1979 Mom’s PTO Wrestling Fundraiser

[Rick743]

It had been quite a trip to the grocery store for Nina. Another snowstorm was predicted for the northeast and people were stocking up. February was coming to an end, so hopefully this brutal 1979 winter was almost over. In her 41 years, Nina never recalled a winter with this much snow.

Nina pulled into the driveway and began unloading bags from the back of the family's wood-paneled station wagon. She was in the kitchen putting away the milk and canned goods when her son, Billy, came bursting through the front door, letting in a swirl of freezing air.

"Mom! Where are you?" Billy called out excitedly. "I need to tell you about something!"

Nina smiled, looking up from the counter. "I'm in the kitchen. You okay? What's all the fuss about?"

Yeah, I'm fine. Check this out." He handed Nina a brightly colored flyer he'd brought home from school.

It read:
PTO FUNDRAISER TO RAISE MONEY FOR SCHOOL SUPPLIES
MARCH 31, 1979
MOM WRESTLING NIGHT! ALL MOMS WELCOME TO COME OUT AND SEE HOW YOU STACK UP AGAINST OTHER MOMS. ALL IN FUN. PLEASE HELP!

Nina held a hand over her mouth as she read the bold text. She looked over the top of the paper at her son. "Don't tell me you want me to do this?"

"Sure, Mom! I do," Billy said instantly.

"Billy, I've never had a physical fight in my life, and I sure don't know the first thing about wrestling."

"I'm sure most of the moms are the same way," Billy pressed on. "In fact, my friends and I were talking on the walk home, and they all think you'd be great. They'd love to see you try it. Rick especially."

What Billy wasn't aware of was that his friends simply liked the thought of seeing Nina in a swimsuit wrestling. To young teens, there was a quiet, captivating charge to seeing a busty, attractive mom in a situation like that. Most of the other neighborhood moms didn't have the kind of figure Nina had.

Nina sighed, studying the flyer again. "Jeez, I don't know. I mean... how does something like this even work?"

"The names of the moms participating go into a hat," Billy explained quickly. "Then they're drawn at random to see who wrestles who."

"I have to think about this, Billy. Honestly, I'm not sure it's a good idea."

Billy's face fell into a deep pout. "Come on, Mom. Like I said, all my friends want to see you do it."

"Like I said," Nina replied gently, "let me think about it."

"Okay," Billy muttered, heading toward the stairs. "The deadline to sign up is next Friday."

Wednesday night before the sign-up deadline, Billy's bedroom is crammed with five teenage boys huddled over comic books and spilled sodas. The flyer from the PTO sits in the center of the desk like a piece of contraband.

"There's no way any of the moms actually do it," Rick says, leaning against the bedpost and trying to sound casual while staring at the paper. "It's just a joke to get people to buy tickets."

"My mom's thinking about it," Billy announces, sitting up with a proud grin.
The room goes dead silent. Rick's eyes snap straight to Billy.

"Your mom?" asks Mark, cracking up. "Mrs. Mitchell? Billy, she doesn't even yell at us when we track mud on the carpet. She'd faint if someone grabbed her!"

"She's just being nice!" Billy defends, his face reddening. "She wants to help the school. Besides, my dad said most of the moms signing up are just gonna laugh around and take a easy fall. It's not like real wrestling."

"I don't know, man," Rick cuts in smoothly, his voice dropping an octave as a dark, sudden thought takes root in his mind. "My cousin saw the sign-up sheet at the grocery store. Tina Vance put her name down yesterday."

Mark lets out a low whistle. "Tina? Man, she's huge. She'd rip any of our moms in half."

"Exactly," Rick says, a slow, quiet excitement stirring in his chest as he looks at Billy. "If your mom signs up, Billy... she isn't just going up against some lady from the bake sale. If she gets drawn against Tina, your mom's gonna get utterly destroyed."

Billy scoffs, waving a hand. "They wouldn't let that happen. It's for the school! It's all in fun."

Rick doesn't say another word, but as the other boys keep laughing and debating who else might join, Rick's mind drifts. He pictures soft, sweet Mrs. Mitchell--with her quiet laugh, gentle hands, and soft figure--getting trapped on the mat across from someone as hard and mean as Tina Vance. The thought of Billy's mom being completely helpless, getting manhandled and bounced around on the mat in front of the whole neighborhood, sends a heavy, secret thrill through him that he has to fight to keep off his face.

