The Hysminean Rhapsody Ch. 00: Prologue

Hey buddy. Good for you to join me now. Don't mind the dim lights and the smokey air. And the small but raucous crowd here, normally they are good-natured, normally. Here, I saved you a front row seat. The fight's not finished, but my girl Monika isn't doing too well. The slender redhead, the one in golden bikini, that's her. No, she is not my lover, but my fighter — I train her for these catfights at the club. And that tall brunette in silver over there, with that cocky look on her face, that's Juliana. She's a newcomer from Russia, one hell of a fighter, aggressive, ruthless. She's been punishing my girl for good part of the past half hour.

Come on Monika, move your feet just like we trained, don't let her corner you against the wall. But my fighter's all worn down. I don't know how much longer her feeble defence can hold out against the onslaught of her tormentor. This is a demolition on the mat. I just don't have the heart to watch it any longer. You have to forfeit the match, Monika, while you are still standing. We talked about this many times before, countless girls forfeit when they can't go on anymore. There is no shame in that. But much as I hate to see her taking abuses like that, I know there is no quitting in this saucy girl. Her indomitable spirit, you can see it in her fiery eyes when she talks to you. I nicknamed her Hysmine, you know, that female spirit of combat in Ancient Greece. And she brings that tenacity to each of her fights. While she is not the winningest catfighter in the club, the others here are all wary to face her. A fight with her always becomes a struggle for survival.

But this time it's different. She's really outclassed. Look at her clenching her teeth behind those bruised lips, her disheveled auburn hair flying about, and those claw marks on her breasts and belly, she is a wreck. And her legs, those lethal legs, her weapon of choice, now visibly quivering from fatigue. It's just a matter of time before she succumbs. I would throw in the white towel of surrender for her, but this is not a boxing match. Juliana finally catches her, seizing her by her hair, ramming her back hard against the wall in a loud THUD. Watch out for that knee! A little too late. That vicious smash to the gut shatters her. Keeling over, she drops down and rolls to the centre of the mat. The poor girl is all curled up, wincing in pain. Her strained face is flushed red with veins popping out on her forehead about to burst. She just got the wind knocked out of her. That dogged Russian doesn't let up. She straddles my beaten girl and holds her by the hair, trapping her head between the legs. Juliana's assertive movement tells me she's going for the kill. Fear flashes across Monika's panic-stricken eyes before her face disappears into the silver thong of her captor.

The brunette tenses her body, and cinches in with her strong thighs. She yanks a handful of that auburn hair, pulling Monika's head up towards her, while sinking down her weight, driving her sex hard onto the face of her hapless foe, burying deep her nose and mouth. I don't think Monika has caught her breath yet after the hard knee to the midriff that toppled her. She flails her limbs meekly. And Juliana is staring straight into her. Is my girl submitting? I can't tell from where I am sitting. But a hint of sneer on the Russian's face suggests she is. That sick bitch is clearly enjoying it and she's not letting up. Come on Monika, slap her, scratch her, kick her, anything...just BREAK FREE! I hold my breath in empathy of her agony. What must have been only a few seconds feel like an eternity, but Monika, beautiful Monika, her fire finally extinguishes as her body goes limp underneath. It's over...

A raw display of savagery, the way Juliana just snuffed her out. They call this move the Amazonian Kiss of Death, as it was purportedly used by the ancient Amazons to smother out their rival in single combat. Such experts of psychological warfare were these mistresses of catfighting. If you survived the move, that is if the victor let you live, you were enthralled to her under the invisible chains we moderns call Trauma. The scent of your conqueror, unique to every woman, would forever linger around your mind. If ever a thought of revolt surfaced, that familiar smell of defeat would have you tremble in your knees. That's when you knew she didn't just beat you in a fight, she owned you — for life. Juliana, you cruel bitch! Why did you have to smother Monika out in such a way? She was already at your mercy.

Juliana loosens her grip, and drops Monika's head onto the mat. The Russian checks her with a cold look, before planting that killer ass on her face again. She doesn't want to leave any doubt of her triumph, as she anchors her weight down and swivels her hips atop the unconscious girl, directing her limp head in between. The room falls dead silent with only Juliana's panting breath. Everyone is stunned over this sequence of domination that only a professional fighter could dish out to my Monika. There were no screams of pain, no muffled cries of surrender, just pure cold-hearted brutality. Juliana wanted to make a statement, and she has impressed.

