No.709 "GLORY NIGHT AT THE HALL" by Ajax
 

After the comeback fight with Val that had gone so well for her, and given her a really good hard test, Emma at last felt that her attempt to come back into professional wrestling had taken an upturn. She felt more confident, and was becoming fitter by the day. She had laid up for four days after the strenuous first comeback bout, feeling the effects of it rather more keenly than she had hoped. Val had proved a strong and tricky opponent, one who had earned her respect in the Legersham ring that night, and left her very sore indeed. Well, that was wrestling. It had never been easy on a girl, and never would be, but Emma was not looking for an easy life - there were several ways she could have had that. She responded to challenge, always had, and was now facing another fight which could be as challenging in its way as the other. Ingrid Schmidt was a visitor to British shores, coming from Germany to try out the best in Britain. A dour Rhinelander, tough and stocky, she had already seen off two of the leading British girls, and as there was a strong rumour that the European Championship was about to be revived, any girl who could beat her seemed likely to be considered for the tournament.

The organizers, it was said, were looking for eight wrestlers, all middleweights, to compete for the title in a big tournament in Switzerland some time next year. It was tacitly believed by those in the know that Ingrid would be one of those eight, as would Val Rioch, now Scottish champion, Verna Ramfelt, the Swedish champion, and Mara del Quiaro, champion of both Italy and her native Spain. Four places were as yet uncertain. Emma had set her sights on claiming one of them. To do so, she would be expected to beat two of the contenders in ordinary competition. Well, she had already beaten Val. Ingrid was the next challenge, and following that, Verna. Mara she wouldn't get near to without a Mediterranean tour, and there was, as yet, no money for it. So she had to beat Ingrid if she could.

Emma was no woman to consider any bout easy - she was far too wise for that, but she was still a freelance, and was on the halls rather than in the clubs. Really, her bout tonight with Ingrid would be her best chance of being noticed, since the German champion's manager, Heinrich Bethge, was an organizer of the championship. Girls of Ingrid's class were most often found in the clubs, often fighting all-in, and very tough all-in at that, and it was comparatively rare for them to come out and display themselves to public view. Ingrid, on her tour, was purposely fighting both club and hall bouts, ostensibly to let the wrestling fans know that her claim to be considered for the Championship of Europe was legitimate. When Bethge had told her that Emma had asked for a bout, she was at first insulted, and then interested (after someone had shown her a video of the Emma and Val Rioch fight). She remembered Emma from earlier days, of course, but a year's retirement at Emma's age often meant that a girl went soft and couldn't stand the pace when she returned. She quickly saw that here was a chance to ensure her place in the tournament. If she could defeat the girl who had beaten Val Rioch so well in her last bout, comeback or not, she would be well on the way.

Hence her agreement to meet Emma at Legersham, where she had arrived prepared to take the Varradale woman apart.

They had met earlier that day for lunch, each trying to size the other up, and both liking what they saw. Impressed by Emma's vitality and fitness considering that she was only just back into training after her long lay-off, Ingrid began to think of the bout as less easy than she had thought. Worried by Ingrid's obvious power and solidity, Emma swallowed hard at the thought of what she had taken on. But each knew that their bout was likely to extend her, and were satisfied with that. A wrestler needed to be able to face her opponents with respect and confidence, so neither was prepared to concede to herself that the bout would be other than hers.

As was her wont, Emma inspected her ring outfit closely before donning it. She was to wear her `star-back' costume, the same one that she had used against Val Rioch (its skimpiness beginning to please her now that she was more used to it) and her long tan wrestling boots. The long blonde hair, she put into a tight ponytail, feeling that one thing she could certainly do without would be hair in her eyes. Despite her stockiness, Ingrid had a reputation for being quick, and what a wrestler could see out of the corner of her eye often saved her from some nasty experiences in the ring.

There was a good crowd, who would be mostly Emma's supporters tonight, and she liked to look her best for them. She waited through the idle pre-fight minutes limbering up, getting herself well warmed for the fight.

