Within 24 hours, I was sitting in the gracious oil tycoon's den in Saudi Arabia, watching various members of my client's harem bellydance sinously, their enormous and far too lovely eyes, above brightly colored veils, drawing me into the magic of their silent language. I puffed on a cigar, sipped cognac. The sheik clapped his hands twice, and his 12 wives instantly stopped their bootyshaking and headed back to their chambers.

"Glad to have you here, my friend," he said, snuffing out his stogie in the crystal ashtray sitting between us. "My youngest daughter, you remember her don't you? She has taken up an interest in boxing."

I shifted uneasily in my seat at the recollection. His "little girl" was 5 feet 10 inches tall and was built like a plow mule. Top that off with abnormally thick forearm hair, a boldy unwaxed mustache, and a darling unibrow, this was one 16-year-old girl who had aspirations to play defensive line in the NFL.

"Boxing, eh?"

"Yes," the sheik sighed. "I am glad she is finding exercise, and a sport she enjoys, but she is a big girl, and none of my wives or her handmaidens will spar with her. She put an althletic trainer I hired in the hospital. My male staff? My bodyguards could give her the workout she needs, but they are terrified of my wrath and will not go after her with all they can. That is where you come in."

"Oh?" I leaned forward in my chair. "I'm afraid I can't think of any celebrities offhand that could stand toetotoe with your daughter, sir."

He smiled and said: "I know. You will not find who I want in Hollywood, although she is rather famous."

"Doesn't matter where, Abdul. Just how much you are willing to pay." I smiled and sipped my drink. The Sheik nodded in approval, then pressed a button on his remote control. A segment in the wood paneling across the room slid open to reveal a bigscreen television set into the wall with a vcr. He pressed play, and as soon as I saw the gorgeous image before me, I nodded in approval.

Mia St. John, the IFBA featherweight champion of the world, danced and jabbed on her way to her latest victory last september. 13-0, 8 knockouts, and boy was she a knockout. She was a rare combination of pulchritude, power, and speed.

"You have fine taste in your fighters, Abdul. I take it you want someone other than your daughter to get a workout."

He laughed heartily, and motioned for the butler to refill both our glasses and bring fresh cigars. Negotiations were easy. Not just any famous pretty face would do in this instant. 2.5 million plus expenses, and I was off to Vegas, where Mia was training for her next bout.

She trained after hours at a Gold's Gym outside the city. It gave Mia the endorsement cash of plugging a big-name facility while at the same time insuring she wasn't mobbed by fans. There was no security, and Mia was there just with her trainer, some dude named Oscar. After staking out the location, I found my little knockout was already making one big mistake. She was always the last to leave, and the doors were never locked from the inside, as Oscar was able to return when forgetting something on two occasions and gain entry without a key.

After that, I had a couple of the staff to deal with. A janitor, and some platinum blonde aerobics queen who was a manager or something. Mia usually came out with them, between 2 and 2.5 hours after Oscar departed.

On the fifth day, I was ready. I waited outside, in a white rental van across the street as the sun made its descent below the horizon. Oscar was gone within the hour. Various staff members filtered out 35 minutes after that. Now it was just janitor guy, workout bitch, and Mia. All the gear I needed was in a black gymbag. My tranquilizer dart pistol was loaded and in its shoulder holster.

I simply waltzed in, and there she was at the front desk, the manager, in all her tanning bed golden-brown glory. I could hear the janitor puttering around in the men's restroom to my right. No problem. She looked up, and just as she opened her mouth to ask me what the hell i was doing there, I hit her square in the shoulder with a dart. At the sound of her crumpling to the floor, the janitor came out, and he wasn't worrying what all the fuss was about as soon as that dart hit him in the chest. I dragged him behind the counter out of site with whatshername and I was ready for part two of the abduction. They wouldn't stir until tomorrow morning. Prime gorilla tranquilizer was running through their veins (you can pick up the darndest things on Ebay.) I loaded another dart, with a much smaller dosage for Mia. I needed her up within 30 minutes.

She had her back to the door, pounding the heavy bag. she wore a red lycra top and matching lycra shorts. Her ponytail bobbed as she thrusted into the bag, putting weight behind every punch. There was a sheen of sweat on her arms and back. I don't even think she knew another person in the room until she felt the prick of the dart in the small of her back. Her eyes fluttered shut and Mia collapsed before she could turn around.