And there lies my sorry Monika, flattened beneath Juliana. Her face engulfed between those round cheeks of the Russian's bottom. She's done, out cold. Never have I witnessed a catfighter being put out with such authority — until now. Probably the most humiliating beatdown in club history, and my girl is on the receiving end of it. A nauseating feeling. We don't get many KOs here, since this is an amateur club. Most girls submit long before their breaking point. But, this fight — people here are not going to let me forget it for a long time to come. And Monika, my fighter, I just can't erase from my mind that last look in her eyes, right before she succumbed. It was a look of despair — and lament, if I know her well, and I do. A lament on how she let herself down, and how she let me down. But it's okay, you foolhardy girl. You did your best. I knew from the day that dreaded Russian strut into my gym that she was out of your league. She was taller, stronger, and most of all, professionally trained. I could tell from her springy steps. She was looking for trouble, and she had you marked out, to make a name for herself by beating you, my Monika, champion at the fight club. But you, headstrong as always, ignored my advice and fell straight into her trap.

As my mind swirls in these thoughts, the exploding sound of a nice round of applause snaps me out my stupefaction. Juliana is flashing her victory smile to everyone in the room. Then why is she still suffocating Monika? Come on bitch, get off her already. We all know you won, be satisfied! But the Russian brunette doesn't stop her gloat. Her eyes wander across the room, searching, before finally fixating on mine. Her cocky look disgusts me. What do you want from me? Yes, you've proved your point. You are better than my best catfighter, I admit it. Now just let her go! But Juliana breaks out a devilish grin at me. She reaches back, finding one of the knot that holds Monika's golden thong around her hip. Oh no you are not going to do that, you fucking slut. She's defenceless! Now I finally realise, this Russian isn't out to beat Monika, she wants to humiliate my champion.

Doing just what I feared, she pulls on that bikini string with only the tips of her fingers, slowly loosening the knot as if unwrapping, for everyone, a precious gift. All this she does without taking her gaze off me, taunting me, showing me in her own way how much she wants me to regret for passing on her. God I want to wipe that smirk off her face! She came into my gym months ago, asking me to be her trainer, and I shunned her. Bitch, I didn't reject you because you can't fight. I turned you down because you were up to no good. And you showed your true colours tonight.

Juliana has now unfastened Monika's bikini string on the other side. And she slips her hand under the detached thong, reaching for that forbidden spot. I turn my head away, can't bear a look. But that cursed wall of mirror on the far side, it reflects all the evils this bitch is doing to my champion, right between her sprawled legs. Monika's flimsy thong droops dangerously loose from all that finger activity, just barely veils over her privates. All this is turning Juliana on too, as she reflexively gyrates a little atop Monika's face. She turns her head, following the direction of my stare and catches me looking in the mirror. Damn, there is no getting away from this she-devil. Her demonic gaze through the reflection sends chills down my spine as she violates my Monika at her most vulnerable. This is a personal affront. I am so sorry, Monika. It is me she wants now, and she is using you to get in my head.

Things just take a turn for the worse. Juliana's temperament changes quickly. That sensual look on her face suddenly becomes malicious as she digs her claw in deep, her arm quivers with power. I wince at the thought of the pain Monika must feel in that ultra-sensitive area, but the poor girl hardly twitched a finger. She's utterly decimated. Please, Juliana, don't hurt her anymore. I am sorry she insulted you before the fight. And I am sorry I brushed you off. Please, just end your cruelty...

Our eyes meet again. Hers full of swagger. Mine is of dejection, as I slouch low in my seat, helpless to stop Juliana from ravaging my champion. My nightmare would not end there. The Russian begins to slowly pull on Monika's dangling thong, stripping away her last ounce of pride and dignity. I can see in the mirror's reflection her tight slit, barely visible between those ivory thighs. It's clean-shaven, but burning red from all that rough handling. No one ever got stripped nude in this fight club before. Never. These are amateur fighters we have, not porn stars. They have real jobs during the day. Monika works as a personal trainer in my gym. It's bad enough these male (and female) perverts gawk at her perky breasts and tasty buns all day long. But many are in the crowd tonight. How can she look them in the eyes tomorrow? So please Juliana, I am begging you, stop your games, show her some mercy: cover up her body.