In the other dressing room, Ingrid Schmidt was being lectured by Bethge. He was encouraging her to carry the fight to Emma early, to bump her around a bit and to try to break down her fitness. She would have a kilo or two's weight advantage, and strength to haul opponents around was not as notable a feature of Emma's physique as it was hers. He would expect her to use her power and to put the British girl through it as much as she could.

Ingrid's strength was obvious from her powerful and stocky physique. Shorter by an inch than Emma, she was the heavier by three kilos, massively thighed and shouldered, thicker waisted and slightly smaller about the breasts. Her style ran to vigorous and powerful wrestling, a fighter rather than a classic wrestler, she was nevertheless quick, and light on her feet for such a powerful woman. Always a tough and dangerous opponent she might give Emma an even harder fight than that against Val.

Her costume tonight was neither as brief nor as fetching as the English girl's star-back, consisting of a standard two-piece bottom in diagonal rainbow stripes, and a quickly fashioned halter top in the same material, a rather odd garment having a flap of material tapering from a halter down to cover her breasts, but held in place beneath them by a string that was knotted at the back. It had been clearly run up quickly to meet the standards of the halls rather than the clubs, where it would have been unnecessary in view of the current trend towards topless fighting.

Nor was Ingrid as pretty as Emma. She had dour look about her, that was not much alleviated by very short cut hair that was very dark, almost black, and lay close to her head. It was a very practical style for a wrestler, and there was a seriousness about her that boded ill for any opponent.

Their call to the ring came a few seconds before nine o'clock as the previous loser in the evening's only male bout was stretchered back to the dressing room that Emma was using. She fervently hoped that it was not to be an omen.

Once in the ring, Ingrid was a quiet, almost studious wrestler. She did not leap about flashily, spring off ropes, nor put on a snarling, mean facade like some wrestlers. She just waited, calmly, for the bell to sound.

Emma found it unnerving, since she was used to the bounding snarlers, but she waited equally as calmly for the announcements before slipping her dressing gown, and acknowledging the crowd a moment or two before the bell went.

Calm she might have been before the bell, but the moment it sounded Ingrid seemed galvanized into action. As she went out to the ring centre, Emma was hit by a whirlwind. Two smashes to the throat had landed before she had set herself, and the next thing she was aware of was flying through the air, seized, lifted, and hurled across the ring with seemingly consummate ease by the strength of the German girl.

Emma, with her wrestler's instinct, twisted in the air, hit the ropes with her back, and was already rolling as she was flung off onto the canvas. Her momentum carried her into the ring and back towards Ingrid, who stood her ground, waited then kneed her in the body as she came, and stood away.

Rope-burned across the back, bruised about the shoulders, and winded by Ingrid's knee, Emma rolled onto the apron and lay there wincing, as a surprised referee began to count.

It was three before Emma seemed capable of even moving, but she was up at seven, and limping back into action. Again Ingrid moved in, seized her at shoulder and crotch, airplane spun her, and hurled her again towards a cornerpost. Emma landed in an untidy heap, ponytail flying, and skidding towards the post.

This time, she decide to stay down as long as possible. She had hardly had time to draw breath yet, and was already almost shaken to a wreck. Ingrid Schmidt was undoubtedly an intimidating fighter, and strong. She would have to try something to counter this constant heaving and hurling. Go low, that was her only answer at the moment, upend her and see what came of some ground wrestling.

It was against Emma's instincts to ground wrestle very much since she was a natural aerialist, but against Ingrid it was necessary to gain some ground, and the woman had already proved so quick that she would have to find something else.

Having come to her knees, she rested there, down on one knee, hand on the middle rope, head back and breathing heavily. There was already pain in her and she was uncomfortably aware that they were barely a minute into the round yet, and she was already on her sec second count. She allowed this one to reach nine before rising, and then immediately diving for Ingrid's far leg, the near one being crashed into by her shoulder as she went through. Ingrid had to fall, and went down hard on her backside, her breasts bouncing much as she did so. The top of her costume, resembling a bellied lateen sail where her breasts pushed against it almost flapped under the strain, and her body must have been nastily jarred.