Nina spent the next few days eyeing that paper on the refrigerator. Every time she walked past it to grab a carton of milk or start dinner, the bold black letters seemed to mock her. ALL IN FUN, it said. PLEASE HELP.

By Thursday evening, the guilt finally won out. Billy had been on his best behavior all week--doing his chores without being asked, clearing the table, and throwing hopeful looks at the fridge every time he walked through the kitchen. He wanted so badly to be the kid whose mom was brave enough to step up for the school.

Sitting at the kitchen table while a pot of roast simmered on the stove, Nina pulled the flyer down. She grabbed a blue ballpoint pen from the mug by the phone.
"I must be losing my mind," she muttered to herself with a soft, nervous laugh.

She wrote her name in her tidy cursive on the sign-up slip, folded it neatly, and tucked it into Billy's binder for the morning. She convinced herself it would be a silly, five-minute match--a few playful shoves, a lighthearted tumble onto a thick gym mat, and a crowd of neighbors clapping for a good cause.

Friday morning came, and the kitchen was quiet save for the low hum of the refrigerator. Billy slid into his chair at the breakfast table, half-asleep, dragging a bowl of cereal toward himself. Then his eyes caught the refrigerator door.

The flyer was gone.

In its place, resting beside his binder, was the signed slip. Nina's neat, cursive signature sat right on the line. Beside it, she had drawn a little smiling face.

Billy's jaw dropped. "Mom! You signed it!"
Nina turned around from the stove, holding a spatula, a flush of embarrassed pink rising on her cheeks. "I did. But Billy, I mean it--no foolishness. I'm doing this for the school supplies, and that's it."

"You're the best, Mom! I gotta go!" Billy didn't even finish his cereal. He shoved the slip into his jacket pocket, grabbed his backpack, and practically flew out the back door into the crisp, snowy morning air.

He met Rick at the corner of Elm Street, where the snowbanks were piled high from the plows. Rick was bundled up in a heavy parka, hands jammed in his pockets, stomping his boots against the icy pavement to stay warm.

"Rick! Check it out!" Billy panted, pulling the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and thrusting it into his friend's face.
Rick squinted at the handwriting, his eyes widening as he realized what he was looking at. "No way... your mom actually signed up?"

"She just did it this morning!" Billy said, grinning proudly.

Rick stared at the signature, a slow, stunned grin spreading across his face. To Rick, Nina wasn't just his best friend's mom--she was the prettiest woman on the block. The thought of sweet, soft-spoken Mrs. Mitchell stepping onto a wrestling mat in front of the whole school, wearing gear that actually showed off her figure, made Rick's chest tighten with a sudden, dizzying rush of excitement.

"Man," Rick swallowed, trying to sound casual as he handed the paper back, though his face felt hot in the freezing air. "The guys are gonna lose their minds when they find out."

"I know, right?" Billy chuckled, completely oblivious to the real reason Rick was staring so intently. "She's gonna crush it."

"Yeah..." Rick muttered, his mind already racing ahead to March 31st, imagining what it was actually going to look like when the gym lights went down. "She totally is."

On the outside, Rick was smiling for his best friend. But inside, a hot, dizzying charge ran straight through him.

Rick knew Mrs. Mitchell. She was sweet, soft-spoken, and spent her weekends tending to her flowerbeds or pouring lemonade for them on the porch. She didn't have a single mean bone in her body, and she certainly didn't know how to handle herself in a physical struggle.

The thought of someone so gentle, so soft, and so ridiculously attractive getting thrown around on a hard vinyl mat made Rick's pulse race. To a teenage boy, Nina in a snug swimsuit was already a fantasy--but the idea of her being completely out of her depth, struggling, getting bounced around, and forced to endure a helpless defeat in front of the whole gym sent a heavy, forbidden thrill right to his gut.

He knew he should feel bad for her. He knew she was walking into something she wasn't remotely prepared for. But as they walked past the high snowbanks toward school, Rick couldn't care less about the PTO fundraiser. He just couldn't wait to watch her lose.

"Hey, Rick! You even listening?" Billy called out, kicking a chunk of ice off the curb.
Rick snapped out of his daze, shoving his hands deeper into his parka pockets to hide how flushed his face felt in the freezing morning air. "Yeah! Sorry, man. Just... thinking about how crazy March 31st is gonna be."

