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From Victim to The Ultimate Predator: My Journey of Self-Discovery and Empowerment I'm an independent woman who had a bad childhood. My Mom didn't handle my dad's death very well. First she turned to drugs and then to a boyfriend who controlled and exploited her. When I got a little older he exploited us both, if you know what I mean. By that time Mom was so far gone that I don't think she even noticed. I learned from my Mom's weakness and decided to become a Predator, not a victim. On my tenth birthday, the bikers introduced me to mud wrestling in a pit dug out on a nearby ranch during one of their drunken parties. I beat another biker's petite 15 year old runaway girlfriend in that match. After that they introduced me to many other types of combat from nude boxing and kickboxing to topless ring wrestling – even some sex fighting. They teamed me up with my Mother for some matches, but she wasn't much help. She'd never learned how to fight (or stand up for herself) and the drugs weren't making things any better. I mostly had to either rescue her or fight at a handicap while she stayed in our corner. Worse, in her substance abuse haze she frequently ended up distracting the referee so our opponents could cheat without getting caught. The bikers loved it all and made a lot of money off of my fights. When I was 14 the bikers started renting me out for “session wrestling” which usually included sexual favors for both men and women. Of course, they never paid me more than $20 for a match. Even so, I managed to stash away over six thousand dollars without them knowing about it. …and then things took a turn
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From Victim to The Ultimate Predator: My Journey of Self-Discovery and Empowerment
I'm an independent woman who had a bad childhood. My Mom didn't handle my dad's death very well. First she turned to drugs and then to a boyfriend who controlled and exploited her. When I got a little older he exploited us both, if you know what I mean. By that time Mom was so far gone that I don't think she even noticed. I learned from my Mom's weakness and decided to become a Predator, not a victim.
On my tenth birthday, the bikers introduced me to mud wrestling in a pit dug out on a nearby ranch during one of their drunken parties. I beat another biker's petite 15 year old runaway girlfriend in that match. After that they introduced me to many other types of combat from nude boxing and kickboxing to topless ring wrestling – even some sex fighting.
They teamed me up with my Mother for some matches, but she wasn't much help. She'd never learned how to fight (or stand up for herself) and the drugs weren't making things any better. I mostly had to either rescue her or fight at a handicap while she stayed in our corner. Worse, in her substance abuse haze she frequently ended up distracting the referee so our opponents could cheat without getting caught. The bikers loved it all and made a lot of money off of my fights. When I was 14 the bikers started renting me out for “session wrestling” which usually included sexual favors for both men and women. Of course, they never paid me more than $20 for a match. Even so, I managed to stash away over six thousand dollars without them knowing about it.
My Mom OD'd just after I turned 15. After that, one of the bikers claimed me as his girlfriend. With Mom gone, things got even worse. The bikers started to put me in more violent matches. I decided to get out before I got seriously hurt or killed, so at 16 I made my escape. I threw my clothes and other belongings in a duffel bag and small backpack and stashed them out of sight. I waited until he was a couple of hours into what looked to be an all-weekend drinking and drug binge, then told my “boyfriend” that I was going to town to buy a new wrestling outfit. I retrieved my belongings and went into town. I timed it perfectly. I was on the bus and away within minutes. I made several transportation and direction changes to avoid being traced. Then I caught a final bus to my destination, Texas .
I used the money I'd stashed to get set up in Texas and purchase a good fake ID that said I was 21. The name belonged to one of the other biker girls who had been killed by her “boyfriend” the previous year. I worked for two years in a topless “Gentlemen's Club” in Texas that also featured foxy kick boxing and oil wrestling. I made a lot of money at the club and frequently got hired for private matches and parties, but I never crossed the line into prostitution. I put on a great show, but all they got for their money was wrestling and a good look at my body. I don't put myself down for what the bikers made me do, but I'm on my own now so I'm responsible for my own actions. I worked 5-6 days a week and lived very simply to save my money. I avoided the substance abuse problems that plague many dancers and I avoided relationships with men, too. A man would have been dangerous since he might have found out that I was under-age and tried to control me. I had to be cautious. My predator skills weren't fully developed and I was potentially vulnerable. I lived with another dancer who was “Bi” so we took care of each others' needs. No real romance involved, just fun.