The crowd, stunned into silence by Ingrid's superb opening attack, now began to find voice again as Emma did something positive, and cries of `Break her leg', and `Twist it off' came from her supporters.

Emma was not prepared to do either. What she needed was time to recover her scattered wits, and to allow the various pains about her to subside. Ingrid Schmidt had a mean hurl, and the longer the German buttocks rested on the canvas the better her own chances would get.

The one leg she had already secured in the dive, the second she seized and locked behind the first. Before Ingrid had recovered enough from the shock to twist over and deny her, Emma had thrust her own leg between the two, and locked her opponent up in a figure four.

It was a resting hold, and she rested, needing little effort to hold the squirming German, who was cursing herself for her inability to free herself, and more so for getting caught in the first place. Though she gave the crowd an excellent display of her ability to do a long series of sit-ups as she tried to reach Emma and punish her for her impudence, she had no success, and finally resorted to lying back and writhing, more to keep Emma occupied till she tired of the hold than in the hope of achieving anything.

Emma held onto it as long as she dared, and was feeling very much better when she released it and came to her feet. The rope burn a cross her back was still dreadfully sore, and her crotch hurt where Ingrid had seized her prior to the airplane spin, but as she rose she was very conscious that the stocky dark girl was more than capable of hurling her about very painfully. That, she would have to watch.

Predictably, Ingrid moved in fast again, seizing an arm and going for a whip. Emma resisted, jammed her knee into the dark woman's crotch, forearmed her to the jaw, and broke clear. Ingrid fell back both annoyed and overpowered for a moment. Bethge was watching, so she must not let things get out of hand here. Her job was to defeat the blonde as quickly as she could, and she had already started to weaken her. That Emma had recovered so quickly had surprised her, but she did not have to fall prey to the Englander's attacks herself.

Emma, though, conscious of the damage the bad start could have done her, followed through as Ingrid fell back, and leapt at her, trying for a headlock. The German reacted quickly, stepped into the attack and seized the inside hold of a bearhug. In moments Emma was moaning in agony as the sheer power of the woman threatened to break her creaking ribs. Hand under Ingrid's chin, she tried to force her head back. Ingrid went with her but maintained her hold, but using her legs and her height, Emma bent forward, helping to crick the strong neck she was working on. It was with relief that she felt Ingrid try to step back, and in the same instant, Emma toppled sideways, and took them with a thump to the canvas. Ingrid's grip was broken in the fall, and they wrestled around looking for a good hold, but each denying the other, until the rolled to their knees and stood again.

Quicker to her feet, Ingrid aimed a deadly-looking kick towards Emma's full breasts, but as it came at her, Emma fell to her back on the canvas, seized the leg as it passed over her, and wrenched towards her left. Ingrid was pulled forward off balance, threatening to drop onto the blonde, but as she descended towards her, Emma shot up a leg in one of her favourite moves, drove it into the stomach just under the diaphragm, and snapped it straight. Ingrid was cartwheeled over her, to dive, out of control, head first into the floor. Her body twisted to one side and dropped to the floor of a ring with such a crash that she bounced twice before lying there groaning, the ref standing over her counting, as she fought to clear the fog from her brain an to get back her senses.

Emma stood away to a neutral corner to regain her breath. Five minutes into the bout and she was already feeling as though she had done a full night's work. Schmidt, for all her skill, was a tough woman, and she was going to take some beating. At that moment Emma seriously doubted her ability to beat her, and knew that if she could it would take every last ounce of her strength and determination. One thing she knew - she had to try.

Ingrid Schmidt was up at nine, but was still groggy. Emma perceived a chance of scoring again, and launched into a dropkick that delivered her full 145 lbs via the soles of her boots, full into the bellying of that lateen sail of a top Schmidt was wearing, hoping to pulverize the breasts beneath, and bring enough pain to the brunette's consciousness to make her think twice about attacking hard again.

So accurate was the dropkick that it would have dropped a less tough woman in a screaming heap even before Emma had alighted. She alighted smoothly and lightly, and was forearming the German to the breasts before she knew it, stoking up the fires in them that she hoped had been caused by the kick.

