2

You have the advantage as you slam into her and she yelps in surprise, but as you tumble, you land awkwardly on one of the slatted benches and you thump onto the floor without a chance to brace yourself for impact. She lands on you, driving the air out of your lungs and then virtually bounces off you, crying out as she hit the floor and slides into the wall of lockers.

"Ah!"

"Whoof!"

Maybe that was a stupid move. The room is too small and cramped for the kind of wrestling charge you just did, and you feel like you might have bruised a rib and pulled a couple of muscles in that fall.

But you've got to get up and get at her! No time to think of the aches and pains that are waiting, this is a matter of slavery or freedom! Of dominance or sub-

Oh crap.

She was up quicker than you, hell, she must've jumped to her feet like a martial artist, and suddenly you feel a hard, blocky shape pressing painfully into your throat, crushing your windpipe and pinning you to the floor. It's the handle of her racket, and she's pushing dangerously hard on it, cutting off your air and suffocating you as she stands above you, a fearsome look in her eyes.

"That was really very dirty, boy," she spits furiously, "But it looks like it didn't get you anywhere did it?"