Dan Boxer's blog

It didn't take long.
Selene had kept me posted by e-mails on Nylisha's bouts against the rest of the better fighters in her gym. After our after-hours battle, she'd picked right up where she left off, with three more first or second-round knockout wins over the next couple of months. There were now only two fighters ranked above her on Selene's entire gym roster, and she was set for a battle with the potent Anne in her next bout.
But from what I gathered, Nylisha's attitude was better ... just a little, but better. She was still a bitch to everybody, but her superior attitude was toned down from reports I got from some of Selene's other gym members. They didn't know why, and didn't care ... and Selene and I kept our secret between us.
I hadn't thought much about Nylisha's challenge after our bout, figuring it was just frustration and figuring she was too focused on taking down Anne and whoever else she could line up to worry about climbing in the ring with me again.
Wrong ... and I had an inclination that was the case when I saw Selene's caller ID on my cell phone early on a Monday morning.
"You've got a package delivered to the gym for some reason," Selene said. "It doesn't have a return address."
I went immediately to Selene's gym where she was waiting with the package, and when I opened it there was a folded-up poster of Nylisha, a card with an address and a key.
The poster was a full-length shot, her in her gold trunks with the "ER" on the waistband, gold gloves and gold boots just like in our bout, except this time she had a bright yellow top covering her nice assets. It had printing at the bottom ... "I've knocked out everyone in this gym in four rounds or less – usually one. Do you dare try to last 5 rounds?"
The card had an address at the top, one I recognized as being in a seedy part of town. Under the address it said, "Friday night, 9 p.m., motherfucker ... the key gets you in the back door. if you're not there, I'm going to come and find your ass and beat you to death."
Shit, I thought ... I was torn between the excitement of getting in the ring with her again, and remembering how I felt after the first late-night bout even with my win. Damn, I was sore for a week. But I felt that stirring in my gut again, and she'd succeeded in piquing my curiosity. And as I looked at the poster, one that was almost 3-D it was so lifelike, that stirring in my gut moved down to my crotch.
++++++
The one other message I got during the week gave me three bits of information, all of which worried me and excited me at the same time. One was that I wasn't to tell anyone about the bout at Nylisha's home gym ... not anyone in Selene's gym or even Selene herself.
The second bit of information was that there again was no referee, but this time I wouldn't need a second in the corner. It was to be just Nylisha and I ... no one else.
And the third? To quote Nylisha's note, "You won't need that protector, either ... all you'll need is gloves, trunks, boots and a mouthpiece so I don't break your jaw too quick."
My mind was overwhelmed with the possibilities. What if I was being set up ... after all, this was a scary part of town. What if one of us got truly injured with nobody else there? And that last note ... what was that about? I wasn't keen on her taking some shots below the belt, but I assumed that even as much of a bitch as she was, she wouldn't stoop to that.
I had mixed emotions over whether to follow that last instruction, but I also didn't want Nylisha to think I was scared. So I told no one, and when Friday evening game I packed my equipment bag – sans the big leather protector that guarded the family jewels – and headed over to the designated address.
The gym turned out to be a small abandoned warehouse, one that fit right in with the rest of a decaying neighborhood. I parked my car around back, trying to get as close to that back door as possible, and after a couple of tries the key finally turned the rusty lock. I pushed open the door, and was immediately struck with the combined odor of sweat and decay. It was bad enough to make a weaker person, one that wasn't used to being around a locker room, want to gag or throw up.
As I was finally getting used to the smell, I noticed the gym's lights. All were bare wires strung from the ceiling, with several of them in the general area of the two rings and the rest scattered from corner to corner. Most of the lights that were on were centered over one ring – I figured that's where we'd be doing battle – and the others were pointed down a nearby hallway close to the back door. I assumed that's where the locker room was, and I went to the first unopened door and went inside, subconsciously locking it behind me.
I had just started pulling equipment out of my bag when I heard a nearby door open and then slam shut, and footsteps walking by my door. But they kept walking, and I assumed that was Nylisha, either headed for another locker room to get ready or already heading for the ring. As much as she wanted me to join her in the ring, I figured she was already dressed and ready, and I could feel myself rushing to finish up and head out to the gym. Relax, I told myself ... she wasn't going anywhere.
It didn't take long with the limited equipment. Tugging my favorite black trunks on with nothing below for some reason brought Nylisha's image to mind ... that strong and toned body, bare except for the short and tight trunks that left little to the imagination ... as did mine, which were already tenting out from that mental image. I spent the whole time I was wrapping my hands and tugging on the tight 8-ounce gloves trying to get my body back under control, and eventually the bulge below the Everlast logo receded while I was warming up in front of the rusted-out mirror in the dressing room.
I had just finished my last bit of shadowboxing when I heard the gym timer already sounding its shrill warning chime, so I threw my bag over my bare shoulder and headed out the door, pounding my gloves together as I walked down the hall heading for the only other lit place in the dingy gym.
Just as I'd suspected, Nylisha was already in the ring ... I could see her outline against the lights and could see her punching the corner pad to stay loose. As I got closer, more details started to appear ... she looked identical to our last bout down to the smallest detail, and to the poster she'd sent me – without the gold top, though. Her impressive breasts once again bounced free as she gave the corner pad a beating ... probably pouring it on, since she noticed me walking toward the ring.
"Didn't know if you'd show up or not, white boy," she said as she finished her corner pounding. I didn't respond while I pulled towels and a full water bottle out of my bag and set them on the ring apron next to what I assumed was my corner, opposite of where she had been working.
I watched her closely as I slipped through the ropes, and in the harsh bulb lights she looked even more impressive than I'd remembered. I noticed the wide shadow that was cast from her wide shoulders and trunk, as well as from her sculpted arms. She was an impressive physical specimen, no doubt, and I felt the twinge inside the thin satin of my trunks from watching her.
She wore the same gold gloves and trunks from our first meeting. I saw the "ER" on her waistband again, and the thoughts of what that meant were whirring through my brain when Nylisha walked out to mid-ring and stood, gloves on her hips, brazenly inviting me to join her.
"Come on, white boy," she said. "I'm not going to hurt you ... yet." And as I began stepping toward mid-ring, she continued. "But I will hurt you soon."
When I got close, Nylisha quickly took one more step toward me, closing the distance between us before I could react to the point that her breasts – which rode so tantalizingly high on her well-developed pecs – and her cork-hard nipples brushed against my chest. But instead of the mad-as-hell look of last time, she had a malevolent grin on her face.
Our eyes weren't six inches apart, and I was so focused on matching her stare and trying to figure out what she was smiling about, I didn't notice for a couple of seconds that her right glove had left her hip and was brushing across the front of my trunks. By the time my brain had processed the notion of stepping back, my suddenly-rigid manhood was straining against my trunks once again. Caught totally off guard, all I did was stand there while Nylisha continued her gloved massage.
"The brothers over here are always sayin' don't waste my time with puny white-boy dicks," she hissed. "Maybe we'll see if they're right."
I finally awoke from the near-trance and took two quick steps back, and Nylisha's grin turned into a loud laugh as she turned and walked back to her corner. "Get ready for a beatdown, motherfucker," she said over her shoulder as I heard the timer chime its 10-second warning.
Shit, I mumbled under my breath. She'd already psyched me out and completely distracted me ... instead of focusing on the bout that was seconds away, I was in my corner, trunks tented out and my mind somewhere else. I was still struggling to regain my composure when the double "DING, DING!" chime came from the timer.
++++++
I still wasn't ready to launch any sort of battle plan when I stepped out toward mid-ring, but I'd hoped Nylisha would start this bout like she did our previous fight – patient, working the middle of the ring and conserving energy – and fortunately she did just that. She stepped out in a classic stance and almost appeared to be waiting for me, with that grin still on her face.
This was not the time to get in a slugfest with her, so I began slowly circling left and flicking out jabs toward her highly-held gloves. I could see that she still had some scarring above her right eye where she'd been sliced open in our first meeting, and she kept her right high and firmly planted against her temple.
My jabs weren't having much effect … about all they were doing were making noise when they hissed off Nylisha's own leather. But I had also been able to stay away from her early head attack, slipping the jab and blocking her right hand with my left.
That was before she quickly dropped down with a straight left that split my elbows and landed hard on my waistband, right on the Everlast logo, with a dull "thud." It caught me by surprise – everything until then had been aimed at my head – and also caused a quick flinch since it didn't hit far above my still-hard member – something she'd probably taken into account, and likely the reason she'd given me the quick glove-job pre-bout.
I stepped back and she came right at me, and we clinched just off the ropes. Actually, it was less a clinch than me bent halfway over and grabbing her around the waist. I was a little more stunned than I originally thought, a dull feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it didn't help that Nylisha was raining lefts and rights on my head and shoulders as I hung on.
But she couldn't do any damage from that angle, and eventually I was able to move up and pin her arms in a vice grip, and we wrestled for a few seconds as she tried to push me off.
"One in the gut and you're done, huh, you pussy?," she said during the clinch. "Just like your cock, you must be getting soft."
"We'll see how soft," I said as we struggled, and I could finally feel my crotch getting back to normal as she tried to pull her arms away. I finally broke the hold, and Nyisha tried a wild right hand over the top that I ducked under. That left her right side open, and I pivoted and landed a solid left hook just below her rib cage. It was almost the same punch that I'd hurt her with so much late in our last fight, and I felt it dig in again and felt the "woosh" of air that came out around her mouthpiece.
This time, it was her turn to step back. But instead of pressing in, I stayed away and smiled.
"How'd that feel, bitch," I said, but all Nyllisha did was return to her boxing stance at mid-ring, finally put the expected scowl on her face, and flexher left glove, waving me in like a dare. Not right now, I thought, and I kept a distance between us as I jabbed and parried her advances, until the timer went off.
I swung out the stool in my corner and sat down, and realized I was sweating up a storm ... sweat running down my face and chest even though we'd only gone one round. I hadn't noticed it in all the "excitement," but my trunks were already soaked and I could feel the unusual sensation of the satin trunks bonding against bare skin.
I looked across at Nylisha, who didn't appear to be even breathing heavily. The thought that she'd been working a lot more rounds in training crossed my mind.
When the bell rang for round 2, I came out southpaw, with my right shoulder pointed at my opponent to try to throw her off. It had worked well in our first fight, and I figured changing back and forth was a good strategy. That would negate her jab some, but I would have to be careful of her big right hand that I remembered from the first fight. Still, the ability to throw lead rights from a short distance helped, and I started peppering Nylisha's head with those rights and stepping back out of range. Every time she would cock her left to jab, I was able to get there first with the right, and either pushed her gloves back into her face or split them and hit my target.
Bap … bap … bap … my lead right kept hitting home. One flattened Nylisha's nose and a couple landed on her cheekbones, causing her to blink, and when she tried to counter I had time to either lean back or block with my left. I could tell she was already getting frustrated – her early psychological and physical toying with me now ancient history – and I was hoping that frustration would lead to a mistake … which happened more quickly than I figured.
I had just snapped off another right that hissed off Nylisha's left cheekbone, and I saw her start to lean forward and throw her right, which I leaned away from as it whistled by my jaw and left an opening. I stepped forward and threw a left hook, and with her leaning in it clipped her square on the jaw and sent spit and sweat flying. It was one of those punches that you knew landed solidly from the feeling that went up my arm.
Nylisha was stunned and her legs went rubbery for a moment as I moved in, throwing wide-swinging lefts and rights at her head to try to take advantage ... maybe even end this one quickly. She had her gloves high, but some of those shots got through, as did quick uppercuts from each side that got below her guard and snapped her head up as she started slowly stepping back.
Shocked with my good fortune, with every punch I threw seeming to make good contact, I kept up the attack as Nylisha stumbled back into a neutral corner. I stood right in front, punching for all I was worth, and every punch in my barrage echoed around the gym. Her grin was long since gone, and instead her eyes were wide with shock and quickly tearing up.
A few more lefts and rights finally forced Nylisha to roll off the tattered ropes and land on her hip on the canvas. I had put her down again, and it was only the second round.
"Who's beating who up now, slut," I hissed as I stepped back … but only a step or two, since I'd learned from the first fight that without a referee, going all the way to a neutral corner wasn't the smartest thing. "Get up! Should've spent less time worrying about my dick and more worrying about my gloves."
Nylisha was quickly up on one knee and covered up as she rose. I tried to continue the attack, but she tied me up with her burly arms and all I could manage were some short choppy blows to her sides that did no damage. Her head was on my shoulder and the beads from her tight cornrows dug into my chest, and I could also feel some dampness running down my chest. I was still trying to work out of the bearhug when the timer went off, and as we broke I saw the blood dripping from her nose once again and more redness over her eye.
It was just as well that the round ended … my arms were dead from all the punching and I needed the break as much as she did. I went back to my corner and tried to shake my arms out while watching Nylisha towel herself off and breathe heavily across the ring, and I leaned back heavily against the ropes, noticing how tired I already was. Maybe her initial below-the-belt move had taken something out of me, I thought as I looked up at the ceiling until the warning buzzer sounded.
I moved out quickly at the bell for Round 3, but Nylisha was back to his battle plan, taking mid-ring and cutting off the ring. She looked none the worse for wear despite the punishment from Round 2 except for redness above and below her right eye, and she held her guard high. Strong bitch, I thought, because I'd hit her with everything I had, and I started getting the idea that she'd been more thoroughly schooled and coached than the fighter I faced last time.
In fact, it was now Nylisha that started snapping out quick jabs, getting off before I had a chance to react with my lead right and popping into the right side of my face and right eye. One went flush in the eye socket and caused me to see stars and back up, circling left again.
So much for me being the aggressor, at least for a while, as each of us sized the other up and waited for a chance to do damage. She was beginning to slowly press forward, but I kept shooting out the lead right and pushing her gloves and head backwards while keeping my left high – a good thing, since a couple of her strong right crosses thudded into my left glove instead of my temple, but still had enough on them to turn me almost sideways.
I blocked another of those rights and countered with a straight right that got above her left glove and hammered home square in Nylisha's face, and I could feel her nose in my glove and could tell the punch did some damage. I followed with a left uppercut to the body and quickly doubled up, but she quickly stepped back and covered up as blood began flowing from her nose and down into her mouth.
I tried to press my advantage and aimed another uppercut at the bloody nose, but Nylisha turned her head and … BAM! A thunderous right hand dug into the left side of my body under the rib cage. She had pivoted after my miss and put all her weight into the right, and it felt like it went all the way to my backbone. My "unnnhhhh" now echoed off the walls.
I halfway bent over and instinctively pulled my left arm down, but Nylisha expected that and bounced a quick right-left combination flush on both sides of my face as I stumbled backward against the ropes. The gym's loose ropes acted like a trampoline and propelled me back forward as Nylisha landed a powerful left hook on my forehead that spun my head to the side – where a right cross awaited and landed flush on my chin, literally lifting me off the canvas.
I didn't realize I was going down until I landed flat on my back, looking up at the light bulbs strung above the ring and trying to get my bearings. In an instant, some of those bulbs were blocked out as Nylisha's outline came into focus. I could see her looking down at me and her fists ready at her waist, waiting for me to get up.
"Now I'm going to fuck you up," she hissed down at me, right when the bell sounded ending the round. I could tell she was disgusted with the timing, but she walked away, and it took me several more seconds for me to get my bearings and balance back and half-walk, half-crawl to my stool.
I was still dazed when I got there, but at least had the sense to grab the water bottle with one glove and squirt it all over me, the last squirt going down my chest and body and soaking my trunks even more. The cold helped revive me a little, but by the time I'd toweled some of the water off I heard the warning buzzer, and as I toweled my face I felt a big welt above my right eye, courtesy of Nylisha's left hook in the one-two that put me on my back. I could feel it already swelling as I held the water bottle against it for a few more precious seconds.
"It ain't gonna help," I heard Nylisha yell from across the ring. "You going down hard, white boy," as the timer sounded twice to start the fourth round. I slowly rose and had one thought, to stay away and grab and hold on for a while.
Nylisha certainly knew that was my plan, and she came out quickly at the Round 4 bell and cut the ring off as she pressed forward, trying to guide me back into a corner and already throwing wide lefts and rights as I covered up. But she was too anxious and I was able to block most of her punches while connecting with a couple of jabs to thwart her charges.
The first time she bored her way in, I was able to wrap her up as she pushed me back against the ropes and I slipped away. I should have done the same thing the second time, but I tried to blunt her attack with a combo of my own that she expertly blocked with her left, and out of nowhere she tagged me with another brutal right hand just below my navel, right on the soaking-wet waistband.
The blow all but paralyzed me and I quickly covered in almost a standing fetal position against the ropes. Nylisha knew she had hurt me several times with body shots and we were still early in the fourth round, and that's where she began hammering with both hands, knowing that I was in no condition to counter or punch back. Most of her biggest shots bounced off my arms and elbows that were tightly tucked in, but several pounded into my kidney areas, and I could feel her gradually beating all the wind out of me. I vaguely remembered how Selene had told me how much she loved going to the body, and now she was getting all the chances she wanted to do that.
It was as if Nylisha was saving my head for her later enjoyment, as all of her punches rained in at my body and chest, almost as if she was out to prove a point. My ab muscles were rapidly weakening against her onslaught and my chest throbbed as her gloves hissed across my skin. I felt more blood on my arm and realized one of Nylisha's taut gloves had ripped across one nipple, slicing it open.
She was bending low, one of her knees almost on the canvas, as she dug into my lower abs. "HOW'S THAT FEEL, MOTHERFUCKER?" she taunted as she pounded, knowing I was ready to go down again. Finally she doubled up on uppercuts to my bent-over body and I went crashing down again, my head landing just in front of her gray boots.
I don't know how long I stayed in that position, both knees folded against my chest on the mat and my forehead on the canvas, my arms wrapped around my sore body, but Nylisha never moved her feet. I couldn't see her, but I could picture her standing and waiting for me, in no hurry now that she was fully in control.
Eventually I came up onto my knees, still instinctively keeping my arms near my body, and staring straight ahead into her crotch. She was sweating as heavily as I was, from the exertion of her punch-fest, and her trunks were also plastered to her, her ebony skin nearly showing through the wet gold fabric. That fabric stuck to every inch of her, all the way down her crotch, and even in my dazed state I picked up the scent of her feminine juices that apparently were contributing to her soaked trunks. Damn, she's enjoying this, my subconscious mind thought, and if I didn't do something soon she was going to enjoy it even more.
As I stood shakily I tried to grab Nylisha around her arms and waist, but I only collared her right arm. Her left was free, and using her own chest to pin me, she pounded the right side of my face with repeated chopping lefts. None of them covered much more than six inches, but in the position my head was in they all hit home.
I felt the welt over my right eye rip open against the leather of Nylisha's glove and blood began rolling down into my eye and down the side of my face. She must have hit me a dozen times in the same spot before I was able to get my gloves up to cover my face and stagger backwards into my own corner.
She had me helpless there, almost sitting on the middle rope, but before she could take even more advantage the timer went off to end the fourth round. But instead of backing off, Nylisha stood there, admiring her handiwork.
"Don't stand up again, or I will hurt you," she taunted. "You think it hurts now … you come back out here and I'll give you more pain than you can imagine."
