No.306     "IT'S HARD TO COME BACK"          by Ajax


They had said there would be pressure, and there was.  Emma felt it the 
moment she stepped into the stadium.  Her sportsbag, with it's selection 
of everything that she thought she might need to get her presentable for 
her overnight stay in Legersham, felt, and was, very heavy.  Not that her 
costume weighed much, nor her boots.  It was the plethora of preparations 
for bruises, scratches, strains and pains that encumbered her.  She knew 
that this was going to be one of the hardest fights of her career, or 
rather of what she hoped was going to be her new career.  Her old one 
had finished a year before when she had suffered so badly dislocated a 
shoulder that she had found the recovery too long to see her continue in 
wrestling.  For all that was said about how fixed her sport was, some of 
it undoubtedly true, it was still one of the toughest in the world.  It 
wasn't possible to be thrown (literally) from pillar to post, and not be 
hurt.  For a comeback fight Reg had not chosen an easy opponent.  The up 
and coming young star Val Rioch, was likely to prove a handful even for 
a woman as experienced as Emma.  She had already tried to win the 
Scottish championship and had narrowly failed to do so.  Facing Val in 
a comeback fight with only a month's retraining behind her would be a 
good test of Emma's fitness and her endurance, and should show whether 
her damaged left shoulder could again stand up to the battering of the 
ring.

At least, he had chosen a good stadium for it.  Legersham had a 
reputation for treating its visiting wrestlers, or any other sportswomen 
for that matter, extremely well.  She remembered Isla Grant, the town's 
dedicated recreation officer very well.  Legersham had for years had a 
council sympathetic to the activities of women in combat that was at 
variance with many another town hall up and down the country.  At 
Legersham, the women were positively encouraged, and Emma had always 
suspected that much of that attitude had to do with the efficiency and 
sympathy of Isla Grant.

She had changed in one of the separate dressing rooms that the hall 
provided with a sense of the old excitement rising in her.  It was good 
to stand again in front of the full-length mirror and study herself clad 
in her wrestling gear.  Nor was she too displeased with what she saw.  
She was not "quite" as slim as she had once been, but her black wet-look 
latex suit still fitted her well.  The shiny black went well with her 
blondeness, in Emma's case, quite natural, and not over-light, and the 
figure-hugging nature of the material showed off every good feature that 
she was blessed with.  And they were many.  She had always had a good body, 
firm and strong, and not too heavily fleshed.  Her waist nipped in very 
well for a modern girl and her hourglass figure was a delight to all who 
saw it.  She was nicely hipped, not broad, but well made, and had good 
strong shoulders.  As a girl she had been on the edge of competitive swimming 
and had developed the shoulders in her teens.  Now, at twenty-five, she still 
had the breadth there that lent her extra strength for the wrestling she 
loved so much.  Her legs were long and strong, well-muscled now for she had 
been running a lot during the three months since she had decided that she 
would have to make her comeback.  It had not been easy getting back into 
training as her life had moved on since the previous year when her accident 
had happened.  But she had done it and had got back that firmness of calf 
and thigh which had once been such a feature of her looks.  Her breasts were 
as magnificent as they had ever been, perhaps a little more sensitive now 
than when she had wrestled before, or so she had noticed, though she thought 
it was more likely her lack of practice that had caused that.  When you were 
in the ring full time as she had been before you tended to adjust to taking 
punishment that the woman in the street would find difficult to cope with.  
Because she had become such a woman for the best part of a year she felt 
that she was going to need a few bouts before she could get back her old 
disregard of bruises.  But, it was not going to help her in there with Val.  
The girl was young, quick, tough and skilful, and she would need to call upon 
her ringcraft and her famed endurance to hold out against her, tire her, and 
win.

She had no doubt that this was how the fight was going to go.  She was going 
to have to try to outlast the youngster.  She did tend to wear herself out 
early in a fight, did Val, and it was her opponent's ability to outlast her 
that had denied her the Scottish Championship a couple of weeks earlier.  Emma 
knew that much about her at least, and understood much of the flashy style of 
Val.  She tended to copy the Japanese girls - not an easy thing to do unless 
you had the qualities that Val possessed.  She was a fighter to be respected, 
and there was little doubt in Emma's mind that her night's opponent would one 
day take the championship of Britain, not just of Scotland.  It was up to her 
to see that she did not get another title bout as quickly as she would like, 
and, seasoned professional as she was, Emma was determined to hold her.