In those two years I finished my GED and put over $250,000 in the bank. Then a vice cop started hanging around and trying to squeeze me. He told me he was “sure” I was working underage and he was “checking it out”. He suggested that I could “make it all go away” if I split my earnings with him and became his mistress – yeah, right. The asshole was even married with a couple of kids. I don't generally have a problem with cops, but the crooked ones and those who use their badges to prey on women deserve to be castrated. Starting a war with the local police was not a good idea, though. I decided to leave and change identities again. On my way out of town I did leave him a couple of parting gifts. I took a few pics of him making out with women that I sent to his wife. Then I gave his department an anonymous tip about some payoffs he was taking. They didn't bust him for it, but his supervisors did insist that he start sharing the money. Between that and the divorce lawyer/settlement, it put a real crimp in his income. I figured it was the best I could do.
Next I moved to Las Vegas . Under my new name I went back to topless dancing. I even convinced the club to add oil wrestling shows to the existing stage dancing, girl on girl, and shower shows. I started college (business administration major) under my real name and kept putting money in the bank. After three years (I was now 21, although my ID said I was older), I formed and trained a group of girls from the club. We started doing wrestling shows for parties, trade shows, that sort of thing. I still kept away from prostitution; although I'm sure many of my girls had their own arrangements on the side. My bank account kept growing, but I was also gaining in experience and knowledge. My skills as a Predator were becoming very sharp. By the time I sold my house in Vegas, I was a millionaire (but only just barely).
At 24 I moved to Los Angeles . I had my degree, lots of money, and my Predator skills. I was ready to move to the next level and set myself up for life. I resumed using my real name and ID because the bikers were no longer a threat.
I learned early on not to expect someone else to save me. That only happens in movies and they're not real. If you want something you have to do whatever it takes to get it for yourself. My rules are to stay focused on your goals at all times and prepare yourself to take advantage of the opportunities life presents. I always have a fall-back plan and an escape plan. I won't ever be someone else's prey again. I've studied a lot of different subjects including Judo, fitness/physiology, philosophy, dance, finance, computers, modeling & beauty techniques, parts of the law, art, even erotic literature. I want to have job skills that are quickly transferable to new locations in case I have to move so I'm a certified personal trainer, physiotherapy massage artist, and a capable webmaster. If I had to I could go back to dancing, although I want to keep that door closed forever. The business eats at your self-confidence if you stay in it too long. It got me money when I was desperate and underage and provided my stake to get started in Vegas and later LA. That's enough for me.
Enough about the early chapters of my life…I've moved on and I take care of myself now. No one will ever treat me like that again. Now you know how I became what I am today The Ultimate Predator.
I've had a few jobs that I wasn't proud of, but I've always stayed focused on my goals. I've played both sides of the street sexually, but prefer men for relationships. I'm living near Hollywood , now (no I won't tell you exactly where – too many stalkers around). This town is perfect for my needs. Lots of money and power coupled with an obsession for youth, beauty, and sex. Just the kind of place I need to reach my goals. I bought myself a nice little condo, got a job as an instructor & personal trainer at a fitness studio, and started to check out the Hollywood scene.
I work out religiously and have a VERY fit body. I was blessed with long, dark hair, good skin, and a pretty face. I also got reasonable size breasts (large C / small D for those that must know). I haven't resorted to plastic surgery because I don't need it to reach my goals.
That night I was on a first date with a man. I had been playing the “party girl / aspiring starlet” role for a few months learning the town, meeting people, and getting into position to reach my goals. My date had a reputation for being good in bed, which can be useful at times, but he was also known to change girlfriends frequently. No one had been able to keep his interest for very long.
We were headed to the ‘Bow on Sunset for a few drinks. I was dressed to knock everyone's eyes out (as always when I'm out on the town). I work hard in the gym for my body and despite my party girl role I go light on the alcohol and drugs. They don't help me get to my goals.
