Sitting in the front row, and out of their uniforms, they had been at their outrageous worst during the match. Chantelle would make “fighting” gestures at him, little kicking movements, clenching her fists, or indicating one of her knees. Sometimes, when he was in their area of the ring, she would lean forward so that he could view more of those wondrous breasts from above than you got at eye level. Meanwhile Diane would keep looking at her fingers, and collapse them in order, as if she were playing an instrument. Occasionally she would glance at him, and make a quick “wanking” gesture.

Jake’s one consolation was the drive home. He loved his fast car, and at that time the roads were empty so he could roar along, leaving his defeat and those two scheming women far behind.

Once home he opened a beer, had some food, and decided to relax in front of a film with a few more beers. It was one of those police films where they were forever chasing criminals in different locations. One minute they’d be in New York, the next it would be Tokyo. In this particular film they ended up in the desert. Jake sipped his beer and chuckled at the unreality of it all. He yawned, stretched out his legs, and wondered when the beautiful woman would appear …

It didn’t take long, did it? There she was, “thumbing a lift”, and Jake saw his chance. Women love fast cars, and he’d impress her properly with his. He stopped at the smiling woman, and wasn’t a bit surprised to find that it was Chantelle, who instantly climbed in the passenger’s seat. He started up, and she leant forward, emphasising her cleavage. He had always longed to feel her breasts, and he took this as an invitation. Her response was to clench her fist and backhand slap him.

“Now you must drive us to the arena,” she told him, “otherwise we’ll be late for your match.”

The drive took them through the desert to the arena, and the ring where the match would take place. It was more like a cage really, and one of those homemade ones where Jake had first fought in amateur contests. There was no audience either. As they got out of the car, Chantelle started play-acting again, pretending to be scared to enter the cage with him. She and Diane were always making fun of him, he thought bitterly.

That was a point, where was Diane? They always worked together, and Jake couldn’t see her. But she appeared once they were inside the cage, dressed as a nurse.

“He grabbed my tits while we were in the car,” Chantelle told her.

“Then you must fight him, and get your revenge,” Diane answered. “Here, I brought your fighting leotard. While you change into it, I must examine Jake. You see,” – she looked at her fingers, and seemed to play a flute with them – “I’m a penis specialist. Take your GI off, Jake.”

Chantelle sniggered as Diane felt his penis and commented, “Hmm, it’s not up to much.” But she declared him fit to fight anyway, and said they must start without her, because she had to go and get something for that penis of his.

“Oh, you poor boy!” Chantelle laughed, stroking Jake under the chin. “We’re always teasing you, aren’t we? Mind you,” she continued, pointing at his cock, “You seemed to like it when she examined you! But you’d better look out, because I’m going to punish it in revenge for you grabbing my tits in the car. Come on, fight!”

This was his chance to get revenge on one of those mocking cheerleaders. He’d wipe that smile off her face! No fancy karate moves, just a straight punch should do it.

“Have this!” he growled in his sleep, but it wasn’t his day. Chantelle leant out of the way, and elegantly, gracefully, kicked him in the balls. The burning pain made him shriek. Chantelle exploited his temporary helplessness, forced him down on one knee, and dragged his left arm into an armbar, teasing him by wobbling her breasts over his arm.

He’d always had a “thing” about those breasts. Go on Jake, admit it to yourself. He smiled and ruefully murmured “Yeah”. But what was she doing now? Where had she gone?”

“Cooee!” she called from behind him. Before he could turn round, she had kicked him in the balls, laughing as he “froze” in reaction. First left then right she kicked him, pinning him to the spot with one foot then the other planted underneath his balls from behind. Then she moved to the side and karate-kicked in the same place. It was too much for Jake to absorb, and he tumbled onto the “canvas” of the makeshift ring.

But she didn’t stop there. Even as he was landing she back-kicked, and yes; once again she got him in the balls. She did one of her cheerleader dances too, half celebrating, half teasing.

Now what? She sat behind him, pulled his legs up and apart and probed obscenely with her left hand. Jake’s mouth opened in a silent scream as her hand ravaged him where he was most vulnerable. Then she turned away from him, hooked his legs under the crook of her left arm, and heaved him up into a Boston Crab. The girly, flirty cheerleader had put the seasoned male fighter in Boston Crab! Her hand now turned its attention to his cock and balls.