Her tan wrestling boots were old now, old and comfortable.  She dreaded the 
day when they wore out and she had to replace them, although that day seemed 
a fair distance off.  A pair of boots that you were happy with was a prime 
requisite for a wrestling career.  She was one of those who liked to wear socks 
with her boots, a practice that she realized was on the wane, but one that she 
would have been very unhappy to have abandoned.

The swimsuit that she chose to wrestle in was a very modern style, and one 
which she had used for five years, long before the current trend had had 
the mass market producing the style.  Technically, it was one-piece suit, 
but the width of the front panel of hers was no more than two inches.  The 
breast-panel was uncupped (more then anything Emma hated having her breasts 
tightly confined, and especially in the ring) curving under and around her 
breasts from the top of the front panel which was cut low to the side such 
that her waist was visible and the material swept around her hips and buttocks.  
The straps passed over the shoulders to meet a third rising from the bottom 
piece and meeting in the middle of the back.  This was less than the two 
inches of the front panel, and fashioned in the shiny wet-look material it 
gave her a sexy and jaunty air that was usually much appreciated by the male 
section of the audience.

She wore her hair swept back behind her ears and tied so that it did not fall 
across her face whilst fighting.  Long hair, such as she had, was a positive 
nuisance in the ring, but she was unwilling to cut hers as she had always 
felt that it suited her as a style and she realized how fortunate she was 
to have such luxuriant hair in these days of shorter and more practical styles.

All in all, what she saw in the mirror pleased her and when she was called, 
she went out into the hall with her confidence high as result of it.  She 
received a thunderous cheer and applause as she made her way to the ring, her 
gown slipped casually about her shoulders.  It was June, warm, and not requiring 
the thick gowns of winter.  There was a good large audience here, a fact that 
surprised her no whit, since Legersham put on good, action-packed bouts, 
and Reg, the promoter, found it his favourite town to stage the best bouts.  
Legersham people were used to quality, and his concern was to let them have 
it.

She climbed into the ring, feeling the surge of adrenaline that she had 
always felt when entering a wrestling ring, and was very pleased to note 
it.  Her zest for wrestling seemed no less than it had when she had been 
a sixteen year old beginner nine long hard years ago.  No matter how hard 
the wrestling was, she still looked forward to it with keenness.  Years 
ago she had told herself that when this feeling of anticipation left her, 
that was the time to stop.  It was a tough way to earn a living, but 
these days she could earn it in the ring, though the fights she had to 
undertake to do so were much harder than they had been perhaps ten or 
dozen years ago.  Now, crowds demanded, and generally got, spectacle.  
Mat-writhing, and the old grunt and groan stuff was on the way out.  In 
today's ring, movement was everything, and it took a fit and brave woman 
to keep up the pace.  She settled on her stool (a newish thing for 
wrestlers, but one which had become more important as fights had become 
fiercer) and looked around.  It was a good ring, perhaps not quite as 
heavily padded as some, and that would mean harder falls, four roped 
and pretty large and new.  The plastic covered ropes were new and though 
a few burns could always be expected, that was unlikely to be as serious 
as it had been in the days when rings used raw ropes.  The canvas was of 
the pleasant pale green colour that had become popular, and the lighting 
was superb.  Video cameras were set up around it, and it seemed that the 
TV boys were going to make the most of the spectacle that would shortly 
unfold.

There was not long to wait for Val's entrance, and she was just as well 
received.  Val was a handsome girl of twenty, short-haired, just the 
brown side of brunette, and somewhat lighter than Emma at eight and a 
half stone, 121 lbs (54.9 kg).  Emma scaled nine stone four pounds, 
130 (59 kg), most of it solid power, and as the lighter girl, Val was 
going to need her youth and speed to counteract Emma's physical 
advantages.  Not that she was worried.  She regarded Emma as a good 
wrestler who was out of practice, probably not as powerful as she 
looked, and certainly susceptible to the kind of damage her flying 
and educated feet could inflict.  Being second to the main bout of 
the night, they were scheduled for three falls over ten five minute 
rounds; not a schedule that was likely to tax her too much the youngster 
felt.

