“I’m 19,” he complained to his parents, “surely I can choose where I get to stay?”

“You’re still living in your parents’ house, so we still get to tell you where you will stay,” his mother had retorted, so that was that.

Jenny, who was the same age, was outgoing, and she found Steve boring. She suggested a ride on the bikes, but he didn’t fancy it. What about going to the tennis courts? No, thanks. He just wanted to stay in the spare bedroom playing video games. She was also slightly indignant that he didn’t seem interested in her company. The cheek of it! True, they were cousins, but his attitude seemed to be that she might just as well not be there. Well, she wasn’t having it.

She flung open his bedroom door, and told him he wasn’t natural, spending all the time indoors, squinting over a computer screen. He was shocked on two levels: firstly, there was her audacity; but secondly, it was her appearance. He had seen her on several occasions in the past, and found her to be an irritating, spotty girl. But now he was looking at a young woman. Her black leotard, bare over the shoulders, folded itself over her lovely, medium-sized breasts. Its lack of material lower down showed off her curvy, shapely figure.

Steve stood up and tried joking that he would throw her out of the room. When she challenged him to try it, they struggled briefly until they fell on the bed, Jenny on top. She succeeded in pinning him, but he managed to dislodge her.

This led to a keen argument, with Steve crowing that he had freed himself, and Jenny claiming it was because of the springy bed surface. He wouldn’t be able to shake her off him on the floor, she claimed. When he disagreed, they resumed their struggle on the floor, and she did indeed manage to glue him to it, with no hope of release.

Their panting, gasping struggle could be heard downstairs, and when “Mother” returned from shopping, she hurried upstairs to see what the problem was in the bedroom. She beheld her daughter triumphantly sitting on her nephew, with him vainly struggling and cursing beneath her. Interesting.

She had no objection to their fighting - if anything, she encouraged it. Her only objection was that it shouldn’t be in the bedroom, and there was an outside ring for it. But when Jenny got off Steve, she noticed a bulge in his shorts and a small stain on them. No, any suggestion of sex between cousins was taboo, she said. But she had a solution: Steve must go naked, and she fetched a sinister-looking cage for him to wear over his penis, to prevent any erection. Then she sent the pair of them outside to face off in the ring.

*****

Unsurprisingly, Steve wasn’t happy about the cage around his penis. True, he agreed that intimacy between cousins was wrong, but it had been impossible not to be aroused when those two lovely breasts of Jenny’s were swinging inches from his eyes. Or when he tried to remove her by grabbing two hands full of her strong, round buttocks.

But “Mother” had been adamant. She might, she said, be “progressive” (or weird, he thought privately), but there were limits. Seemingly, the fact that he was about to wrestle her daughter was within those limits. That young lady gave him the strangest of looks, that he couldn’t fathom – then broke his reverie with a low punch in the gut.

Steve’s mouth opened in a sharp gasp as her fist landed only just above his cage. He clutched his burning abdomen while she grabbed his head, forcing him downwards. She whipped her left arm around his neck and near left arm in a choke. She linked arms to cement the hold, surprising Steve with her strength and speed, and forced him down to his knees.

Jenny worked him onto his back and pinned him. Still choking him with her linked arms, she lay across his upper body, with her right thigh weighing down his right arm. He tried to prize her off with his “free” left arm. It was enough to irritate her, so she reverted to including it in the choke, now lying over him.

Clearly, Steve wasn’t in her league. The only things he had learnt about wrestling were picked up from watching it on television and listening to the commentary. Whereas Jenny, at some time, had obviously learnt it as a sport, and built up her strength in the gym. Lying over him and to the side, she locked his right arm in her thighs, while hauling him up by the chin in a crossface, a strange term to use for the easy smile which she wore.

Clearly favouring various forms of choke, she again lay across him, over his head, with his neck and left arm once again trapped within her linked arms. His right arm was once more trapped in her thighs, forming a rear naked choke. By now, she had severely weakened his arms, while restricting his breathing had a debilitating effect on him through lack of oxygen.

Like a restless sleeper (no pun intended) Jenny changed position. She still lay over Steve, but faced the opposite way, locking his left arm in her thighs, and his right arm in her hands. There’s no such hold as a “double arm lock”, but that’s what it was. For good measure, she twisted his right arm as well, causing him to cry out.

She couldn’t leave those arms of his alone! Lying to the side of him, she hauled his left arm through her thighs until she sat on his shoulder joint. It was a classic armbar, and she wrenched any remaining usefulness out of the limb. “Mother” smiled and nodded to herself indoors as Steve’s shouts of pain wafted through her open windows. How proud she was of her daughter!

Now sitting behind him, Jenny maintained the headlock in her right arm while trapping his right arm under her right thigh. Her left hand gripped his free arm. The feel of her strong fingers on his bicep gave his cock a nasty nip, making him yelp, as it tried to grow within the confines of the cage. Why should he be aroused at the realisation she had a strong grip? He had never had such confused thoughts before.

But Jenny wasn’t innocent, herself. In the bedroom, she had been aware of the sexual power of her body over Steve as much as its physical power, and she relished it. So now, while she hauled his right arm behind her into a lock, she sat against his face. You could – just about – give her the benefit of the doubt and say it was a head scissor. Even so …

On the other hand, she aspired to be a professional wrestler, so she made herself stop the tormenting and concentrated on demolishing her opponent. Lying over him, she reinforced the arm lock by using both hands, while keeping his free arm from doing any harm by securing it under her left leg.

“Mother” clenched her fist and exclaimed “Yes!” as she heard Steve blaspheme when her daughter twisted her nephew’s arm this way and that. Jenny was concentrating on it as if it were part of a practical examination that she must pass.