My dress was a gorgeous little black number, one of my favorites. It is REALLY short with a very low back and two little spaghetti straps that come up from the front, cross in the back, and hook to the sides of the dress. The front shows plenty of cleavage, and there's a diamond shape cutout that shows off my very toned and flat belly. To complete the look the lower portion is cut with an open area on the side of the leg. The back and front are held together by a couple of small black lycra strips. The only things I wear with the dress are a black lycra satin string thong (very tiny) and some understated jewelry (I want them looking at my body, not the jewelry). The ensemble shows my body off to maximum advantage.
At the club my date and I met another couple. He was a successful player in the studio business, wealthy and capable of making or breaking careers of aspiring actresses. He was about 50, balding, flabby, hairy, and relatively dull. Because of his job and money, he didn't lack for women, though. He always kept at least one mistress (sometimes two) tucked away nearby. He also had a steady supply of casual affairs, mostly with gullible young girls who believed blowing him was their ticket to stardom. He played the casting couch game relentlessly. What he didn't know yet was that he was going to be my ticket to everything I want in life.
The other key to my plan was his wife, Rianna. You know the type. 15 years younger than her husband, but realizing that age is catching up with her. Desperately using plastic surgery, personal trainers, spa treatments, and anti-aging crèmes to try and avoid being traded in on a younger model. Knowing of her husband's affairs and mistresses, but pretending not to know. Living in fear that someday it will all be gone and she'll have nothing to fall back on. Too weak to change the circumstances of her life so she's doomed to fail.
As usual I was getting lots of attention from the guys in the place. I kept focused on my goals though. The studio Troll couldn't keep his eyes off my cleavage (I'd heard he was a boob man). His wife was getting pretty steamed about his obvious staring and flirting. I kept my responses non-committal while staying close to my date, but I made sure he kept looking. He found a few excuses to bump up against me or touch me, which was annoying his wife. I made sure my date was enjoying himself. So far, so good.
When the night started to wind down, the troll invited us back to their place in the Hollywood Hills. I think my date was bored with the troll and his wife and would have begged off, but I managed to convince him. When we got to their place the husband was openly coming on to me. I kept him at arms length, but I could see his wife was furious. While I was sitting on my date's lap I made sure to position my legs so the Troll could look up my dress. That and a couple of flirty glances and smiles were enough to convince him I had the hots for his repugnant body. What an idiot.
When Rianna was alone with me in the kitchen, I made sure to pour a little gasoline on the fire, “You're husband is really funny” and such. Yeah, I can lie real good when it works for me. I could see Rianna's blood was boiling.
It didn't take much to push her over the edge. Rianna followed me into the living room to continue the argument. I played innocent and implied she'd had too much to drink and should relax. Her husband agreed with me which only infuriated her all the more. She slapped me. It wasn't very hard, but it was what I had been waiting for. I wanted to just punch her lights out right there, but that wouldn't have served my goals. A hair pulling catfight might have done the trick, but I don't deal in “might”. I stayed focused on my goals. I said, “You should be more careful who you slap. I might just decide to humiliate you in front of your husband by kicking your ass.”
Rianna was about an inch taller than I am, and about 40 pounds heavier despite regular liposuction. She didn't carry herself like a trained martial artist and I doubted such a priss would have much fighting experience of any kind. Fake DD boobs aren't a threat in a fight and I was confident my fitness, experience, and Judo skills would overcome the weight disadvantage. All I had to do was stay focused on my goals.
Rianna was too pissed and too stupid to rationally assess the situation (okay, and she was a little drunk, too). She kept pushing and told me she would “kick my slut ass” if I wanted to take her on. Still playing my role, I said “I don't have a swimsuit to wear. If I had something to wear I'd take you up on that. Maybe we could meet some other time?” Rianna thought I was backing down out of weakness. She continued to press for the fight. I didn't want to seem too eager, so I made her work for it. She continued to walk right into my trap.
Rianna spit her next words out like a snake spitting venom, “You don't seem to mind flashing half of Hollywood , why stop now, slut?” Time for me to turn up the heat a bit, “Okay, you're on, let's go.”
Rianna smiled and said “Let me go change, I'll be right back.” She still didn't realize that she was walking into my trap. Her husband looked like he was about to hyperventilate. My date was hard to read, but he wasn't walking out. The men cleared away some furniture to give us plenty of room. The carpet felt soft, but I could see the possibility of some nasty rug burns. Oh well, attaining goals often involves sacrifice.
