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He had been so sure he could win the wrestling match... I had never thought of giving up wrestling until my last bout. Until then I enjoyed it. But I was made an offer I couldn't refuse. It turns out what I've got now is better, although refusing would have been dangerous, or even deadly. The promoter's idea was a novelty match. Men never wrestle women, but this seemed like a good match. At 200 lb. I'm the smallest guy on the circuit, so I need all the attention I can get. My opponent was Tanya Buttski, known simply as Two-ton Tanya. They told me she was a flabby 250 pounder who had never really wrestled a single opponent in her life. I was cautioned to be gentle, and not to hurt her because people would get upset, and that would be bad for my image, and the image of the sport of wrestling. Little did I realize that I was the one who could get hurt. Tanya was a lot closer to two tons than they let on when we made the match, and she wasn't flabby. I suspected that it might have been true that she had never wrestled a single opponent, given that in most matches her opponents were probably too overwhelmed, intimidated, and outclassed to put up a fight. The first time I laid eyes on her was in the ring. Alarm bells went off in my head. For starters she was a foot taller than me. They announced her at 6-foot nine, and her boots made her look seven feet tall. I'm five-nine. But that wasn't even the scary part. Never mind her height, or the fact that she wasn't flabby. She was very, very, very wide. Judging from her height I did some panicky calculations in my head. Judging from her height she could be twice my weight, which was only 192, and not 200. We met in the center of the ring to shake hands. I looked up to meet her eyes, because I didn't want to look too nervous. She was waiting, laughing at me. "I guess we fooled you, huh Jimmy? Am I a teeny bit bigger than what you expected?" I nodded. She mimed the universal sign of the hustle: a fisherman, reeling in his catch. As her big hand grasped mine, she held onto it for a few seconds longer than necessary. Was this some sort of test of strength? But she just laughed again. When you're sure of yourself you can laugh at everything. Today, Tanya had no worries whatsoever. "Ooooh Jimmy... I think your hand is shaking! Is that fear? Or maybe excitement?" She leaned closer, still holding my hand: "or lust?" I changed the subject. "So how much do you weigh?" She released my hand, but still stared straight into me. "Tell you what. Let's play carnival. I sit on your face, and you guess my weight." I'm sure she saw my shudder, and knew what it meant: that the idea excited me completely. She turned confidently back to her corner, while I reeled back to mine, wondering how I would be able to concentrate on the match. The bell rang, and Tanya came out sllowly, warily, while I danced around her. But we'd have to meet eventually. This was wrestling, not boxing or ballet. I faced the inevitable. I thought "please God, don't let me be totally humiliated". Our arms locked, ritualistically, in the middle of the ring. The sensation in my shoulders was completely unfamiliar: I was reaching up. I tried not to look in her eyes...yet, anyway. I kept thinking of that knowing look she had given me when she spoke of playing "carnival". If she looked at me that way again, I might have embarrassing developments in my pants....Damn, another strike against me. She may not have had the muscle of a man her size, but so what? She leaned her upper body towards me, almost above me, while our arms continued to be linked, and my knees buckled without a second's resistance. The crowd cheered, damn them. Sure I buckled, because of the pressure, but also because her breasts billowed up between her arms into my face. They smelled good. Your knees would be weak, too. As I went lower, kneeling, now, she kept hold, relentlessly maintaining downward pressure, until I was like Atlas, holding the world on my shoulders. A world of panting breast-flesh going up and down like a bellows, in my face, on my shoulders. Her breasts were the world, and I was struck with the thought that I shouldn't push. Would it be so bad to be buried under those behemoth boobs? Was she even breathing hard, or was this just her way of enticing me further? Those breasts seemed to swell, becoming heavier, more dangerous, more irresistibly lovely by the second. How had Atlas died, I wondered. And he always held hard rock. Did he long to be crushed by soft, perfumed female flesh? As I struggled to make it look like a wrestling match, and not something else, I whispered "375?" "More" she answered. "Well 400 then!" She sighed as if she weren't wrestling, weren't struggling with all of her strength. I guess she was only using a