I staggered into Nylisha as I stood up, and she pushed me off her and into the ropes, laughing at my crazed walk as I managed to maneuver my butt off the ropes and onto the metal stool that I painstakingly swung out. I fumbled for one of the towels and immediately jammed it against my eye, and when I pulled it back it was soaked with blood – a lot of it – and I felt it instantly pour down my face and into my eye again.
I pushed the water bottle against it, hoping to slow the blood flow, but it was an exertion just to hold my glove up to my head and keep pressure on it. I stayed in that same position well after the warning buzzer sounded. I threw it out of the ring as the Round 5 bell sounded, and had just gotten off my stool when Nylisha appeared right in front of me.
I didn't see the left hook that thundered against my eye, causing blood to spurt out and leave a trail across her chest … or the follow-up right that crashed off my jaw and bounced me back down on the swinging metal stool before I fell off and landed face-down, my face falling on one of my black gloves that were now almost entirely a sticky maroon.
A pool of blood formed under my eye as I tried to push myself up to get my head off the canvas. By chance, I was looking right at Nylisha, who was screaming, "YEAH! YEAH!," with her gloves up over her head symbolizing victory.
I figured I was done, not getting up this time, and was starting to feel light-headed maybe from the blood loss. But Nylisha, almost on cue, stepped in front of me, grabbed me under both arms with her gloves and stood me up, leaning me against the corner pad and draping my arms over the top ropes.
"I told you I was gonna fuck you up," she said, "and now I am."
Since I was completely unprotected, Nylisha could have sent me back to the canvas out cold with one more big punch. Instead, she took a fighter's stance right in front of me – I could see the streak of blood from my eye still across her chest – and proceeded to start throwing half-effort punches to my body and head. It was the type of punches that a fighter would use when warming up on the heavy bag and working on technique more than power – not hard enough to put me down, but hard enough to hurt when they made contact.
She wanted to make the pain last … drag it out as long as possible. Now I knew why Selene had first wanted my help, and how dangerous this ebony powerhouse was.
Pop … pop … pop … jabs to the forehead. Hooks to the body that landed with a "thump, thump" … crosses from both sides that knocked my head back and forth … and straight rights and lefts right to my chest, literally beating the air out of my lungs.
"Unhhhhh …. Unhhhh … no more, no more, pleeeeease," I strained to get out, and looked up. That's when I saw Nylisha finally step back, although just for a moment.
"Too late for begging," she said, as she jerked my trunks down to my ankles. That's when she began moved her punches lower, eventually to the point where she was knocking my cock and balls back and forth like a miniature speed bag – again, not hard enough to incapacitate, but hard enough to make pain soar through my crotch and abdomen every time his glove made contact. It didn't help that I was somehow fully erect despite this abuse.
Eventually I felt warm liquid running down my leg ... Nylisha had quite literally beaten the piss and cum out of me. When she saw this, she leaned in again, pistoning lefts and rights into my abdomen like a machine, the same punches she had mauled my body with one round earlier. They were like her most recent punches, at about half-effort, but I could still hear the dull sounds of leather hitting skin bouncing around the gym walls. I could almost feel her knuckles inside those 8-ounce gloves, the knuckle points pounding into my internal organs as I retched onto the canvas and started to slide off the ropes.
Nylisha again caught me under the arms and re-hung my limp body on the top ropes. "Time for you to get knocked out," she said, and four punches later, a combination of lefts and rights that knocked me sideways sent me bouncing off the ropes and pitching toward the middle of the ring, landing flat on my back out cold….
++++++
I don't know how long it was, but when I finally began to come around I could tell that Nylisha was still standing there. In the haze of staring up into the lights, I couldn't see anything but her outline, but as my consciousness came back, I could tell that she had stripped her trunks – she'd probably have to burn them, my subconscious mind thought.
As things got clearer, I watched as she stepped closer, straddling me and putting one boot on each side of my rapidly-rising-and-falling chest. Without hesitation, she kneeled down, her knees on the sides of my head and swollen face, effectively pinning my shoulders and biceps to the canvas with her shins.
"See if you lick any better than you fight," she said as she slowly lowered herself, covering my face with her wet womanhood and already beginning to slide herself back and forth, grinding her pussy against my nose and mouth. Even in my sorry state, I figured I better try to satisfy her or else I might be in for more abuse, so I put my tongue to work lapping at her as hard and fast as I could.
It seemed to take only seconds before I felt Nylisha's body tense up and erupt into violent shudders as all her juices came roaring, moaning loudly as she drenched me with her orgasm eruption. She stayed frozen on top of me for what seemed like an eternity, still moaning, but as I thought she was about to dismount, she spun herself around, swapping sides and facing my feet while still sitting her wet pussy on my face.
I could only see her round and muscular ass from this angle, but I still had feeling in my body ... and I could feel her leather glove rubbing against my again-erect manhood for the second time since we got into the ring. This time, though, there were no trunks in between, and she proceeded to use the palm of that glove to begin to pump me violently up and down.
"Come on, white boy," I heard her taunting. "Let's see what else I can make you do."
Unable to control myself and in no position to resist, I was helpless as she milked me, quickly getting my cock to rock-hardness and just as quickly working me to an orgasm eruption of my own. I could feel the sticky cum shooting out onto my formerly-strong abs ... which Nylisha had turned to jelly not that long ago.
Only a few seconds later, Nylisha raised herself off me and stepped a couple of feet away. I was still woozy and seeing her outline in the overhead lights, but I could make out enough to tell she was looking down at me.
"You got a choice, white boy," she hissed. "Go back to your punk-ass gym and tell 'em that Nylisha is the best, or come back here and I'll fuck you up all over again."
With that, she quickly bounced away, and as she slipped through the ropes I saw her bend over and pick up my black trunks off the canvas as a souvenir. I couldn't have stopped her if I'd wanted to, obviously, but I already knew I wouldn't be using them against her again.
END

The message on my cell phone was quick and short, but it was more than enough to pique my interest and put my Monday-morning imagination into overdrive.
"It's Selene," the message said. "I hope you're free Friday night. I need some help ... need someone who can handle themselves and someone with some boxing skill for a little demonstration, and you're the first person I thought of. Give me a call when you can, stud."
The end of her message gave me a chuckle, but it didn't take long for me to start wondering what was going on. She was a friend ... we'd met through some boxing circles, we'd helped each other out on occasion, and it was never a bad thing to be in the company of a stunning redhead – especially one that could take care of herself in the ring like Selene could.
But we're part of different gyms, and our gyms couldn't be more different.
Mine is the epitome of "old school" ... in the basement of an older downtown building, the smell of locker rooms and sweat melded into leather hitting you in the face when you open the door, old workout equipment everywhere, the heavy bags and speed bags showing years of wear, as did the two old boxing rings with the canvas stained with sweat and blood. And the clientele was what you'd expect ... guys who mostly were there for the love of the sport. A few have the talent to perhaps seek the pro ranks – I, of course, not being one of that group. Maybe a handful of years ago, but not know.
Selene's gym, on the other hand, was the stuff of legends, and for most of the guys in my gym that's what it was since they'd never seen the inside. The posh suburban facility was exclusively for women, and the only way to join – or even step inside the doors – was by Selene's invitation.
I'd been lucky enough to be invited into the gym a couple of times. Twice it was to watch and for Selene to introduce me to friends who were also in the local boxing community, but once it was to actually get into the ring to work with one of her "prospects."
Both experiences were among my most memorable. Before I stepped through those doors, I'd never have believed how many attractive women were interested in lacing up the gloves and climbing through the ropes in various stages of dress/undress. And they weren't there for cardio-boxing or "foxy boxing" ... every woman I saw working out appeared to know what they were doing, and many looked like accomplished, high-level boxers. I knew Selene was good, but there were obviously many gym members who were her equal and more.
I was pretty much speechless for most of my visits there, taking in the surroundings, and I admit I was totally distracted on my entire last trip when I was supposed to be giving an assessment of her "prospect's" abilities. It didn't help that Felicity was a stunning blonde with a body that turned heads, and after a couple of sparring rounds, when Selene asked what I thought, all I remember was some incoherent babble.
I figured that's why I hadn't heard back from Selene in a while, knowing I didn't help much. That's why the phone message was unexpected ... but as I soon found out, she wanted to put someone in their place, maybe get a little revenge, and I was going to be the one to try to bring Nylisha under control. Either way, what was about to happen would make my previous gym visits pale in comparison.
++++++++
It wasn't like Selene was hiding anything from me. When I called her back – after I composed myself enough to return her call, such was my excitement – our conversation lasted nearly a half-hour, and by the time we finished I was giddy from a combination of anticipation and trepidation. She'd told me enough to assure that Friday night was going to be a memorable one, for a lot of different reasons.
She'd run into a problem with a fighter visiting from another gym, one who had punished a couple of the top fighters from Selene's gym in her visits there. Apparently, Nylisha had no competition left in her own back-alley gym and came to Selene's facility looking for fights, and under normal circumstances that wouldn't have been a problem. Selene was always looking for the best boxers in her membership, to perpetuate her club's lofty status, and the more competition for the top fighters, the better.
But Nylisha was just an out-and-out bitch. She picked fights with other gym members outside the ring, went out of her way to berate everyone she met, ignored gym rules and enjoyed leaving whatever equipment she was using broken or in shambles. Her attitude was that the rest of the world owed her everything ... and unfortunately she was intimidating enough so that few challenged her.
That lack of challenge also extended into the ring. She'd won all her bouts in convincing fashion, all of them in quick order, and left a good number of her foes hurt and in pain on the canvas from her pounding. Officially, she was 6-0 with five first-round knockouts and the sixth bout being stopped in Round 2, but word was she'd also had several "unofficial" bouts ... and it was in those that she'd been even more brutal.
"She enjoys hurting people with her fists," Selene said on the phone. "Normally that's OK and some of our top girls are just like that. But she goes overboard with it ... she's not satisfied just knocking someone out. She wants to hear them scream."
That's apparently what had happened only a couple of nights earlier when Selene had set her up for a bout with the giantess Maria – the gym's biggest fighter and one of the strongest. Nylisha's rock-solid 5-foot-7, 180-pound frame was dwarfed by Maria, who had some skill to go with her size and hurt Nylisha with some early punches. But by the first few seconds of Round 2 Maria became an oversized punching bag and Nylisha destroyed her so badly she had to be rushed to a local emergency room.
"And she felt GOOD about that," Selene said. "We've got a lot of members who are afraid of her and what she'll do. She really needs to go up against someone she can't just punch around, someone who can give her an attitude adjustment. You up for that?"
Honestly, I was reluctant at first. I wasn't sure there was an upside for me, but it had been a while since I'd really challenged myself ... my gym work kept me in shape, but I wasn't regularly getting in the ring with people as good or better than I was for some intense sparring. And from what I gathered, Nylisha was going to be a formidable challenge.
But I also wasn't in the habit of telling Selene "no."
Selene gave me a little bit of her background. She'd apparently been working and fighting out of a seedy gym before she made her way over to challenge the best at Selene's gym. She was far from a polished fighter, but she'd learned enough boxing to be able to use that massive body-builder frame to generate power in both hands, and had moved past the free-swinging style that most newcomers use and had replaced that with solid combinations. She was also strong enough that she could take a punch pretty well. She was plenty aggressive, but her stamina was open to question since she'd never had to go many rounds.
"You'll love her," Selene said sarcastically. "She goes to the body like nobody you've ever seen ... kind of like you (she knew her flattery would get her everywhere). But she's predictable, she always just comes straight forward and bangs, and she doesn't jab enough to set anything else up. Mostly, I need someone to take her down a few notches ... someone to shut that mouth of hers."
What I found out later – what the phone call didn't tell me – was that Selene had tried that herself, had climbed through the ropes to teach Nylisha a lesson in civility and manners in one of those "unofficial" bouts, and had received a brutal beating for her efforts. Nylisha tried to make an example out of Selene, carrying her much longer than the bout needed to go just so she could inflict more pain and punishment, taunting her at every opportunity, not letting her go to the canvas even when Selene was out cold and continuing to beat her senseless. If outsiders hadn't jumped in the ring to separate them, it could have been much worse.
Selene told me she'd set up the gym for Friday night after hours, after everyone else was gone. The only people there were to be Nylisha and her coach, and Selene to get the gym and ring ready and work my corner. That way, she could keep it quiet from the rest of the gym members. "It wouldn't look good if they knew I'd called you," she said. "Besides, if she beats you up, she'll let everybody know."
++++++
The week before the bout seemed to last a year, and my anticipation grew each day. I was working out with a passion, and found myself asking some of the stronger guys in my gym to spar with me, some stockier than my 5-foot-9, 165-pound frame. None of them were great boxers, but getting used to their strength and to pushing and getting leaned on by more weight in the clinches couldn't hurt.
I couldn't help but e-mail Selene with some questions about the bout, but the only message I got back was that we'd go 10 rounds and we'd use 8-ounce gloves, which I knew increased the chances of a knockout ending. Other than that, she said to bring my equipment and come to the gym's back door around 9 p.m.
I'd been in a lot of fights, but rarely did I spend so much time thinking about one before the bout. I spent every free hour trying to concentrate on my opponent, even though I knew next to nothing about her. I didn't sleep a lot Thursday night and was useless most of the day on Friday until I started packing my gym bag. I grabbed my favorite trunks, the traditional black Everlasts with the big white waistband and white trim ... not the long kind that too many fighters are now wearing, but cut almost mid-thigh, the vain part of me thinking that they showed off my tan well. White boots, mouthpiece, towels, protector, tape, wraps ... it took a while to find some black 8-ounce since I hadn't used anything like that for a while
I figured I'd get to the gym early, partly in anticipation and partly to get some idea of what I'd gotten myself into. I got there around 8:30 and the place was deserted, the front door locked. But I walked to the back and saw Selene's Jeep and another tricked-out Cadillac pimp-mobile – had to be Nylisha and her coach, I was guessing. The back door was blocked open … naturally, with a glove … and I went inside, letting it lock behind me.
The gym was dark except for the fluorescent lights above one of the rings, which provided the effect of spotlighting that ring, and lights down one hallway. I made a point to walk past the ring, figuring that's where we'd be fighting, and for the first time I felt a twinge of nervousness replacing my feelings of anticipation. Just as I started walking down the hallway, my bag slung over my shoulder, I saw Selene stepping out of a door on one side. "Hey, stud," she said, a smile on her face. "Our visitors are already in our regular locker room. You're over here," she said as she stepped across the hall and unlocked another door. "Make yourself at home, get ready and I'll be back to check on you in a few minutes."
I walked in, noticing that Selene made sure to shut the door behind me, and started going about the process of getting my trunks on, loosening up and trying to concentrate on the fight. I had just pulled out the black gloves when Selene walked back in.
"Need some help?" she said, and quickly grabbed the wraps and tape and went to work on my hands. While she wrapped, she told me she'd just been in the other locker room with Nylisha and her coach, going over details. "What a fucking pair they are," she said. "I certainly wouldn't mind it if you just kicked her ass and made her know it. Thanks for doing this ... come on out when you're ready," she said as she finished and quickly headed out the door. She had a good idea I wouldn't be far behind.
When I walked out toward the ring, Nylisha was already in there, shadow-boxing and rolling her shoulders to stay loose. A guy I assumed was her coach was in the ring with her, holding his hands up like punching mitts as her arms shot out punches, but he didn't look like very many boxing coaches I'd seen. Few of them wore full three-piece loud-colored suits with a matching fedora and three-inch-heel shoes. He would have looked at home on a street-corner shilling for his coven of prostitutes ... and the thought crossed my mind that he was doing the same here, latching on to talent and hoping to cash in when she hit the professional big time.
My focus quickly switched to the fighter, and Nylisha was impressive even from a distance ... and got more impressive the closer I walked to the ring and saw her under the glaring lights.
For a second, all I saw was shining ebony skin and a nice pair of breasts bouncing as she shadowboxed with her coach, but as I got closer the rest of her musculature showed itself in all her glory. The wide shoulders, biceps that bulged every time she drew back from a punch, sets of abs and obliques that looked like they were sculpted from brown granite ... every inch of her and every move she made radiated power and strength, and I couldn't help but feel a little intimidated.
Her bright gold trunks and gold gloves set off her deep brown skin even more, and with the sheen of sweat she'd already built, Nylisha appeared to almost shimmer under the lights. And as I looked up and down her, the form-fit trunks and strong legs showed that her strength wasn't just in her upper body. Her gray shoes were tight on her muscular calves, and her dark gray waistband had the gold letters "ER" just below her solid abs. I knew that Maria wound up in the emergency room after Nylisha finished with her, but she couldn't be good enough to brag about that on her waistband ... could she?
As I climbed up on the ring apron, I heard the loud, "THAP, THAP, THAP!" of her 8-ounce gloves slamming into the hands of the pimp-dressed coach, and his constant chatter as he encouraged her.
"Cross 'em up .... double 'em up ... NIIIIIIICE," he repeated as her gloves pounded his hands. "You a machine, a lethal weapon ... ready to hurt someone ... white boy's gonna go down hard ... he got no chance."
I didn't realize I was standing and staring until I realized that Selene had joined me in the ring. Glad I warmed up in the locker room, since she was waving us out of our corners and to the middle of the ring. I saw Nylisha taking her time walking out, her coach just behind her shoulder, and she was sizing me up just like I'd been doing to her. Her brown eyes were lasered on me, and she had something between a grin and a sneer of contempt on her face.
Her brown cornrows rubbed her strong shoulders as she walked out, which naturally drew my eyes lower and to her deep brown areolas and nipples that jutted out like wine corks. Damn, I realized, she was really excited about this fight, and I felt an involuntary rumble inside my tight protector that covered the family jewels ... a rumble that didn't abate when she stepped in close, almost brushing those hard nipples against me.
"OK, you both know the rules," Selene said. "No ref, so it's up to you to keep it clean. Ten rounds or until someone can't continue. Any questions?"
"Yeah, where do I send the body after my girl finishes with this punk?" Coach Pimp piped up. "She's gonna kill this motherfucker," he added as he massaged Nylisha's shoulders ... but her gaze never left my eyes.
"We'll see," Selene said. "If there's nothing else, I'll set the timer. Come out fighting."
As she said that, Nylisha leaned in even closer, her nose almost touching mine. "I'm gonna hurt you bad, make you my bitch," she spat out, and turned her head away violently. The sharp head movement caused her long back cornrows to fly around her head, swatting me hard across the side of my face and cheek. I heard Nylisha laugh as she kept turning, heading back to her corner, and as I lunged at her, Selene jumped in front of me and grabbed me by the arms.
"Keep it cool," she whispered as she leaned against me, keeping me from pursuing my opponent to her corner. "She wants to get you flustered, get you mad. Don't let her get to you ... you'll be better off keeping your head."
I knew she was right, so I slowly walked backward until I was in my corner as Selene went over to set the automatic timer. Nylisha was already in her corner, and she never took her eyes from mine the entire time we waited for the timer to sound the warning buzzer. I tried to match that focus … my mind was swirling, but I kept a stone-cold face and matched her gaze. I had a couple of inches on her, but her frame and musculature were much more solid, and I decided then and there that it might not be a good idea to make this bout a test of strength.
Selene stuck my white mouthpiece between my lips as the 10-second warning buzzer sounded, and I bounced on my toes as she slipped through the ropes. I was still peering straight across the ring at the ebony powerhouse in the other corner when the timer chimed the start of Round 1.