The night before March 31st brought a sudden, quiet anxiety into the Mitchell house. The winter snow had finally begun to melt into slush, but inside her bedroom, Nina felt colder than usual.

She stood in front of her open closet in her slip, staring at the small collection of one-piece swimsuits she owned. None of them had been purchased with a gymnasium full of neighbors in mind. She pulled out a simple black one first, holding it up against herself in the full-length mirror. It was practical, but the modest neckline felt dull. Next was a floral-print suit she usually wore on family trips to the lake--it was soft, colorful, and comfortable, but the scoop neck dipped considerably lower, accentuating a figure she usually kept politely covered under cardigans and blouses.

She held the floral suit against her chest, her heart doing a quick, nervous flutter.
"It's just for the school," she reminded herself softly, adjusting the straps over her shoulders in the mirror. "It's all in fun."
She set the floral suit on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling just a bit. She had no idea how to move on a wrestling mat, no idea how to hold her ground. Nina smoothed down the fabric of the suit, took a deep breath, and set her alarm for the big night.

The school gymnasium was packed, hot and thick with the heavy humidity of a hundred winter coats and the greasy smell of concession stand popcorn. High school bleachers were filled with shouting parents, snickering teenagers, and local dads, all eager for the spectacle. Down on the hardwood, near the oversized makeshift wrestling ring, a folding table was set up with a microphone and a plain glass bowl.

The mom contestants stood in an awkward, nervous cluster beside the ring, clutching their robes or towels tight around themselves. Nina stood near the edge, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. In her colorful floral suit, her soft shoulders and full figure were on complete display under the glaring flights, drawing plenty of hushed whispers and nudges from the front rows.

Billy and Rick were seated three rows up; while Billy cheered loudly, Rick leaned forward, his knuckles white against his knees, his eyes locked on how completely out of place and vulnerable Nina looked.

Then, the principal tapped the microphone, a sharp screech ringing through the gym.
"Alright, folks! Welcome to the 1979 PTO Fundraiser!" the principal boomed to loud cheers. "Let's draw our first match of the evening!"

He reached his hand deep into the glass bowl, swirling the folded slips of paper around before pulling one out. He unfolded it and read into the mic: "Nina Mitchell!"
A scatter of applause broke out, and Nina swallowed hard, stepping forward onto the edge of the mat with a tense, polite smile, trying to wave at Billy in the crowd.

"And wrestling Nina tonight..." The principal reached back into the bowl, drawing out the second name. He opened it up and read it clearly: "Tina Vance!"

A heavy silence rippled through a few of the front rows before the crowd cheered again. Down in the cluster of women, a tall, sharp-featured woman slowly dropped her towel to the floor. Tina stepped into the light wearing a sleek leopard-print swimsuit, her eyes fixing onto Nina with a cold, terrifying calm.

Rick sat up straight in the bleachers, his mouth going dry. Seeing Nina's polite grin vanish as she locked eyes with Tina, Rick knew Nina was in trouble, even more than he had anticipated.

As the two women stood at opposite ends of the ring, the stark physical contrast between them couldn't have been more obvious.

Nina was built with soft, classic 1970s femininity. Standing at a modest height, her body was defined by smooth, natural curves, full hips, and a distinctly generous bust that filled out the colorful floral one-piece. Her skin was fair, almost delicate, with no visible muscle definition--just a plush, attractive figure that looked made for cozy cardigans and warm embraces. Her thick, jet-black hair was cut short and neat, framing a soft face with gentle eyes that were currently wide with nervous hesitation. She looked entirely like the suburban mother she was: sweet, soft, and physically unprepared for conflict.

Tina, on the other hand, looked like an entirely different species. She was noticeably taller, with a long, lean, and deceptively powerful frame that filled out the leopard-print leotard with dangerous confidence. Years of hard labor and relentless fitness had carved visible muscle tone into her body--toned, dark-tanned thighs, broad shoulders, and long, corded arms that showed subtle muscle striations whenever she moved. Her hair was a cascading mane of long, deep, reddish-brown chocolate that fell past her shoulder blades in long, thick waves, tumbling wildly around her sharp, angled face. With dark, heavy eye makeup framing a cold, calculating expression, Tina looked broad, hard-edged, and completely dominant.

