On second thought, maybe this isn't your thing

You look Timmy up and down.

He's got no muscle tone, a small dick, and really needs a tan.

After how hypnotizing Bambi's breasts were as they jiggled while you fucked her, there's just... no appeal.

Then you remember something that Tracy the lawyer told you about always putting on a good show, and how if people wanted to see six second matches that ended in armbars, they'd watch UFC.

Well, you've watched UFC too, and there's something you think you'd like to try out on someone you know isn't going to be able to counter it.

You walk up to Timmy, trying to tower over him. "When the bell rings, you tap or you snap." You snarl, trying to make sure both him and the referee hear you but the fans can't.

The referee side-eyes you. Timmy also says something, but you don't bother listening to it. The fans are booing you already.

As soon as the bell rings, you fake like you're going to do a normal lockup with him, then duck under his arms. Your forehead against his chest for leverage, you easily push him over and onto his back. You scoot up into top mount and raise your right fist. As expected, he cowers and flinches. You grab his arm, slip it between your legs and lean back with an armbar.

Then you plant the sole of your foot over his face.

Really, you could break his arm easily if you really wanted to, but that's not what you're trying to accomplish here. You bend his arm backwards, just until you hear him whimper, then you ease up - just a little bit - and wiggle your foot you've got hovering over his mouth.

When he kisses your foot, it's ticklish. You almost accidentally kick him through involuntary reflex. But the referee does signal for the bell.

Before the ref even raises your hand, Lisa has slid into the ring. "What the fuck are you doing?" She hisses. "You were supposed to-"

You wink at her, then turn away and look down at the place where the commentators and timekeeper are.

"Give me a fuckin' mic!"