I came out cautious and started circling left, planning to stay away from the big right hand that I was betting Nylisha boasted, but to my surprise she didn't look like she was in a hurry, either. I expected her, with her shortage of experience and her reputation, to come out flailing, but she was the picture of energy efficiency, striding purposely forward in a classic boxer's stance and trying to cut off the ring to negate my speed. Maybe she did want to improve as a boxer and do a little less brawling ...
When she got close, I threw a couple of jabs trying to snap them off her cheek, both of which she picked off with gloves that looked too small for her muscular arms – the 8-ounce gold Reyes that I knew were o popular in Selene's gym. She responded with two flicking left jabs of her own, both off my gloves, and I saw the muscles in her right arm twitch – a tell that she was loading up for a follow-up right.
I easily ducked under the punch – she was head-hunting early – and suddenly I saw the entire right side of her body wide open. I'd hoped for that, and pivoted for my bread-and-butter punch, an uppercut under the rib cage. It landed solidly, good enough to have put some of my gym fighters on the canvas gasping for breath, but all my opponent did was let out a "whoofff" and grab me in a clinch.
"That all you got, white boy," she hissed through her mouthpiece as both of us struggled to get punching room. "Got a lot more where that came from," I hissed back, but I was still surprised.
OK, she just took my best punch with little more than a shrug – and I'm pretty sure she knew that – and I could feel her twisting in the clinch and preparing to attack my body as she tried to muscle me back and take midring. Time to get out of range, I thought, and start sticking and moving, my original plan ... and as I backed off and started moving away, I could hear her coach already ... "Go get him! He's scared already! Go show him what you got!"
I bobbed in and out, keeping my head movement, Joe Frazier-like, to make it more difficult for her to pick up. My constant movement also helped me load up the jab, which I flicked out rapidly into my opponent's gloves, pushing them back into her face.
Moments later, Nylisha stepped into range, her right hand up around her face and her left hand down, and put her weight on her left foot, dipping to unleash a hook. I took a half-step back, and that quick motion unhinged her release, and she hesitated, knowing that her shot would either miss or land without much force. In that quick moment, I shot a lead right off her forehead and side-hopped right as she turned and reached for the hook that missed.
My speed advantage is already bothering her, I thought, and I couldn't help but grin slightly as I started shooting pin-pricking jabs aimed at Nylisha's forehead and eyes. I kept my right hand high to ward off her jabs and was starting to punish her with the left jab when she suddenly ducked aside one of those jabs, and swung a big left hook that slammed into my right side at the waistband, grunting loudly as it connected.
Unnnnhhhh … had I not turned slightly just as the punch landed, that would have dug right into my abs and I would likely have been struggling for breath, if not on the canvas. As it was, the force of the blow knocked me two steps back against the ropes, and Nylisha was on me in a flash.
I kept my gloves at my temples and elbows pinched in from my sides as she loaded up and threw several punches that made big, banging "whack" sounds that echoed off the gym walls. I could feel their force –damn, those bulging arms aren't just for show, she's got some power. But they mostly hit on my arms and gloves, not doing much damage, and I was clinching and pinning her arms as we leaned against the ropes when the timer went off.
We broke, and as we did she spat out, "When you come back out, fight like a man, bitch," as she spun to her corner. I walked back to mine as Selene slipped in with the stool, taking out my mouthpiece while I tried hard to get my breathing under control. The dull pain from her big shot to my side quickly went away, and I was looking down at the canvas when Selene pulled my chin up and started toweling off the sweat that I was already pumping out.
"Not bad," she said as she worked the towel. "Your jab's as good as always ... she hasn't been in with a lot of people who can keep her off balance. Just got to watch for that hook … you pay too much attention to her right hand, and her left hook will send you to dreamland. It did me."
Seeing my eyes locking on hers in one big question mark, Selene picked up the water bottle and squirted into my mouth, following with the towel as the buzzer sounded. I watched her rear end slip through the ropes ... before I noticed the riveting gaze Nylisha had on me, one she kept the whole time even as she stood from the stool before the chime for the next round.
When the timer went off for round two, it was a sharp contrast to the slow start of the opening round. Both of us stepped forward and Nylisha began unloading big shots. I was able to duck under most of her looping head shots, a couple of times countering with a quick left-right to her body as a penalty for her missing me, before moving back out of range.
She was still controlling the mid-ring area, though, and started crowding forward and pushing to get under my guard. I was able to dip down and take most of her shots on my elbows, but her crowding with her shoulder kept nudging me off balance and making it difficult to jab my way out of trouble. She obviously was used to being able to muscle her opponents around, and as much as I hated to admit it, she was doing the same to me. Damn, she was strong.
Most of the round continued in that manner … Nylisha trying to bull her way forward and push me against the ropes, and me trying to bounce jabs off her head and eyes and circle away. That became a pattern … until she feinted another low push forward and I instinctively dropped my left hand toward her head. She ripped a roundhouse right over the top that clipped me right on the point of the chin, and I fell back directly on my butt near the ropes.
"YEAH!," I heard her yell. "Stay down if you don't wanna get hurt!"
Damn, I thought to myself, I got too complacent, and paid the price. Stunned more than anything, I started to get up when I noticed that Nylisha hadn't gone to a neutral corner with the knockdown, and in fact was looming over me, her gloves low and ready to do more damage. Remembering that no referee was on hand to interfere here, I half-scrambled away as I stood up, and Nylisha gave chase. But she was overanxious and I was able to pick off the lefts and rights she aimed at my head, and I connected with a couple of stiff left jabs and a following right cross that landed flush on her cheek right at the buzzer. The right caused Nylisha to blink and shake her head slightly as she turned to go to her corner.
I did the same and took a seat. The knockdown hadn't hurt, just a momentary stun, and I actually felt pretty good in the way I came back and got in some shots at the end. And it didn't take as long for me to catch my breath ... it came quick as Selene toweled off my chest and body with one hand and put a cold pack against my chin with the other.
"Maybe I was wrong about paying attention to her right," she said, a big grin on her face. "Nice advice," I said, forcing a grin.
"Just keep it up," she said. "She hasn't had any long fights, and I think you're more accustomed to longer bouts. Besides, you're in pretty good shape for an old, washed-up guy" – I couldn't help but notice she was paying special attention with the towel on my chest while she spoke – "Use those sexy legs and keep away from her for a while ... see how she reacts."
Selene stood up at the warning buzzer and slipped back through the ropes, and my eyes followed her for a few moments before I looked back toward the other corner. Nylisha's gaze hadn't wavered, a stare that continued when the buzzer sounded for the third round.
Nylisha came out quickly again and established herself at mid-ring. She does stick to a plan, I thought, and why not … she hurt me in the first round and had me down in the second, why not stick with what's working. But I still felt good coming into the round, and the nerves and the quivering of anticipation seemed to have finally disappeared and the surroundings seemed a lot more comfortable. It's a boxing ring, like all the rest I've been in, and I'm here for a fight.
Because of that comfort level, I decided to try something that I'd done a couple of times previously, and switched to a southpaw stance, pointing my right shoulder at Nylisha and making it harder for her left hook to find my body and chin. Still had to watch for the right hand, but at least I'd see it coming, and besides, I wanted to see how she'd handle it since she probably hadn't ever faced a lefty stance.
I started chopping out right-hand jabs, and they split Nylisha's gloves more often than not as she tried to solve my new stance. I got off first on just about every exchange for most of the round, almost every one with a right lead, one catching her square on the nose and a couple above her right eye. Most of her counters I either blocked with my gloves and arms or they thudded off my back as I was turned almost parallel to the solid and strong girl.
When I saw she was waiting for another jab, I dipped my right shoulder, stepped inside and picked her up with a tight right uppercut and quickly followed with an arcing left hand over the top, directly into that right eye. Nylisha stepped back – the first time I'd backed her up – and I followed inside again leading with my right shoulder and dropped another quick left into her jaw. The short, snug southpaw slugging was working … I was able to smother much of her open attack and get in some short, choppy left hands. As long as I could avoid her right hand, it was okay to be in this close, and I couldn't help but answer her earlier taunt with one of my own. "Having fun yet?" I grunted on one close exchange.
But I also did my share of staying away, remembering the two big punches that she'd caught me with in the first two rounds, and continued to circle and flick out the jab. Nylisha also tried to jab and follow up with the right, but I was able to parry away the jabs with my right glove and step back from her right. She appeared really frustrated when the buzzer sounded to end the third round, and I could see a trickle of blood coming from her nose and her right eyebrow was puffy. "Now who's the bitch?" I said low, and I thought Nylisha was about to take a late swing at me before her coach grabbed her arms and pulled her back to her corner.
I almost danced to my corner, buoyed by my success, and Selene almost beat me there. She took the mouthpiece and toweled off my face and chest as I leaned back against the corner padding.
"Nice moves," she said. "You've got her pretty screwed up. Keep it up and from what I've seen she's going to get frustrated in a hurry." She squirted some of the water over my head and into my mouth, toweled off the worst, replaced the mouthpiece and climbed back out of the ring well before the buzzer.
I watched her slip through the ropes more closely this time, her flaming red hair tied back in a ponytail that swung as she walked. That wasn't her only movement I was watching, and again I felt that twinge down in my protector. Maybe sometime soon she'll invite me to join her in the ring, I thought, and that image ... damn, I had to snap out of this and get back to thinking about that ebony powerhouse in the other corner.
From a quick look before the warning buzzer, I could see Nylisha still breathing heavy, and I remembered she'd never had to come out for a fourth round since she joined the gym – she'd dispatched all of her opponents quickly. Maybe she's tiring quicker than expected, I thought, and my southpaw shift in the last round enabled my gloves to help wear her down some. I could hear her coach shouting out encouragement when the warning buzzer sounded.
Both of us were on our feet just after the warning buzzer and were already a couple of steps toward mid-ring when the buzzer for round four sounded.
The fourth round was fairly tame, me sticking with the southpaw stance and Nylisha still looking for an opening she could exploit. I was still having success with the right-hand lead, trying to pepper her nose and eyelid, but mostly they hissed off her gloves – apparently, either she or her coach has a little bit of ring tactician in them, and Nylisha was starting to negate my lefty advantage – and it was my turn to feel frustration in not being able to do more damage to my target. Still, I was slow-playing her enough to be effective, and had just dropped another hammering right jab to her nose and jerked it back to block what I thought was a left hook.
Instead, Nylisha had feinted the hook, pivoted and slammed a right cross into my solar plexus, which was pointed directly at her right in my southpaw look. It felt like the punch was going through me while it lifted me off the canvas, and I bent over with the impact and grabbed her right arm and around her waist as she clubbed my head with her free left hand.
Suddenly she backed off and started walking toward her corner. I hadn't even heard the buzzer sound, ending the round, and while I shuffled slowly back to my corner, she looked back over her shoulder and yelled, "Hurry back, motherfucker, and I'll beat that body some more." I sat quickly on the stool, one arm clutching my abdomen, and saw a malevolent grin from Nylisha as she sat in her corner.
I was already arching my back, looking up at the ceiling and trying to stretch out my abdominal muscles to relieve the pain. Damn, this girl can hit, I thought, and I had already convinced myself that I had to be more careful when Selene's face blocked out some of the overhead lights.
"Looks like you could use some help, sugar," she said as I looked up at her from my stool, and she toweled off my face and squirted the water bottle in my mouth and over my head, the cool water running down my body. The cool shock took my mind off the screaming pain in the pit of my stomach, but I was still breathing hard and noticed I was sweating heavily when the timer sounded for Round 5.
By the time I made it off the stool, Nylisha was halfway across the ring and still coming, trying to pick up where she left off. But her haste left her temporarily out of control, and as I side-stepped to the left and away from her advance I instinctively planted my right foot and launched a quick left hook over the top that crashed into her eyelid. Blood instantly spurted out, making a line on my black glove and sending a steady trickle down the side of her face.
"You got her hurt!" I heard Selene yell. "Go after her!"
Even though I figured she'd never been cut like that, Nylisha had been taught well and knew immediately to cover up and put her right glove up high and on her temple, trying to prevent further damage, while shooting out straight lefts in what was now a vain effort to continue her momentum. For my part, I stepped back, both to avoid her lefts and to assess the damage … and to figure out how to do more.
I had already decided to go back to an orthodox stance instead of the southpaw, mostly to prevent a repeat of Nylisha abusing my open body from the right side, but now that was even more important as I started pistoning left jabs to her head and immediately backing away.
Maybe it was the sight of her blood, or maybe it was knowing that her big right hand wasn't going to be nearly as dangerous since she had to protect the cut, but I felt a rush of energy and a feeling of empowerment. The pain in my abs had diminished and I felt much lighter on my feet. I kept the jabs working, but was now stepping in and chipping away with overhand right crosses that popped into Nylisha's left cheek and jaw whenever she tried to use her left.
The punches didn't hurt much, but I could tell they were enraging Nylisha. She'd never had to hold back and take care of an injury like that, and the madder she got the more likely she was to lash out and not cover. That she did a couple of times, and I easily dodged those and made her pay with quick left-right combos.
Eventually, I stood flat-footed with my weight forward and was chopping with both hands to her head, watching her eyes blink with astonishment as her lighter foe was starting to punish her. I could almost see her strong shoulders start to sag, and she was again backing up and soon had her back against my own corner pad as I continued to ignore any defense and rain lefts and rights, all aimed at her head.
"Get out of there!" her coach yelled. "Don't let that fucker push you around!"
I couldn't see or hear Selene, but I figured that if this continued for very long, she'd be yelling for me to finish her off. Until then, though, since there wasn't a referee, I knew I better take advantage while I could, because with the power Nylisha possessed, one landed punch and we'd be changing positions.
She tried to swing back with a sailing left hook, but I saw it coming and leaned back as it sailed by. As my weight came back forward and Nylisha was still off balance and leaning away from the corner, I pivoted into a big right-hand counter that clipped her perfectly on the chin. She went crashing down on all fours right at my feet, and I could hear a loud moan as she went down.
I instinctively stepped back to go to a neutral corner, and in the emotion of the moment I yelled out, "Who's getting beaten up now, cunt?" before I stopped around mid-ring and watched her shake her head and try to regain her balance – and watch the blood steadily dripping from her face. Her coach was imploring for her to get up – "Don't let this little pussy hurt you like that!" – as the buzzer to end round five sounded while Nylisha was still trying to stand. She eventually used the ropes to stand up and lurch her was across the ring.
I waited for her to clear my corner and watched her walk unsteadily, and quickly her coach made it through the ropes, grabbed an arm and helped her to her corner. It took a few seconds for me to realize that I could sit down, and when I sat hard I realized how tired my arms were from all the punching in that round. I sort of let my arms dangle at my sides, shaking them, and was still doing that while Selene worked the towel and also kneaded my shoulders to try to work out the soreness.
"She's OK," Selene quickly said. "Don't you hold back ... she can take a punch, so don't stop."
The bell for the sixth round rang almost simultaneously as Selene finished her statement, so I was determined to do as she asked. I walked across the ring quickly – Nylisha only took a couple of steps out of the corner, but she had her arms up in a tight defensive stance – and was making a concerted effort to pound at her head some more. She was still taking some of them flush ... She was game, but defending her eye had negated part of her attack and I kept getting off first.
I was hammering home straight rights and leaning out to clip across some quick left hooks, one of which raked across her nose and reopened the blood flow there. My gloves were now a mixture of black and dull maroon from the sticky and drying blood, and I actually felt a sense of entitlement in punching that blood back into the big girl's face. I know I should have felt bad for doing this to her, a fairly inexperienced fighter ... but she would have done the same and more to me.
"DAMNIT, Ny, don't let him do that," her coach yelled. "You're better than he is!"
I fought back the urge to answer him with a sarcastic remark, but I didn't want to stop my momentum. Again I had Nylisha backed into the ropes – she could take a punch, but I could tell she wasn't used to backing up much, the way she sort of lumbered when she took a step back – and was in a punching pattern. Perhaps she picked up on that pattern, perhaps I got cocky or perhaps the blood flowing from two places made her desperate, but when I swung another straight right hand she leaned away, batted my punch away with her left glove and nailed me under the jaw with an uppercut with a right hand that must have started six inches off the canvas.
All I saw was the overhead lights of the ring and my sweat flying between the stars that Nylisha's punch created, and I staggered back with arms flailing until I hit the ropes. She was on top of me in a flash, her feet wide apart and putting her low to the ground, giving her a strong base and letting her dig hard lefts and rights under my ribcage along with occasional looping head shots as I desperately tried to cover.
Selene's comment about how she goes to the body danced through my mind as she dug those gold 8-ounce weapons into my fast-failing abs and obliques. I tried to clinch, but she used her beefy left forearm to push me back against the ropes and smashed my open abdomen with another right hand.
I doubled over and my head was about the height of her waist as she now beat a steady diet of punches around my head, and I could hear her grunting with the effort in between yelling, "YEAH, motherfucker, your ass is mine now!" It wasn't too much longer before I went down on my hip and side from the barrage. Out of one eye, I could see Nylisha from ground level ... she was pumped up and breathing hard, and she had her gloves and those huge arms over her head in a victory pose. She looked absolutely huge from this angle as she yelled, "GET UP, BITCH! I AIN'T DONE WITH YOU!"
My head was spinning and one glove was caught in the ropes, but I knew if I rolled onto my back I probably wouldn't be getting up for some time. Instead, I pushed myself to my knees, grabbed the ropes and instinctively pulled myself up … way too quickly, as it turned out, because Nylisha was right there and nailed my open face with a right hand that hit on my left eye as I went crashing back down hard, face first on the canvas.
With my head on the mat, I could feel a vibration, and I struggled to figure out it was Nylisha dancing on her toes as she towered over me. I figured she was still taunting me, although my head was too foggy to hear. I also felt a wetness running down my cheek and I knew my left eye had been cut open.
If there had been a referee, it would have been over because I was down for a lot more than 10 seconds. I'm not sure what helped me get back up – maybe there was a subconscious feeling that I didn't want to lose to this young girl, regardless of how strong she was – but I was able to get my bearings and work my feet back under me, still in a kneeling position not unlike a baseball catcher. I stayed that way for a few seconds, with Nylisha still close by, fists at the ready, before standing up.
Fortunately for me, that's when the buzzer sounded ending the sixth round, and I heard Nylisha mutter, "Shit!" under her breath before she walked back to her corner. I was in the process of limping back to mine when Selene grabbed my arm, put it over her shoulder and helped me back, pulling the stool out for me.
She splashed water all over me and was lightly slapping my chin, saying, "Hey, you all right? You OK?" I remember babbling something about getting the number of the truck that hit me, and I saw her smile just a little. "Take your time, you have time here," she said. "Try to breathe normally and focus your eyes on something." I focused on the ponytail of hair that fell on one shoulder as I slowly regained my senses.
By the time she had finished toweling me off and getting the ice pack on the cut over my eye, I was able to focus across the ring and saw Nylisha still breathing heavy but with that grin returned to her face. By the time the warning buzzer sounded I at least felt like standing up, but I knew I was in no shape to trade punches, especially with my eye, so it was time to get back on the bicycle for a while.