Ingrid gobbled in agony at that and staggered back. With a quick lunge towards the legs Emma tried to upend her opponent again, failed, and had to swing back out of range of a forearm smash that looked suspiciously like a punch. A second, aimed for her head she ducked under, driving her left shoulder into the breasts again to keep the pain-pressure up, taking the German around the waist, then straightening and releasing the hold to send Ingrid bouncing off her knee, and down into a heap on the canvas again. Another count began, and stopped only when the German got to her knees, sat back shuddering a moment and then used the ropes to help her rise, eyes filled with pain as a result of her throbbing breasts.

It was rare for Ingrid to come into contact with a fighter like Emma who went for her breasts constantly. The blonde was taking a big risk, for she was big there, and could be very vulnerable. Breasts were a splendid target when an opponent's were sensitive, and Ingrid's were. But the lithe blonde was asking for a painful retribution as soon as Ingrid was back into the fight. The German wondered to herself whether the Britisher would be ready for it when she came to pay her back. She hoped not.

Bethge was watching with great interest. That Emma had had a year's lay-off was hardly showing. She seemed sharp and neat. The stomach throw had been mistressly done, and her attacking of Ingrid's breasts showed a pragmatic attitude that he liked. He expected all her opponent's to go for Ingrid in that region as she was widely known to be quite sensitively breasted for all her power, though it took a very good fighter to stay ahead of her in that department for very long. Emma had impressed him, too, with her ability to come back after her two early reverses, and to now, only five minutes later, to be carrying the fight to his own girl. In the context of the championship that he was spotting for, this English blonde had done herself much good. She had shown herself already to be brave and resourceful and not easily put off by set-backs, and he sensed that Ingrid was losing her cool almost, though they were, as yet, only in the first of six ten-minute rounds. Emma, he saw, was no girl for going in for flashy manoeuvres. She worked against her opponent all the time, and preferred to leave rope bouncing and all the rest of it to those who had more energy and less wrestling skill to offer.

There followed a quieter period with both fighters trying to assess their position. Ingrid had seemed to have things well under control early, but now the boot was somewhat on the other foot. Emma had learned to keep away from her as much as she could, and when they had closed the blonde had been ready with a positive attack. That was something that Ingrid was not overly used to with her reputation for staggering her opponents first and then dealing with them in her own time. Mostly it took them longer to get back into the fight and as a result Ingrid did not have to defend so soon. Emma was setting out to change all that . It was she who attacked first when they resumed, and again she went low, catching Ingrid about the waist, back-throwing her, and trying for a pin. Ingrid dealt easily with it and twisted out of hold to roll away free. Emma scrambled after her and they locked again in a ground wrestle.

Emma struggled to gain the uppermost position in order to hold Ingrid down, but they fought hard to best the other before she was able to throw a leg over the German, and with a wide-splayed leg position did manage to hold her as she wanted. Ingrid attempted to bridge out of it while Emma wanted to bring her legs together in a scissors, but she failed. Ingrid's bridge was strong enough to hold her and while she maintained that strength there was little or nothing Emma could do about it.

So there was a stalemate, neither able to gain what she wanted from the position. Emma realized it and reluctantly relinquished the hold, rolled away and got up, waiting for Schmidt to burst into action again.

But it had been a hard few minutes, and Ingrid was spent. She rolled away and got up herself ready to circle. Darting in, Emma went for a grab at her arms, perhaps wanting an interlock, but the German stayed clear, and seemed glad of a break.

The bell ended the first round before they could come to grips again and they returned to their corners ready for a rest.

Emma wondered about her opponent's lack of desire to get close and wrestle after the bridge, but Bethge's close attention to her breasts in the break gave her a clue to the reason. The German was still in a lot of pain from them, and had not been wanting to take more before the end of the first round.

She was eager to avoid a repetition of the start of the first as they came out for the second, but Ingrid seemed in no mood to be so aggressive. They circled, closed with a body slam, and broke away neither securing a hold.