I deliberately left my dress on until Rianna returned. She was wearing a conservative bikini to help hide the extra pounds. You know, one of those with the control top bottoms to help hide the bulge of her belly and the spreading derriere? As she returned to the room she almost preened for the men trying to draw their attention. I let her have about 5 seconds of attention, then I unhooked the straps on my dress, let it drop to the floor, and stepped out of it. Both men forgot about her and stared at my magnificent body. After giving them a few seconds to take it all in, arched my back in a big stretch, then kicked off both of my heels. That left me standing there in just the really brief black lycra satin thong panties. They were perfect for the occasion, even if they were a bit low cut in the front and flimsy. I had never looked better. Everything was going according to plan.
I think Rianna might have realized she was in for some trouble. She apparently decided to stack the deck a bit in her favor. “Okay, slut, here are the house rules for fights”
Yeah right, if this house had ever seen a fight it was probably over the remote. Who was she kidding?
Some of the rules caused me to think some unkind thoughts, though. She probably called a friend on her cell phone to get some advice while she was changing. I can't believe she thought this up on her own. She was clearly out to make it hard for me to win.
“The rules are:
“First one to make her opponent submit twice wins” (that would be me, Bitch)
“No hair pulling, biting, eye gouging, or twisting fingers and toes” (fine by me)
“No choking” (hmmm, wonder if she knows I've had Judo training?)
“Squeezing breasts and crotches is legal” (I doubt if she's ever had that done to her – I have and it hurts. Oh well, I knew I'd have to work for this)
“No fingers or hands inside your opponent's panties” (she seems to have a one track mind about sex-fighting, but it works for my purposes)
“No deliberate tearing off of your opponent's outfit” (okay, I wouldn't want to blind the men by stripping her anyway. I'm already half way there and my panties probably won't last the entire match but its all good.)
“Strikes to the belly are legal” (she's in real trouble when I start punching that jelly belly of hers)
“No strikes to the breast or crotch, defined as the area covered by the bikini top and the area covered by the front and crotch of the panties.” (WHAT?)
“Wait a minute,” I said, “That last one isn't fair. I'm not wearing a top and your bikini bottom covers halfway up your abs.”
“That's your problem, slut girl. If you didn't dress like a whore, it wouldn't be a problem.” Rianna replied. “My house, my rules unless you want to chicken out and leave”
I pretended to think it over. The rules were going to give her a real advantage. I wasn't particularly looking forward to letting her take free shots at my boobies when I couldn't strike back. The restriction on striking to anywhere covered by her bikini bottom was probably an even greater disadvantage. It meant half of her jelly belly was going to be off-limits. Meanwhile, the waistband on my panties was so low, that she could basically use low blows “legally”. I'd have to really use my grappling skills to equalize it all.
In THE END
On my tenth birthday, the bikers introduced me to mud wrestling in a pit dug out on a nearby ranch during one of their drunken parties. I beat another biker's petite 15 year old runaway girlfriend in that match. After that they introduced me to many other types of combat from nude boxing and kickboxing to topless ring wrestling – even some sex fighting.
They teamed me up with my Mother for some matches, but she wasn't much help. She'd never learned how to fight (or stand up for herself) and the drugs weren't making things any better. I mostly had to either rescue her or fight at a handicap while she stayed in our corner. Worse, in her substance abuse haze she frequently ended up distracting the referee so our opponents could cheat without getting caught. The bikers loved it all and made a lot of money off of my fights. When I was 14 the bikers started renting me out for “session wrestling” which usually included sexual favors for both men and women. Of course, they never paid me more than $20 for a match. Even so, I managed to stash away over six thousand dollars without them knowing about it.