At the buzzer, I expected Nylisha to charge out, but she unhurriedly walked out, very much under control. Maybe she figured I was through and she wanted to take her time in taking me apart, maybe she was starting to wear down herself, or maybe she was just measuring my condition, but I was glad for the break and started circling to my right again, away from her right hand that was a weapon once again. But I could see that her cut was still a mess over her eye – mine was a little better by comparison, I was guessing – and her nose hadn't stopped bleeding.
I spent all of round seven stepping back from her punches, which were now noticeably slower than the start of the fight, and continuing to circle. A couple of times, Nylisha pressed forward, but I was able to use my gloves to push her shoulders away when she tried to bore in head first and back-pedaled away from her ... which started her yelling again. "Quit running and fight me, you fucking coward!" she screamed as she got through with some jabs and one time landed a right lead to the side of my head, but it glanced off my glove and didn't land with authority.
By the end of the round, I felt good enough to throw a couple of jabs of my own, and my head was almost clear when the round ended. I felt fortunate that the slowest round of the fight so far had some when I needed it as I walked back to my corner.
I kept telling myself that she couldn't have much left ... but I didn't have much room to talk since my body was tired and sore and my head was throbbing. I was already trying to control my breathing, pulling out my waistband and protector with the thumbs of my gloves in an effort to make breathing easier while Selene was tending to my face.
"Got something down there you want to show me?" she laughed. "You can't be that much out of it, huh?"
"Just trying to get some air," I said as I let my waistband settle back in on my abdomen, and I let my arms drop to my sides to try to get some energy and feeling back into them. Selene pulled out my trunks and protector herself for a few seconds while she toweled, and when she saw my heavy sigh when the warning buzzer sounded, she said under her breath, "She's tired, too."
Round eight wasn't much different from round seven, with me staying away and slowly getting back to form and back to plan, trying to flick the jab at Nylisha's swelling face, reddening nose and the widening gash above her right eye. Blood from that cut was now not only trickling down her cheek, but was also running down the middle of her eyebrow, flowing into her eye, and she was constantly blinking and rubbing her eye with the heel of her glove to try to clear her vision.
I could still feel my own blood, but it was only an occasional drop off the side of my face, and I knew most of the blood on my gloves and my trunks had come off my opponent.
To her credit, Nylisha continued to press inside, bulling her way in and trying to create open shots at my body and uppercuts toward my head, but I was able to parry most of them and smother her with clinches. Much of the round resembled a wrestling match, with arms locked and our chests pushed against each other – normally something that would have given me worlds of energy –, my head planted a lot of the time on her shoulder where she couldn't get at it, and both our arms punching against the other's sides. She was still struggling to control the inside movements, but those struggles didn't have the intensity of the earlier rounds.
I had a lot more experience than she did in grabbing and holding – I'm pretty sure she'd never had to do that before to make it through a bout, like I'd had to do a lot of times – and I knew how to do it and get leverage. As I held the clinch with my left, I was pounding Nylisha's left side with my right hand. It couldn't do much damage, but it did make it harder for her to breathe, and I could feel "whoofs" coming out of her mouthpiece as her head moved around mine. I could also feel her blood dropping on my shoulders and flowing down my back, and it almost felt like it came in spurts … every time I would hit her side with a right, I could feel a few more drops fall from either her nose or eye.
We were still clinched up when the buzzer went off ending round eight, and I felt good walking back to my corner. Selene was ahead of me with the stool and the water bottle.
"I know you're tired," she said as I plopped down on the stool, "but I need you to challenge her, really push her, these last two rounds. I'm betting she can't handle it when she's tired and she's put under pressure late in a fight. She's never been in that situation before."
I already knew she was tired ... if she'd had any energy left, she would have taken advantage of me the last two rounds. But she didn't. Maybe she was struggling more than I realized. Selene had already toweled me off and popped my mouthpiece back in when I decided to cut back on the back-pedaling and challenge Nylisha a little more, and I was ready for that to happen when the ninth-round buzzer sounded.
Nylisha again walked out slowly and in control, probably expecting me to again get on the bicycle and keep away, which I did for a moment. But quickly I went back to a southpaw stance, where I could more easily step inside, and was able to split her gloves with the first two lead rights I threw. Whether it was luck or fate, Nylisha shifted her head just when I threw the first right, and it crashed directly into her nose, smashing it flat, sending sweat flying and sending blood out of both nostrils. I could tell she was seeing stars, and as she shifted away, my second right pounded directly across her eyelid, hissing as it raked the skin, and the flow of blood there began anew and was washing into her eye.
Nylisha again brought her right hand directly in front of her face, both as a defense and to use the thumb to try to clear the blood, but that only added to her vision problem. Buoyed by that, I started jerking right uppercuts under her ribs and off her chin, and slicing left hands that tore at her swollen face. She started backing up again, but I kept the distance between us the same and continued a two-handed assault with tightly-grouped punches. I could feel the energy flowing out of her, and for the first time felt that she was set up for a knockout.
We were at mid-ring when I slipped her perceptibly-slower jab, and her follow right hand to my body hit home but didn't have much on it. I turned back to an orthodox stance to get my left side forward, and was able to body up and muscle Nylisha's bulk – not so much as earlier when she was sturdy and resistant to anything – to the ropes as we clinched. Once there, I pushed off and dug two left hooks into her right side – an open area since he had to keep her right hand high to protect the eye and nose. I could feel them sink into her brown skin … just like punching the heavy bag in the gym, I thought … and I followed by shifting my weight again and digging right hands to a body that was fast becoming a mass of red, black and blue.
Nylisha sat in the ropes and tried to huddle forward, but when she did I put my left arm under hers and stacked her back up high. Stackin' and packin', that's what they called it at the gym, and it opened up her body again for more lefts and rights, some to her abdomen and some just lower, right on the "ER" logo on her waistband. A couple of left-hand uppercuts landed directly under her rib cage – the same punch that had so little effect on her in the first few seconds of the first round. This time, I felt the convulsion in Nylisha's insides when they hammered home, and a third uppercut pounded in and drew a retching sound as the buzzer sounded to end the ninth.
Nylisha went to her hands and knees with that last body blow, and I was standing over her, yelling at her to stay down, when I felt something grab my arm. Her coach had bounded into the ring and was pulling me away, and I pushed him into the ropes and started walking toward my corner. I wasn't paying that much attention to him ... instead, I was looking back at Nylisha still on her hands and knees trying to breathe, and I didn't see her coach coming up to attack me from the back.
I also didn't see Selene step in between and snap a perfect right cross off Coach Pimp's cheek, snapping his head to the side and sending his hat flying as he went down in a heap next to the ropes, only a few feet away from his still-downed fighter. I turned around in time to see Selene bouncing on the balls of her feet a couple of feet away from him, looking ready to belt him again, and this time it was my turn to reach a glove around her arm and pull her back toward our corner.
Nylisha was half-crawling, half-walking to her own corner by the time her coach got back to his feet, rubbing his chin and obviously flustered. I looked at Selene, a big grin on my face matching hers.
"Damn, remind me to stay on your good side," I said to her, half-laughing, and all Selene did was smile and go back to work with the towel and squirt bottle. But the satisfied look on her face said volumes.
I didn't know if Nylisha was going to make it out for the 10th round, and I knew her coach wasn't going to be much help to her. I was just hoping that, if she did come out, I had enough strength to land just a couple more good shots to end it.
Selene had the ice pack on the cut on my eye just to make sure it didn't get any worse, and she didn't say anything until the warning buzzer sounded. "Finish this bitch off," she said under her breath as she slipped back through the ropes, grabbing the stool as I stood and pounded my gloves together.
I was as exhausted as I could ever remember in my life, but my heart was racing, and I was ready to get to mid-ring even before the buzzer sounded. Nylisha was still on her stool, leaning back against the corner pad with her eyes closed. Her coach was screaming profanely at her, but I tuned him out and kept watching her. I thought for a moment that's how it might end – and was actually a little disappointed if that's how it had, considering the nine-round war we'd had – but when the buzzer sounded to start the round she slowly rose and took a fighting stance, taking a couple of steps forward.
There's no give-up in her ... she's game, I'll give her that, I thought. But I had a job to do, and I quickly walked forward. Her face was a mess and would have been an easy target, but I wanted to end it with an attack on that stunning, impressive, muscular body, especially since that's where she had hurt me earlier. But instead of working the front and the waist where Nylisha's elbows were clinched to protect, I started pounding behind the elbows, hammering at the ribs and the liver. Sweat was pouring off me as I kept tensing and throwing punches, leaning into them with everything I had left. My gloves pounded and bounced off as Nylisha sat on the ropes, legs trembling and hands useless at her temples.
A referee would have stopped it by now, and I was wondering what was holding her up when suddenly my left hand wedged in between her hip and lower ribs and Nylisha lurched that way before crashing to the canvas, her nose and eye rubbing across the rough material and leaving a blood trail before she rolled on her back.
I didn't back up, using what little energy I had left to raise my arms up over my head in a victory stance, even though I half-expected Nylisha to rise once again as I stood over her, her face bloody and bruises already forming across the entire area between her chest and her waistband. That was before her coach jumped in between us, taking the mouthpiece from Nylisha's bloody lips and supporting her head. I stepped over and leaned heavily against the ropes while I watched her coach tend to her and help her to the stool in her corner, and watched Selene turn the timer off and slide through the ropes.
"Way to go, champ," she said, leaning in and planting a kiss on my cheek ... and suddenly all the pain and the effort was worth it.
I saw Nylisha's chest slowly get back to a regular breathing pattern, and satisfied that she would be all right I began slipping through the ropes and heading to the back to grab my stuff. I was already thinking about an hour-long hot shower as I started down the steps from the ring apron when I heard a low shout from behind me.
"Hey, white boy," Nylisha yelled out from her stool. "This isn't over ... not by a long shot. Your ass is still going to be mine, motherfucker."
All I could do was shake my head as I headed to the dressing room, figuring at some point I was going to have to do this all over again.

ALIA AND ANNA
PART THREE

A fight night in Vegas always draws the celebrity crowd, and tonight was no exception. At a normal fight, though, it's the male celebs that grab most of the attention.
This one was different. Womanhood was front and center, with female celebrities everywhere and many of them having young studs in tow. They were anticipating getting off on the sight of two female boxers in the main event, pummeling each other's bodies until one was victorious and the other beaten on the floor, and quickly being able to take those young studs for all they were worth upstairs in their suites.
If they couldn't beat the rush to the elevator after the fight, there were always the roulette tables to throw their boy-toys on and satisfy their lust. And those tables offered the added incentive of the stake in the middle of the spinning wheel, an emergency dildo in case their studs suddenly faded.
The MGM Grand was packed. Eddie's non-stop drum-beating and Dan's publicity machine had done their jobs. Not only was the huge arena sold out at sky-high ticket prices, the casino floor was packed with people squeezed in to watch the fight on closed-circuit TV. Thousands of people who couldn't squeeze inside the doors waited outside, just to catch a glimpse of the celebrities and the fighters.
Every room in the hotel was also booked at fight-night prices – four or five times what the same rooms would normally bring – and the combination of full rooms and a full casino was orgasmic for the normally-staid hotel owners.
Orgasms had also been regular occurrences for Anna and Arlen in the 24 hours leading up to the bout – even just before they headed downstairs to the limos that would take them to the MGM Grand. Anna was so confident and so certain that their master plan had worked … that Alia's fists had become marshmallows and posed no danger to her … that she figured a little more extracurricular activity, one last screw, couldn't hurt, and would actually get the blood and the juices flowing.
She wanted those juices ready to go, because she planned much more than a knockout win. She was going to physically and mentally destroy Alia, show that she was a much better fighter and a much better sexual dominant, and nobody who saw what was about to happen would ever forget it. It would be burned into their corneas, indelibly stamped into their brains, the impetus for sexual gymnastics for decades to come.
As she would find out in the next few hours, she was right … but nowhere nearly as she expected.
She joined Arlen and Eddie in the limo (Dan had sent a message that he had some details to take care of, and would rendezvous with them at some point at the arena). The ride there was a short one, and Anna got more and more excited as the limo neared the arena and pulled in front of the hotel, and the outside crowd crammed around them and pushed against the doors. It made it difficult, but Arlen and Eddie were finally able to push a door open and scramble out to clear room for Anna.
When she stepped out of the limo, though, the crowd again surged forward, pushing her male handlers out of the way and pushing the limo door shut – with Anna's right hand trapped in between. She screamed in pain, and it was all that Arlen could do to pry the door open enough to pull her hand out.
They hustled inside, Anna covered with a robe and security covering all sides as they ran down a corridor to the arena locker rooms. Once inside, they looked at Anna's now-bloody right hand and went into near-panic. "Does this hurt … how about here … here?," Eddie said as he poked and prodded between Anna's knuckles and fingers.
Her wrist was still throbbing but the pain began to subside, and Anna insisted she was all right. "Just let me run some cold water on it before we wrap," she said as she headed to the bathroom.
Eddie and Arlen exchanged worried glances, but there wasn't much they could do. Besides, they were certain that both of Alia's hands were in a lot worse shape than Anna's right, and if she had to administer a beating to the little bitch with mostly her left hand, so be it.
Anna returned, looking much less worried … and looking much better in their eyes since she'd changed into her high-cut pink "foxy boxing" trunks with "Everlast" on the expansive elastic waist band (the significance of the word Everlast displayed inches above Anna's pussy wasn't lost on either of the men). The sheer pink satin and the big elastic band stretched way too tight across Anna's ample middle and were also cut as low as decently possible, making her belly hang over to nearly cover up the name brand, and also rode up high to expose the layers of cellulite that congregated on her thighs. Just like over the past four weeks, no one seemed concerned about Anna's lack of muscle tone, especially in her gut, and a big meal earlier in the day ("you need a lot of protein," the nutritionally-challenged Eddie said) only emphasized the layer of fat.
The short trunks weren't the only tight part of her fight outfit, as the matching pink sports bra strained to keep Anna's bulbous chest in tow. She also had matching 8-ounce pink gloves and pink shoes, and was covered in a pink-and-white too-short robe that showed too much of her strong but flabby thighs, completing a look more street-walker than athlete. But she thought she looked fantastic.
When her hands were taped and the gloves were on, she only warmed up for a couple of minutes before the knock at the door signaled her time to enter the arena. She would enter first, since she held no actual title, but she knew that the crowd would give her the biggest welcome.
"Time to make some cunt suffer," she said as she followed Eddie and Arlen out of the dressing room door. And she couldn't resist reaching around Arlen's waist with one of her gloves, stroking his crotch and feeling it harden instantly … just because she could.
+++++
Alia and her trainer had arrived at the arena hours before Anna's entourage made its troubled entrance. She wanted the solitude, for one, but she also wanted to make sure that there would be no other monkey-business, no other attempts to incapacitate her. She'd kept her East Coast buddies nearby, just in case, and they all had seats near the ring. The sight of a full row of Mafia-looking dudes in pin-stripe suits would make any would-be troublemakers think twice.
She also wanted to get inside her dressing room before anyone could delay her, and accidentally find out that her hands were fine – better than fine, actually … they almost twitched with excitement every time Alia thought about what she would be doing to Anna in short order. To finish carrying out the illusion, though, she had wrapped her hands in heavy Ace bandages for the short trip from her room and hotel to the arena, and she made sure that the people already outside the casino (the larger crowd wouldn't arrive for a while) got a good look at her bandaged hands.
Once inside the locker room, though, the bandages came off and Alia was free to finish her mental preparation. Her physical preps had been perfect … her body was at its absolute minimum body-fat, her arms and shoulders chiseled and strong, her chest muscles uplifting her perfect breasts, her abs a picture of sinew and muscle (few had ever seen a tighter six-pack, especially on a woman), and her legs toned, supple and constantly bouncing to relieve the pent-up tension and aggression.
Her black hair, pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, framed dark eyes that seemed to have fire inside – fire that matched the color of Anna's blonde hair and ignited Alia's desires to rid the world of a cunt like Anna for good. Her passion had reached a point that she didn't care whether Anna left the ring breathing or not when the fight was over … she only wanted to make sure that everyone, EVERYONE, would remember every second of the 12 rounds of agony she planned to inflict on her voluptuous rival.
She slipped into her bathroom and donned her fighting outfit … one she would wear at least at the start. Don't need underwear tonight, she thought … it would just get in the way of what she had planned for later in the fight. She had chosen to go with black – Alia knew she looked damned sensational in black – and put on her tight high-cut satin black shorts which also had "Everlast" on the waistband. A tight black sports bra accentuated her upper-body development and her black boots were cut just low enough to show her strong calves.
While her trainer was wrapping her hands, Alia reached in her bag and pulled out two sets of brass knuckle covers and handed them to him. They exchanged a knowing look, and her trainer prepared to fit them to her fists and deftly cover them with tape. It turned her black 8-ounce gloves into a pair of five-pound punching weapons. She figured she didn't need them to win if everything went according to plan, but they would be valuable in the butchering that she planned to unleash on Anna's disgustingly out-of-shape body.
The thought of using weighted gloves never failed to get Alia to instant arousal, and she shuddered on the padded dressing-room table when each of the brass coverings – specially fitted to match Alia's hands, so well that they fit like well-work gloves – were placed around her knuckles. She used to use horseshoes, pipes or regular brass knuckles to load up her gloves – the better to issue the delicious beatings she so craved – but the fitted brass kept her own hands from getting hurt … and she loved how they felt … powerful and erotic at the same time.
Her trainer knew the reaction that the weights had on Alia, and he had one of her sparring partners already kneeling in between the two, beginning to finger Alia's pussy while the tape began its task of binding brass to skin.
Alia tore her black satins off (she had brought extras, just in case), grabbed her sparring partner by the back of the head and pushed his face into her fiery mound. He began licking for all he was worth, and Alia arched back on the table and began a series of pelvic thrusts, driving the tongue deeper and deeper until she erupted with ecstasy. She laid back on the length of the table, a pool of her juices running out, and her trainer slowly massaged her lower body and heaving chest until she brought herself back under control.
"You ready?," he asked.
"I am now," she said.
Alia returned to the bathroom to clean herself up and don new satin trunks, and took her mind off of weighted gloves and orgasms by shadow-boxing in front of a mirror for a few minutes. Damn, I look really hot, she thought, but she put those thoughts out of her mind. If she went into the ring with an odor of excitement coming from between her legs, it might tip someone off that Arlen and Eddie's plan had backfired. She didn't want anyone to know that she was a fully-healthy fighting machine until just the right minute, and that minute was quickly approaching as she got her knock on the door.
Alia donned her shiny hooded black robe, one designed to continue the air of uncertainty about her, and followed her trainer out the door. She heard the crowd's wild screaming from well down the hall as Anna made her appearance, and all she could do was smile.
++++
It was warm in the MGM Grand arena, warmer than most boxing veterans could remember. But that was almost fitting with the hot numbers that made their way through the ropes – Alia being naturally hot and Anna boasting a could-have-been-hot body had it been in some semblance of shape. But most fans eyeing Anna saw only big blonde hair, tiny tight clothes and a prodigious rack that were all exposed when Arlen pulled off her robe to great fanfare at the end of her introduction. She danced around the ring with a broad grin and with all parts jiggling, even those that weren't supposed to. Her right hand was still tender and had started to throb while she was bouncing around, but she ignored the mild pain.