“You’ve always wanted me to do this, haven’t you Jake?” she asked, searching with both the question and the action.

For the second time he admitted the accusation with a “Yeah”.

He found himself staring at a pair of shapely feet, with painted red nails. Looking up, he saw Diane was back. How lovely she looked without her nurse’s coat! She was dressed in a “nurse’s” white leotard, cut high above the hips, with two generous horizontal gaps in the material over her breasts, which rivalled Chantelle’s. Why was she pointing at him?

He felt his body drop. It was all it could do, he accepted, because fighting back was out of the question. Chantelle now sat on him and raised her arms in triumph.

“I beat him, Diane!” she cried.

“I knew you would!” Diane told her. “But I’ve come back about that penis of his. It needs an injection of enhancer if it’s to keep up with what you have in store for it! Pull him up for me, will you, so I can inject it?”

“With pleasure!”

It was a return to the Boston Crab. Diane brought the needle to his balls, but Jake felt no pain. Instead, a warmth spread from his balls to his cock. What a feeling!

“Ooh!” exclaimed Chantelle. Look what you’ve done to his cock! It’s massive now!”

“Of course,” chuckled Diane, walking out of the ring. “Have fun!”

Chantelle sniggered, let Jake drop to the floor, trapped his left arm in a lock, before she recommenced violating him from behind. Next she turned to face the same way as him, and once more used the armlock to torment him by rubbing her breasts against his arm.

“You’ve always had a ‘thing’ about these, haven’t you, Jake?”

“I love ‘em!” the sleeping man murmured.

Chantelle, frowned, stood up, and violently turned the lock into a twist. By placing her left knee in his arm and shoulder socket, she was able to manipulate his fingers as well.

Hauling him upright, she appeared to change her mind, and opted for a kick to the rejuvenated balls, declaring herself keen to see how his cock would react after the injection. She turned this adroitly into a tomoenage, sailing him over her upturned body via her right foot on his balls.

One of Jake’s skills was a fast recovery after a fall. In his dream he tumbled over, but exploited the fall to end up on his feet. It was high time he fought back, and he swung a karate kick; the woman anticipated it, dropped down, and elbowed him in the balls. Then she flipped her body over, and double back-kicked him in the balls, before opting for a single right kick launched from her on her back.

“I must get supplies of that injection!” Chantelle called out joyfully. “Look at your cock now! It’s much longer than my foot against it!” She concluded by moving her foot up and down, teasingly.

But it was only a fleeting tease, for she now twisted Jake’s left arm, dragged him above her, and banged her left knee into his balls. While he was still stunned, Chantelle supported herself on her right hand and knee, and horizontally kicked him once more in the balls, before jumping up, and switching to kick him there with her right foot. All the time she wore that mocking smile that Jake knew so well. It was what – he was convinced - caused him to lose his match that evening.

First with the left knee, then with the right, she attacked his balls, headlocking him for good measure the second time. This had been what she implied, sitting in the front row of the audience, by indicating her knee occasionally.

She didn’t relent. It was a return the left knee, while she cradled his troubled head against her breasts. Then she let go of his head, swapped back to her right knee, and punched him in the mouth. Didn’t the grinning bitch clench her fists occasionally in the audience too? Yes, Jake thought bitterly, this is what she meant!

She powered her right knee into his balls, before grabbing his wrists and switching to her left knee. With the next knee swap, she combined it with her left elbow into his chin as well, still clutching his left wrist to hold him where she wanted him. But she did allow him to sink to the ground in agony for a moment. It was a ploy, however, because she seized his legs, pulled them up and away from each other, and continued the knee assault from above.

“Right, left; right, left,” she laughed. “We could be in the Army!”

Chantelle pushed Jake down onto his front, and punished him from (and in the) rear. Then she swung him onto his back, and resumed the onslaught.

“Is that Diane coming back?” she asked, looking round for a moment. She had him in a near- schoolgirl pin, with her left foot menacing his balls. “No? Oh, what a shame! She’d love to see this!”

Somehow, as if she had many more legs than simply two, Chantelle managed to raise Jake to his feet, never once letting up with a knee to his balls. Once he was up, she “properly” attacked them, knee to knee again. The last time she did this, she sensuously slid her smooth thigh slowly under his cock and balls, until they rested at the top of her thigh, tantalisingly close to her sex. She pushed her body firmly against his, wickedly teasing his raging erection.