My Mom OD'd just after I turned 15. After that, one of the bikers claimed me as his girlfriend. With Mom gone, things got even worse. The bikers started to put me in more violent matches. I decided to get out before I got seriously hurt or killed, so at 16 I made my escape. I threw my clothes and other belongings in a duffel bag and small backpack and stashed them out of sight. I waited until he was a couple of hours into what looked to be an all-weekend drinking and drug binge, then told my “boyfriend” that I was going to town to buy a new wrestling outfit. I retrieved my belongings and went into town. I timed it perfectly. I was on the bus and away within minutes. I made several transportation and direction changes to avoid being traced. Then I caught a final bus to my destination, Texas .
I used the money I'd stashed to get set up in Texas and purchase a good fake ID that said I was 21. The name belonged to one of the other biker girls who had been killed by her “boyfriend” the previous year. I worked for two years in a topless “Gentlemen's Club” in Texas that also featured foxy kick boxing and oil wrestling. I made a lot of money at the club and frequently got hired for private matches and parties, but I never crossed the line into prostitution. I put on a great show, but all they got for their money was wrestling and a good look at my body. I don't put myself down for what the bikers made me do, but I'm on my own now so I'm responsible for my own actions. I worked 5-6 days a week and lived very simply to save my money. I avoided the substance abuse problems that plague many dancers and I avoided relationships with men, too. A man would have been dangerous since he might have found out that I was under-age and tried to control me. I had to be cautious. My predator skills weren't fully developed and I was potentially vulnerable. I lived with another dancer who was “Bi” so we took care of each others' needs. No real romance involved, just fun.
In those two years I finished my GED and put over $250,000 in the bank. Then a vice cop started hanging around and trying to squeeze me. He told me he was “sure” I was working underage and he was “checking it out”. He suggested that I could “make it all go away” if I split my earnings with him and became his mistress – yeah, right. The asshole was even married with a couple of kids. I don't generally have a problem with cops, but the crooked ones and those who use their badges to prey on women deserve to be castrated. Starting a war with the local police was not a good idea, though. I decided to leave and change identities again. On my way out of town I did leave him a couple of parting gifts. I took a few pics of him making out with women that I sent to his wife. Then I gave his department an anonymous tip about some payoffs he was taking. They didn't bust him for it, but his supervisors did insist that he start sharing the money. Between that and the divorce lawyer/settlement, it put a real crimp in his income. I figured it was the best I could do.
Next I moved to Las Vegas . Under my new name I went back to topless dancing. I even convinced the club to add oil wrestling shows to the existing stage dancing, girl on girl, and shower shows. I started college (business administration major) under my real name and kept putting money in the bank. After three years (I was now 21, although my ID said I was older), I formed and trained a group of girls from the club. We started doing wrestling shows for parties, trade shows, that sort of thing. I still kept away from prostitution; although I'm sure many of my girls had their own arrangements on the side. My bank account kept growing, but I was also gaining in experience and knowledge. My skills as a Predator were becoming very sharp. By the time I sold my house in Vegas, I was a millionaire (but only just barely).
At 24 I moved to Los Angeles . I had my degree, lots of money, and my Predator skills. I was ready to move to the next level and set myself up for life. I resumed using my real name and ID because the bikers were no longer a threat.
I learned early on not to expect someone else to save me. That only happens in movies and they're not real. If you want something you have to do whatever it takes to get it for yourself. My rules are to stay focused on your goals at all times and prepare yourself to take advantage of the opportunities life presents. I always have a fall-back plan and an escape plan. I won't ever be someone else's prey again. I've studied a lot of different subjects including Judo, fitness/physiology, philosophy, dance, finance, computers, modeling & beauty techniques, parts of the law, art, even erotic literature. I want to have job skills that are quickly transferable to new locations in case I have to move so I'm a certified personal trainer, physiotherapy massage artist, and a capable webmaster. If I had to I could go back to dancing, although I want to keep that door closed forever. The business eats at your self-confidence if you stay in it too long. It got me money when I was desperate and underage and provided my stake to get started in Vegas and later LA. That's enough for me.
Enough about the early chapters of my life…I've moved on and I take care of myself now. No one will ever treat me like that again. Now you know how I became what I am today The Ultimate Predator.