Sitting in the bleachers, Rick stares in absolute fascination. Seeing Nina's soft, short-haired, porcelain-skinned frame standing directly across from Tina's tall, muscular, leopard-clad physique made the outcome feel instantly brutal before a single move had even been made.

The whistle blew, its sharp screech echoing through the gym. Nina takes a tentative step forward, her bare feet sinking slightly into the canvas. She held her hands out at waist height, palms open, wearing a tight, polite smile as if she expected a friendly hand-shake or a lighthearted push. "Alright, Tina, let's just give them a good show--"

Tina doesn't answer or smile. She simply explodes across the mat.

Before Nina can even register the movement, Tina closes the gap and slams both hands hard against Nina's soft shoulders. The force of the shove tears a high, sharp gasp from Nina's throat. Her feet slip out from under her, and she goes tumbling backward, hitting the mat with a heavy, dull thud.

The gym goes quiet, save for a few gasped "Oohs!" from the parents in the front row.

Up in the bleachers, Billy leans over the railing, his mouth agape in sudden shock. Next to him, Rick feels his entire body go rigid. His heart hammers in his chest, a dark, hot surge running straight through him as he watches Nina sprawled on her back, her short black hair messy, her eyes wide with total, disbelieving shock as she clutches at her chest.

Tina towers over her, completely unbothered by the crowd's reaction. She slowly circles the stunned, sweet woman on the floor like a hawk, waiting for her to try and get up.

Nina scrambles awkwardly onto her hands and knees, her face flushed red with deep humiliation. "Tina... wait, what are you doing?" she manages to push out, her voice trembling.

Instead of letting her rise, Tina steps in close, grabbing Nina by the waist of her floral suit, and hauls her right back down to the canvas. Nina's breath leaves her in a rush as Tina drops her full weight over her back, pinning her flat against the mat and securing a tight, unrelenting hold.

Rick leans forward, his hands gripping the metal railing so tight his knuckles turn white. From his view high above, he watches Nina struggle beneath Tina's hard grip, her soft frame completely trapped and outmatched.

Tina eases off the hold, rising back to her feet with a slow, ruthless grin that signals this is far from over. She steps back, gesturing with her hands for Nina to get up, deliberately prolonging the match to milk every second of total control.

Nina lies there for a second, gasping for air, her chest heaving under the bright gym lights. Her short black hair is thoroughly disheveled, sticking to her forehead with sweat. Slowly, awkwardly, she pushes herself up to her hands and knees, her knees wobbling on the slick canvas. The sheer panic in her eyes is undeniable--she wants nothing more than to crawl off the mat and escape, but the eyes of the entire neighborhood freeze her in place.

Up in the bleachers, Billy yells out, "Come on, Mom! Get up!"

Next to him, Rick says nothing. His breathing is shallow, his chest tight as he watches Nina struggle just to stand. Seeing her soft, attractive form completely broken down and subjected to Tina's cold playfulness sends a dizzying, forbidden rush right through him.

Nina finally manages to get her feet under her, standing up unsteadily. She clutches at her chest, her voice trembling as she pleads, "Tina, please... this is supposed to be for the kids."

Tina just smiles, her long chocolate-brown hair tossing over her shoulder as she steps in to trap her again.

Tina closes the distance again, ignoring Nina's quiet plea entirely. With a sharp, fluid movement, she wraps her long, toned arms tight around Nina's midsection from behind, driving her shoulder hard into Nina's back.

Nina lets out a breathy, frantic cry as she is forced down to the mat once more, her knees slapping hard against the canvas.

Tina stands over Nina's back. She grabs Nina's arms and plants her foot firmly on Nina's back. She pulls back on Nina's arms as she pushes down on Nina's back in a brutal surfboard hold.

Every time Nina tries to shift her weight or push up off the floor, Tina effortlessly counters, applying just enough agonizing pressure to flatten her back out. The sweet, soft woman is completely powerless. Her face is flushed bright red, her short black hair plastered to her slick forehead, her breasts dangling as Tina pulls her further up while still keeping her foot on Nina's back

Up in the bleachers, the crowd's initial nervous laughter is long gone, replaced by a heavy, uncomfortable hush. Billy grips the wooden railing, his face pale as he watches his mother get systematically broken down.

Right beside him, Rick sits frozen. His eyes are wide, glued to every detail of the mismatch. The sight of the sweet, beautiful Mrs. Mitchell completely at the mercy of Tina--struggling, helpless, and visibly trembling--creates a dark, intoxicating charge that makes his blood hum. He feels guilty, but he can't look away.