Kneeling with her right leg over his throat, her knee on his right arm, and her left leg still fixing his left arm to the mat, she continued her merciless manipulation of his unfortunate right arm. Steve shouted an expletive as the mistress of the torture chamber intensified her work. Even the view directly above his eyes of the gentle contours of her upper thighs towards the modest V of her leotard couldn’t distract him from the agony she was inflicting.

Crouching over him, Jenny gripped both his arms by the wrists and proceeded to twist his weakened limbs. Steve wondered if they would ever be any use to him after she had finished. She put the greatest strain on his elbows, shoulders and wrists, but the various muscles and tendons also suffered. She made his arms look as if they were part of some complicated frame, all joined and overlapping at irregular angles.

It was time for a solo arm attack again. Lying over him and imprisoning his left arm in the crook of her left leg, she continued her onslaught on his right arm. Steve thought he was going to be sick with the pain. She wasn’t right in the head, he thought, clearly deriving pleasure from his suffering, with each twist and screw of his brutalised arm.

At last she let it go, perhaps believing that she couldn’t extract any more pain out of it. But she turned her attention to his left arm now. Crouching over him on his side, she heaved it up until - again – she was sitting on his shoulder joint. She locked his arm with the hand over her shoulder. Then the manipulations began all over again. Oh God, no, thought Steve. His yells had stopped being a novelty for “Mother”, who shut the window because she was getting fed up with them.

But Jenny didn’t spend long with this arm. He was right-handed, and that was the arm she needed to concentrate on (as if she hadn’t enough already). She bundled her victim onto his front, lay over his back, and wrenched his arm into the crook of her right arm for yet another lock, this time behind him. She looked at as much of his face as she could see, fascinated by the contortions on it created by her repeated attacks on his arm.

But why make one limb suffer when you can do two? Yanking Steve onto his side, she squatted with her knees prodding his back, and inflicted a leg arm lock on him, with his right leg and arm held tightly in the crooks of both her arms. She had, after all, neglected his legs so far, and she thought it was high time she broadened her assault.

Jenny levered his arm and leg into unbearable, perverse angles from their joints. Steve shouted himself hoarse as she went on with her work. Her smile had gone by this time, and she dedicated herself to dominating her prey. She linked her arms, just to put a couple of notches more into the strain on his leg and arm.

So, with both his arms and his right leg of no use to him, she turned her attention to his left leg. Banging Steve onto his front, she sat on him just below his shoulders and dragged him up by the left leg, which she bent over her right shoulder, locking it.

“Less noise, Steve,” she hissed at him, while making sure his loud protests continued.

“I wish I’d never come here!” he wailed into the mat.

“What are you going to do, tell your mother?” she taunted, extracting just that bit more pain from him. What she was doing caused strain of varying intensity from his neck to his foot.

When Steve had wished Jenny would leave his arms alone, he didn’t contemplate what she was capable of doing to the rest of his body. But now she went at it with a vengeance. She forced him onto his back. Then, showing great strength and confident balance, she hooked both his legs in the crooks of her arms, and yanked him up by his legs into a bridge. She bent his body three ways. His shoulders were on the mat, while his upper body pointed at the ten past position. His upper legs were locked into the quarter to position, while his lower legs pointed upwards. He resembled the letter Z.

To add to his discomfort, while she was looking upwards (and smiling, no doubt at the torment she was inflicting on him), her hair tickled his manhood within the cage, making it want to leap to life, and causing it to rage against its prison. It was pure sadism.

When she allowed him to drop flat on his back, she straddled his head and pulled his hair. Then she head scissored him properly, still pulling his hair. But that was a secondary concern for him. The primary concern was lack of oxygen and the strain on his neck.

Wringing the variations (as well as his neck), Jenny sat behind him and wrapped her elastic legs shut around his neck once more. She leant back, supporting herself on her hands, clearly enjoying herself. Then she tried it from the side. He didn’t care where she did it from – it all bloody hurt.

He was close to passing out, she knew. So she gave him just long enough to avoid it, then placed him on his side, and resumed the scissor on her side and behind him. She held onto his left arm, in case he got any ideas, but it was unlikely to be very effective after what she had done to it. But she couldn’t resist twisting it a little, just for a bit of practice.

Using the scissor, Jenny pulled Steve up off the mat, except for his left leg, by doing push ups with her arms on the mat. It was as much about showing off her skill and strength to him as it was about gaining further advantage. And why not? Demoralising your opponent is a legitimate tactic in sport. She certainly was strong, too. Lifting a full-grown man in her thighs by doing push ups would have been too demanding for anyone not in peak physical condition.

She brought him crashing down on his head in a limited, homemade, slam. But she kept the scissor going all the time. Working him onto his front, she opted for a more comfortable position. Resting on her right hand, she head scissored him from sideways on, smiling at Steve’s impotence. He gave up complaining, because it was a waste of precious oxygen. She could just hear his troubled, shallow breathing. Once again, she held his near, right arm, just as a precaution. But it wasn’t necessary.

“Mother” appeared at her house window, attracted by Steve’s unaccustomed silence. Jenny smiled at her, and “Mother” nodded back, understanding that her daughter had everything the way she wanted it. A keen wrestler herself, she took a professional interest in the bout.

Steve flopped and went limp. Jenny gave her mother a victorious wave, with the useless male’s neck still wedged between her thighs.

With a sigh, she relinquished the hold and stood over the vanquished young man, flexing and posing, while “Mother” took some pictures. (No doubt they would find their way to Steve’s phone.)