I've had a few jobs that I wasn't proud of, but I've always stayed focused on my goals. I've played both sides of the street sexually, but prefer men for relationships. I'm living near Hollywood , now (no I won't tell you exactly where – too many stalkers around). This town is perfect for my needs. Lots of money and power coupled with an obsession for youth, beauty, and sex. Just the kind of place I need to reach my goals. I bought myself a nice little condo, got a job as an instructor & personal trainer at a fitness studio, and started to check out the Hollywood scene.
I work out religiously and have a VERY fit body. I was blessed with long, dark hair, good skin, and a pretty face. I also got reasonable size breasts (large C / small D for those that must know). I haven't resorted to plastic surgery because I don't need it to reach my goals.
That night I was on a first date with a man. I had been playing the “party girl / aspiring starlet” role for a few months learning the town, meeting people, and getting into position to reach my goals. My date had a reputation for being good in bed, which can be useful at times, but he was also known to change girlfriends frequently. No one had been able to keep his interest for very long.
We were headed to the ‘Bow on Sunset for a few drinks. I was dressed to knock everyone's eyes out (as always when I'm out on the town). I work hard in the gym for my body and despite my party girl role I go light on the alcohol and drugs. They don't help me get to my goals.
My dress was a gorgeous little black number, one of my favorites. It is REALLY short with a very low back and two little spaghetti straps that come up from the front, cross in the back, and hook to the sides of the dress. The front shows plenty of cleavage, and there's a diamond shape cutout that shows off my very toned and flat belly. To complete the look the lower portion is cut with an open area on the side of the leg. The back and front are held together by a couple of small black lycra strips. The only things I wear with the dress are a black lycra satin string thong (very tiny) and some understated jewelry (I want them looking at my body, not the jewelry). The ensemble shows my body off to maximum advantage.
At the club my date and I met another couple. He was a successful player in the studio business, wealthy and capable of making or breaking careers of aspiring actresses. He was about 50, balding, flabby, hairy, and relatively dull. Because of his job and money, he didn't lack for women, though. He always kept at least one mistress (sometimes two) tucked away nearby. He also had a steady supply of casual affairs, mostly with gullible young girls who believed blowing him was their ticket to stardom. He played the casting couch game relentlessly. What he didn't know yet was that he was going to be my ticket to everything I want in life.
The other key to my plan was his wife, Rianna. You know the type. 15 years younger than her husband, but realizing that age is catching up with her. Desperately using plastic surgery, personal trainers, spa treatments, and anti-aging crèmes to try and avoid being traded in on a younger model. Knowing of her husband's affairs and mistresses, but pretending not to know. Living in fear that someday it will all be gone and she'll have nothing to fall back on. Too weak to change the circumstances of her life so she's doomed to fail.
As usual I was getting lots of attention from the guys in the place. I kept focused on my goals though. The studio Troll couldn't keep his eyes off my cleavage (I'd heard he was a boob man). His wife was getting pretty steamed about his obvious staring and flirting. I kept my responses non-committal while staying close to my date, but I made sure he kept looking. He found a few excuses to bump up against me or touch me, which was annoying his wife. I made sure my date was enjoying himself. So far, so good.
When the night started to wind down, the troll invited us back to their place in the Hollywood Hills. I think my date was bored with the troll and his wife and would have begged off, but I managed to convince him. When we got to their place the husband was openly coming on to me. I kept him at arms length, but I could see his wife was furious. While I was sitting on my date's lap I made sure to position my legs so the Troll could look up my dress. That and a couple of flirty glances and smiles were enough to convince him I had the hots for his repugnant body. What an idiot.
When Rianna was alone with me in the kitchen, I made sure to pour a little gasoline on the fire, “You're husband is really funny” and such. Yeah, I can lie real good when it works for me. I could see Rianna's blood was boiling.
It didn't take much to push her over the edge. Rianna followed me into the living room to continue the argument. I played innocent and implied she'd had too much to drink and should relax. Her husband agreed with me which only infuriated her all the more. She slapped me. It wasn't very hard, but it was what I had been waiting for. I wanted to just punch her lights out right there, but that wouldn't have served my goals. A hair pulling catfight might have done the trick, but I don't deal in “might”. I stayed focused on my goals. I said, “You should be more careful who you slap. I might just decide to humiliate you in front of your husband by kicking your ass.”
