Ana Tayane, the Platinum Constrictor

How can I describe my opponent best?

When one pictures a Brazilian woman the mind jumps to images of massive heaving breasts, wide hips, and round asses. And in many cases that image is correct. But not when one is a fighter.

Ana Tayane, a name I was surprised I remembered at all, and had I not seen her I never would have connected them. In 2004 she became a World Champion in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, until a sex tape scandal saw her dropped by every sponsor that mattered. Since then I had assumed she went dark to save face, but gauging from what I am seeing she had simply found a sport more her speed.

She is attractive no doubt (I have been a big fan because of the scandal) but she had clearly seen time in the ring, and seemed to be in her early thirties. Her well built abdomen, supple shoulders, and small breasts were hidden by the BJJ jacket she wore, emblazoned with what appeared to be a rams head. A lean but muscular ass was hidden in baggy pants. Honestly, I felt quite underwhelmed.

Of course she was a champion but.... she seemed so small in her baggy clothes. I couldn't help but picture what I thought to be the inevitable outcome: her petite form tossed against the cage as I stood above her, my throbbing erection oozing precum as I moved in to claim my prize.

I had to snap these thoughts from my head fast. In my travels I had met many grapplers, men and women alike, who could give me a run for my money if they could take things to the ground.

I moved through the throngs of guests. Most fight crowds would be loudly cheering and whooping, but these guests were all high society. Above such displays before the fight even begins.

As I move through the crowd, I feel hands reach out to touch my body. I was warned of this occurrence. The patrons were allowed to feel the body of both fighters as they entered, provided they wore the customary silk gloves and attempt nothing detrimental to the fighters performance. Any obvious attempt at rigging a match is met quite harshly. A locker room rumor I had heard was a certain labor organizer got too handsy more than once and hasn't been seen since.

As my torso is covered in the baggy jacket and my head and hair remained out of reach, their grasping hands grazed my thighs and my ass, some were so daring as to cup the rather prominent bulge in my trunks.

Far from repulsed, I felt positively revered. As if these people were worshipping a god they had to pay massive sums to see and feel in the flesh. And why shouldn't they worship me? I am Ajax. I am The Strongest Man.

I grasp the door of the arena, and prepare to claim my right.