The General Manager moved toward her as her jeans dropped to the pew on which she stood, showing that she was up to date in fashion by wearing no panties under the tight jeans, designed to be tight enough to produce a distinct cameltoe fold in her crotch. "Now bend forward to show us if she did any damage to your beautifully enhanced groin." Wendy did as she was instructed. Immediately she felt the sharp sting of the riding crop across her buttocks, low enough that the tightly braided leather also struck the distended lips of her vagina, causing an incredible flash of pain. An involuntary scream escaped her lips before she could exercise the necessary restraint to hold it back.
"That was for stopping the beating in the ring last night before you were instructed to. She was only out for 10 minutes, when you could have hurt her bad enough to keep her out for half an hour! Now pull your pants up and sit down, you dirty little bitch." Wendy was startled at this treatment. She had never been to a discipline ceremony before, but had assumed only the target girl would receive such treatment. All she had done was leave Dianna alone when she was no longer able to defend herself. That's what anyone would have done under those circumstances.
"And now let's turn our attention to the main transgressor," she said, turning toward Dianna. "More elevation, please." The men raised Dianna by her arms so that her feet could no longer reach the ground. The General Manager swung the riding crop back and forth several times across Dianna's towel-covered breasts with such force that the towel dropped away, leaving her completely naked. The crop snapped up between her legs, striking her vagina hard. Wendy cringed as she realized how much that had to hurt. That powerful shot proved to be just the beginning of a rapid series of repeat blows, causing the exposed and bruised female organ to swell and redden severely.
"The ladies we hire to participate in the extreme fight cage are required to be aggressive, and you, you sorry excuse for a female, were just a little pussy in there last night. Shame on you!" With that she turned her attention to Dianna's desperately kicking legs, then a dozen severe blows moved up to work on her sides and belly, returned to lash the beautifully bobbing breasts, then completed her whipping of the helplessly elevated girl by slashing the crop across her face, splitting he lip, causing her nose to bleed and one eye to swell up.
There was an audible sigh of relief when she lowered the whip and tucked it once more securely under her arm. "That should do for now. I hope that you as well as she have learned a lesson you won't soon forget. The only reason you enter the cage is to fight, not be so easily beaten. Now that we've finished with Dianne's discipline, let me give you a brief tour of this funeral home. It's really quite an interesting place."
The boys and girls in the pews were really not interested in touring a funeral home, but knew that the invitation did not include the option of refusal. They followed her through the doors through which she had entered, and gathered around her when she stopped. "This is where the coffins are loaded into a hearse to be taken to the cemetery when a burial is to follow." Her captive audience nodded without enthusiasm. There was even less enthusiasm when she told them they were going through a hallway that would take them into the building behind the chapel that housed the crematorium.
They all followed her once more, and shuffled as they tried to appear to be cool when she stopped in front of the big furnace. Wendy had noticed the sign in the hallway that identified the crematorium's name. It simply read "The States". She thought that was a strange name for a crematorium. The Mexican doctor who owned the facility was there waiting for them. There were a couple of cardboard coffins sitting on gurneys in the room, and a metal frame the size of a kitchen counter that had rollers instead of a top, which stood in front of the open door of the powerful gas-fed furnace that was burning hotly as they watched. It was where the coffins would be placed when someone was to be cremated so that their box could be rolled in.
"We're luck to have picked today for our visit, because there are a couple of cremations to be done," the Club's General Manager said. I think you will find it quite educational."
Wendy concentrated on becoming a better and more aggressive fighter, taking lessons in techniques of dealing carnage upon her opponents, and practicing four hours a day in the Mexican doctor's small gym. She was in great shape, and improving every day. When she saw that others were doing it she consented to undergoing the alterations to her groin that made her appear to be more sexually stimulating by being more outrageous than other girls she fought. She became a real hellcat, doing serious damage to her opponents, sometimes breaking one of their arms and cracking several of their ribs before pounding them when they were down in the k i dneys and on the head until they were beaten unconscious.
She was not satisfied with just winning. Wendy always wanted to hurt each of her opponents badly, in a way that gave them a permanent souvenir to remind them who defeated them, and how she did it. She always loved earning the shouts of encouragement from members as she did more and more damage to the women and girls she faced. Even when she liked a girl, all bets were off when they stepped into the ring. All she saw was an opponent she wanted to make scream, give pain, make suffer and hurt as much as possible.
After her first five wins Wendy and a new young fighter named Megan, a beautiful fair-skinned black girl with more than a little white blood in her veins, also from San Diego, were called to the fight coordinator's office. They were offered free residence in the Club, and both readily accepted. Wendy wondered why Megan, who was new to the Club and had never fought here, was made such a generous offer at the same time she was. This whole thing wasn't about being fair, but that Megan must have impressed somebody big time.
Two vacancies had come up in the spacious dormitories. Because the true nature of the Club was quite secret, the fight coordinator dictated a note that Wendy and Megan wrote verbatim to their roommates at the houses they shared, each writing that she had a boyfriend and that she was going back to the States to live with him. It was no more specific than that, which was typical for girls their age, and when they signed it their letters were delivered for them.
Megan asked why the vacancies - where had the others gone. Wendy smiled when she heard the usual answer. "They went to live with boyfriends in the States." Clearly it was none of their business. Wendy trusted her employer, and saw no dark message in the familiar answer.