Nina's eyes stretch wide in absolute panic as Tina cranks the hold tighter, bending her back into a sharp, excruciating arc. The physical strain is too much for the soft, gentle woman. A sharp, desperate yell tears from Nina's throat, echoing across the silent gym.

"I submit! I give up! Stop!" Nina cries out.

The crowd holds its breath, expecting the whistle to blow or Tina to release her. But Tina doesn't budge. She simply locks her jaw, her dark eyes flashing with a ruthless, cruel thrill as she deliberately ignores the yield. Instead of letting go, she applies even more pressure, digging her foot deeper into Nina's back and cranking her shoulders backward until Nina is completely immobilized.

"Tina, stop! She gave up!" Billy screams from the bleachers, his voice cracking with sheer terror as he surges against the railing.

Right beside him, Rick's heart is pounding against his ribs like a sledgehammer. Seeing Nina--the softest, sweetest woman on the block--reduced to a frantic, sobbing mess, begging for mercy while Tina relentlessly torments her, sends a dark, intoxicating rush straight through him. His jaw is slightly slack, his eyes fixed on Nina's face as she squirms beneath Tina's overwhelming strength, entirely helpless to stop the punishment.

Nina's cries turn into muffled, breathless groans as the pain overwhelms her. She can barely breathe beneath Tina's heavy frame, her short black hair tangled and soaked with sweat against her burning face. Every attempt to twist away only results in Tina tightening the lock, driving home the terrifying reality that Nina isn't being let off the hook anytime soon.

Tina releases the hold but before Nina can even draw a full breath, Tina reaches down and wraps her long, muscular arms securely around Nina's waist. With a sudden, explosive surge of strength, she drives her legs upward, hauling Nina entirely off the mat.

For a terrifying, weightless second, Nina hangs suspended in the air under the glaring gym lights, her short black hair falling back, her eyes wide with total helplessness. Then, Tina violently drives her straight back down.

The impact is brutal. Nina hits the blue vinyl flat on her back with a sickening thump that echoes like a gunshot through the silent gym. All the air bursts out of Nina's lungs in a choked, breathless gasp. She sprawls there, dazed, her head spinning as she stares up at the rafters, her chest heaving violently, completely broken and unable to move.

Tina hovers over her with a predatory grin, flexing her fingers, ready to drop right back down and resume the torture on her helpless, shuddering target.

Up in the bleachers, Rick's pulse is racing at a dangerous speed, his knuckles practically white against the bleacher railing as he stares down at Nina's trembling, defeated form.

Finally, three men from the front row jump over the railing and rush onto the mat. The school principal and two local dads step directly between Tina and the dazed woman on the floor.

"Back off, Tina! Match is over!" one of the men demands, holding his hands up to block her path.

Tina slowly backs away, her long chocolate-brown hair tossing over her shoulder as she lets out a cold, satisfied laugh. She raises her arms in victory, thoroughly enjoying the silence of the stunned crowd.

On the mat, Nina rolls onto her side, clutching her aching ribs, tears cutting tracks through the sweat on her face as she tries to recover her breath.

While the men keep themselves firmly planted between the two women, Nina slowly, agonizingly rolls onto her stomach. Her knees shake as she pushes her weight up from the blue vinyl. She can barely keep her head up, her short black hair hanging messily over her flushed, tear-stained face. Wounded and terrified, she begins crawling as fast as her bruised body allows toward the edge of the mat, her hands trembling violently with every movement.

Tina doesn't even bother trying to push past the men. She simply watches Nina's desperate retreat, a dark, satisfied smile spreading across her face.

She steps closer to the men blocking her path, leaning over their shoulders, her voice cutting through the quiet gym loud and clear:

"Run all you want, Nina! This isn't over! Next time I see you on the street, at the store, anywhere--we're picking right back up!"

The words hit Nina like a physical blow. She freezes for a fraction of a second, a fresh jolt of terror running straight through her, before scrambling even faster toward the safety of the gym doors, completely shaken to her core.

Up in the bleachers, Rick leans forward, his chest tight, his jaw slightly open as he watches Nina crawl away in absolute defeat while Tina's threat hangs heavy over the room.