But Juliana holds that thong in her hand and hoists it high in the air like a trophy, displaying it for all to see. It's a personal gift I gave to Monika right before her fight with Nicola. And she wore it when she beat her for the championship. I was so proud of my Monika that night. Does Juliana know this? Is she toying with me? I would snatch it back if I could, but club rules, no interference until winner walks off the mat. No, she couldn't have known all this. She brings Monika's thong in front of her, examines it closely before gently brushing it against her own nose, taking in a deep breath, savouring the scent her conquered opponent. Many catfighters like to do that: lay claim to intimate items from their vanquished foe, mementos of their conquests. And what could be more intimate to a catfighter than the undies she wears to a fight. It reflects her taste and style. It highlights her assets.

And most importantly, in covering her privates during the fight, this delicate piece of clothing becomes her — a symbol of her womanhood. To lay claim to it is to take possession of her, as a fighter and a woman. This, in short, is why catfighters fight. But Juliana surprises me. She nonchalantly twirls Monika's thong with her fingers and flings it across my face, like a piece of garbage to be disdained. I can see the contempt in her eyes, as if that whole fight with Monika was beneath her stature. With that simple toss, she trashed away Monika, and everything about her past: her hard work, her victories, her prestige at the club, and most of all, ME. The Russian has made it clear: from now on, Monika the fighter is no more. There is only the naked girl she trounced on, Juliana's bitch.

I quickly seize the thong in mid-air. No one else must get a hold of it. It's soaking wet, drenched in Monika's sweat. That pungent scent of hers, familiar to me during each workout, when she caught me in a headscissor, or when she sat on my throat. It might put off some people, but I've grown very fond of it. Over the years, Monika and I, we've developed a special bond, a bond between a trainer and his fighter. But tomorrow everything will change. Fighters, they are a special breed, proud and pugnacious by nature. It's their pride that gets them going, allowing them to overcome intolerable pains. Each victory adds to it, and each defeat chips away at it. But there is a breaking point, beyond which a fighter loses that fiery spirit for good. Juliana, you've broken my champion. And when she wakes up tomorrow and watches herself in video replay, you will have broken her for good. She will never be the same fighter again. I really hate you, Juliana! At these thoughts, my heart sinks low and tears well up in my eyes. I clutch Monika's golden thong tightly in my hand, trying desperately to grip onto the memories of her past glories.

Juliana must have taken notice. She finally dismounts from Monika's face, drags her by the arms and dumps her at my feet. I cringe at the sick work of destruction laid before me: Monika's naked body, with scratches and bruises all over, spread-eagled, and motionless. Standing over her is Juliana, in all of her splendour, with one foot atop those beaten breasts, kneading them, crushing them. Her overbearing posture and that boastful look she wears made me shut my eyes. I will not give her the satisfaction of rubbing her victory in my face. But my attempt to flee is foiled by snickers in the crowd. As I force myself to a peek, Juliana has already folded Monika in half, with her naked ass lifted high up in the air above her head. Kneeling from behind, she spreads Monika's thighs wide apart, exposing full-frontal her shame to me, and to everyone else in the room.

At such close range, we can detail out every crease and fold of that pink pussy. And Monika's stretchy fuck-hole, yielding to Juliana's fingers, brazenly opens wide under the harsh lighting, giving away her innermost flesh. The room suddenly seems too bright to me. I blushed. My face is burning. I don't know why. We fucked a few times over the years, yes, but Monika is by no means my lover, nor my significant other. Yet I still blushed. Am I empathising with her, the embarrassment she would've felt if she were conscious? It's a good thing her unruly hair spreads all over her face, hiding her identity. Is it because I don't want other men (and women) to get up close and personal with her the way I have access to her? Their prying eyes infuriate me. I want to poke all of their eyes out for ogling my Monika! Why do I feel such possessive impulse over her? ... Could it be over these years my heart has grown more attached to her than I realise? ... Is she more than a fighter to me? ... Maybe, just maybe, I LOVE her? No, it can't be... My head is spinning, drowned in the process of self discovery.

And out there, Juliana is laying claim to my girl. No! Monika is mine! You won't take her from me! My thoughts are defiant, but out on the mat, there is the reality. And reality stings. It's a tug of war for Monika, and she is in control. I helplessly watch as she fondles Monika, traversing her fingers through that no-longer-private terrain, skimming across ridges and crevasses, then up the slushy mound before kissing the jewel that sits atop. Heading back down, she glides along the fringe of the deep chasm and turn the corner upon reaching the edge. Three times she sweeps back and forth, before wandering over and twirling around that dark abyss, the depth of which she will plumb only when the time is right. She has taken into possession everything in her fingers' path. My body grows weak at each of her strokes, pushing me ever closer to the brink of despair. And when she plunges in and gives a long hard lick with the flat of her tongue over the entirety of her marked domain, I crumbled. She has broken me. Light-headed, I collapse from my chair and drop onto my knees in front of Juliana. Hearing only my own ears drumming, I turn paler than death. A trembling seizes over me, as my heart relinquishes its hold on Monika, and surrenders itself.