Emma shocked her opponent with a spectacular cartwheel resulting in a left foot smash under the jaw that sent her back into the ropes. She sprang off them smashing towards the chest, but Emma took that, dropped to her bottom, legs between Ingrid's, and opened them to overbalance her. Expecting her to go backwards, she was surprised by a convulsive heave that made Ingrid lurch forward to fall on top of her. Slow to get her arms into action the British girl was half-winded by Ingrid's weight falling on her, and hurt by her driving her knuckles into her breasts as she landed. Reacting quickly despite that, she seized Ingrid's head with her right arm, rolled to the left and locked the German's face to her sweaty left armpit, covering both nose and mouth and preventing her drawing breath.

In that position there was nothing at all that the German could do and she was forced to submit before she was asphyxiated.

In was easy to see that Heinrich Bethge was not pleased. Ingrid had fallen into that hold unnecessarily, and he lectured her sternly in the break. One submission down, where she should have still been wrestling.

Emma, on the other hand, was inordinately pleased. It had been a lucky break in a fight where she would need all of those that she could get. The fight seemed to be going more her way now, and the longer that held true the better pleased she would be.

The third was a messy round. There was a series of failed attempts at an interlock, a sequence of Irish whips that got no-one anywhere, some rope springing that was as phoney as it looked, and a half-applied head scissors that Emma got out of easily, before the bell let them get back to their corners.

Now, Emma was feeling frustrated, and Bethge attacked his girl for being negative. The rope springing, though spectacular was wasteful of energy, and as they started the fourth, things got much more serious. Emma had learned that Ingrid was better at getting out of holds than getting them on, and Ingrid was aware that Emma was wanting to get on with the serious business of wrestling. Though the crowd had been moderately pleased with the third, neither wrestler considered it worth remembering.

Right from the start of the fourth Ingrid looked more positive. She began with an attempt to lift Emma and spin her, but the blonde dived over her shoulder, readjusted her weight, slid down, twisted and made Ingrid fall to her side. As she did so Emma caught her with a reverse scissors nicely around the breasts, and tortured her with the full power of her thighs. Schmidt's groans told her that she was not enjoying the experience, so Emma laid into it harder and harder, feeling the heat from the bruised breasts under her knee. There was little doubt that the German would have liked to submit again, but couldn't. She was thus forced to lie there and suffer it. It took a great deal out of her, and she rose dripping with sweat, and looking very hurt, when, after five minutes of unceasing hell, Emma released the hold and came clear.

She was up and attacking again before Ingrid had recovered, fly-kicking for the breasts, and nearly kicking off the left one. Schmidt screamed out her agony, and staggered to the ropes, forcing herself to spring off them again, though this time with serious intent. Fisting Emma in the belly, she used the impetus to reach her and go for a side headlock, but it was slipped, and Emma came clear after elbowing her in the kidneys. Schmidt went down, shuddering in pain, though only on her knees, and stayed there breathing hard, while Emma relaxed against the far ropes. It was becoming clearer by the minute that Ingrid Schmidt was unable to adjust her normal style to really go after Emma, and the blonde was now riding high.

She took eight before she rose, before, in fact, she was able to rise, and it was a sluggish girl that faced the blonde. Emma was very surprised. She had expected the German to put up a much better fight than she was doing, and it seemed now that she was going to lose heart altogether. She was hurt and slowed, and was now looking to defend as Emma bounded in with her second attempt at a drop kick in the breasts. Ingrid was slow to twist out of the way, and the blonde had the satisfaction of feeling the bruised mammaries buckle under her full weight again. She knew what that felt like, and did not envy the German her suffering.

Slammed into the red cornerpost padding by the kick, Ingrid was conscious of a dull agony in her chest that seemed to spread throughout her body and hold her locked in its dreadful grip. She felt weak and helpless as she saw the leaping form of Emma coming for her again. Dull witted, and without the capacity to think through the agony she was in, she put up an arm to fend off, knowing that she would fail. Her head spun and ached as it had ever since that stomach throw in the first round had driven her skull into the grey canvas, and another wrenching pain was torn from her as one foot drove into her breasts, and the other into her solar plexus. She remembered her knees striking the canvas painfully, and her body being jarred, but little else as she knelt in the red corner, her back against the padding and listened to someone counting.