Now this is where I usually tie up and gag my quarry, pop 'em in the van, and I'm off to my private jet. This time was different. Mia St. John was no fluff chick like most of the actresses in Hollywood that I kidnapped and sold off. This was was a strong, bold woman with a lot of heart, going out there doing something she loves to do, despite streams of criticism and sometimes laughter at her sport. She had pride and dignity. There was no way I could just rip her out of her present life and plop her down in an oil sheik's lap without giving her a fair shot at keeping her freedom.

Or at least making it appear so.

I left her hands gloved, and sat her on a stool inside the ring in one corner. I cuffed her hands behind her back to the turnbuckle. While she slept, I put chains and padlocks on all the doors, then shut all the lights, and made sure the place looked closed. Then I changed out of my clothes and into my jockstrap, silk leopard print trunks (what the hell, it was Vegas.), wrestling shoes, got out my mouth piece, and then, the gloves. I carefully slid them out of their plastic bags, and put on the left glove, careful to avoid touching the outside. That portion of both gloves was coated with a special chemical, a nerve agent developed by the Department of Defense (Got that on Ebay too.) that, when the skin came in contact with it, would cause the victim's strength to slowly wane, and, with repeated contact, turn the limbs to jelly, while conciousness and lucidity was retained. I jammed my mouthpiece in the crook of the thumb, and by this time Mia began to stir. I sat in the opposite corner, as her eyes fluttered open, and she moaned her way back into the lucid world.

"Mmmm....oh...." The champ shook her head, gaze finally focusing. Then she noticed the cuffs. She pulled for a second, then saw me and fear overtook her. Mia thrashed like the hellcat I expected her to be. I merely sat, my ungloved hand hanging languidly on the middle rope in my corner, as she gasped, bosom heaving in her struggles. I savored every second, watching her lean midsection stretch as she kicked out, her delicious lips part in a grimace as she strained every muscle taut on her hard little body. Finally, out of breath, she stopped...and slumped, panting and sweaty, strands of hair falling from her tight ponytail into her face.

"Wh-whatever you want, Mister, You're in big trouble. If you let me go, now, when the cops get here I can put a good word in for you, make 'em go easy on you."

I sniffed, and grinned. "No one will notice you are missing for at least the next two hours. Every door leading out of this building is chained and padlocked from the inside, and I have the only key. No one is coming for you. By the time they do. You will either be in the service of an Oil Sheik, or you will be safe and sound. Which depends on you."

"What?!" She just stared at me like I was a psycho, eyes wide with a mix of terror and anger.

"It's like this. You're going to fight me. We're going to box. If you knock me out, you go free. I knock you out, I crate you up and ship you off."

Before "off" escaped my lips she was screaming at the top of her lungs, any composure gone, straining in fury against her bonds.

"SOMEBODY HELP MEEEE!!!! HEEEEEELP!!!!! GOD!!! SOMEBODY!!!! HEEEEEEEELLP!!!!"

I let her go on for a couple more minutes before I squatted next to her, with her mouthpiece in my free hand.

Ok, before I continue, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I was playing a shameless trick on this woman, giving her the false hope that she had a shot at freedom. Well, you need to look at the cold hard facts. First, I'm a professional. Business is business, and my job is to get the woman my client wants. Once I take the job, it doesn't matter how I get the job done. Second, she's the champ. Yeah, Mia's a girl, and I had the height, weight, and reach advantage, but she's a pro, and a champion. With her excellent mobility, coupled with pretty decent power for her size, there is the distinct chance she could tire me out, drag this thing out way too long, and, a possibility she could win. Third, this method insured she would not arrive to my client damaged. No keeper of slave women liked to see his property come to him or her with a black eye, or a split lip. Beyond that, I just don't like beating up on women. I've never liked it, or respected those who do.

Well, enough of my convoluted morality and back to the story.

"You're going to take in your mouthpiece here, and we're gonna get it on," I said.

Staring into space, she shook her head. "This isn't happening...this is some kind of joke."

"Mia..."

She turned to me, looked me dead in the eye.

I continued. "It's time. There's no escape, except through me. Even if you ran from me, and checked every door, I have the only key, and you can't grab anything with those gloves on. And it'll take you several minutes to undo the laces with your teeth. And by then I'll just tie you up, gag you, and it's off to the middle east. This way, you have a chance at freedom. Now open your mouth."

She exhaled sharply through her nose, eyes narrowing. "Let's get it on, then. You shoulda tied me up when you had the chance."

I grinned. "That's the spirit!"

I popped her mouthpiece in, and her lips slid over the hunk of plastic. I eased around her with my free hand and unlocked the cuffs, letting them drop to the floor. I immediately backed away, slid on my right glove and cinched the slipknot I had in them up with my teeth, then popped in my mouthpiece.

"Letsh get reathy to rumble," I taunted through the guard.