Juliana rises above me, holding me by the hair at her waist level. She lifts my face and our eyes meet for one last time. But mine shirk away at once from her piercing gaze. Instead, I stare blankly into her flat abs, gleaming with sweat. Her abdominal muscles tense almost hypnotically with each breath she takes. And her silver thong, giving off a slight sheen under the dim lights, is wedged high into her slit from all the punishment it dished out. I shudder at the thought of that breathless face-sit she subjected Monika to. Suddenly, I realise I hate everything here: the stench in the air, the glaring lights, the loud murmurs of the people who used to be my friends. And most of all, I hate Monika, the cause of all my misery. Look at her, lying supine on her back, snoozing like Sleeping Beauty...no, more like a sleeping whore, with her ass high up like that, legs spread far apart over her head. You had it easy, Monika! Juliana smothered you out early. But see how she tortures me? I am here suffering for your vanity. You deserve to be owned!

And Juliana would not stop flaunting her claim over us. She examines Monika's raised ass, before contemptuously spanking those inviting cheeks, leaving across them fresh marks of shame. She turns around to check my reaction. But I have none. My heart is numb. I am hers and she's hers; since when does a piece of property fret over the mistreatment of another piece of property. Seemingly gratified, Juliana stamps her foot firmly over Monika's pussy, and forces my lips upon her toes. She is declaring herself the ultimate victor. My body instinctively wants to revolt, to rise up and drill my tormentor down to the mat, and show her who's the boss. But my sapped spirit acquiesce without a struggle. I kiss the foot of my mistress at her command. A fusillade of camera flashes showers the three of us as Juliana poses for the Polaroids. My mind shuts itself down from this utmost humiliation. Not sure how long it's been, but finally she skips off the mat to sign autographs, leaving behind Monika and I, frozen in our places. Salty tears begin to stream down my cheeks, almost blinding my vision. But I can still make out, through those veils of degradation, the arrival of the medical personnel. Taken aback by the ungainly sight that is Monika, they unfold her with haste, lift her lifeless body onto a stretcher, and carry her out the room. As she fades into a blur, I collapse onto the mat, and slip into oblivion...

...

...

Hey buddy, where am I? Yes, I remember now. Thanks for staying with me. You don't want to know what I just went through. My head feels like it's going to split. No, don't worry, I will be alright. Just give me some time. There is a bar around the corner. I think I am going to need a few shots of whiskey to wash down the bitter taste in my mouth. So you like catfights? Come, I will buy you a drink and we can talk more. Oh look, I forgot to introduce myself. You will have to excuse me, my mind is still all tangled up. I am Stefanos, and I am Greek. I was born and raised in Athens before immigrating here as a teenager. And I will be turning 33 in just a few days. Come to think of it, I will spend my birthday with Monika. I suddenly miss her very much. Anyway, how did I get involved with catfighting, you ask? Well, that's a long story. Here, grab a beer first while I collect my thoughts. You know we Greeks are always very proud of our long history.

When I was growing up, just like all the other young boys my age, I was fed a healthy dose of Ancient Greek epics and mythologies. "Courage and honour, temperance and perseverance, heed those lessons from the Iliad and the Odyssey." My father used to always tell me, "These books will guide you for the rest of your life." But whenever my mind roamed free, it tended to only dwell on scenes like when Athena destroyed Aphrodite in front of her lover Ares and brutalised her delicious tits; or when Hera bitch-slapped her step-daughter Artemis and taught her a lesson in obedience; or when Odysseus conquered that sultry enchantress Circe and fucked her hard in her own palace for a year before being dragged away by his crew. I guess I didn't take in the right lessons my father wanted me to learn. But it wasn't just the classics that captured my fancy. There was a comic shop down in the Piraeus (the port city of Athens) that I used to go quite often after school and on weekends to buy comic books with my lunch money, and then read them afterwards by the seaside. I remember one fateful Saturday morning that forever changed my life. I went down to the Piraeus as usual, flipping through my favourite comic in the shop when I heard a hoarse voice from behind me.