She got up at eight, and was immediately rewarded by a forearm smash to her throat. In reply she brought up a knee and felt it thump into the region she expected her tormentrix's groin to be. Emma fell away, gurgling in agony at the blast between her legs as her clitoris was crushed against her pubic arch, but fighting to stay in control of herself. She could see Ingrid going before her very eyes, and was so hurt by the knee that she could hardly move to finish her.

Ingrid looked desperate, and was. The black hair was sticking to her scalp, and the top of her costume flapped wetly against the upper part of her chest. Under it were the throbbing breasts, emitting a pain that she had never remembered feeling quite so acutely before, and she tried to fight it down and act. The knee had given her a chance to earn a breather if only she could bring herself to do what was necessary. She could not find the strength to do it.

"Hit her!" she heard Bethge shout in German.

`Sod him!' she thought. How would he be sticking what she was going through? But the voice did help her to fix her position in regard to Emma's. She came in swinging, smashing towards the blonde's full breasts, and feeling them distort under her blows. Emma yelped in pain, and twisted away. Ingrid followed. The crowd roared for Emma to pull herself together and hit back, and she couldn't . Suddenly she felt as spent as Schmidt, and just stood there trying to block, and wishing the pain in her pubis would go away.

Neither that nor Ingrid did, so she hit out blindly herself, felt Ingrid press forward, seized her in a headlock and threw her over her knee, crashing down on her as she fell. The rainbow-covered breasts were suddenly within range, and she pummelled them with her right fist until the referee hauled her off, and began counting again over the recumbent heap of German.

"Eight...nine...ten...out!" he exclaimed as Ingrid Schmidt, the breath knocked out of her, writhed on the canvas, whimpering slightly, and Emma sagged against the far ropes massaging her groin. She seemed hardly aware that she had won, as though readying herself for further action.

It was clear that no more would be coming from Ingrid Schmidt. She still lay where she had rolled after Emma's pummelling, aware of nothing but a burning agony in her breasts, and a woolliness in her brain that she could not account for. It was the end of a scrappy, unsatisfactory bout. It had been going to be Emma's glory night at the hall, but had turned out as a poorish nightmare of a fight - a bad start, an indecisive middle and a poor and sudden end. The fight was not even half an hour old.

Emma stood up for the referee to declare her victrix, but there was little savour in it. She knew that it was not she who had beaten Ingrid, but something amiss with the stocky woman. She had never looked like a world-beater tonight except in those first two minutes, and even Emma's own display had been below par. The crowd had enjoyed her victory, and had not minded the ending, but to a wrestler of Emma's pride, it was not a fight she would like to be remembered for. Ingrid Schmidt had deserved better than that. She had deserved better herself, yet unaccountably she felt worn and tired. It served to remind her that her chosen career did have its high and low points. Perhaps she was below par today - certainly her customary verve had deserted her, but there would be other occasions, another meeting with Ingrid Schmidt perhaps. And Bethge might pick her as one of his eight.

She left the ring rather depressed. She had won an important victory, but did not feel that she had deserved it. As she went back to the changing room they were still working on Ingrid.

Emma peeled off her costume wearily, and climbed into the shower, sluicing off the sweat and grime without much pleasure. As she was doing so she came to a decision. She dried herself, dressed, then headed for Ingrid's changing room. She knocked, and asked to see Heinrich Bethge. When he came, he looked as depressed as she felt.

"There was something wrong, wasn't there?" she asked.

He looked at her and nodded. "Yes," he answered in heavily accented English, "they say my girl is badly concussed."

"I thought so," she answered. "She didn't seem to know where she was." She paused, her natural smile returning. "Don't judge us on this," she said pointedly. "We ought to fight again."

Bethge responded to her weary smile with one of his own. "You will," he replied, "You will."

END No.709
 
 

Stories in the Ajax Collection are available for purchase.
The list of available stories from 1000-1299 (with excerpts) can be found at:
www.geocities.com/ajax_stories/index.html
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