your wrist begins to numb, and as if she knows what you`re feeling, your opponent
pushes hard on it. 
     Yield? So soon? Your body ripples with shock impulses from the wrist, and you can`t
believe it but you`re going to have to quit. You work your mouth and choke on the short
breaths that draw so little air to your lungs. 
     The referee watches, studying your face with a casual ease.  
     Your opponent applies even greater pressure. It feels as if your wrist will snap,
and panic flares your heart. 
     You try desperately to give before the wrist breaks. "I gi - I giv- I yiel- I
-"
     The blonde moves foreward and runs fingers through your hair, then grabs a handful
at the back of your head and jerks it back. She moves her mouth onto yours, pulling you
into a theatrically passionate kiss. Her tongue searches yours while her forceful kiss
denies you the air that you struggle for. Jolts of emergency pain register from your wrist
and you fail to respond to the kiss, instead spending your energy in suppressing screams.
Small gasps escape you as the referee mashes her face into yours, her tongue probing deep.

     The blonde pulls back. She stands, wiping her mouth and crotch at the same time. She
turns, walks to the hessian rope, and bends down, legs straight. You gaze at the peep of
her pubic mound and hear her voice. "He didn`t give, match continues."