The sight of Anna's pudgy body almost made Alia sick to her stomach, but she never changed expression and never took her eyes off her larger adversary while her own introductions were made. When the referee called them to the center of the ring for final instructions, Alia still had her robe and hood tucked tight and only stared straight ahead – except for one quick glance at the referee when he was finished, just to make silently sure he remembered their agreement.
Anna extended her hands to touch gloves and Alia did the same … but Alia drew back and her face winced when the gloves hit together. It was a ruse … one more piece of Alia's deception, and Anna was completely taken in, smiling broadly as she backed up to her corner. Alia turned her back as she walked to her own corner and trainer, and it was all she could do not to burst into laughter. This is going to be such nasty fun, she thought, as she shed her robe and heard those close enough to ringside give an audible "oooooo" when they saw her taut and talented body.
Anna was banging her gloves together, almost in glee, and the "thwack" could be heard even over the din of the crowd. Alia merely kept tensing and shrugging her shoulders … no glove pounding, lest Anna suspect something at the last second … only have to carry out the deception a few more seconds … oh, god, she felt hot as fire …
"DING … DING … DING"
She may have been at a speed deficit, but Anna came out of her corner for Round 1 quickly, reaching mid-ring with hands high and a big grin on her face, waiting on Alia's approach that was slow and calculated. But Alia's head was moving, so as not to provide an easy target … despite everything else, Anna could still punch, and there was no need to take chances.
The two circled for a few seconds before Anna jabbed twice with her left, Alia blocking each with ease as she bobbed and moved. Quickly Anna stepped inside with her left foot, cocked back and unloaded a big roundhouse right hand aimed squarely at Alia's head.
Alia instinctively ducked under the punch – since Anna didn't have great hand speed, it wasn't that difficult – and loaded up to unleash a big left hook right into Anna's jiggling belly.
WHOOOFFFFF … her hook landed perfectly, and from Alia's crouch it had plenty of power as it seemed to bury into flesh all the way to the rib cage. Anna suddenly had a dumb look on her face and no way to get it off since her breath had been taken away, and when she dropped her hands to her body Alia pivoted to the right and RIPPED a right cross that caught Anna square on the point of the chin.
Anna dropped to her hands and knees as if she'd been shot, and a dozen questions flew through her mind – How did I get down here? Why do my ribs and chin hurt? Did I get hit … couldn't have, nobody punches that fast. Did Alia do this? She couldn't have hit that hard … her hands are busted up. Or they were supposed to be …
Suddenly the confusion on her face was replaced with a look of horror as her head began to clear, and she saw Alia standing over her, breasts heaving and heavy black gloves hanging at her hips, waiting to do more damage. Her hands were fine and ready to administer an incredible beating, and Anna knew she was Alia's target.
Anna remembered the video she watched of Alia's destruction of the European fighter in her last bout, and remembered the sick feeling in her stomach when she watched that big blond pound Alia's pubic area over and over and not even faze her.
Anna finally rose, her massive breasts bouncing as she stood erect. She wasn't hurt, but she was stunned, and the referee had barely begun a count since Alia didn't go to a neutral corner (and because he remembered his pact with Alia … nothing stops this bout). Anna quickly circled away, and Alia – the excitement of her first two punches taking over her body – flew at her in pursuit.
That could have been a mistake, since her desires to pound Anna into submission temporarily negated her boxing skills, and her hands were low and her head not moving as she closed within range. Anna, almost in desperation, suddenly stepped close and threw a right uppercut, one that started at almost canvas level, split Alia's gloves and landed flush under her chin.
Those close to the ring heard two sounds when Anna connected with what would be her only significant punch of the fight – a WHHHHAAAAMMM as Alia's head flew back, followed by the rest of her body as she landed on her back near Anna's corner … and a SNNNNAAAAPPP as several bones in Anna's right hand, those fractured by the car door hours earlier, broke clean.
The ring had a surreal look, and the packed crowd was going nuts. Alia was dazed – she couldn't remember ever being hit so hard – but quickly recovered and rose to one knee. There she saw Anna, down on both knees and clutching her right glove to her ample cleavage, tears running down from both eyes and landing on her white gloves. Alia watched as Anna looked past her, to her corner, with a face streaked with pain and terror.
Alia realized what had happened – she didn't know the backstory of the car door, but she knew Anna had hurt her right hand and apparently it was bad – and one thought crossed her brain: This was going to be even easier than she thought. Despite coming off the canvas for the first time in her career, she had a malevolent smile on her face as she walked over to the still-down Anna.
"I know everything!," Alia screamed down at her. "What you tried to do to me … that's nothing compared to what I'm about to do to you, you fat cunt. You're going to suffer more than you ever have in your life."
Alia then bent closer to Anna's ear, and added in a loud whisper, " … and if I choose, that life may be coming to an end. I don't really care if you're still breathing when they take you out of here … it doesn't matter, because I'm going to do whatever I want with you."
At those last words, Alia raked her glove laces across Anna's face, opening a gash on her cheekbone, and walked to a neutral corner.
Anna was petrified, but she knew her only chance to avoid a slaughter was to get up and at least try to defend herself. She struggled to her feet and watched Alia's approach, hot breath almost like steam coming from Alia's nostrils.
Since Anna couldn't block punches with her broken right hand, she was a wide-open target for as many left hands as Alia wanted to throw. And she threw them in bunches, peppering Anna's face with jabs and occasionally going low and loading up a hook that pounded just below Anna's sagging boob. Alia was content to soften Anna up with her one-hand attack … she knew she had plenty of time.
"DING … DING … DING"
Alia almost jogged back to her corner, so high were her spirits and her energy level. Other than the one punch that she carelessly walked into, she hadn't been hit at all, and the last 60 seconds of pounding on Anna's face and body had done nothing but invigorate her even more. She now knew that Anna was basically fighting with one hand tied behind her back, and her only worries were a wild punch from Anna's left hand … and not getting trapped under Anna's weight when she went crashing to the canvas.
In the other corner, chaos reigned. Arlen and Eddie were both shouting, trying to tell Anna what to do, and all the yelling just confused her more. All she knew for certain was that she was in trouble.
"DING … DING … DING"
Anna was late getting off her stool for Round 2, still trying to piece together what had happened in the first round, but Alia had no such problem. Anna was no more than two steps from her own corner when Alia, wasting no time, delivered a straight right hand to Anna's face that hit like a ton of bricks. Anna's head and shoulders were snapped backwards, and her breasts seemed to float in mid-air until Alia followed with another left hook just above the belt that sunk deep into Anna's protruding gut.
With just those two punches, Anna was pushed back into her own corner, and Alia successfully pinned her there and began raining punches, with Anna's defense always a second too late. A straight right hand landed square on Anna's nose, flattening it and causing blood to spurt out both nostrils.
"Oh, gawwwwd, you broke my fucking nose," Anna wailed as she tried to grab Alia's arms and clinch in the corner. But Alia was having nothing to do with that, sending a quick left-right into Anna's gut when she raised her arms to clinch. The blows forced a deep "uuuunnnnhhhh" and robbed Anna of all her air, and she began to gasp and try to get oxygen back into her lungs.
When she opened her mouth to gulp in air, Alia hit her with a bone-crushing uppercut to the jaw and punches to both sides of Anna's face. The weighted gloves were having their desired effect as each punch dislodged a tooth and sent it flying across the ring, landing with a bloody splat on the canvas.
Anna could not believe the power and speed of Alia's punches. She was receiving a terrible beating from a slip of a girl, one she outweighed by 70 pounds, but those punches felt like someone was hitting her with a barbell. She was trying to fight back, but her right hand was useless and her left kept missing its mark, and every time she would miss she paid a huge price as Alia's quick counterpunches left her dazed and dizzy.
Alia was a silent assassin, never changing her expression as she got off first on each exchange, leaning in to hammer home straight lefts and leaning back to clip across with a right hook with her heavy-weight gloves. Her black gloves were already sticky with Anna's blood, and the weighted gloves were raising huge bruises and welts across Anna's face. This is the round to mess up her face, Alia thought … the body will come later.
Alia was using one hand to swat away Anna's attempts to guard her rapidly-swelling face, and her other hand pounded unimpeded and rapid-fire into Anna's eye sockets, nose and mouth. Her eyes were already swelling and would soon be shut, and her nose continued to gush blood that ran down through her ample cleavage and soaked her top, turning the pink into a dark crimson.
"DING … DING … DING"
Alia shoved Anna's chest at the bell, pushing her back into her own corner, and stood at mid-ring and watched her flop down exhausted on her stool. The combination of her absurdly fast hands and the illegal glove weights had already done enough damage to end most fights, and Alia looked on with delight as Anna's corner frantically tried to stop the bleeding. The blood began pooling on top of her breasts, and Alia decided as she walked back to her corner that she'd clean that off once the third round began.
Alia felt a huge surge of energy from seeing Anna's sorry condition, and also began surging elsewhere as that familiar wet feeling began in her crotch – the feeling she always got when she began dominating an opponent. This time was different, though … this felt like someone lit a cannon fuse and it was about to explode. It was an itch that she badly needed to scratch, and she began sliding back and forth on her stool, stroking her clit and stoking the heat that was now radiating from her.
"DING … DING … DING"
This time it was Alia that stayed on her stool a couple of seconds after the bell for Round 3, continuing her stool massage until her trainer pushed her toward the ring. She smiled, took her fighting stance and headed out for another round of abuse.
Anna was already standing and was still in a boxer's stance, but it was wooden and she almost crumpled when Alia landed a big hook to her left ribs. A follow-up left-right combination that boxed both of Anna's ears brought her hands back up, opening her entire body to the destructive force of Alia's enhanced blows.
Alia pushed Anna's big body back against the ropes, and looked like a fighting engine as her punches pistoned into Anna's gut. Her punches would have been more than enough to incapacitate a boxer with even strong, tight abs, but with Anna's soft paunch they tore deep into her rib cavity over and over, and huge bruises and welts began appearing across her body – showing that Alia was starting to do internal damage.
Anna tried to go to the canvas to avoid more punishment, but Alia caught her on the way down and hung her flabby arms over the ropes to keep her upright. She then began plowing her gloves and forearms against Anna' heaving breasts, punching them back and forth as Anna screamed in pain.
Alia continued to cycle between Anna's tits, which were rapidly swelling past their normal gargantuan size, and Alia's back and shoulder muscles stood out and hardened up and her finely-tuned buns began vibrating with the effort of swinging her arms against Anna's milk sacs.
Alia could have punched anywhere and done damage, but she was completely satisfied with humbling and dominating Anna's rack. Besides, the effects of watching Anna's breasts bounce around added to her own excitement.
Quickly, Alia ripped her glove laces down the middle of Anna's cleavage, slicing her now blood-drenched top in two and exposing her bruised and battered breasts to the assembled crowd. With the thin boob cover now out of the way, Alia continued to ransack her jugs badly, working them worse than she'd ever abused another woman's rack before, taking a break only to lace Anna's cleavage once again and rip open a huge cut midway between her breasts.
Anna's puffed-up boobs jumped and bounced around, flattening on impact and rebounding back like water-filled balloons, as Alia continued an unprecedented breast mauling. The pounding was so severe that Anna's tits began leaking hot milk, and the white cream mixed with the flowing blood and cascaded down Anna's fatty stomach and under the waistband of her rapidly-discoloring trunks.
By this time Anna was whimpering badly, but Alia paid no attention and proceeded to use both hands at once to punch each side of one of Anna's breasts. Milk spurted out from the two-handed punch/squeeze and hit Alia's face and chest, soaking her top before she turned an identical attack on Anna's other breast. More milky fluid streamed out, and Alia stopped punching and sucked the milk off Anna's battered orbs until the bell ended the third round.
Alia waved her arms in the air and almost danced back to her corner, excited at the thought of having nine more rounds to use Anna as she liked. Before she sat on her stool – the thought of the abuse she heaped on Anna's chest in the last round fresh in her mind – she deftly hooked the thumbs of her gloves under her sports bra and ripped it over her head in one motion, equaling up the now-topless affair and drawing another roar from the crowd. As she sat on her stool, her trainer toweled her off, and realizing her excitement he spent extra time rubbing every drop of sweat off her lovely orbs until her nipples stood out like gun barrels. Alia moaned with delight, and her trainer increased the pace and pressure with his towel, squeezing her breasts and pinching her erect nipples until Alia shuddered with an orgasmic eruption.
Ooooohhhh, nine more rounds … the thought made her white-hot.
Anna's corner had similar thoughts, but theirs were focused on survival for nine more rounds. It was now apparent that Alia had outwitted and outfoxed them, set them up for a fall, and the only way that this bout wasn't going the distance was if Anna stopped breathing. That was becoming a real possibility, with the blood loss that Anna already had and the damage that Alia's fists had already done through just three rounds.
"DING … DING … DING"
At the bell for Round 4, Alia jogged a quick lap around the ring and played to the crowd, showing that she was still fresh, showing that she was still dominant … and showing off how great her body looked in comparison to the flesh bag that could barely move out of her own corner. After one last turn, gloves in the air and chest bouncing, she again moved in to inflict more pain.
Anna could barely see, both eyes now blackened and nearly closed, and the rest of her pudgy face was beaten into a grotesque smudge of swollen flesh. The earlier slices in her facial skin were covered in clotted blood, and Alia quickly opened up two more gashes with swinging lefts and rights that ripped through Anna's eyebrows and caused a cascade of blood to flow down into the slits that used to contain eyes.
Alia had long since broken Anna's fighting spirit, and now she wanted to show off. As Anna lolled against the ropes, legs spread widely apart and keeping her upright, Alia displayed her footwork as she danced around her thoroughly-beaten foe, and showed her hand speed by ripping dozens of quick punches low into Anna's belly, her hands and her black gloves moving so fast they became a blur. Anna's fat appeared to part with every shot as Alia's gloves tore deep into her lower abdomen … and then steadily began to go lower.
Eventually, every punch Alia threw was well below the "Everlast" elastic line, as she began pounding Anna's pubic area with a fierceness that shocked the crowd. Over and over her weighted gloves pummeled the pink satin, and within moments both fighters' trunks were soaked all over again – Alia's with pussy juice from her ever-growing excitement, and Anna's with Arlen's cum that her devastated vagina muscles could no longer hold in.
As she smelled the cum beginning to drip from Anna's mound, Alia kneeled and jerked down Anna's bloody and soaked trunks, ripping them off and waving them to the crowd while the bell sounded to end the fourth round.
The now-nude Anna crawled back to her corner while Alia continued her newest show of dominance, twirling Anna's trunks above her head, and as she sashayed back to her corner her eye caught Dan now sitting at ringside. He had a big smile on his face … no need any more to hide his feelings from Arlen and Eddie … and indeed Alia. She grinned back at him for just a moment and tossed Anna's sloppy trunks to him … giving him the symbol of power over his former employers for at least a few seconds.
Anna could not sit on her stool, instead only resting her sore abdomen and crotch on it spread-eagled. As she vomited outside the ropes, her prominent and pudgy ass pointed back across the ring toward Alia's corner, and Alia's heat level shot up once again. She had another surprise for the trio in the other corner … Alia had made arrangements for Dan to sneak her dildo into the arena – the 18-inch black one she'd used with such effectiveness on Arlen one day earlier – and she figured to put it to use later in the bout. But seeing Anna's ass cocked up in the air brought the idea to mind, and Alia thought how nice it would be to stick that cock up Anna's ass just as she had with Arlen, ramming it in like a piston, reaching around to ravage Anna's clit just as she had Arlen's big cock … and the thoughts drove her wild once again.
Alia's trunks were now almost as soaked as Anna's – only the fluids were different – and she quickly stripped them off just as the bell for Round 5 sounded. Anna somehow got back to her feet, the ache in her stomach at least temporarily lessened by her retching, and was able to take a couple of halting steps toward mid-ring.
The graphic scene of the two naked fighters, wearing only gloves and boots, one still a picture of health, power and sex appeal and the other a disfigured mess, was enough to stir the loins of many of the female celebrities in attendance. Camera shots showed several stroking their own hot pussies or reaching into their male companion's laps and past their zippers, hand-jobbing them to a rapid erection – and many were doing both. The temperature level in the arena was becoming increasingly hotter, and it had nothing to do with the hotel's heating system.
Alia decided it was time for more body abuse, and she began launching gorgeous, digging hooks just below Anna's rib cage – the kind of punishing blows normally only seen in a gym when a fighter is pounding on a heavy bag. At this point, that was almost all that Anna was … a meat bag suitable only as a target for Alia's horrifying fists. The punches ripped into Anna's waist, making her fat folds tremble, and eventually Alia was almost leaning into Anna as she sent punishing right hands – each traveling only a few inches – deep into her paunch and making Anna's body quiver like a rock falling into a bucket of water.
The club fighters call it "stacking and packing" … the process of getting under another fighter's arms and boosting him upward ("stacking"), and using the space created to work the body over ("packing"). That's what Alia was doing, except that in this instance she was getting no resistance from the jelly blob that used to be Anna's body.
Alia hit Anna's stomach at least 100 times before the bell sounded to end Round 5, Anna's arms limp at her sides and useless, and the heavy gloves were doing severe damage to the internal organs. Large red splotches were blood was pooling under Anna's skin were starting to show, and a trail of blood followed Anna as she limped back to her corner.
Alia's arms were starting to tire from the heavy beating she was inflicting, and from the added weight of the gloves, but her trainer gave her a quick shoulder massage between rounds and revived her energy, and she was up and bouncing on the balls of her feet at the sixth-round bell.
Anna staggered back out and was quickly met by two devastating hooks to each of her sides. Her already bruised and bleeding kidneys failed, and piss poured out of her snatch as she fell to a sitting position … the pool of urine puddling under her on the canvas.
Alia stood and watched as Anna continued to piss herself, and when the last yellow drops leaked out Alia moved closer, stepped behind Anna and straddled her grotesquely bruised head, and unloaded her own flood of pee all over Anna's face, nose and mouth. She was amazed at how much urine flooded out of her, and Anna sputtered and coughed as the salty solution worked its way down her nostrils and throat.
Alia finally finished, but she never moved as her thighs clamped down on Anna's head. She bent over so that Anna could hear her over the crowd noise.
"We're halfway through … having fun so far?," Alia said. "I sure am. And we've still got six more rounds to go. What do you think we should do next? …. Come on, answer me … ANSWER ME! … SAY SOMETHING! … SAY SOMETHING OR I'LL KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!"
Anna mumbled something that sounded like "sorrrrrryyyyy, so sorrrrryyyy," but Alia wasn't paying attention. Instead, she had shot her gloves toward the ceiling in a classic victory pose, inciting the crowd even more, and she stayed that way – squeezing Anna's head and abusing her ears with her strong thighs while she smiled and gestured to the fans – until the bell ended Round 6.
She released the death hold of her thighs and walked to her corner, as Anna's handlers dragged their semi-conscious fighter back to her side. Alia watched her helpless victim pulled back onto her stool, and thought about the answer to her own question. What would she do next? The thought made her hot all over again.
Alia was still quivering with excitement, and almost jumped off her stool at the "DING … DING … DING" sounded for Round 7. She sprinted across the ring before Anna's handlers could even remove her stool.