Val was used to wrestling not in a one piece suit but a bikini, as most 
of the younger girls were doing.  In the pro-wrestling ring this was 
often likely to lead to a girl losing her top, but few of the fighters 
worried much about that nowadays.  It had been different when wrestlers 
had used padded bra-cups for partial protection, but that sort of thing 
had all been swept away years ago.  Val sometimes envied the old-timers 
their ability to have this, for she was frequently hurt about the breasts 
in modern fighting, and did not enjoy it any more than they would have 
done.  But it was distinctly not done these days, and she had to go along 
with the tide of feeling or get so badly left behind that she would cease 
to be the attraction that she currently was.  Well, she thought, she was 
twenty, and saw at least ten lucrative years ahead of her in the sport.  
Emma she knew to be already twenty-five and to have a dodgy left shoulder, 
though she could probably forget that now, as the woman would not have 
come back to the mat if she had thought the shoulder would not stand up 
to the drubbing that was inherent in the sport.  She was a fighter whom 
Val had respected in previous years, but how much the lay-off might have 
affected her she could not tell, and would have to discover it for herself.

She climbed lithely into the ring, flung off her gown and sat waving to 
the crowd.  She was in the blue corner, as she found that her lucky one 
and tried to get it whenever she could.  Emma seemed to be free of any 
superstition about corners, but Val had not been able to shake herself of 
the feeling that in the earlier part of her career she had fought better 
out of the blue than the red, so always tried to get her favourite corner.  
Emma had not objected.

The crowd appreciated Val's good looks, and many felt that her wrestling 
in a bikini, a white one today, was a good move.  Like Emma, Val had a good 
strong wrestler's body, though lighter and lither than that of the older 
woman.  Not as noticeably slim-waisted as Emma, Val had a good 36" bust, 
high and firm, but was much the slimmer hipped of the two.  The slimness 
of hip was from where she got her immense and quite spectacular agility, 
and she was not short of upper-body strength, though her shoulders did not 
have the sheer size that her opponent's showed.  Generally, an onlooker 
would have felt that physically the advantage was with Emma, but when age 
and fitness was taken into account Val might well prove to be tougher and 
harder to beat than she looked.

They smiled cross the ring at each other, for this was a contest not a 
battle, and each respected the other without any enmity.  There was plenty 
of needle in the fight but it was not of an unpleasant kind though both 
were equally determined to win, and both were prepared to use all their 
skill to do so.  The referee stood in a neutral corner waiting for the MC 
to introduce the bout, and looked from one contestant to the other with 
interest.  They had never met before in the wrestling ring, these two, and 
that might prove an interesting thing for him.  How much they would co-operate 
with each other was doubtful, and in pro-wrestling that could be a 
considerable challenge for a referee.  It would be a fast bout, for 
everything Val was in was fast, and he found himself wondering how Emma 
would cope with the younger woman.  "....of three falls, submissions or a 
knockout to decide the winner," the MC was saying, having introduced the 
fighters to the crowd - if two such famous fighting names had required it.

Then there was that pregnant moment with the wrestlers standing keyed-up 
in their corners before the bell clanged and began the first of the ten 
five-minute rounds, and the noise from the hall dropped to an expectant 
murmur before Emma and Val Rioch came to grips.  It was a long moment as 
the timekeeper set his timers and studied his watches, then 'clang', and 
the two wrestlers came together.

Val tore out like a tigress in full flight, seized Emma about the neck 
almost before the blonde could react, and mared her to the mat.  Emma 
spread her legs to deny Val the chance to turn her over, and dug an elbow 
into the youngster's lightly fleshed ribs.  She was satisfied to draw a 
painful grunt from her before handstanding out of the headlock and coming 
to her feet.  Val was up like a flash and circling, ready to dart in at 
the slightest opportunity, and catch her in some rapid hold or throw.

Emma was already concerned.  The speed with which Val had attacked and the 
strength she had so carelessly shown in the maring had put her on her guard.  
"Watch her feet," she had been told, but it had been the headlock that 
she had used.  Emma, for a moment, was at a loss to know the best way to 
take her.  If she moved in, she feared that Val would slip her effort, 
and gain something like a hammerlock, which would put her in a really 
unenviable position.  She decided to let Val make the pace since she 
looked as though she would enjoy that, and it would allow her to exhaust 
herself the more quickly.  However, something told her that Val would not 
exhaust as easily as some, and she would need to handle the fight very 
carefully.  Five minute rounds were a drawback as far as the older woman 
was concerned, giving the advantage to the speedier fighter, and not helping 
her with her need to wear her down.  Even if she got a good wearing hold early, 
she would only have five minutes to work on the other, and with a girl 
who was tough enough to challenge for the Scottish championship, she was 
unlikely to get a submission that easily.  She would, she realized, have 
to use many weakeners before she could hope to catch her in the sort of 
hold that could bring her a quick submission, and her speed might well 
catch her in something really nasty before she knew where she was.

