“Hello,” he replied a little questioningly.

“My name’s Rachel,” she told him. He looked at her for a moment. She seemed about 20. Her short black dress and elegant black stiletto-heeled boots gave her dark good looks the faint air of a dominatrix – or was that just his mind indulging its fetish? Even her glasses seemed to him to belong on the face of a rather severe counsel for the prosecution. He told her his name, hesitatingly.

“I’m a sort of neighbour,” she explained, “and I live up there.” She pointed to a block of flats a short walk away.

“Okay?” Mark replied, wondering where this was going.

“I think you should know that, from my window, you can see down into your little yard.”

“Really?” he blushed, because he certainly wouldn’t want any spectators for some of the things that went on there. “From that far away?” he asked, incredulous.

“You can with the aid of a very powerful telescope,” she explained, completely unembarrassed. “My partner’s an astronomer,” she explained, and he uses it to observe the stars. If you tilt it down and point it in this direction, you can see your neighbours, life-sized.”

“I think I’ll go to the police,” Mark told her.

“Of course, you can do that,” she replied, seemingly not at all concerned. “But they would want to see evidence of wrongdoing. This evidence, while incriminating me, I think would be worse for you. You see this telescope is also a camera, and it’s captured some choice pictures of your fight with a lady in a white leotard [Gallery 930] while you were naked – you bad boy! Do you want to see them?”

Mark invited her into his flat. After briefly and clumsily “trying it on with her” to try and persuade her to drop her idea, she pushed him away and retrieved her phone. Sure enough, she showed him pictures she had taken of Ella indulging in various forms of head scissor, clearly ecstatic.

“So what – or how much – do you want?” Mark asked glumly

“Oh, I don’t want money,” the mysterious girl dismissed the idea contemptuously. I want to be … her. I do a bit of martial arts myself, but it’s always strictly in an educational self-defence form, with no exploration of what some may consider taboo. I want to fight you in that cage of yours.”

“I see,” Mark said, relieved at her novel form of blackmail. How about now?”

“Yes, right now,” Rachel replied, slipping off her dress, to reveal a black leotard moulded around her voluptuous figure. “Come on, get those clothes off - you bad boy!”

*****

“I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted to do this!” she told him, stroking him under his chin once they were in the cage. “When you fought that girl – what was her name?”

“Ella.”

“When you fought Ella, was that your first time in a CFNM fight?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it!” she crowed. “I could tell by the looks on your face, which were as vivid to me then under the telescope as they are now with the naked eye. I could see all the doubt, fear, but excitement too, in your face. Part of you loved it, didn’t it? The ‘normal’ you hated being beaten and dominated by a clothed woman while you were naked; but the experimental you adored it, as did she. God, I’ve been wanting to do this! Now get on your knees!”

Mark complied, without knowing why, and she planted a smart toe cap and stiletto heel on his chest, while pointing at him.

“I’m going to emasculate you and turn you into my grovelling, snivelling bitch, you wimp,” she sneered, pushing with her boot to force him onto his back.

After staring derisively down at him for a moment, she knelt over him and pinned his wrists, staring into his eyes. The thing he noticed the most – even more than her eyes boring into his – was how strong her grip was on his wrists. This “bit of martial arts” she had mentioned seemed to him to be an understatement, and he could tell he was pitted against a devotee of combat sport.

Rachel chuckled and moved up his body until she sat on his face, borrowing heavily from Ella’s example. She engulfed his face, while all the time those deceptively strong hands of hers imprisoned his aching wrists. Mark couldn’t move. He made protesting sounds, which she ignored, until they died away. He had passed out.

Rachel moved back down his body and flexed over him. She rubbed her buttocks over his manhood, both to bring him back to consciousness and to torment him. Having achieved both simultaneously, she knelt on one knee over his face.

“Well, how disappointing,” she continued in her disdainful vein. “I hoped you’d show a bit more fight, and give me a bit of competition,” she complained. “I aimed to turn you into a wimp, but I didn’t expect to start off with a wimp,” she goaded him – successfully as it turned out.

Taking advantage of the fact that she no longer pinned his wrists, Mark suddenly jerked his body up and she tumbled backwards, landing on her back. He sprang on her.

“That’s more like it,” Rachel purred in his ear. “Give me a proper fight!”

They grappled, Mark uppermost, while she struggled to break free. He placed his hand on her throat and she contested it fiercely. But the advantage was with Mark, because it was his right hand against her left hand, plus the fact that he was on his front, working downwards.

It was his turn to straddle her. He was quite strong after all, and what she had called his ‘normal’ side was reasserting itself. He folded her arms over her chest – just because he could – then, laughing at the irony of their reversed fortunes, pinned her, now holding her arms beyond her head.