"Leave it!" she yelled at them, and they backed off, leaving Anna slumped on her stool, only the corner ropes holding her upright. Alia began boxing Anna's ears – one of the few areas she hadn't already destroyed – with lefts and rights to each side of her head, until the earlobes were swollen to the size of golf balls and the ear cartilage was bent and broken. Blood poured out of each ear.
"Can you still hear me?," Alia screamed. "If you can, feel this," as she forcefully rammed her chest into Anna's face. She bounced Anna off the turnbuckle a couple of times, and then started shaking her breasts back and forth, using them to slap Anna's deformed face. She was boxing her with her boobs alone and her boobs were winning the fight as Alia continued to pile on the humiliation.
Alia then put her boots up on the bottom rope, which put her red-hot clit at Anna's eye-level, and the heat erupting from her pussy made the clotted blood on Anna's face liquefy and run down her cheeks and neck. Alia began rubbing her bush against Anna's mouth and nose, pushing harder and harder until Anna's head was pressed hard against the turnbuckle.
"Lick it, you whore," Alia demanded.
Anna was actually slightly revived by the combination of smelling and tasting Alia's juices, and put her tongue to work in an effort to please her tormentress – something that might lessen the beatings. Obviously, she didn't know what made Alia tick, since the more Anna's tongue probed, the hotter Alia got and the more she wanted to dominate and humiliate.
Anna's flicking tongue was arousing Alia once again, and she suddenly spilled out a large volume of lovers' cum. She'd been saving that, holding onto that with her incredibly talented vaginal muscles, ever since her lockup with Dan five nights earlier.
The milky liquid spilled across Anna's face like a sheet, covering her with the sticky goo, but Alia wasn't finished.
"Lick it out," she said. "If it's not completely licked out, there will be hell to pay."
Anna did what she was told, reflex gagging every time Alia would use the ropes to bounce her hot box in and out against Anna's tongue.
"DING … DING … DING," the bell sounded to end the seventh round.
"What a shame," Alia said, "and you were just getting warmed up. See you in 60 seconds," she added as she jumped down from the ropes and headed back to her corner.
The pussy face-wash actually gave Anna some energy, and after her corner crew wiped her down Anna was actually able to stand and take a boxing stance at the bell for the eighth round. Alia saw this, and decided it was time to let her fists get in on the fun once again.
Anna even gave a half-hearted attempt to punch at the start of the round, but Alia easily batted Anna's white gloves to the side and proceeded to land even more telling blows than her earlier beatings. The "activities" of the other rounds had allowed Alia's arms and hands to regain their full strength, and her weighted gloves left imprints on Anna's face.
One hammering right pounded straight into Anna's mouth, a savage punch that tore a gash in her upper lip where a tooth poked through. A left hook dislodged three more teeth, and their bloody roots fell and stuck to the top of Anna's discolored tits in a grotesque pool of blood.
Alia stepped back and wound up for one of her signature uppercuts, but instead of crashing her right hand under Anna's ribcage, this one soared up and bounced forcefully off Anna's jaw line. A loud CRRRRAAAKKK was audible at ringside as Anna's jaw was broken, with the swelling starting in seconds and leaving the bottom of her face an ugly, disfigured mess as she crumpled to the canvas.
Before anyone could step in to stop the action, Alia pulled Anna from the floor and wrapped her left arm around her neck in a headlock. She started using her free right arm as a piston, raining right hands from close range into Anna's face and rapidly turning what skin remained into something resembling hamburger meat. Blood again poured like a faucet from Anna's nose and her already-swollen lips cracked in several places, sending little rivers of blood down her now-numb jaw.
Anna lolled against the ropes, and Alia moved her abuse down to Anna's sagging breasts, which were already grotesquely discolored from the bruises and the mixed layer of dried milk and blood. Alia knelt on one knee and began using Anna's mammaries as her own private speed bags, using the overhand chops that are a staple of boxers' gym workouts – except this time the targets were flesh instead of leather.
Moving back and forth with deadly precision, Alia's rapid-fire chopping blows beat a steady "WHAP-WHAP-WHAP-WHAP-WHAP" on Anna's tits which, despite the abuse, were still rock-hard at the nipples. With every chopping blow, more milky secretions would be squeezed out and ran down to Anna's abused abdomen.
Finally, the chopping action was too much, and the skin at the top of Anna's breast line ripped open, sending fresh blood flowing down and covering her tits and Alia's gloves. As Anna stood against the ropes, the bell sounded to end round eight, and she looked like the victim of a bizarre crucifixion with her earlier cut down her cleavage and the two cuts atop the breasts.
Anna's handlers quickly led Anna to her corner, and began using handfuls of Vaseline and tape to try to stem the blood flow. Alia watched the scene in the other corner – she had long since disdained sitting down, such was her adrenaline rush and her arousal level – and thought to herself that she would soon show them a much better use for the Vaseline.
"DING … DING … DING"
The bell for round nine saw Alia almost sprint across the ring to continue her abuse, while it took all of Anna's corner crew to lift her up and prop her against her corner. Her arms hung limply over the ropes, the only thing holding her upright, and Alia began hitting her wide-open body with horrific body punches. The already-red areas, places where blood was pooling under the skin from extensive injuries to her internal organs, provided Alia with targets for uppercuts and straight punches that appeared to go completely through Anna's jelly paunch.
After what were probably 30 straight punches to that gut, Alia turned her gloves and raked the laces across Anna's abdomen, ripping the skin open and unleashing a wave of dark and coagulating blood that ran down through Anna's crotch and legs.
That rip also pushed Anna down to where she was seated on the bottom rope, dangling like a giant bloody spider in the ropes' webs, and Alia turned around and planted her tight and toned ass directly on Anna's nose and mouth.
"Lick it CLEAN," Alia screamed, "or we'll spill the rest of your blood right here!"
Anna's muscle memory took over, and she proceeded to tongue and chew Alia's anus for all she was worth – which wasn't much, considering her semi-conscious state. Alia moaned for a while as Anna's tongue tickled its way up her ass cavity, but Alia eventually realized that Anna's efforts weren't going to get her off – even with her own gloved thumb caressing her pussy at the same time – and turned with an angry look on her face.
"Not good enough!," she yelled, and ripped a right hand across Anna's cheek. This time, though, she kept the punch going past that point, and pounded her elbow into Anna's left eye socket. She repeated the punch from the left side, again with the elbow crashing into Anna's face.
The two shots disloged more teeth, and the second caused Anna to bite off the tip of her tongue with the few teeth she had remaining. Even more in a daze, Anna slipped to one side, still hanging on the ropes, and Alia began pounding punches to her kidney area just like she was working on her gym's heavy bag. The side of Anna's body began caving in, and a wet stream of poop began pouring out of Anna's ass and puddling up in her corner just as the bell ending round nine sounded.
Three more rounds, Alia thought as she walked back to her corner, almost swinging her hips and playing to the crowd … three more glorious rounds … and she planned to make them memorable.
Meanwhile, Anna's corner crew resorted to desperation to keep their fighter upright. Arlen quickly stepped into the ring, helped hang Anna on the ropes again in her own corner, and pulled out his monster cock – he had been carrying an incredible hard-on since the very first round. He thrust himself into Anna's now-sopping and blood-caked pussy, trying to bring her around and back to some level of consciousness, and started beating her bush with his own thrusts. The bouncing of the ropes added even more motion, and Anna's entire body began moving rhythmically up and down.
That rope bouncing caught the attention of Alia's entire corner as they watched the spectacle. Alia smiled, and said, "You want cock … I'll show you cock." She motioned to Dan at ringside, put her gloves near her hips and made a circular motion around her body. Dan knew instantly what she was after … they'd worked that part out in advance .. and Dan headed back to the locker room.
When the 10th round bell finally rang – it was late, as the timekeeper was watching the screwing in Anna's corner and lost track of time – Arlen was reaching a climax and Anna's eyes were open. Alia stepped in behind Arlen, pressed her own pussy against Arlen's ass, and began matching Arlen's thrusts. Soon, Alia was the one doing all the work, as her crotch continued to pound Arlen and force him into continuing his "in and out" action with Anna.
Arlen's sandwich between the two females quickly made him orgasm again, shooting one final load of cum into Anna's pussy, but Alia continued with her thrusts and had her gloves close by. "I'll beat your brains in if you stop," Alia threatened Arlen, and Arlen tried his best to keep the action going.
Arlen's manhood began to fail him, though, and Alia quickly jerked his arm around and pushed him down to a sitting position on top of Anna, who had slipped off the ropes and was again seated on her stool. Alia began boxing Arlen's cock, bouncing it back and forth between her lefts and rights and causing his milky cum to fly into the air with each punch. Some landed on Alia's tits, and she stopped her pummeling long enough to use a glove to raise her own breast, allowing her to lick the cum off, and she smiled as Arlen crawled out of the ring and left Anna seated and comatose again.
Alia was jabbing at Anna's back-open eyes with the thumbs of her gloves, bringing Anna a whole new wave of pain, when the tenth round ended.
When she got back to her corner, Dan had a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, and he unzipped it when Alia turned to him and nodded. He pulled out her big black dildo – the same one she'd used on Arlen –, put the belt around Alia's waist and strapped it on tightly. The full 18 inches hung to the bottom of Alia's knees, and brought a gasp from the crowd.
Dan then applied Vaseline heavily to Alia's strap-on cock and began to stroke the massive black rod, and Alia leaned against her corner and watched Dan's hand move up and down the shaft. She could swear that she could actually feel the pleasure of Dan's stroking, and now understood even more the pleasure that males got when she was the one giving hand jobs. Her eyes flicked and her body shivered, and just before the bell for Round 11 she looked down and saw a huge wet spot in the crotch of Dan's pants.
Alia's trainer had been standing in the sight line between the two corners, and didn't move until the Round 11 bell rang. When he stepped out of the way and slid through the ropes, Anna's corner – and Anna herself – got their first look at the newly-endowed Alia – sporting a foot and a half of thick, well-greased black meat. Alia's tool made even Arlen's impressive member look like a piece of macaroni, and Alia did her best to accentuate its swinging from side to side as she walked across the ring to begin the next-to-last round.
As her corner crew looked on in horror, Alia hit Anna in the face one time and in her gut one time, enough to make her bend over at the waist. Alia grabbed Anna's hair and dragged her to the middle of the ring, where Anna knelt on all fours, her hefty ass cocked up and pointing toward the ceiling.
Alia quickly moved behind Anna's ass and began the slow, rhythmic process of inserting the dildo up her anus with a series of light thrusts. Gradually those thrusts became deeper and more intense as all 18 inches slowly slid inside and brought howls and screams of pain from a suddenly-awake Anna.
"Ooooo, you like this, don't you," Alia yelled. "You like it up the ass. Well, you've never had it up the ass like this before."
Alia quickly increased the tempo of her thrusts until her crotch was banging directly against Anna's ass, causing the entire ring to shiver as she pounded to the fullest possible depth. Anna began vomiting from the pain, spewing a stream of bile and blood as her injured internal organs were defiled again and again by the black monster that Alia carried between her rippling thighs. Blood continued to pour out of Anna's anus as the tissues in her ass tore loose.
The anal fucking went on for several minutes as the timekeeper – who was busy jacking himself off – missed the end of the round, and eventually one of Anna's handlers ran over and rang the bell to end the 11th round.
Anna's handlers dragged her back to her corner on her belly, while Alia stood for several seconds at mid-ring, her attached meat still hanging and many of her own pussy juices now running down that shaft … such was her excitement. Eventually, she walked back to her corner, and Dan bent over the ropes to remove the black weapon.
"Leave it for a minute," she said calmly. "It feels tooooooo good…"
Instead, Alia's trainer wiped down her body in preparation for the final round and applied a light coat of Vaseline to her cheeks, tits and ass while Dan fixed her hair. After all, it was the last round, and she wanted to look good for the cameras as she finished her devastation.
At the bell for Round 12, Alia walked across the ring, grabbed Anna's feet as she sat on her stool, and dragged her on her now incredibly-tender and ripped-open ass to mid-ring. She spread Anna's legs, bent over her and began inserting the monster cock into Anna's pussy, slowly working the full shaft inside, and started beating an in-and-out rhythm as her face hovered only inches from the hamburger that was once Anna's pudgy but lovely face.
"You really had no idea how bad I would fuck you up, did you," Alia said to Anna's non-responsive face. "You fat, useless whore … I only wish we could go about 50 more rounds, because I'd like nothing better than to finish you off right here so they could bury what's left of you. If you survive, you'll remember this for the rest of your life, and you'll wake up scared every night just with the thought of me."
Even Anna's pounded and distorted pussy was not equipped to handle Alia's equipment, and Alia raped her cruelly for almost a minute and a half – fully half of the final round – before forcefully pulling the dildo out. Anna rolled to her side, and the rest of Arlen's cum mixed with Anna's blood and poured out of her now-useless snatch, pooling on the canvas.
Alia stood over her defeated foe, breathing heavily less from her exertion – she hadn't had to work really hard for this, she thought – and more from her own excitement. She ripped off the dildo, kicked Anna back to her back and straddled her, covering up her face with her own throbbing pussy, and looked down at Anna's beaten body. Alia started punching straight down on Anna's arms, crushing them into the canvas with the leverage she had from her sitting position, and after a few punches she heard the audible "CRACK" of Anna's arm bones shattering. She proceeded to do the same to the other arm, rendering it also useless even if Anna had been conscious enough to defend against the crushing punches. Likewise, Anna could not howl in pain even if she had still been conscious, since her mouth was completely covered and muffled by Alia's wet and pulsing crotch.
Alia used both hands to ram the dildo back into Anna's cock and left it there, sticking out like a flagpole tht she had placed on land she had conquered. In a way, she certainly had.
Alia then turned around, continuing to face-sit the comatose Anna but now looking down at her hair poking from between Alia's legs. Anna's face was still buried, and Alia began one final show of dominance as she started bouncing up and down on Anna's face in a violent face-sit that went on until Alia settled in and completely covered Anna's nose and mouth. Up to that point, she had still been able to feel Anna's struggles to draw breath, but now her vaginal muscles closed like a suction cup, and Anna soon stopped breathing completely.
Alia struck a double-bicep pose and held it a few more seconds until the final bell. That's when she plucked the dildo from Anna's cock and stuck it down her throat, and paraded around the ring as medical personnel rushed to the aid of the terribly beaten fighter.
"Who's the real champ now," Alia said to reporters who stormed the ring, oblivious to the paramedics that were using a defibrillator to try to re-start Anna's heart. "Everyone was so in love with this … this fat thing here, and look at her now."
They looked at Anna being taken through the ropes on a stretcher. A minute or so later, ambulance sirens could be heard, getting her to a nearby hospital. By that time, Alia was gone, quickly out of the arena, quickly to her hotel and the very next day, gone to an unknown location.
As it turned out, she wouldn't reappear in public for a couple of months.

Alia was watching the sun set over the Tahitian beach, looking out from her hotel balcony and trying her best to relax – something that just wasn't in her makeup.
"Maybe a couple more of these mai tais will help," she said to the wind, as she picked up her glass and walked inside.
It was a week after her biggest fight ever, and after what the papers were alternately calling the most scandalous and the most erotic hour in the history of sport. She wasn't sore physically – after all, Anna only hit her with anything serious only one time – but she still needed some body-recovery time after all the strenuous training she put herself through prior to the match.
Mentally, she was in a great state. She was unquestionably the world's most dangerous woman wearing boxing gloves and one feared for her dominance, which made her famous while at the same time insuring that people left her alone – which was how she wanted it.
And after the beatings and humiliations she had wrecked upon her last two ring opponents, it was very likely that she wouldn't be challenged for a good while. No other fighter and no other would-be dominant wanted any part of her right now.
Some people at her getaway resort recognized her, but all kept their distance, and that's what she needed right now. Except for one person … and she was glad he was close by. Sure, she needed someone she could dominate when she needed that, but she also needed someone to keep her grounded when she needed it, someone to make her laugh when she needed it, and – a first for her – someone to hold her when she needed that.
Dan was good at all of those. When she got herself on the outside of those mai tais, she would also need someone she could suck limp, devour again, milk with her pussy muscles and render exhausted and helpless except to worship her … and he was good at that, too.
+++++
Sure, Anna made a ton of money for her cut of the fight gate. So did Eddie and Arlen, actually. But what good was money when you couldn't enjoy it?
Doctors said that Anna was lucky to have avoided brain damage. On top of all her injuries, which would take months to heal, there were periods during the fight that her brain was oxygen-deprived, and any of those stretches could have left her a vegetable. And Anna wasn't smart enough to be giving away any brain cells.
Hey, neither of those guys saw it coming, either, she thought to herself. They wasn't so smart themselves.
About all Anna could do right then was think. The rest of her was either stitched back together or gone entirely … her internal injuries required extensive transplants, she had to have eye surgery and she was going to be visiting a plastic surgeon on a regular basis for years to repair all the exterior damage. And without insurance, the medical bills were rapidly eating into her share of the fight proceeds.
Even blinking hurt. How in the world did I get myself into this, she thought, and then she remembered Eddie coming up to her back in Texas, making all those promises. What a son of a bitch, she thought before the drugs put her back to sleep.
+++++
Arlen was last seen performing in the Chippendale's review show on the Vegas strip. His body didn't match up to the other dancers, and he didn't have their moves, but when he got down to the G-string the women in the audiences always rushed the stage for a closer look. And Arlen got used to the tens and twenties they would push down next to his cock.
He also discovered he liked women ramming dildos up his ass, which made him very popular in several select Vegas circles.
+++++
Eddie quickly ran out of money. In addition to his over-the-top lifestyle, he had to pay to replace the ring at the MGM Grand … all of the blood, tit milk, cum, piss, poop and other bodily fluids had rendered the one used for the fight as totally useless.
He was last seen on the back roads of Texas again, chasing talent for his newest endeavor. He already had the catchy name … "WOW" – Worldwide Oil Wresting. It can't miss, he kept telling himself.
+++++
The terrible trio of Anna, Arlen and Eddie got what they deserved … and in a way, the same could be said of Dan. Sure, he'd been cut out of a share of the fight revenue by some slick contracts and bookkeeping on Eddie's part, but he didn't care. He had made a killing, in more ways than one.
That's why he felt confident enough to knock on Alia's hotel room door, only a couple of hours after the fight. She was there with her trainer, who was tending to what little physical maladies and discomforts she'd picked up in the bout, and the trainer smiled and left quickly when Dan walked in.
Before he lost his nerve – he'd been working up the courage to do this for an hour – he dropped two plane tickets to Tahiti on the coffee table in front of the couch where Alia was sitting.
"One is for you," he said.
Alia picked up the tickets and just looked at them for a minute.
"You know, I made a lot of money for this fight tonight," she finally said. "I can afford my own ticket. And I know you probably can't … I figure those assholes left you pretty much high and dry."
"Yeah, they did," Dan said. "But I can afford both of them, and a lot more … thanks to you."
Seems that Dan had rounded up all the money he could assemble, mortgaging everything he had and borrowing from friends, and put the whole wad in a bet (after all, this was Vegas). He bet against the house that Alia would not just win, but win every round, and that bet paid off hugely – Dan walked out of the casino's sports book with five times the money he'd put down.