The crowd had appreciated the quick early exchange that had taken place, 
and was already warming to the fight that was unfolding before them.

Val tried to dart in again for another neck grab, and Emma averted the 
effort by ducking low, taking Val's right leg, straightening, and dropping 
her over her back to the mat.  Surprised by the move Val had to take the 
fall on her right shoulder, and come straight to her feet again.  Emma 
had turned to face her, and was, in turn, surprised by the ease with which 
the dark girl, her short hair bobbing, sprang into the air, aiming for a 
flying head scissors.  It was only by the quickest of pullbacks that Emma 
avoided it, and even than Val trapped her right arm, and pulled her to the 
canvas, though Emma was able to get clear before Val could close it down 
into a shoulder-wrench.  Applause rose again from the crowd, as the wrestlers 
came to their feet and faced each other again.

This time, it was the older woman who acted decisively, seizing Val's right 
arm and whirling her into the corner pad in her own corner.  Val, slightly 
shaken, bounced off, did a hand spring in front of the black-clad blonde, 
and heeled her in the full bosom.  Emma yowled in sudden pain and staggered 
away, only to find Val at her again, and throwing an arm about her neck to 
gain a standing side headlock.  In retaliation for the posting, Val drove 
Emma's head against another corner pad, released her, and let her fall to 
the canvas, while she stood back for a breather.

Hurt about chest and head, Emma was grateful for the rest, and the ref was 
quickly in and counting.  Sporting as she was, Val retired to a neutral 
corner and waited for the count to end before attacking again.  Emma knelt 
on the mat shaking the wool from her brain, but could do nothing for the 
pain that she was getting from her breasts.  The heeling had been a good 
hurtful one, and Val had applied it very skilfully.  She took six, 
swallowed hard, braced herself for the onslaught, and rose, dreading 
the time when the dropkicks would start.

She knew that she was in a hard one by now, and would have to start 
giving some punishment back.  As soon as she rose, Val zoomed in again, 
trying to grab an arm.  Emma forearm smashed her to both breasts by stepping 
inside, then elbowed her under the chin, snapping her teeth together with a 
very satisfactory clatter.  Despite the pain and shock, Val stepped back and 
smiled, inclining her head slightly to indicate that she appreciated her 
outwitting.  Emma did not stop to watch.  Having driven the youngster back, 
she pressed forward and seized the left arm, by the wrist, going immediately 
into a step-under wrist twist.  Val's free arm shot to her other shoulder in 
an attempt to ease the stress and pain on her shoulder muscles, but as Emma 
continued to twist, she was borne over, and finally had to fall to the mat, 
exactly as Emma had intended.  Before Val hit the canvas she was stepping 
across her, and converting the hold to an agonizing hammerlock.  Beneath her, 
the youngster writhed in pain and moaned, for Emma's hammerlock was no 
half-hearted affair.

For a moment, Val attempted to struggle free, but a well-placed knee in 
the left kidney stopped that, and Val was in trouble.

Experienced enough in ringcraft to know that it would be quite some time 
before Val submitted under this, the ref watched carefully, but, for the 
moment, relaxed.  Emma considered whether she should go for submission or 
injury here.  Val was in acute agony as Emma bent her left arm against the 
joint, and moaned in pain, but she was a long way from submitting.  This 
sort of pain, even this degree, was a bread and butter one to these girls, 
and anyone who could not bear the agony of having an arm severely twisted 
for a few minutes would not have got far in the wrestling game.  Pain did 
not worry Val.  It was merely unpleasant, but she knew, as Emma did, that 
if she had wanted to dislocate the arm, very possible from the position 
they were in, it could produce the sort of disabling injury that had kept 
Emma herself out of the ring for so long.  The youngster, thus trapped, 
by arms and legs, was totally in Emma's power.  Val lay there and sweated, 
very conscious that this was only the first round, and that had Emma been 
vicious enough she could have had her fighting the rest of the bout in 
constant agony.  Whether she would do it depended on how sporting she 
was, whether she was regarding this as a contest or a fight to a finish.  
Val herself had already indicated that she believed it to be a contest, 
but it was not binding on her opponent to think so.  What happened to 
her now depended directly on Emma's attitude to the bout.  The pain seared 
on, and Emma began to twist the arm even further against the joint.  The 
pain was bad and she had to howl, but Emma made no attempt to lever it 
upwards, and spring the arm out of its socket.  She was very tempted 
remembering what the heeling had done to her breasts - she could still 
feel it - but whilst Val regarded the bout as a contest of skill, she 
would respect it.  She therefore leaned into the hammerlock, and brought 
more pain-sweat to Val's face, but did not do more.