Suddenly she sprang back a step, assumed her cheerleader dance routine, taking his hand as if her were her partner, and daintily but devastatingly kicked him in the balls. In his dream Jake idiotically mirrored her dance, while Chantelle turned and back-kicked in the same place.

He had always been susceptible to her beauty, and as she was only a pace in front of him, couldn’t stop himself from reaching with both hands, and feeling her trim waist, then her round hips and lovely bottom. He sighed; then groaned with pain as her right foot struck his balls.

Chantelle swapped to her left foot, then turned to face him. She seized his right arm with both hands, pulled him towards her, and slapped her right foot into his balls, meanwhile gracefully leaning back, ballet-style. Then she turned away once more and hook-kicked upwards, Jake’s cock twitching and straining to rub against her buttocks. She teased him once more by slightly brushing it with the delightful flesh.

Showing her acrobatic skills, Chantelle now did a handstand in front of him and back-kicked with her left foot. This one was too much for him. He roared in his sleep and fell backwards in his dream, away from the laughing Chantelle. She turned round, crouching after her handstand, and giggled at the tumbling, ungainly man.

This was too much for Jake. She’d insulted and humiliated him, and now he was going to avenge the embarrassment. He jumped up, roaring with anger, and ran at her, still crouching. He towered above her, raised a fist … and she punched him in the balls. Jake froze on the spot once more, made into a statue by this fresh onslaught. Then she turned sideways on, and elbowed his balls, before lying underneath him to ram her right knee into the same place.

“You might as well have the full menu again,” declared Chantelle, lying on her side and kicking upwards with her right foot.

She stood up and adopted a karate stance, daring Jake to attack. He’d had enough of the mocking bitch and high kicked. He surprised a fly, but missed the tormenting woman, chuckling behind and to the side. Then she showed him how it was done, hitting the familiar target with her right foot.

In the same old style, she switched to her left foot. Jake slumped forward, folding around the foot that was doing so much damage. He nursed his balls once she withdrew her foot. Chantelle helped herself to this new opportunity, and brought her right elbow down on his neck. Jake was falling, and grabbed her to stop himself. Even in the state that he was, he was stimulated by the sensation of holding her round her upper thighs and bottom.

But Chantelle was relentless, and cracked him on the neck with her other elbow. He sank to the ground, and was met with her right foot on his face. She then lay on him, hooked her legs around his, and her arms around his neck, and rolled them over into the Black Widow hold.

“Now, let’s see if Diane’s injection works,” she cried, rubbing his cock and balls with her feet.

“It does!” she shouted in triumph, as Jake panted, yelled and juddered. “You’ve come everywhere!” He was still ejaculating as she forced him onto his knees and grabbed him in a headlock.

She wrestled him onto his front, and yanked his right arm, locking it behind him. Then she turned him onto his back, brought his legs upwards against her, and started stroking his balls.

“That’s injection’s great!” she called to no one in particular, as he climaxed again, hitting himself in the face.

“Now, let’s see if it’ll work a third time,” she said, spreading her fingers out and collapsing them one by one, just like Diane did, while he recovered. “Now, when a lady curls her slender fingers, with their painted nails, around a man’s cock, she usually gets a result. She moves them up, under, over; sometimes together, sometimes individually. She probes, lightly pinches, glides … yes, we have a hat-trick! Look what I’ve done!” she exclaimed to Diane, who had suddenly appeared, carrying handcuffs.

The two women chortled at the mess on Jake’s face, and marvelled at the effect of the injection.

“Here, you have them,” said Diane, holding out the handcuffs to Chantelle. “You were the one who beat him up and made him come!”

Chantelle locked his wrists together and marched him to the gate, while Diane (now a policewoman in dark glasses) brandished a gun. She threatened him with the gun, while Chantelle (now also a policewoman) swung a truncheon ominously, menacing him with it. They forced him to his knees, and celebrated by standing apart and joining hands, the way they always finished their cheerleader routine …

On the TV, the police caught the villains in the desert. Jake never knew if they were terrorists, drug smugglers, or someone who had put their rubbish out on the wrong day. He shivered, and wiped his mouth where he had spilt beer, after falling asleep before drinking some. But there was something wrong. He felt uncomfortable. Then he understood the reason. He had had a “wet dream”.

That was it, he thought. He couldn’t work with Chantelle and Diane again. He would move or change career, but he couldn’t face either of them now.