The laundry room is thick with steam and the warm, chemical hum of detergent on a cold Tuesday afternoon. Three days have passed since the fundraiser, but the air inside is charged, heavy with the kind of sharp, eager gossip that spreads through the block like wildfire.

Helen stands over the central folding table, snapping a white bath towel flat with a sharp, echoing thwack.

"I told her," Helen says, shaking her head as she begins to fold the edges tightly. "I stood right here by this table on Friday and told her plain as day--Nina, you are far too soft for this. But did she listen? No. She wanted to be the nice mom."

Sarah leans against the glass window of a spinning dryer, her arms crossed over her winter coat, her mouth practically agape. "Helen, I couldn't even watch by the end. The sound she made when Tina dropped her... I thought her back was broken. I really did."

"She couldn't get up!" Brenda chimes in from the sink, wringing out a sponge with broad, heavy hands. "Tina didn't even blink. Just kept cranking her back until those men had to jump in."

"It was embarrassing," Helen says flatly, tossing another folded towel into her plastic basket. "A grown woman, a mother, crawling across the floor like a beaten dog in front of the whole school board. And that tiny little floral swimsuit she wore... my god. It offered zero protection. You could see every single place Tina put her hands on her."

"I heard she hasn't left the house since," Sarah whispers, leaning in closer, her voice dropping an octave. "My boy Tommy said Billy told him his mom is so sore she can barely walk down the stairs. Said she's covered in dark purple marks from her neck down to her knees."

"Well, what did she expect?" Helen snorts, though her voice carries a nervous edge as she looks out the fogged-up front window toward the street. "Going up against Tina."

Brenda lets out a low whistle, shaking her head. "And what Tina yelled at her right before she crawled out the door? 'Next time I see you, we're picking right back up.' Good lord. If I were Nina, I wouldn't step foot outside that front door until summer."

The room goes quiet for a brief moment, the heavy hum of the dryers filling the space as all three women look at each other, thoroughly unsettled by the brutal reality of what happened to the softest woman on their street.

Helen snaps another towel flat, her eyes wide with a mix of genuine scandal and sharp judgment.

"And can we talk about that swimsuit?" Helen asks, leaning her hips against the folding table. "I mean, honestly! A bright, scoop-neck floral print? It looked like something a teenager would wear to the beach, not something a forty-one-year-old woman wears onto a wrestling mat."

"It was so thin," Sarah agrees, shaking her head, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "When Tina had her down in that surfboard hold pushing down on her while pulling up I thought the whole thing was going to tear right off her. There was zero support. Every time Nina tried to twist or push away, she was practically spilling out of it."

"That's what made it so painful to watch," Brenda chimes in, folding her arms over her broad chest. "She's got that lush, soft figure--no muscle on her whatsoever. Putting a woman built like Nina in a tight, flimsy one-piece across from Tina Vance? Tina was wearing those thick, heavy athletic shorts and a tight tank top. She looked like a tank next to a porcelain doll."

"Porcelain doll is right," Helen snorts, stacking her laundry into her basket. "Her skin is so pale and fair. The second Tina grabbed her soft arms, you could see red handprints forming right through the fabric. By the time Tina hoisted her up into the air, that bright floral suit was completely bunched up around her waist, completely riding up her thighs. Nina was exposed in front of the whole town--every dad, every teenager! She looked completely naked out there compared to Tina."

Sarah winces, pulling her coat a little tighter around herself. "Poor thing. She probably thought the pattern made her look sweet and cheerful. Instead, it just made her look like total prey."

"Well, it did," Helen says bluntly. "That floral suit didn't hide a single thing. It just highlighted every soft inch of her while Tina tore her apart."

Sarah says "well, let's hope she can shake this off. She is a sweet woman."

The icy morning wind bites through the thin fabric of Nina's winter coat as she hurries across the gravel parking lot of the A&P. It has been six days since the fundraiser, and her pantry is entirely bare. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribs--still sore and tender beneath her sweater--with every single step she takes toward the automatic glass doors.

She keeps her head down, her short black hair tucked under a dark headscarf, her hands buried deep in her pockets. She just needs milk, bread, and soup. Ten minutes, she tells herself. Ten minutes and she'll be back inside her warm, safe kitchen.

Across the street, sitting on his bicycle near the curb by the gas station, Rick spots her instantly. His eyes narrow, taking in her tense, skittish frame. He has seen Tina go into the store not long before Nina. A sharp, familiar pulse of thrill spikes in his chest as he slowly pedals across the street, keeping his distance, watching the store entrance.