Val lay there in a weird kind of relieved agony, in a way glad to suffer 
pain for the chance of remaining whole.

The referee now moved closer in to the action, expecting something to 
occur.  "Ask her!" panted Emma.  He bent down to do so, kneeling beside 
them on the floor.  "Submit?" he asked Val, whose face was contorted in 
agony, and who was lying trapped immovably by the older woman's legs. 
Emma leant forward, holding the arm rather gently, but quite firmly, 
just levering it against the joint.  He was relieved to see that she
was exhibiting no viciousness towards Val, but was clearly intent on 
getting a submission from the this hold if she could.  She had already 
had it on more than ninety seconds and the immense stain of having to 
take such a wearing agony showed on Val's face.

"No," she said through gritted teeth, and then again, "No!!"

Emma wrung another wild expostulation of pain from her as she doubled 
forward a little more, letting her weight torture the joint further.

Knowing what Val was going through, Emma was forming a respect for her 
courage as well as her skill.  Reg had said Val was a brave little 
wrestler.  So far as she could see, she was more than that.  She had 
had her in real agony now for nearly two and a half minutes, and she 
was still steadfastly refusing to submit.  She tried leaning even 
harder, but not so far up as would bring any question of dislocating 
the arm, knowing as she did that she was in a short round and the bell 
might end the youngster's agony at any moment.

The last few seconds of that round, for Val, were a nightmare that 
she hoped never to repeat in a wrestling ring.  The excruciating pain 
of Emma's hold was added to by a cramp in her side, brought about by 
the twisting of her body to try to accommodate the position of her arm.  
One pain or the other she could have borne, but with both together the 
effect was to crush her spirit almost to the point when she could no 
longer keep her agony under control.  Her belly was knotted with it, 
her diaphragm would hardly work, even her breasts, where they were 
being crushed to the canvas and still feeling the effect of the forearm 
smashes, were hurting.  And there in Legersham Town Hall, she had to 
suffer it before the greedy eyes of some five hundred to a thousand 
people.  Sweat was pouring into her eyes, blinding her, and the damned 
bell would not sound.  Every half second was an eternity, and the pain 
in her arm suddenly began to increase again, yet that in her side was 
even sharper.  She had to count to prevent herself from submitting.  
"Submit?" asked the ref, "Submit? ....submit?" The damned fellow was 
like a groove-stuck record.  "No," she kept mouthing with the tiny part 
of her mind that was still functioning at a thought level.  The rest 
was full of the instinct of self-preservation, begging her to give in.  
That part she fought.  Just a few more seconds, surely she could hold 
out that long.  And then with an unbelievable suddenness after the 
hideous anguish of the last minutes, her control snapped, and she 
babbled out, desperately, "Yes..yes...yes!!"

Instantly Emma released her and stood up to return to her corner.  
It must have been a near thing, but she had made it, 1-0, and she 
felt very much better for it.  A submission in the first round was 
a good start for anyone, and it certainly had not been one that she 
had expected.

Much recovered after the two-and a half minute torturing of Val, she 
sat on her stool and waited to see her opponent get up, shake the 
arm and return to hers.  To her amazement it did not happen like 
that, not immediately anyway.  Val lay writhing, actually using the 
damaged arm to rub herself under the breasts, then twisting her body 
into weird positions.  After a moment, Emma realized what had happened.  
The unfortunate girl had suffered a crippling cramp on top of the 
hammerlock.  No wonder she had had to surrender.  In this sport there 
was nothing worse than cramp and it was surprising what trivial movement 
would bring it on.

The MC was prowling the ring waiting for the ticket from the TK so that 
he could announce the result.  Eventually it arrived via the hand of Megs 
Larsen, one of the girls who had wrestled earlier, and was now dressed 
and back in the hall.  "Winner of the first submission, with a hammerlock 
and kidney crush, in four minutes thirty-two seconds of the first round...
Emma Varradale!"

Emma accepted the plaudits of the crowd without much enthusiasm, and 
prepared herself to face the second.

She guessed that Val would be a little fragile at the start of it until 
her muscles got run in again and she was readying herself to use her best 
weapons, the forearm smash and the knee-lift, to gain a further edge on 
the youngster and slow her down again.

The minute was not really long enough for Val, and when she came back 
into the fight she was less than her normal self by quite a piece.