Mark worked her onto her front. When he squatted over her, she expected a camel clutch. She was right, but first he insisted on kissing her to assert his dominance. No more femdom for him for now on! What had he been thinking of? No, the man was in charge, or he was nothing.

Now came the camel clutch. He stretched her up by the neck until tears filled her glasses. Jubilant that he had avenged his earlier humiliation, he pushed her onto her back, mauling first her breasts then her sex. He held her legs up so he could parade his degradation of her, as if he had an audience of thousands. Rachel brought her legs back towards herself, in an ostensibly defensive move to keep him at bay. Mark, ugly with his triumph, ogled her sex in front of him, upturned and ready to be exploited. He went to grab it – and his arm was wrenched painfully into a trap.

Too late did he realise her “defensive” move had been a ploy. Her thighs snapped shut around his neck and left arm as she hauled him into a triangle choke. Her strong hands dragged his arm to such an extent that his left shoulder felt as if it would burst. One pair of ladies’ sophisticated, expensive boots crossed over behind Mark’s bull neck, which her versatile thighs proceeded to squeeze, along with his arm at its shoulder joint.

“Brute strength has its place, but it needs to be tempered with cunning and subtlety, wouldn’t you say?” Rachel asked, posing the question as in an intellectual argument, while she settled into a more comfortable (for her) armbar. Lying to the side of him, she hauled his left arm again through her thighs to its extreme endurance, while trapping his neck and right arm with her legs.

“Yes, just as I thought,” she continued, slowly increasing the pressure and pain. “You see, I understand men, just as men never understand women. For a few moments, you ‘came to your senses’ in your view, and looked to reassert your dominance over a weak woman. How weird, you thought, to enjoy being dominated by a woman. But then, when her superior calculation (or trickery) got the better of you, she turned the tables, and – despite yourself – you enjoy it.”

“Nnngggoooo!” Mark protested.

“NnnnnggggggYes!” Rachel answered, swiftly switching sides and arms before he knew what was happening. “Of course you enjoy it – you have a massive erection! Do I have to point it out to you – with my heel?”

He vainly tried to protect his manhood with his weakened left hand; but a stiletto heel will always get through, as his scream verified. While she continued with a purist’s armbar, as you will see illustrated in many a wrestling manual, she mercilessly prodded his balls with her heel – definitely not illustrated in any instruction booklet. But no one can deny its effectiveness.

When she relented, Mark rolled onto his side in the foetal position, clutching his balls and whimpering, while she mocked him, kneeling on one knee behind him. She stood up and coaxed him to sit, then told him she was losing patience with him, ominously clenching her right fist. With an angry order to “Stop whining” she shoved him onto his back and punched him in the eye.

“The first time I made a man cum,” she explained, while his eye blackened around her fist, “was in a fight. I wrestled him onto his back, punched him in the face a few times, and he came in his pants underneath me. I was sitting on his middle, got him with a beauty in the eye, he said, ‘Ah, shit!” and then started to spasm underneath me. That’s when I discovered how much I loved dominating men – and how much they secretly love being dominated!” Rachel concluded, sitting on his chest and sweeping his face with her left fist.

“I’m going to make you cum, just like he did,” she resumed the narrative, sending his head back in the other direction, like a pendulum, with a right hook.

Now sitting on his erect cock, she banged her left fist into his temple, her bottom moving rhythmically with the punch. Mark tried to dislodge her, but all he got was a handful of her tight left buttock – the last thing he needed to distract him from his arousal.

In she went at him again with her right fist to his other temple, her lovely round bottom seeming to rock over his penis now. Mark gritted his teeth, trying to resist equally the pain she was inflicting and his impending ejaculation.

Rachel cracked him on the jaw with her left. From the start of this fight, he’d been made aware of the strength of her hands, and now she was reminding him (while gyrating her wondrous buttocks around his manhood).

Irritated with his ineffectual pawing of her left buttock, after she had sent his head spinning with her punch to his jaw, Rachel grabbed his right wrist. She took aim, and methodically but destructively punched him in the same eye as before with her other fist. It was destructive in more ways than one, because it broke Mark’s sexual resistance. With a shout, he orgasmed underneath her as she rubbed her buttocks against his cock one last time while her fist met his eye.

“You dirty bastard, you’ve cum over my nice leotard!” Rachel rather unfairly rebuked him. “Right, you must lick it off, and if you don’t pleasure me at the same time, I’ll make you wish you’d never had this ‘secret’ fighting cage of yours built!”

Luckily for Mark, he both cleaned her leotard and pleasured the strange, unpredictable young woman above him, now gasping in delight. When this delight subsided to manageable levels, she flexed in victory while still straddling him. After that, she stood over him in classic dominatrix style, with one stiletto heel over his spent penis, while her clenched fist above her head recalled her recent destruction of the useless male under her foot.