fraction. Was this so easy for her? "Ah Jimmy, plenty more. "And stop acting like this is bad news... as if you want me to be small". She had a point. The wrestling match was a complete farce, because it was only a matter of time. But then what else was there, if not wrestling? I was only thinking about her body, but not in a ring, and...not with any clothes on. But I had to concentrate. Tanya, on the other hand was a complete professional. She had me pegged completely, and was effortlessly toying with me. She had been calculating her next move, and suddenly caught me be surprise. Up on her toes, she was able to trap our locked arms under her stomach. My face now seemed to be under her breasts, while her face was far above me. She then dropped herself, breasts flooding my face, stomach pressing onto arms. There was a terrifying sense of mass looming above with momentum behind her, as when an elephant has been on its hind legs, and then lowers itself. We were slick with each others sweat, but Tanya couldn't lose. Whichever way she slipped or slid, I would be under her, pinned, or maybe flattened. I heard her breathing hard, and realized that her panting wasn't exertion, but excitement. I saw the width of her grin, and realized that it was matched by the width of her body. Whichever way we slipped off each other I would be under her. How could I escape when she was so WIDE? She seemed to obscure the arena lighting. I was in her shadow. "450?" Again I noticed how much less exertion she mas making than I. I was nearing my limits, yet she had not even begun to work. Her sweat was from the excitement of the moment. I wondered what that was caused by. Was she an exhibitionist? Her answers, in retrospect, kept telling me everything. "You're going in the right direction. But you're still way off." I went with the inspiration of the moment, giving in to my basic horny instinct, hoping to catch her by surprise. My energy was gone, and her last reply took away my last vestige of hope. I thought to escape by collapsing down, suddenly, taking her arms into a tangle. This would have worked but for one thing... She simply let go, and decided to drop her torso onto me. I couldn't regain my knees because she was pressing relentlessly. It began to dawn on me just how stupefyingly heavy she really was. That she hadn't been fighting at all. That even now she was playing with me, because I was way too small to ever even begin to mount an assault on her. "550?" She put her head by my ear delicately, or was it amorously? "Well now you're finally starting to get close. But I don't know if numbers mean anything after a certain point. How often will you find a woman my size who can move the way I can?" She was starting to sound like a woman on the make, who put her personal charms into words--like a personals ad. How would it be stated....? Gigantic female seeks smaller man who wants to relocate down-under,and I don't mean Australia, mate!" My mind began to re-run the old saying. "Close doesn't count, except in horseshoes"... or hand-grenades... and earthquakes? I was caught in an earthquake. She didn't have to be precise, because she was three times my size. Three times my weight. What could I, a grown man, do to a 75-pound boy from the fourth grade? Maybe carry them with one hand, while they became exhausted, and gradually were crushed by me...as Tanya was beginning to squash me. I relented, to try to conserve what little strength I had left. I lay flat, because of the weight. I couldn't hope to lift our combined mass, but at least on my front she couldn't pin me. She tried to pin me--wow she was strong-- but then she stopped. She let go. Why? After a silent pause, I heard a collective gasp from the crowd, and the thuds of her immense foot-falls. I realized what I was hearing. She twanged the ropes with her lunge, and then came hurtling for me. I watched, hypnotized by the poetry of her careening mass, those jiggly parts that seemed so enticing, even as they came for me. Her face was soft and tranquil in that moment, as if she was at peace, or in the depth of ecstasy. I rolled aside as she landed butt-first. Of course she wasn't really trying to get me, so I easily dodged her attack. Tanya was actually giving me a chance to recover my strength, while she wore herself out a bit. That was pretty generous of her, or maybe only practical, considering that for the fans this hadn't been much of a fight so far. As soon as she landed I was on top of her, adding my mass to hers. It was a great idea, except for one thing: she lifted both of us up to a sitting position in an instant, and I hadn't noticed her hot arms grab me, with my arms were pinned inside. Too late, I realized that I was dead meat. The strangest thing happened at that moment. She looked me in the eye, and said-- amorously-- "oh