It began slowly, with the women closing for a bear hug, Val eager to 
test her side to see if the cramp had indeed, as it seemed, left her, 
and Emma to try her strength against the other's body.  Sweaty body 
crushed against sweaty body as hands locked in the small of backs, 
and power began to pour forth increasing the stream of sweat, and 
firing the pain of the tenderer parts.  Emma was still feeling the 
effect of the breast heeling, and Val the forearm smashes, but the 
older woman was able to whisper in Val's ear "Sorry about the 
submission.  I didn't know you had cramp." 

"Not your fault," Val hissed back painfully as Emma's power surged 
into her.  "Forget it."

Forget it, Emma could not.  Use it, she might.  A reverse press 
might do her a lot of good there if she could get one on, though 
she doubted she could.  As she thought it, Val had had enough of 
the hug, and lifted her knee into Emma's groin.  With a soft 
expulsion of breath as the knee struck her painfully, Emma parted, 
and they circled again.

For the remainder of the round, an exciting one for the crowd but 
an unsatisfactory one for both women, they each tried to inveigle 
their way into a position where a fall would be forth- coming.  
The speed rose gain as Val gained in confidence and pushed forward 
more strongly.  Indeed, towards the end of the round, Emma was 
finding it harder to evade her, and her ring rustiness was showing 
as she missed a couple of good chances to gain a hold.  They 
sped from rope to rope, scythed at each other with smashes and 
tried dropkicks, of which Val landed two, but but high on the 
chest and causing her opponent no trouble.  On the second occasion 
though, had she not been quick enough to drop down and take it 
there she might have caught one in the breasts, and wrestlers 
who caught a Val kick in the breasts suffered a lot of pain.

Sweat showered off them.  It was a hot night and under the ring 
lights positively roasting.  Water bottles were very much needed 
at the end of the round, and also a good sponging down.  Again 
the one minute break was a brief time for women who were expending 
so much energy to recover themselves, and it needed a strong mind 
to get back into things.

But in the third, they were both sharp and well warmed up, and the 
cut and thrust of the wrestling ring began to get into their blood.  
Very evenly matched it seemed, with Val's speed offsetting Emma's 
greater strength, they came together and smashed each other painfully 

to diaphragm and breasts, knee-lifted to the belly, and generally 
tested each other.  Emma, now that the fight had got under way was 
reacting more fluently, and feeling some of the old skill flood back 
into her.  She mared Val into the ropes mid-round, and was able to 
give her both knees in a one-two to the breast as she came off them.  
It was agony and Val staggered to the ring centre seeing through a 
red mist of pain.  Emma was in in a flash, tossing her over her hip, 
and dropping to the mat with her in a side headlock.  A smash in the 
kidneys, then another, persuaded the blonde, her light hair darkened 
and slicked to her head by sweat and water, to release the hold and 
they were up again.  As she had done in the first, Val started a 
dropkick whilst Emma had her back to her and as she turned to face 
her was already in mid-air.  This time the kick lashed out, and hammered 
the busty blonde full into the breasts.  The air escaped her with an 
'oof' that carried to the back of the hall, and she went down in a 
shuddering agony-filled heap in a corner of the ring.  Val landed 
lithely and retired to a neutral corner.

Now, it was Emma's turn to fight with herself.  She felt sick with pain 
as she fell, caught with what she regarded as a sucker kick, the agony 
from her full breasts making her head spin and driving away all thought.  
All she could do was fight to come out of it, and her head was barely 
clearing when the count of six rang out.  She forced herself to her feet, 
using the ropes to help her up, then lurched away from them at nine, 
still groggy, but not prepared to see herself counted out.

The ref removed himself from the line between the fighters, and she saw 
Val coming at her again, arms forward to smash.  Emma covered her breasts 
with both arms trying to fight down the nauseous pain that still surged 
through them, and hoping to ease the agony of the onslaught.  This time, 
though, Val went higher, and smashed her three times in the face, knocking 
her back to the ropes, wind gone, pain coming from a new area to add to 
what she already suffered.  As she hit them they impelled her outward 
again and onto Val's shoulder.  Heaving her up, the youngster used her 
fine strength to whirl her at head height and drop her to the canvas at 
the centre of the ring.  Like a flash she was on her, flipped her onto 
her front, swung a leg over, seized both ankles and leaned into a Boston 
crab.

Involuntarily, the suffering Emma, not knowing anything but a searing 
pain in her back, helplessness, and another one where her bruised breasts 
were being driven mercilessly into the thinly-padded canvas, screamed out 
her agony, and caused the ref to leap to the scene, sinking down beside 
her to learn her decision on submission.  She said no the first time he 
asked, but it was sheer bravado, and Val sat even further back.  Battered 
and hurt as she was there was no hope of her lifting herself out of the 
hold even if she had had the strength, and the round ended with her cry 
of "I submit!" six seconds into the Boston.

