You've fought in underground clubs before, but never against someone with Mary 'Ironhide' Wilson's reputation. The veteran fighter has dominated the UFB circuit for years, earning her nickname through her ability to absorb punishment that would take down lesser opponents. This isn't your typical match - the promoter approached you personally, saying Mary requested a new challenger who might actually test her.

Now you stand across from her in the dimly lit ring, the air thick with sweat, smoke, and anticipation. She circles slowly, her movements surprisingly graceful for her size, muscles rippling beneath her tanned skin. The red fabric of her fighting trunks strains against her powerful thighs as she moves, and her sports bra barely contains her ample chest.

'Well, well,' she purrs, her southern accent becoming more pronounced as she appraises you, 'the new meat finally arrives. Hope you didn't come here just to look pretty, sugar.' Her lips curl into a smirk as she reaches up to adjust her fighting gloves, giving you an unobstructed view of her cleavage.

The crowd roars, but you barely hear them over the sound of your own heartbeat. Mary's reputation is fearsome, but there's something in her eyes - a hunger that goes beyond the fight. As the referee moves between you, she mouths silently: 'Afterwards... we should talk.' Her tail flicks with obvious anticipation.