"I was a little worried in the first round, when you were flat on your back," he said, making sure to smile and let Alia know he was joking.
"How does it feel to outsmart everyone?," she said, as she grabbed the rich man's arm and pulled him to the couch. "Get over here, you sexy man."
END

ALIA AND ANNA
PART TWO

While driving down the parking lot that is the Las Vegas Strip, Dan Steele contemplated where he'd be one week from now.
With the bout he helped make into a mega-event only five days away, and not knowing his job status after Saturday's fight, he wondered what journey life had planned for him next.
He'd been working for Eddie for the last 18 months in public relations, helping publicize and promote Anna's boxing career – and by extension, this bout. And he'd done a good job, he thought … he was a key in turning a hick girl from Texas into one of the West Coast's most recognizable faces and bodies. Now, though, with the biggest night of her career rapidly approaching, and with his growing sense that Anna didn't stand a chance on Saturday, he figured his employ with Eddie was about to end.
He knew too much about Eddie's payouts to trainers and other fighters to keep Anna's perfect record intact. He didn't agree with it, but he figured it was just part of the game and he was just one of the game's players.
He also knew too much about a plot from those in Anna's camp to "even up the odds" before their fight – a plan that would bring physical harm to Alia, and that made him very upset – and he had concerns about how far Eddie, Anna and Arlen were willing to go in order to win.
Right at this second, though, he wasn't as worried about that. He was heading over to Alia's camp, maybe even catch a glimpse of her, and that would be a good thing today … the highlight of his day, for sure.
Dan and Alia were the most casual of acquaintances. They met briefly at the press conference announcing the fight, and they had chatted only briefly at two other press gatherings that he set up to promote the bout. But he had been immediately smitten with Alia at first glance, that one coming at the front door of the Orleans Hotel after Alia had laid Anna to waste at the now-infamous party and had man-napped Arlen. He watched them race by and remembered smiling, both at Alia's pretty face and the fact that Alia had just embarrassed a client that he had steadily lost respect for over the past few months.
It happened so quickly, but he seemed to recall Alia almost winking at him as she headed out the door – the same kind of wink she gave him when they talked at the press conference.
Alia was so different from Anna that a comparison was almost laughable. He had come to know how Anna ticked during those last 18 months, and knew she was little more than big hair and boobs, flashy and without substance. Of course, he would never say this to Eddie, Anna or Arlen, since they were caught up in all the hype.
Alia was … earthy. Plenty attractive, but hers was the kind of attractiveness that built from confidence, and she had a presence that was hard to describe. She could dominate a room, or any of the individuals in that room whether they be male or female, but chose not to do that unless it was necessary to further her goals.
Any doubts about that were printed right there in color on the poster he was taking to Alia's camp to have okayed. Her picture oozed power and sexiness … it was hard to take a bad picture of Alia, but for this one the photographer put her in crimson red gloves, white boxing boots, a short white hooded robe and nothing else. The key parts were covered – after all, these posters were going up all over town – but from the plunge of the neckline, the robe pulled up high on the thigh and the stern expression on her face, it was obvious that Alia loved the camera and it loved her back.
Anna was a different story. With all the weight she'd put on leading up to the fight – one trainer told her it would help her punch harder and not be hurt as much by Alia's punches – getting a flattering picture became a challenge. Dan thought she was rapidly turning into a cow, and half-expected her to start mooing in the days leading up to the fight. Finally one was chosen that made her look less bovine than the others.
The posters weren't needed to sell tickets – the bout had been sold out weeks ago – but the strategy now was to get people into the casino where the fight would be shown on closed circuit. The more people in the casino, gambling while they watched the fight, the happier the hotel people were.
When Dan arrived at Alia's headquarters hotel, he bumped into one of her trainers, who immediately invited him inside to her workout area. While the trainers and others looked approvingly at the poster, Dan's full attention was on Alia working out in the ring.
He was mesmerized watching her, and it wasn't just because of the low-cut top and high-cut bottom leotards that she favored so much for workouts. He watched the almost feline-like way in which she moved, and the way she danced in and out when sparring, moving in to inflict punishment on her sparring partners and quickly moving out or range of their counters. He could almost feel her heat, even from that distance, and he wondered what it would be like to be inside of that.
Alia only sparred with men, both because they gave her better competition and because she enjoyed watching their reactions when she rubbed against them when they clinched. Unknowing to them, she went out of her way to rub her pussy against their legs or crotch, just to see if she could get them hard … which she invariably did.
For this bout, she had brought in three 220-pound male boxers to simulate the power that she expected from Anna, rotating them in and out of sparring rounds to keep them fresh and keep her on her toes. She had just finished the last of a 12-round session when she spied Dan near the entrance to the gym, and waved him over.
"Come over to scout out the competition?," she laughed when he walked over, but it was a friendly laugh. The two talked for a while as Alia leaned on the ropes and caught her breath from the workout, Alia talking about the poster and Dan making small talk as best he could while trying to hide the fact that his cock was stiffening. Most women don't look their best while sweaty after a workout, he thought, but this one may look her best like this … probably because she is in her element, in an area and a place she can control.
Dan, of course, had no idea that Alia already had a plan for him, something that would help keep that control when it came to the fight. But for now they were just talking, and Alia casually asked what his plans were after Saturday's fight.
"If I said I knew, I'd be lying to you," Dan said. "Things are really up in the air over there … and it'll be even worse if you win Saturday," he added sheepishly.
Alia smiled. "Well, I hope that happens," she said, "but I'm not happy that you may be out in the street when this is over. You know … we're going to need some help around here after this, to try to keep the momentum going, as they say."
Dan almost melted through the floor at the thought, but recovered enough to say, "Well, my loyalty has to lie over there for a few more days, but I do have to think about my future and I have to consider all options."
"Why don't you come back by later on, when you finish up today," Alia said. "We can sit and talk about it, figure out how we can mutually benefit each other … find some common ground, so to speak."
Dan's first thought was that the common ground he sought was between those strong thighs, but finally he stammered out, "Sure … if I wouldn't be imposing."
"Of course not. Haven't had a lot of men visit me in the past few days," Alia said, laughing and giving Dan a wink that sent his erection raging again. As she walked to the other side of the ring to finish her cool-down, he watched her back side quiver as only those whose bodies are in perfect shape can, and he nearly stumbled as he turned to leave.
"Everyone really liked the poster," a trainer called out to him as he left the gym, but Dan only smiled and hurried away. His pants had become way too tight, and the trainers knew it … and so did Alia.
+++++
A message at the desk directed Dan to a suite number, and when he knocked on the door Alia answered in a matter of only a couple of seconds.
He had finished his appointed rounds, had taken care of the poster printing and a few other details, so his time was his own. He figured that some other members of Alia's group would be in the suite with them, talking about the future, but he quickly realized that she was alone.
She'd showered and was wearing a robe, not unlike the one in her poster picture that left most of a strong pair of thighs exposed. Her hair was still damp and tousled but not unattractive, giving her the look of a dark-hared lioness.
She fixed him a drink ("none for me this close to the fight … dulls the senses, you know," she said) and they made small talk about how Dan's talents could be an asset to her group.
Eventually, the talk turned to the fight, and Alia asked – only partially in jest –, "What are they cooking up over there for me?"
Dan didn't say much, but he noticed Alia leaning in on the couch they shared and nonchalantly spreading the top part of the robe.
"You sure you don't want to give me just a little hint," she said as she moved one foot over to rub against Dan's leg, a foot that eventually worked its way up to his crotch. "You know I'd be very grateful for anything you could tell me …. VERY grateful."
Dan wasn't sure how to react, but his cock was definitely sure. He hemmed and hawed that he didn't have that kind of information, and was still talking when Alia slid over and straddled him on the couch. She then pulled the drawstring on her robe, allowing it to open fully in the front and expose her full naked body to Dan's shocked eyes.
"I can be very good to those who help me," Alia said as she began grinding her exposed and fully-wet pussy on Dan's crotch. "And I can also be very bad. It's up to you."
It took Dan only seconds to shed his shoes, pants and shirt, and Alia immediately took him inside her and wrapped her thighs around his buttocks, clamping him firmly as she began a series of slow thrusts. Dan bear-hugged her, picked her up and somehow made it to the large bed at the other end of the suite, where he collapsed on his back, and Alia quickly pinned him there and began riding up and down his engorged cock.
Dan had a thunderous orgasm almost immediately, but Alia was only just getting started. Her strong vaginal muscles quickly massaged him hard again, and those same muscles clamped hard on Dan's cock in a vise grip.
Dan had never experienced anything like this before … and had a sense of fear. He didn't know whether he could push Alia away if he wanted to, and she had worked his member into a position where he was completely at her mercy, the ripples of her vaginal muscles alternately squeezing and releasing, milking him.
So this is what it's like to be raped, Dan thought.
"Now are you ready to tell me what's going on," Alia said as she continued her assault on his cock. "I know something is … I've heard too many rumors … and you're going to tell me eventually."
Dan did not doubt that at all, and he chose not to imagine what would happen if he didn't talk. Eventually, he told her everything … how Arlen had rounded up some of his Texas cronies to attack Alia on the way to the weigh-in one day before the bout, use pipes as clubs to break her fingers and hands. If the injuries limited her punching, that was the best scenario … but if she had to pull out of the fight completely, Anna and her team would brag to all that would listen about how the champ had gotten cold feet and was scared to face a woman like Anna in the ring.
Alia took it all in, just as she had taken in Dan's cock, and slowly released her grip on his now-shrinking member. But she remained astride him, his cum leaking out in a torrent.
"I'm so sorry," Dan said. "I heard them talking about doing something, and I couldn't believe they would sink that low. But apparently there is no level they won't sink to in order to win."
"That's okay, dearie. I know you weren't involved, and I'm just glad you told me," she said, as she slipped her hand down between Dan's legs and quickly brought him back to life. This time, when she slid his manhood inside her, it wasn't to force out more information. It was more to satisfy her desires one more time – and, for once, his desires, too. She felt something different about him, the way he looked up at her and watched her eyes instead of gaping at her body, the way he held her without groping her, something that made her feel almost … tender. It was different from any sex she'd had in a long, long time.
She let Dan flip her over and put her in a vulnerable position, a vulnerability she hadn't shared with any other sex toys/pseudo-lovers. Her body remained taut but receptive, and instead of the violent banging of bodies, it was slow and ever so satisfying.
Afterward, Dan and Alia held each other for a while, without speaking. Finally, she said, "I am so happy that you trusted me enough to tell me the truth. Now I can be ready … and I think I can turn this around to my … our advantage.
"But I need your help … I need you not to say anything about our meeting, about how I know their plan, keep them thinking I don't expect anything. Can you do that … for me?"
At this point, Dan didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or roll Alia over and feel her warmth around his member all over again. Instead, he said, "I'll do that … for you. Is there anything else I can do?"

The images on the screen didn't lie, and Anna knew exactly what they meant.
Here it was, two days before she was to make up half of the biggest match in women's boxing history, and she finally decided to get Eddie off her back and watch a videotape of Alia's most recent fight. She didn't figure to get much out of it – watching other people box bored her – but at least she could tell Eddie she watched it.
She saw a fit and fired-up Alia slip naked through the ropes to face some European with spiked hair, and at first she was more interested in the two naked bodies than the boxing action. "I'm in better shape than that spike-hair bitch," Anna said to herself.
What she watched over the next 30 minutes made her stomach turn, and unleashed an emotion she'd rarely ever known – fear.
She watched Alia take the much-larger European apart for 10 rounds, and it was obvious she was stretching the bout out past what would have been necessary just to inflict more punishment. She watched Alia turn her opponent into a meat bag with skin, one that had to be taken from the ring on a stretcher, unconscious.
But more than anything, she watched one moment in the third round, when Alia stood and let the European punch her. Over and over, the bigger woman hit her with full-force punches right in her crotch, and Alia stood there and laughed. Anna played it over and over, unbelieving.
"She had to be wearing something, some kind of guard," she thought. "Nobody could take that."
After watching the end of that bout, she turned off the bedroom VCR and went to find Eddie, who happened to be sitting in the suite just outside. Anna was white as a sheet.
"I'm … I'm not real sure … I don't think I can beat her," Anna said to him. "She's too good."
Eddie looked up from his paper, where he was reading another story about the bout that Dan had been able to place.
"Yes, you can beat her," Eddie said. "You're much bigger than she is and you know you can punch. You just get your head right, and don't worry. I've got a few things up my sleeve that will make sure you're the one still standing with your hand raised Saturday night."
Anna didn't know what to make of that, and Eddie could see from her face that she was confused and worried. So Eddie told her the whole plan.
The weigh-in was scheduled for the next day, on Friday morning. Since this was a "grudge" match and weight classes weren't involved, the procedure was pretty much meaningless. But having a weigh-in was a tried-and-true boxing tradition, and gave the boxing media that was arriving from all over the country one more chance to see the two fighters – a couple of lookers in very little clothing – and get their final comments.
What Eddie and only a select circle of people knew was that Alia was going to be slightly detained on the way to the weigh-in. He'd called back to Texas, rounding up some of Arlen's cronies, and they were going to grab Alia and her handlers as they left their hotel. Their weapons were metal pipes, and their targets were Alia's hands … they would use the pipes to break some of her fingers and maybe a knuckle or two.
The idea was to hurt her just badly enough to make it impossible to punch Anna with any effectiveness, but not enough to make her have to pull out of the fight at the last minute. Eddie figured that Alia's seething rage at Anna would push her to go ahead and fight even while injured … and even if she couldn't, her hands hurting too badly, Anna and Dan would be able to turn public opinion to their side, claiming that the champ had a crisis of confidence as the fight got close and was too scared to take on their blond-bomber Anna.
Anna looked overwhelmed by it all, but she trusted Eddie and soon was openly excited about the prospects of facing a top opponent whose hands hurt so bad she couldn't hurt her. Besides, she heard Arlen stirring around in the bedroom – Anna's face-sitting had knocked him out cold, leaving her time on her own to watch the tape – and now she needed a dose of confidence that she could only get by thoroughly dominating her partner once again.
She hadn't had that opportunity for over a week in the not-too-distant past. After Arlen's night with Alia, he defined the term "pussy-whipped." He couldn't get it up for almost 10 days, no matter what Anna tried … hand jobs, blow jobs, anal probes with all sorts of sex toys, even allowing Arlen to assume the dominant role with Anna tied to the bed and helpless. Nothing worked until the bruises that Arlen had on his groin and face – both compliments of an Alia pussy that hit almost as hard and fast as her fists – finally healed.
Time to hop aboard and ride some cock, Anna thought. Still got some catching up to do. No need to worry about the rest. Eddie had everything under control.
+++++
There was no shortage of confidence in Alia's camp. She was in better shape physically and fighting-wise than she'd ever been, thanks to a training regimen aided by the move West to a drier climate, and to the talented and larger sparring partners she'd brought in specifically to help her prepare for Anna. Anna's only pluses – which she felt she could easily neutralize – were in pure size and punching power, and Alia wasn't exactly a light hitter and could dance circles around her big-busted, big-hipped, big-everything foe.
She had worked up a huge anger toward Anna, bordering on obsession. She wanted to make an example of her … slice her face to ribbons with her rule-bending talents at raking her glove laces across sensitive areas of her opponent's body, beating her already-huge breasts until they're so red and swollen that the skin threatens to crack open, pounding her sides and under her ribcage to the point that her kidneys fail and urine runs down both legs.
She'd already proven that she could beat her so hard that Arlen's cum would pour out of her pussy and ass – and that only took two punches at the party. Now, she wanted to inflict that kind of punishment for an entire fight, make her last dominant performance against Ludmilla look tame by comparison, and wreck her completely for 12 rounds. To that effect, last night she had made a clandestine visit to the referee that had been appointed by the local commission to work the fight – and left him panting and nearly unconscious from their lovemaking, having sexually coaxed a promise that nothing, absolutely nothing, would cause him to step in and stop the fight early.
And now that Alia knew the details of the Anna-Arlen-Eddie plan to incapacitate her – details she had muscle-fucked out of Dan, whom she almost felt sorry for since he was obviously disgusted by those actions but was powerless to stop – she had formulated her own scenario to deal with the situation, and had everything in place when she left her hotel room early Friday morning, robe covering an incredibly sexy bikini she'd saved just for the weigh-in.
Arlen's cronies were downstairs in position, hiding in the parking garage, pipes in hand and ready to do damage.
What Arlen's goons didn't know was that Alia had people in position, too. She'd made some calls to friends back East, inviting them out for the fight and asking if they could get into Vegas a couple of days early to help her take care of a "situation." Instead of pipes, they had guns … they didn't figure to need them, but a show of force was necessary so that nobody would mistake their intentions.
Arlen and his group stepped from the shadows and quickly surrounded Alia and her trainer and cornermen, weapons in hand. They were ready to do damage, but couldn't understand why Alia and her entourage weren't frightened out of their wits. At that moment, Arlen's cronies found themselves surrounded and doubled-up by a dozen tough-looking guys that would have looked at home at a Mafia-hosted Italian dinner.
They used their gun butts from behind to force Arlen's men to their knees … except for Arlen, who had a stupid expression on his face as Alia walked over.
"Coming to visit me again, I guess?," Alia said. "What, you didn't get enough of me last time you were here … well, I can take care of that."
Alia pushed Arlen against a ledge face-first, quickly jerked his drawstring pants and shorts down to his ankles (Arlen had worn those most of the last two weeks … since Anna needed sex so often, it was just easier) and bent him over to expose his white ass. She then pulled a huge 18-inch black dildo from her carry bag (she had been prepared for this, after all) and slowly strapped it on as Arlen and his men looked on in horror. It was absolutely the largest cock any of them had ever seen. But with guns trained on them, courtesy of Alia's East Coast friends, there was little else they could do but sit and watch.
"Does Anna ever rape you?," Alia asked as she bent over and began licking Arlen's anus. "Does she ever violate you after you've said no," she said as she inserted a finger that made Arlen's cock come to attention immediately. "Does she ever pound on you like this," she said as she began penetrating Arlen's anus with her mammoth lovemaker. It didn't take long before Alia was beating Arlen's ass with a steady rhythm of thrusts, and the audible "squish" sound that accompanied each of Alia's cock bangs sent fear through Arlen's troops.
The steady "bang … bang … bang" had an unexpected side effect as Alia had a quick flush of orgasm at the same time Arlen exploded again, this time shooting out a combination of cum and blood. She leaned down to Arlen's ear, her breasts rubbing against Arlen's back and reminding both of their tryst from four weeks ago.
"You are going to tell Anna and Eddie that your guys took care of business," she whispered. "You're going to make sure that all your guys tell everyone they see that they busted me up pretty good. You got that? Or I will come and find you."
When she finished that threat, she turned to the rest of the group, her rubber cock appendage damp and still curving upwards, ready for more.
"You're all going to do as Arlen tells you," she said to his cronies. "Unless anyone else want to take a shot at me … I promise you won't forget it."
Arlen's buddies scattered like rats, heading back to the shadows. Alia's group left Arlen spread-eagled over the ledge (Alia noticed that Arlen's cock was still solid wood … God, how does he keep it up like that, she thought) and headed out for the weigh-in.