Val dropped her, and returned, flushed and happy, to her own corner.  
The trauma of the cramp and the early submission had gone from her now.  
She had got on one of her best holds, had hurt Emma to the guts with 
that breast kick, and seemed well set to win the fight.

In contrast Emma felt as though she had been run over by a truck.  Her 

In contrast Emma felt as though she had been run over by a truck.  Her 
breasts were just a large area of agony, her back was half-broken, and 
her lungs seemed unwilling to fill.  She had to crawl to her corner and 
haul herself onto the stool looking like a beaten woman.  She began to 
remember times when she had felt like this in the ring before, and they 
had not been many, though she had had her share of pain and suffering on 
the mat.  Reg had said that the girls had got a lot rougher in the last 
year, and the relaxation in the rules which had permitted the use of the 
knee lift, and other moves, had, she could now see, made the fighter's 
task a much harder one.

She vaguely heard the MC saying "...the second and equalizing fall to 
Val Rioch in three minutes twenty-seconds of round three," and thanked 
her lucky stars that she had submitted when she had.  The prospect of 
another minute and a half of the torture she had just been through was 
too awful for words.  What struck her there though was that had this 
been a title fight such as that which Val had lost a few weeks before, 
she would have not have been able to feel good about submitting so quickly.  
If Val had done to the champion what she had just done to her, Emma pitied 
her.  But she "was" ring-rusty, and needed a fight or two to get herself 
back into shape to face the sort of onslaught that the young and zestful 
Val was throwing against her.  As a fair-minded woman in matters of 
wrestling, Emma had to admit that Val had bravely borne her early reverse, 
and was now making her suffer for it.  She resolved that she shouldn't 
allow Val to take any liberties in the next round, and tried to pull 
herself together.

Meanwhile, her corner time was slipping away.  "Get some of that water 
down my top," she said shortly, "it's hell." The corner complied, and 
she thought ruefully of the pointlessness of wearing a wet-look suit 
on a night like this.  It was feeling at least eighty-five in the hall 
now, and the heat seemed to be wringing her out like a wet sponge.  
And how she envied those wrestlers of earlier years who had had padded 
breast cups between themselves and their opponent's dropkicks.  It must 
still have hurt, but not like this.  Her breasts felt twice their size, 
and four times their weight as the bell clanged for the fourth and she 
went out to match Val in the final fall.

As she did so she recalled that her plan had been to tire Val and then 
beat her.  It seemed that it was she who was tiring the quicker, and 
whichever way she looked at it now, she could not see herself outlasting 
the young firebrand who faced her.

That, of course, did not mean that she could not beat her.  Take another 
quiet round for the fourth, and then get after Val again, and if she 
could gain a good solid hold early in the fifth she could down her for 
the deciding fall.  But as the fourth began she did not feel like attacking 
first.  She was still too hurt, and quite staggered by the punishment that 
Val had already inflicted on her.  So she began on the defensive, and Val's 
confidence soared again.  The dark girl had known that she had hurt the 
blonde in the third, but had expected her to be recovered from it by now, 
but she was favouring her breasts in the way she held her arms, and it was 
clear enough that she was still having problems coming to terms with the 
pain she was getting from them.  Val might have smiled to herself if she 
had had the time, for she had seen many a woman fold under the effect of 
her dropkicks, especially when she had got one three or four times in the 
bust during a round.  Emma had only taken the one, but she had been out a 
while and that was probably the reason for her over-reaction to the pain 
of it.  All she had to do now, she thought, was to land a couple more and 
Emma would break under the pressure.  She began the fourth with that 
intention.  Here, though, she had bargained without the older woman's 
ringcraft and experience.  By fighting a defensive battle she was able 
to evade most of the attempts to catch her with another kick, but Val 
brought fly-kicking into the bout after a minute or so of the fourth.  
It was a mistake, for it showed Emma that that method of attack, which 
had been one of her favourite tactics, was still available.  The result 
was that it was the younger girl who suffered most, and Emma's long and 
muscular legs had the advantage in reach over Val's so-called 'educated 
feet'.

