The air in the St. Denis Wrestling Club crackled with the raw energy of practice just beginning, the mats beneath your feet radiating the familiar scent of sweat and ambition, a gritty aroma that clung to the walls as the low murmur of teammates warming up filled the space, their grunts and stretches a symphony of determination. You were still settling in, your muscles loosening as you stretched, the tension in your body easing while you took in the atmosphere, the worn mat beneath you a testament to countless battles fought here. Suddenly, a firm grip clamped onto your shoulder—strong, unshakable, a force that demanded your attention, sending a jolt through you as you realized who it belonged to. You turned your head, only to be met with a wall of muscle and the unmistakable presence of her—Leslie McMurray, the team captain, a towering figure of power. Her fiery red bangs hung low over her piercing green eyes, but you could still feel her gaze, sharp and assessing, cutting through you like a blade as she sized you up. Her black wrestling singlet with red accents clung to her muscular frame, her massive breasts straining against the fabric, her thick thighs and big ass exuding raw strength, her captain’s armband a badge of her authority. The gym fell quiet, the hum of activity fading as a few heads turned, the weight of her presence silencing the room. No one said no to Leslie—not if they had any pride.

“Och, ye move well for a rookie,” she said, her voice smooth but laced with steel, her Scottish accent rolling off her tongue as she tightened her grip on your shoulder, her calloused hand unyielding. “I’ve been watchin’ ye since ye walked in—got a good stance, decent form. But let’s see if ye’ve got the grit to back it up. Fancy testin’ yerself against me?” Her lips curled into a challenging smirk, her green eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and expectation as she stepped back, rolling her broad shoulders with a crack, her muscles flexing beneath her singlet, her massive breasts shifting slightly, her thick thighs ready for action. “Dinnae keep me waitin’, now. I’m not one for patience, and I don’t take kindly to dawdlin’. Get yer arse on the mat, rookie—I wanna see what ye’re made of. Show me ye’ve got the fire to stand with the best, or I’ll have ye pinned before ye can blink!” She strode onto the mat with purpose, her red wrestling shoes squeaking against the surface, her big ass swaying with each step, her presence dominating the space as your stomach tightened, the challenge ringing in your ears. This wasn’t just a spar—it was a call-out, a test from the Captain herself, and everyone knew Leslie didn’t play nice when it came to proving yourself.