Jimmy... would you believe 660?" My eyes bugged out, and she continued "That number turns you on, doesn't it? I can tell." She held me in her hot, sweaty arms. Come to think of it, I didn't precisely try to escape. "I need a new slave, Jimmy. I... I killed the last one." She spoke into my face in a bedroom voice, breathing on me, sweating on me. Her heart beat against mine, as we sat face to face, in this phony clench. It wasn't a fight at all. "It was an accident" she continues. "You have to understand. I have to have a man ... that way. To sit on, press, and crush under me. I need to own him as completely as I own my car or my bed. I need to ride him into the bed, or through the floor, through the wall. I love to see men's eyes go wild the way yours do, looking at my size, wondering what it will feel like. Some men learn to love it. "But I don't need to ask. Either you'll love it and enjoy it, or hate it, but endure it. Either way, I enjoy myself. You're cute, and I've taken a fancy to you. I've decided: you WILL live with me. Refuse, and I'll pin you to this ring--permanently". She then jumped up, with me still in her arms. For one second, we hung on the brink of falling directly onto my back, with her on top. She whispered "maybe we'll try that one later...on a hard floor". She did something gentler instead, but every bit as dominating. She asked, in a perky little voice "are you ready to kneel?" Without warning she bends her knees, dropping all that weight straight down. My knees buckled, after a millisecond when I thought my left knee would hyperextend with all that weight on it...a close call. Okay. No choice about it: we kneel. I was already familiar with the look in her eyes, and I liked it. She had me in her headlights. I felt like one of those little deer in the national park, looking up at the oncoming truck. I was about to be roadkill. I wondered what she had in mind. "Are you ready to be rocked?" Great. What next? She stared at me, watching me sweat, while her arms continued to immobilize me. "So get ready. There's nothing you can do at this point. Either you survive, or you don't." Talk about confidence. Talk about intimidation. I was terrified. She flipped me back. I didn't notice the transition, but she dropped me from kneeling position onto my back, stifling me under her. But knowing her plans, I was getting excited as anything. If she didn't kill me, I could get totally addicted to all that softness. She made me feel small. I'd say I felt safe if I didn't wonder whether she was trying to kill me. That confusion is exciting. Of course the "fight" was now over. I couldn't move her off. I realized that I was out of air, unable to inhale, and just desperate to say "uncle". Panic. As I began to turn colours under her relentless softness, she started getting chatty again. Of course Tanya knew I was freaking out. She was flaunting her complete authority, by ignoring my problem. "Well Jim. I guess the fight's about over. What colour bedroom do you want? I'm not necessarily gonna use your idea, but I'd like to know. Maybe you have some decorating ideas.....Do you know how to cook? I suppose you can learn. How do you feel about me maybe gaining some more weight?" At this my eyes bugged out a little. "What? You find I'm heavy enough? But I want to get bigger. I think I'm too light, at this weight... Oh... but before we're through, wanna feel my full weight? Without me babying you or holding back?" Holding back? Just when I was on the verge of blackout? She wriggled a bit, taking her arms from around mine. She assumed a pushup position, bridged up on her toes. Was there a world's record for the heaviest woman in the world doing pushups? But at least I had a moment to take a gasping breath. Then she dropped, leading with her breasts onto my face. I saw stars. Not only couldn't I take a breath, but whatever air I had taken was effectively pressed out of me. And I loved the sensation of all that softness. Even in my dazed state, I wondered what size bra she wore. How many pounds did each boob weigh? Darkness. .....I felt myself being pulled to my feet. I think I had been unconscious. The decision was announced to a cheering crowd. "You're a lucky man, Jimmy," she said. I stared back at her, intensely. In spite of her confident words, I think she was waiting for some sign that I would agree to her plans for us, and for me. "Oh yes. I think l'm gonna love it. I already do". I reeled a bit, but stayed on my feet without any further assistance. I realized that I already missed the sensation of her body. I felt sheepish, thinking that I was so easily conquered, already craving her softness, her hot sweaty body pressing me until I blacked out, unable to breath under all that horny woman. So yes, I was sheepish, but I also recognized it was practical.