It was near the fourth minute of the fourth round that Emma struck.  She 
had been feeling better, the pain of her breasts easing as she had moved 
and fought.  The jouncing had got the circulation back into her, and the 
few close holds they had exchanged had told her that the pain, though bad, 
was not so bad that she could not afford to throw herself into the action 
with her customary verve.  Unlike some women she knew, Emma had never had 
any fears of her breasts moving and tossing about.  She always felt at her 
best under those circumstances, and when she struck now it was because she 
was feeling a great deal better than she had expected to be at this stage.  
The fifth had seemed the first clear opportunity that she would have to 
get back, but Val had tired herself more than a little in the fly-kicking 
and the manoeuvres at a distance to try to prime Emma for another of the 
searing dropkicks.  She was concentrating so much on that that she missed 
Emma's opportunity to get one in, and as she rose after one of her attempts, 
Emma launched herself into the air, and lashed out both feet at her.  Val 
stood paralysed with amazement when she saw the older woman emulating her 
own style, and it was an ill-considered paralysis, for before she could 
move out of the way, Emma's feet impelled powerfully by thigh and calf 
muscles working together, pistoned into her solar plexus, and she suddenly 
felt cold fear as the air left her lungs to be replaced by a disabling 
agony at her diaphragm.  The shock totally stopped her breathing, and 
the agony was bad enough to root her where she stood.  Emma stepped in 
and hit her to the side of the face with a forearm smash that sent her 
to the canvas, and brought the referee over to count.  Emma, meantime, 
retired to a neutral corner to see if Val had the instinct to get up 
from that and come back at her.

As it happened, she did.  Despite her desperate condition, Val, still 
breathless after seven seconds of what must have seemed an eternal torment, 
tried to struggle to her feet, doubled forward, agonized, winded, smashed.  
She still tried to rise and get back into things, but it was the lack of 
breath that betrayed her.  Even as she struggled to rise she felt herself 
greying out from lack of oxygen, fought even that, staggered a step or two 
forward, staggered again, keeled over and fell against the referee.  He 
stood back allowing her to slip to the floor, and starting the second 
count as he was required to do.  There never was the slightest chance 
of Val beating it.  Again, girlfully, she struggled to rise, again she failed, 
through physical disability, and not through any mental weakness.  The 
look in her eyes showed how desperately she strove to rise, but it was no 
good, and this time she did not make it to her feet.  The referee counted 
her out, went across and raised the hand of the victrix, then returned to 
assist with the carrying of Val back to her corner.  A moment or two later, 
Emma left the ring whilst they were still trying to bring Val back to some 
semblance of humanity, and heard her retching into the bucket as the tortured 
guts tried to throw out their contents.

She passed down the aisle back to the dressing room with cheering 
again ringing in her ears, and at last felt that she was back in the 
wrestling business, and unless she missed her guess, a far tougher 
wrestling business than that she had left a year before.

Her body felt sore, bruised and battered, more so than she remembered, 
but she was out of practice and that was the most likely reason.  She 
was as tired as she could be, though it had only been a short contest, 
a mere twenty minutes, but she felt that she had put as much into it 
as into many she had had lasting an hour.  Those though, had not been 
against Val Rioch.  Val was a good girl.  She would go up to championship 
level which Emma now saw disappearing from her grasp with the advancing 
years.  Soon she would be an old woman of twenty-six, old that was 
in the context of wrestling, and might have to watch young Val gain 
the top before she was herself twenty-five.  Few women, if any, could 
have withstood that dropkick to the solar plexus.  Most tended to go 
for the breasts.  Not Emma.  The breasts just hurt when they were bruised,
the solar plexus disabled an opponent.  Had she been throwing pain 
only against Val the youngster might well have withstood it and seen 
her off.  As it was she had had no chance to recover from that.  Perhaps 
her experience had taught the youngster something.  She hoped so, because 
she had liked her.  She was a game girl, brave, and sporting, and that 
struggle to rise at the end had shown Emma what a tremendous spirit she 
had.



It was hard to come back, they said, and she now realized why, but 
equally, when you were totally breathless, badly hurt, and thoroughly 
beaten as Val had been, to try to come back through that was even 
harder.  That she had tried, twice, told Emma more about her night's 
opponent than anything else could have done.  Val's courage would 
take her to a British crown, and might take her even higher than that.

All in all, Emma Varradale had been pleased with her night's work.  
Once the latex suit was removed she could see from the extent of the 
bruising why her breasts had hurt so much, and there were the usual 
grazes and slight mat burns to be seen to, but she had weathered well, 
and the bag full of bruise and strain liniment would not be too much 
needed, though she might well reek of wintergreen and Radian Beta for 
a while.

END