Rianna was about an inch taller than I am, and about 40 pounds heavier despite regular liposuction. She didn't carry herself like a trained martial artist and I doubted such a priss would have much fighting experience of any kind. Fake DD boobs aren't a threat in a fight and I was confident my fitness, experience, and Judo skills would overcome the weight disadvantage. All I had to do was stay focused on my goals.
Rianna was too pissed and too stupid to rationally assess the situation (okay, and she was a little drunk, too). She kept pushing and told me she would “kick my slut ass” if I wanted to take her on. Still playing my role, I said “I don't have a swimsuit to wear. If I had something to wear I'd take you up on that. Maybe we could meet some other time?” Rianna thought I was backing down out of weakness. She continued to press for the fight. I didn't want to seem too eager, so I made her work for it. She continued to walk right into my trap.
Rianna spit her next words out like a snake spitting venom, “You don't seem to mind flashing half of Hollywood , why stop now, slut?” Time for me to turn up the heat a bit, “Okay, you're on, let's go.”
Rianna smiled and said “Let me go change, I'll be right back.” She still didn't realize that she was walking into my trap. Her husband looked like he was about to hyperventilate. My date was hard to read, but he wasn't walking out. The men cleared away some furniture to give us plenty of room. The carpet felt soft, but I could see the possibility of some nasty rug burns. Oh well, attaining goals often involves sacrifice.
I deliberately left my dress on until Rianna returned. She was wearing a conservative bikini to help hide the extra pounds. You know, one of those with the control top bottoms to help hide the bulge of her belly and the spreading derriere? As she returned to the room she almost preened for the men trying to draw their attention. I let her have about 5 seconds of attention, then I unhooked the straps on my dress, let it drop to the floor, and stepped out of it. Both men forgot about her and stared at my magnificent body. After giving them a few seconds to take it all in, arched my back in a big stretch, then kicked off both of my heels. That left me standing there in just the really brief black lycra satin thong panties. They were perfect for the occasion, even if they were a bit low cut in the front and flimsy. I had never looked better. Everything was going according to plan.
I think Rianna might have realized she was in for some trouble. She apparently decided to stack the deck a bit in her favor. “Okay, slut, here are the house rules for fights”
Yeah right, if this house had ever seen a fight it was probably over the remote. Who was she kidding?
Some of the rules caused me to think some unkind thoughts, though. She probably called a friend on her cell phone to get some advice while she was changing. I can't believe she thought this up on her own. She was clearly out to make it hard for me to win.
“The rules are:
“First one to make her opponent submit twice wins” (that would be me, Bitch)
“No hair pulling, biting, eye gouging, or twisting fingers and toes” (fine by me)
“No choking” (hmmm, wonder if she knows I've had Judo training?)
“Squeezing breasts and crotches is legal” (I doubt if she's ever had that done to her – I have and it hurts. Oh well, I knew I'd have to work for this)
“No fingers or hands inside your opponent's panties” (she seems to have a one track mind about sex-fighting, but it works for my purposes)
“No deliberate tearing off of your opponent's outfit” (okay, I wouldn't want to blind the men by stripping her anyway. I'm already half way there and my panties probably won't last the entire match but its all good.)
“Strikes to the belly are legal” (she's in real trouble when I start punching that jelly belly of hers)
“No strikes to the breast or crotch, defined as the area covered by the bikini top and the area covered by the front and crotch of the panties.” (WHAT?)
“Wait a minute,” I said, “That last one isn't fair. I'm not wearing a top and your bikini bottom covers halfway up your abs.”
“That's your problem, slut girl. If you didn't dress like a whore, it wouldn't be a problem.” Rianna replied. “My house, my rules unless you want to chicken out and leave”
I pretended to think it over. The rules were going to give her a real advantage. I wasn't particularly looking forward to letting her take free shots at my boobies when I couldn't strike back. The restriction on striking to anywhere covered by her bikini bottom was probably an even greater disadvantage. It meant half of her jelly belly was going to be off-limits. Meanwhile, the waistband on my panties was so low, that she could basically use low blows “legally”. I'd have to really use my grappling skills to equalize it all.
In THE END
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