Then the stunner came. "The other good news I have for you both is that you are both being promoted, as of today! Your next fight will be A Class!" the coordinator told them.
"What's that?" they asked together.
"One of you is going to the States to live with your boyfriend."
Again they spoke in unison. "I don't have a boyfriend!" they said, sensing something very onerous was about to happen. Were they going to be kicked out of their jobs at the Club? That couldn't be the case or they would not have been just now promoted.
"That's just code. The C or Cute class are for relative novices, and are usually preliminary bouts. We call them cute, not serious fights. The only real appeal is young girls scrapping. The B or Beautiful Class are fights in which you expand your fighting capability, and become beautiful fighters, so to speak, and when you turn 18 we let you fight naked, so the members appreciate more what you have to offer." Wendy thought that was a funny way to put it, because at 18 all of the girls had to fight naked. It was rumored the Club, because it was a closed facility, sometimes had even younger girls fight nude, but those were just stories. Nobody knew anyone who had done it before they turned legal. She had seen some really young girls going into the service entrance, but assumed they were family of the staff.
"All of your work in the cage before today is in preparation for becoming an Active Class fighter. That's where you put your talents to active use, in our major fights, the one's you have not been permitted to watch, fights where there are no limits, and no quarter given. This top end class is reserved for accomplished, proven and capable combatants. You are now scheduled to fight each other in a very special A Class fight tomorrow night, which means you have both reached the summit of your careers. This is the ultimate sports competition, a fight with absolutely no holds barred. There are definitely no limits. You have both been judged to be perfectly capable of killing an opponent to complete a fight, and that in fact is the sole objective of tomorrow's contest."
Both girls involuntarily squealed. The fight coordinator continued as if there had been no reaction. "Only one of you will come out of the cage alive tomorrow night, and neither of you will come out until the other is quite dead. You will kill your opponent, or the fight will continue. Is there anything about that either of you doesn't fully understand?"
"I can kill her," Megan said, not looking at Wendy. She swallowed hard, clearly fighting back the urge to be violently ill.
"I'm going to kill her!" Wendy said with conviction, looking directly at the beautiful mulloto teenager. "You know I can!"
"You're both ready, and tomorrow night we'll see which of you is most ready. One of you will be successful, and the other one will die. It's very simple. Live or die. It's up to you. The format is quite structured, despite having no limits, and you will have a handler who will also be your personal trainer with you from now on to help prepare you for victory. You will be given some special stimulants to ensure your efforts are optimum."
"What does optimum mean?" Wendy asked. "Is that like opium?" Like most grade 8 dropouts, she had not developed an extensive vocabulary.
"Do you know what speed is?"
"Sure."
"Uppers?"
"Of course."
"Have you ever snorted a row?"
"Only once. Its too expensive, but once somebody gave me some."
"A boyfriend?"
"Nope. Coach wanted me to stay a virgin, so he gave me a row to do so it wouldn't hurt too much when he did me up my butt. None of the other girls in the class were virgins, so they didn't need a row. Damn, he has a thick dong!"
"He r@ped his students?" The coach was well known in the business in Tijuana, and was credited with providing first-rate fighters. He was not known as a molester, but in this business nothing was a surprise.
"Not r@pe, not the way he explained it. He did get quite rough as he gave us semi-private character lessons. He had four of us at a time over to his house when his wife was away for a couple of weeks taking care of her sick mother. He said it was an important part of our training, and because it was a bit unusual, he had four of us over at a time so nobody could claim they were treated unfairly when he taught us about building character. He said that being mastered by a man was a great way to build character which is really important in a fight."
"Nice. Anyway, this is about your ultimate fight, and I think you get the idea. Trust me, you'll both fight with a lot more enthusiasm when you've been given a chemical assistant. The doctor makes up a special cocktail that makes you quite ferocious in the fight cage. With so much at stake, there is no need for us to get you to hate each other. Trust me, you will both be suitably aggressive when the time comes. This is the ultimate in extreme fighting. Death is a great incentive, and the members love to watch as a nude girl violently kills her opponent in the cage. You will both be quite brut@l, which is what its all about, isn't it. It's really quite exciting! That's the perspective from the audience. Only you two will really know what its like from inside the fight cage!"
Both girls bolted for the washroom to toss their cookies. The reality of what was going to happen was sinking in, and once they had cleared their stomachs they would be allowed to move on to the next phase of preparation. Theirs was a perfectly natural reaction, and was fully anticipated.
After heaving they both composed themselves by washing their mouths out. As they dried themselves Megan confided her secret. "I was in a fight at Pancho's Cantina Punch Barn, and my opponent bit my hand, really hard. I lost it, and before the fight was over I killed her. I didn't even know her and I killed her. I don't know you, and now I'm going to have to kill you too."
"Maybe not," Wendy said in a matter of fact manner. Damn. She was going into the cage against a proven killer. Even seasoned A Class fighters, who were survivors and killers, had the same reaction each time their new fight was announced, 36 hours before they would enter and be locked into the engulfing fight cage, possibly for the last time. In this ultimate sport they had just learned that it was always kill or be killed. There were no grey areas, and no retreat. There would be no more fights ended with a knockout.
* * * * *
(continued)
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