Mia stood, and emerged from her corner cautiously, circling me. Pretty much what I expected. She wouldn't want to get in too close, fight me toe-to-toe. The champ would try to tire me out with her speed, stamina, and mobility.

I fought the urge to pursue,and let her circle in. She drew close, jabbed at my midsection. I blocked easily, and she circled back out. This continued for several minutes. The next time she came in and jabbed, I tried a right hook to her head. She fluidly ducked out of the way, and counterpunched with a blistering combination to my right side. I let out a small gasp, and she doubled back again, grinning. My ribs radiated with a dull ache. This time I decided to take the offensive.

I charged her when she circled in front of a corner, and tried to cut off as much of the ring as possible. She couldn't get away, and threw a left to the ribs. She blocked and countered with two quick, hard lefts to my ribs. I grimaced. They were damn sore now, and it was obvious she was trying to take my wind, and just let me run out of steam trying to catch her. But all I needed was two or three clean shots. I got the first one on her next pass. Mia feigned another jab to my sore ribs, but got me with a solid hook across the jaw. My head snapped back and I tasted a little blood, but managed to counterpunch, landing a solid left to her chin. She doubled back, obviously a little jarred by the blow. We danced around the squared circle, shaking it off for a second, and I led the charge this time. She hammered a left to my ribs again, with a quick right following to my stomach, I countered for her ribs, and managed to graze her midriff with my glove, and retreated.

Sweat dripped in thick rivulets down her face and I could see the chemical begin to take effect. She slowed down, her feet not as quick. It was easier to move in, and she wobbled a little with a right jab to the head. Her stare burned with hatred, and I knew she felt her body start to give out. Her brain was working fine though. I never saw the kick to my nuts coming.

I should have remembered she studied Tae Kwan Do. I suddenly did as I let out a muted squeak as I doubled over. I fought the urge to say something. After all, it wasn't like I was playing by the rules.

A left cracked my temple, and now I saw stars. That stuff on the gloves needed to work soon. Then a flurry of punches nailed me in the face, and I fell on my ass, the taste of blood filling my mouth. She doubled back to her corner and was laughing.

"Yeah asshole. You didn't say we couldn't kickbox. Get up!"

I could feel the warm rush of blood trickling from my nose, onto my upper lip. I stood, the pain in my balls now just bearable enough to regain my focus. She circled me once again, but her muscles didn't want to work for her nearly as quickly as in the beginning. She looked sluggish, and I managed to block a kick to my right knee, and landed a solid left right between the eyes. She reeled backward, and I charged, landing a right hook to the midsection before she kneed me in my sore ribs. I shoved off her. Mia charged in, then stumbled, her brow furrowing. Her muscles were slowly shutting down. With the low concentration I used to coat the gloves, she would be perfectly lucid, but her arms and legs would barely be able to move.

She glared at me, regained her balance, and charged again, knees buckling. I charged in and jacked her hard in the chin, and the champ wobbled, slumped to her knees, those big, lovely eyes staring up at me, languid and confused. Whatever fire burned inside Mia St. John left with a sigh.

In a tiny voice, she said: "What...did...you do to me?"

And the champ's face smacked the canvas, and she lay unable to close her mouth. Whatever her pleas were, they were simply incoherent squawkings coming from her open lips.

I circled her as I undid the knot on my left glove with my teeth.

I said: "One....."

My left hand free, i removed the other glove.

"Two...:"

I walked over to my bag in the corner.

"Three."

I pulled out a roll of athletic tape and a ballgag (Abdul digs ballgags.)

"Four..."

I knelt by my prey and undid the knot on her right glove, slid it off. Her knuckles were red, swollen. A fighter's hand.

"Five...:"

I took off the left glove. Her left eye followed every move I made, wide with terror.

"Six..."

I pulled her arms behind her back, held them together with one hand palm to palm.

"Seven..."

I wrapped the white tape tightly around them.

"Eight..."

I continued wrapping up her forearms, to her elbows. Then wrapped her hands up too, giving her little mittens. I then rolled Mia onto her back.

"Nine..."

A puddle of drool had formed next to her mouth, coated her cheek. I wiped it away, cradled her head to ease the ballgag behind her teeth.

"Ten."

I strapped the buckle tight, and the leather cut into her cheeks. Tears rolled from her eyes, as, for the first time in the ring, she knew ultimate defeat. I slid her over to the edge of the ring, slid down to apron, and looked her in the eye and smiled tenderly. "You gave it all you had champ, but it's time to go."

I kissed her on the cheek, slung Mia St. John over my shoulder, and headed for the van.