Inside, the warm, bright fluorescent lights of the grocery store offer no comfort. Nina pushes a metal cart down the center aisle, her eyes darting nervously to every shopper who passes. Her pale skin is flushed pink from the cold, but her hands tremble violently as she reaches for a can of tomato soup on the shelf.

"Look at you. Out in broad daylight."
The heavy, low voice cuts through the quiet hum of the grocery store like a blade.
Nina freezes. Her hand stops inches from the shelf, her whole body locking up in sheer terror. Slowly, agonizingly, she turns her head.

Tina Vance stands at the end of the aisle, blocking the exit. She wears a heavy canvas jacket, her dark-tanned arms bare from the elbows down, long reddish-brown hair tied back, her muscular frame completely dominating the narrow space between the shelves. She holds a single brown paper bag under one arm, a cold, ruthless grin spreading across her face as her eyes trail down Nina's terrified posture.

"T-Tina..." Nina's voice breaks, barely a squeak. She backs up a step, her heel striking the bottom of her shopping cart with a sharp metal clatter. "Please..."
"I told you, didn't I?" Tina says smoothly, taking a slow, heavy step forward. "I told you next time I saw you, we were picking right back up."

"Tina, don't--this is a public store, there are people--"

"Nobody's in this aisle, sweetie," Tina purrs, closing the distance until she is standing right in front of the trembling woman. She reaches out with one broad hand and catches Nina by the front of her winter coat, bunching the fabric tightly in her fist.

Nina lets out a soft, breathless gasp, her hands coming up to weakly grasp Tina's thick wrist, but it's like trying to bend iron.

The raw memory of the ring, the roar of the gym crowd, and the terrifying weightlessness of being hauled into the air rushes back all at once, paralyzing her completely.

"You look real jumpy, Nina," Tina whispers, leaning in close, her eyes glittering with dark amusement as she feels the soft woman shaking in her grip. "Still sore from Tuesday night?"

Just outside the glass windows of the storefront, Rick glides to a stop on his bike. He drops his feet to the slushy pavement and leans forward over the handlebars, his dark eyes locked onto the grocery aisle window, watching Nina cower in absolute, helpless silence as Tina corners her once again.

Tina's cold, sharp grin widens as she feels the violent, uncontrollable trembling running through Nina's soft frame. For an agonizingly long second, she just holds her there--bunched up in her fist, completely helpless against the metal grocery shelf.

Then, with a low, dismissive chuckle, Tina abruptly releases her grip.
Nina stumbles back, her heels catching on the lower rack of her cart. She hits the metal frame with a sharp clatter, her hands flying to her throat as she gasps for air as if she'd been underwater.

"Just making sure you didn't forget," Tina purrs softly, her eyes lingering over Nina's pale, flushed face and her terrified, wide eyes. She casually adjusts the paper bag under her arm, stepping right past the shaking woman with complete, effortless dominance. "See you around the block Nina."

Tina walks down the aisle without looking back, until she disappears around the corner toward the registers.

Left completely alone in the quiet aisle, Nina collapses against the side of her shopping cart, her knees giving out beneath her. Her hands clutch the cold wire frame so tightly her knuckles turn white, her chest heaving as silent, hot tears spill over her eyelashes and streak down her cheeks. She is completely undone, utterly shattered by a single look and a casual show of force in the middle of a brightly lit grocery store.

Outside, leaning over his bicycle handlebars against the glass, Rick watches through the window as Tina strolls out the front doors and gets into her car. His chest tightens, a hot, electric thrill pulsing through his veins as his eyes drift back to the grocery aisle.
Through the glass, he can see Nina slumped over her cart, weeping in total, defenceless isolation.

[jobbbw]

Npom, I loved your story!!  Well written and captivating!

[Rick743]

Npom, I loved your story!!  Well written and captivating!

Thanks! Appreciate it!

[Maizenblue]

Great story. Hope you write more of these one sided beat downs.

[jobbbw]

I particularly liked how you wrote in the laundry room gossip from the other moms.  Nice touch.

[Rick743]

I particularly liked how you wrote in the laundry room gossip from the other moms.  Nice touch.

Thanks. All the women are based on women from my neighborhood when I was growing up back in the 70's. Always imagined Tina and Nina wrestling

[Rick743]