Lying in the trunk of the car, Cheetah had the usual butterflies in her stomach before a match, but she was confident. She ran her hands over her nude body. The muscles were firm and taut. At 28 years old, She had never been in this good of shape in her life. She felt confident in her training also.
The one thing that did give her reason for concern was that she had heard some things from some of the other girls about her opponent for today. No one had seen her fight but rumor had it that she was something extraordinary. She knew they called her 'The Machine', her real name was Marsha or Monica or something like that, but as with all the other fighters, she went by a nickname. Supposedly she got the name The Machine because she was totally emotionless when she fought and she totally destroyed her opponents. 'Well, that was probably just so much gossip,' Cheetah thought, sure that she had quite a reputation herself. The fact that even Master seemed unusually tense about this match, did give her some apprehension, but she wouldn't allow those thoughts to linger in her mind. She would win her match and make Master proud. Ruth, that bitch, had just taught her some new moves and she was eager to try them out.
"Speed is your ally." Ruth had drilled into Cheetah from almost day one. Day one, that seems like a lifetime ago to her but it was less than six months. Her previous life seems like a dream to her now, like it was someone else. In a way she guessed it was someone else. It was Christine Langford, Mrs. Christine Langford to be exact.
Now she was Cheetah. Cheetah is quick and aggressive. Christine was slow and weak. Christine was aimless, she had no passion. Cheetah has passion and purpose, pleasing Master. She wonder what her old friends would think if they saw her now. Locked naked in the trunk of a car, on her way to fight another woman.
She also wonder what her husband would think. Her ex husband now, she guessed, although we they never really divorced. She hadn't talked to him since she left him six months ago, Master does not allow his girls to talk on the phone. She was not sure what she'd say to him anyway.
After five years of marriage, it just wasn't working, at least it wasn't working for her. Tim was happy. She felt sorry for him. He tried every way he knew to please her. By the time she left he was even doing most of the housework and all of the laundry, thinking that these things would make her happy.
Everyone had told her to find a stable man who was a good provider to marry. Tim was stable, no doubt about that. What she didn't know was that stable was also boring. Stable was continuously being left unsatisfied.
How could she tell him that she needed a man who would make her feel like a woman? She needed a man that would make her want to serve him and do things to please him. The better Tim treated her, the more he pampered her, the less she respected him, the less she desired him.
Master was different, very different. Christine first learned of him from a website. A while back she had been viewing videos people had posted on the Internet. One of them was of two girls fighting in a park. They were surrounded by their friends who were urging them on. Something about that video, the way the guys cheered when the one girl knocked the other to the ground and really started pounding her, really got to her.
Christine started searching more and more for what she later learned were called catfight videos. She liked the fights themselves but what she liked even more was the reaction of the guys as they watched the girls going at it. She couldn't get enough of the videos.
Christine never told her husband about my obsession, he was totally non-violent. He didn't even like watching boxing or football. How would he understand that she liked watching girls beat the shit out of each other?
One day while searching for more catfight videos, Christine came across a strange website. It didn't contain any videos, not even any pictures. It was more of an advertisement looking for submissive women who were into catfighting.
'Am I submissive?' Christine thought. She didn't even know. She certainly wasn't submissive to her husband, she couldn't imagine being submissive to him. 'But maybe with the right man...'
Christine thought about that website constantly for a few days before she got up the nerve to send an e-mail. In her note she said that she was into catfighting and wanted to learn more. She then went on to describe herself, knowing that this was the first thing a guy would wander about, she wrote that she was 5'6, 145 lbs with light brown hair and green eyes. 36C-26-37. She also mentioned that she was currently married, no kids.
The next day she received a reply. Rather than trying to talk her into it, as she expected, the e-mail was very negative, saying that this was only for serious individuals only and not for bored housewives looking for a thrill. The e-mail was signed "Master".
Christine flushed with anger, she felt totally insulted, 'I'm not a fucking bored housewife' she thought. She wrote back saying that she was serious, that she knew what she was getting into and that it is exactly what she is looking for. In truth she knew that she was more curious than anything else, but to just be dismissed like that rubbed her the wrong way. 'Who did this "Master" think he was?'
The letter that came back floored her. It said he was looking for girls willing to become a member of his stable to be trained to perform in nude catfights. He went on to say that if she accepted, she would have no possessions and would become his property to be used as he saw fit. He concluded by telling her to go away and not waste any more of his time.
Christine was incensed, "property?" she would never be anyone's property. This was ridicules, how could he even suggest such a thing? But try as she might, she couldn't get him out of her head. In spite of her best efforts to forget about him and about catfighting and getting back to her regular life, she couldn't help imagining herself as one of his girls, nude, fighting another girl for his pleasure. Christine re-read that letter many times over the next few days. Finally she wrote him back.
Over the next few weeks our letters shifted to phone conversations. His voice was deep, confident, refined. He never encouraged her, he never urged her on. Always he advised her against it. He told her she would be drained by the grueling training, she would be bruised by the fights and she would be punished for losing.
The more he pushed her away, the more fervently she tried to convince him of her sincerity and desire to join his stable. Eventually she was practically pleading with him to take her. He finally agreed.
Leaving her husband was difficult. She didn't want to hurt him, he was so sweet to her. He just didn't, couldn't give her what she needed. The news took him totally by surprise. He had no clue that she was unhappy. He cried and said that he would treat her better and do whatever it took to convince her to stay. She realized that he really didn't understand her. This wasn't too surprising, she thought, she didn't really understand herself.
Christine left everything to Tim except her car and a suitcase of clothes. She then set out to travel from Chicago to rural Ohio to start her new life.
Bouncing against the foam cushion on the floor of the trunk as the car skipped over a bump in the road, Cheetah thought that riding in the trunk of a car is not as bad as you might imagine. At least this one wasn't bad. It was fairly spacious, and the foam padding and blanket made it comfortable. The total darkness and steady hum of the tires against the road made it easy to clear your mind and concentrate on the impending fight.
That's another thing Ruth had taught her. "Keep your mind sharp and your thinking clear." She had said. "Stay focused on what your opponent is doing throughout the match, in that way, you can anticipate her next move and be ready to counter."