On the way there, Alia's trainer wrapped heavy bandages around her hands … part of their ploy to make Anna and Eddie believe their plan had worked. Alia also messed her hair and rubbed dirt on several spots of her robe and her exposed body parts, to further enhance the deception.
The activity was already at a frenzied pace when Alia's group walked into the ballroom at the MGM Grand, the site of the weigh-in. Anna and Eddie were playing to the assembled media, Anna wearing a sheer white bikini, her aeroli not hidden at all and her nipples protruding out of her 44DD's like gun barrels. Every time someone would ask her a question, she'd giggle and bounce a little, and none of the reporters paid any attention to her answers.
When Alia walked in, all attention turned to her … especially Anna and Eddie. They quickly saw her disheveled appearance and the wraps on her hands, and both uttered a giggle of delight under their breath. It was perfect … her hands were injured, but apparently not badly enough for her to try to make a fight of it.
Anna's thoughts of what she could do to an opponent who had hands like marshmallows … one who couldn't hurt her for fear of hurting herself worse … made her wet all over again, and the tiny bikini brief did less to hide that than the layer of fat that strained at the elastic.
Alia never stopped walking when she entered the room, going straight to the scale, which she tipped at 144 pounds – a couple of pounds heavier than her last bout with Ludmilla. She had stripped her robe before stepping on the scale, and it was hard to tell which drew the most notice – her chiseled body so stunningly displayed in a black bikini, or the marks on her body and robe and the wraps on her hands.
Reporters screamed questions about those bandages, but Alia quickly left, covering up with her hooded robe and not even acknowledging Anna's entourage while ignoring their taunts.
"You SCARED?," Anna yelled. "You finally figured out that I'm going to beat your little ass … going to beat you down so bad that you won't be able to find your way home … come back here and I'll punch you out right here!" The reporters were eating it up, and Eddie could hardly restrain his glee.
The only thing that slowed Alia's hasty exit was seeing Dan at the door of the room, where he had been dispensing some last-minute notes to the media. As she walked past, she hesitated, and once she was certain that nobody else could see, she gave him a smile and another wink before rushing out.
Dan didn't understand at first, but a few seconds later he figured it out … and, fortunately for Alia, the screams and jeers from Anna's supporters drowned out Dan's laughter. He knew what was happening, what was going to happen tomorrow night, and it made him feel happier than he had been in days – not as happy as the last time he saw and was with Alia, but still really, really happy. He couldn't wait for tomorrow night.
The commotion finally died down, and it was Anna's turn at the scale. She bounded on, tits bouncing and the cameras catching every bounce of her curvaceous body, and the scale topped out – it was set for a maximum 200 pounds. Officials put another weight on the pendulum, and the scale finally stopped at 215 pounds.
Anna would outweigh her opponent tomorrow night by over 70 pounds! The questions came to Anna non-stop – how will you use your size against your opponent, do you think it's fair that you have such an advantage, how will your opponent deal with the size difference, etc.
Anna just kept bragging, talking about how she was going to make Alia pay for embarrassing her four weeks earlier. "When she's knocked out, flat on her back on the canvas, that's when I'll make sure she feels my entire body on top of her," she said with a teasing look. "You guys will just have to imagine how that feels …. mmmmmmm. God, I'm so horny now."
They ate it up, and why not? Anna was supremely confident. Everything was going as planned, and she went off looking for Arlen. They still had more than 24 hours until the fight, and that gave her plenty of time to polish his chrome a few more times … an early victory celebration, to be sure.

END PART TWO

(Time for a new story ... this one's been on one of my galleries for a while, but still one of my favorite series ... part one of three parts.)

ALIA AND ANNA
PART ONE

The local oldies station was playing the Peter, Paul & Mary classic, "Leaving on a Jet Plane," and Anna took that as a sign.
Things were as good as they could possibly get.
She was young, people kept telling her she was beautiful, she had a long-time boyfriend who worshipped her and could fill her from his cum sac as often as she desired (and, more importantly, a boyfriend that she could totally control), and she was on her way to becoming famous. She was headed to Las Vegas, the jewel of the desert, the place where fame and riches awaited the fortunate.
Thinking about her future prospects was making Anna very wet, and she instinctively reached for her crotch and began caressing her throbbing pussy through her tight white shorts. Her hardened nipples looked like wine corks as they strained against her tight halter and soon began leaking milk (Arlen hadn't been suckling enough recently, she thought ... we'll take care of that soon).
The thoughts of her future and the increasing rhythm of her strokes quickly brought her to a thunderous orgasm, one that shook her small apartment bed (after all, she was a big woman) and soaked her probing fingers that had long since bypassed the restraining shorts. She sucked her fingers clean with great delight, and not long after fell sound asleep, the bright lights of Vegas dancing through her head.
Yes, things could not get any better for a fighter or a lover, and in Anna's mind she was the best at both. She could out-fight and out-fuck any woman alive, and it was almost time to prove that to the world.
+++++
All her life, Anna had been special. When she was a child, her late parents had her on the beauty pageant circuit, and it didn't matter that she was already a little pudgy. She had the long blonde hair that was a symbol of status in her hometown of Midland, Texas, and it was obvious even at an early age that her features would be the type that would melt hearts before she was through.
But like many young girls in out-of-the-way towns, Anna was a tomboy. When she and her boy and girl friends would play games, she always loved the physical ones more than anything. She loved football – the national sport of Texas – but she was even more enamored with the individual sports, and boxing and wrestling quickly became her favorites. Her involvement, and that of the other children, wasn't discouraged by their parents, who mostly felt good that Anna and her friends were learning to take care of themselves.
Since Anna was a large child – and, in those pre-teen years, girls naturally developed physically quicker than boys – she was one of the strongest kids in her circle of friends. She quickly learned that she could take advantage of that.
Not too long later, when puberty hit and her body began taking womanly shape, those fights became more foreplay than child's play, and her excitement of fighting with her friends reached new heights. At the time, she was still fighting both boys and girls, but slowly her bouts with boyfriends became more and more the norm. And there was no shortage of competition … in backyards that became unofficial arenas all over her neighborhood, pubescent boys with raging hormones would do anything to lock up with the evolving buxom beauty.
Many of those boys' first sexual experience, in fact, came when they were either locked up with Anna in a wrestling match or trading punches. Rubbing their still-youthful cocks against Anna's already-developing body often caused that first pre-cum to emerge and put that tell-tale wet spot in the crotch of their jeans … and more than once, the boys abruptly orgasmed while being pinned by Anna, their cum flooding their jeans.
Of course, Anna was usually soaked herself by the time she put those boys on their backs, straddling them and pinning them under her already-large breasts while pinning their legs with a grapevine … pushing her damp pussy against their crotches in the process.
Even though it was great fun grappling with the boys and having them grapple with her, Anna began favoring boxing over wrestling. She liked the way the gloves felt on her hands … and it didn't hurt that her first masturbation experience came years earlier when she once rubbed a laced glove between her legs to clean it off, and felt the first of what would be many tingles of excitement.
She was also excited about Arlen, one of her neighborhood friends who was evolving into something more. Arlen, like Anna, developed physically before many of his classmates, and he discovered early that fighting with Anna – or just watching her fight – heated his loins to their breaking point. And his loins … Arlen was monstrously endowed, and his cock usually hit its peak whenever he laced up the gloves with Anna.
By the time both turned 15, they had bypassed the petting stage and were taking advantage of every opportunity to find private locations and stoke their passion. Often it began with boxing, and Arlen discovered that Anna was at her most passionate when she was punching him, sending blows deep into his maturing body, standing over him when he was on his back, a victim of the onslaught of her fists. In those instances, he watched her huge breasts rise and fall and his cock would expand to those monstrous proportions.
More often than not, Anna would take advantage, not even bothering to take off her sparring gloves before lowering herself on Arlen's talented pole. The fighting itself always made her hot and wet, but fighting – and dominating – Arlen was even more a turn-on, especially when his cock was consistently able to fill her with a seemingly endless supply of ball juice and waste no time in preparing more.
Anna would constantly beat him down, ride him unmercifully to make him orgasm many times inside her, leave her gushing his cum from her cavernous hole, and then finger his ass to get his cock back to its monstrous best. She would then put that finger down Arlen's throat, forcing him to lick off the poo, while she lapped his cum off his stomach and fist-fucked him at the same time … preparing him for a hummer that would leave him at the same time exhausted and praying for more. And more was never a problem where Anna was concerned.
Sometimes, she would bring the 20-ounce training gloves to bed with them, plant her voluptuous backside on Arlen's head and use the pillow-like gloves to lightly jab his monster cock back and forth, like one of those old blowup punching dolls. The punches would drive Arlen crazy with lust, and he would tongue Anna's volcano-hot pussy as deep as he could while Anna went down on his throbbing organ.
When Anna wasn't boxing her boyfriend around – it made her incredibly hot, knowing that she could control him with only her fists – and then riding Alren's member to thunderous orgasms, the two still spent most of their free hours in their circle of long-time friends in the continuation of that long-standing small-town tradition. They all couldn't wait to turn 18 when they could join Midland's bar scene (Anna, of course, never had a problem getting into those places … bouncers took one look and ushered her inside, Arlen in tow).
Their little group was headed to a celebration of one of those 18th birthdays one night at an area country-western honky-tonk, and when they arrived they saw an advertisement for a "ToughWoman" competition on the bar marquee. More than anything, they spotted the "$500 Cash Prize to the Winner" line at the bottom.
They weren't even inside before Arlen and the other guys started egging Anna to enter. One of Arlen's fantasies was to watch Anna box and dominate another woman, and then have passionate sex with the victor.
"You were doing this when those other women were still playing with themselves," said Arlen, who found it hard to hide his growing erection. "You'll kick their asses easy."
Anna was never one to back away from a fight – and besides, she and Arlen hadn't had sex for almost three days. She was horny, and figured there was no better way to work up a good lather than to punch out some strangers, make those women submit to her and make some cash at the same time.
When Anna left the sign-up table, the bar proprietor had a huge grin on his face and a huge bulge in his pants. He knew that his alcohol sales were going through the roof tonight.
Seven other women signed up for the contest, but it became obvious that none had Anna's fighting background. In her first "bout", Anna hit her opponent one time square in the stomach and she quit on the spot, doubled over in the middle of the ring with her arms crossed in front of her pudgy abdomen.
Her second bout was almost as one-sided … it took Anna about 15 seconds to force her foe into a corner and rain lefts and rights to her head. Eventually her opponent turned her back and exited through the ropes, leaving Anna in the finals.
The final bout came against a stocky Hispanic woman who appeared to have some martial-arts training, and at least looked the part as she took a classic boxing stance. But she was still no match for a sexually turned-on Anna, whose crazed lust after a couple of bouts – and an excruciating few hours without Arlen's hot cum inside her – created an unexpected bonus for the bar patrons' enjoyment.
It only took Anna a few body punches to send her opponent reeling in her corner, where Anna draped her over the ropes and quickly stripped her down to gloves and boots. A roundhouse right fractured the Hispanic fighter's nose and caused blood to gush down her naked chest, and Anna began raining uppercuts into that chest that caused little blood droplets to go flying into the air at every bounce of the rapidly-swelling boobs.
When Anna's gloves were suitably covered with blood, she used one glove to form a bloody letter "A" on the Hispanic's forehead. "That means you're mine," Anna whispered into her ear. "You bear the scarlet letter (remembering a story she once read in childhood), and now you must be punished for what it represents."
That's when Anna moved her attack south, at first lightly punching her opponent's bushy mound and gradually stepping up the attack until her foe screamed for mercy. The screams made Anna even more hot and she launched a big swinging uppercut that seemed to go halfway into the pussy canal.
Anna stopped punching but didn't stop abusing, taking one of her gloved thumbs and ramming it into the Hispanic's clit, causing both women to flow pussy juice heavily. Anna leaned against her now-shuddering foe and squeezed, seemingly trying to steal the last of the Hispanic's juices, as contest organizers finally entered the ring and separated the two.
Anna quickly grabbed the $500 check and Arlen, heading for the door (and figuring they may not make it past the car seat before her pussy enveloped his cock and consumed his orgasm that she knew wasn't far off). But a leisure-suited man stopped them on the way outside.
Eddie Hopkins had been watching all the action, scouting for "hotties" to book on foxy boxing cards that he was promoting at area strip clubs. He wasn't expecting anything unusual, before he saw Anna head to the ring for her first bout. He started paying close attention (Anna had that effect on most of the male species), and when he saw that she could fight, dollar signs rolled up in his eyes.
"My lady, I want to make you a business proposition," he said.
Even though naïve in many ways of the world, Anna knew enough to be cautious with such a proposition. But Eddie was persistent, and eventually had both Anna and Arlen hanging on every word. He promised her he'd make her a famous boxer, and would take her to a world championship and all the glory that went along with that.
And they would do all that in Las Vegas.
Anna jumped at the idea – the chance to leave Midland in the rear-view mirror and go to one of the world's most glamorous cities, to actually make money while fighting and perpetuating her prurient desires, and to have Arlen in tow to dominate after all her bouts. The thought was enough to give Anna's insides a shiver.
The next few days went by quickly. When Anna and Arlen weren't making preparations to blow town, she was doing a lot of blowing of her own. Maybe it was the excitement of the upcoming journey, but the lust between the two reached even higher levels. Anna proceeded to dominate Arlen like never before, sucking his cock regularly to the point of orgasm and then demanding he ram his straining member into her ass over and over until she could hold no more of his cum.
She would then reverse roles, strapping on a dildo and ruthlessly attacking Arlen's ass while at the same time reaching around and giving Arlen a violent hand job. Arlen came over and over, spewing hot white cum all over Anna's hands, and Anna would gleefully lick it off like a popsicle while continuing to rear-bang Arlen with her own rubber cock, Arlen's poop running dirty brown rivers down his thighs.
Exhausted from their week but buoyed by thoughts of the future, Anna and Arlen pulled out of Midland in Arlen's pick-up two days later and headed west. So long, small town. Hello, Sin City. The thought of what lay ahead was too much for both of them, and they had to slow down for a couple of minutes until Anna was able to straddle Arlen, mounting him and pounding his cock almost through the driver's seat. Fortunately, the road didn't have much traffic, and their intertwined bodies rode off into the sunset.

As far back as she could remember, Alia always remembered being angry at something.
Maybe that's a trait common to world boxing champions, but Alia's anger was different. Where most fighters point their anger at an opponent, Alia's anger was focused on many areas as she walked the streets of her Boston hometown.
The world never gave me a break, Alia thought. Why shouldn't I be pissed off?
Boxing had actually saved her from a life of self-destruction, a downward spiral that started in college when a long-time relationship ended badly – her former lover ditched her for a big-chested blond bimbo working in one of the local college hangout bars.
The breakup affected her much more than she would admit. For much of her New England college days, she was a simmering cauldron who would often explode in physical confrontations with people who approached her.
And they would approach her, especially the males. Her medium-length dark hair framed a chiseled and attractive face, and her eyes were the kind of dark orbs that men could get lost in. Her olive skin was a hereditary gift from her parents, who emigrated from Thailand. It didn't hurt that her body was toned, the result of regular appearances at the gym's weight area where she would attempt to work out her frustrations – always with little success.
She had partners during that time, many of them, in fact. But all were nothing but sex objects, pseudo-boyfriends to be used and abused and cast aside. Her pussy inferno would too quickly drain their hot cum, leaving them flaccid (few men could stay with Alia in a fuck contest, and even fewer could string enough orgasms and spurt enough cum to satiate her thirst for hot, physical, nasty sex). Their inability to return to rock-hard – even with a sexual dynamo like Alia – would arouse her anger all over again … sometimes, she would hit her lovers, beating them senseless with hands that she already knew were fast and powerful, such was her frustration with them not satisfying her.
Her inability to sustain a relationship added more to her anger at life.
One day at the gym, Alia was resting after a particularly hard workout, and was confronted by one of the gym's lesbian members who was upset at Alia's callous use of her brother. "I need to teach you a lesson on how to treat people," the lesbian said, "and I think I'll do it in the boxing ring where I can beat on you to my heart's desire and have some fun doing it."
Alia had never really boxed. She'd punched the heavy bag some as a stress relief, but that was the extent of her fighting background. She barely knew how to put on the gloves and attach the Velcro fasteners, but when she did a strange feeling came over her … a feeling of confidence, a feeling of power. The gloves, warm white leather ones with the big cuffs that went halfway down the forearms, felt sexy on her hands. A tingling sensation started deep in the pit of her stomach when she climbed through the ring ropes for the very first time and faced the lesbian tormenter who was painfully unaware of the beast she was about to unleash.
All those months and years of anger, resentment, rage and frustrated emotions welled up inside her and were released through Alia's flying fists, as she shocked even herself with her unexpected ferocity. It took her only minutes to pound her opponent into oblivion … blackening both her eyes, turning her nose into a flattened mess and bloodying both lips, and using her tits as targets for wildly-swinging punches.
But what really excited Alia was when she'd hit the bigger woman in her soft belly, watching her big white gloves disappear deep into her opponent's abdomen and standing back to watch her foe clutch her stomach and retch in the middle of the ring.
Her last volley of punches left her beaten opponent spread-eagled in the middle of the canvas, and in a fit of ecstasy she ripped off her workout gear and rammed her already-flowing pussy into her vanquished foe's mouth.
The feeling was incredible … her cunt juices mixing with the lesbian's watering mouth and her tongue which soon began probing deeply into her well-muscled cavity. Her thrusts ripped the sides of her foe's mouth, and the warm blood mixed with her juices and made her even warmer … and wetter.
She looked down at eyes that were filled with terror, real fear that drowning or suffocation might be coming quickly, and that look excited Alia even more. She had no idea that she could dominate someone else so completely, so thoroughly, and the thought turned on an even more powerful torrent of love juice and made her thrust even harder.
Without missing a beat, Alia turned around. She kept her now-sloppy clit firmly on the lesbian's face and mouth, but could now dominate her foe's body. She tore off what remained of her opponent's workout gear, and over and over she pounded her fists deep into that exposed abdomen, causing screams that echoed through the wetness of her crotch and caused her to come all over again. The deep pain made her now-useless foe piss herself, and Alia grabbed the lesbian's crotch and rubbed the combination of pussy juice and piss over her foe's body.
Alia then went to work on her knocked-out foe's hairy pussy, at first beating it with her still-gloved hands and then furiously rubbing with a gloved thumb until she showed signs of regaining consciousness. The beatings caused juice to fly from her mound and poop to gush wetly from her ass and pool below her on the canvas, from where Alia almost appeared to be beating it back into each of her body cavities.
All that time, Alia continued to ride her face and pound her cock until neither could take much more, their joint screams accompanying a final stream that ran from both of their white-hot boxes.
Gym workers had to haul the lesbian out of the ring, a beaten mess physically and a smelly, soaked wreck on top and at the bottom. Alia stood and watched, her chest heaving, feeling short of breath … and also feeling her nipples stay rock-hard. Her juices continued to flow down both legs as she continued her uncontrollable orgasms.
Stripping her gloves quickly and not even bothering to shower, Alia threw on fresh sweats (her others were still dripping), left quickly, went to the nearest college bar that she knew, grabbed the least-ugly male in the place and dragged him into the men's room. She jerked off his pants, stripped her gym gear in one motion (even her new sweats were already soaked with the sweet aromas of sweat and pussy juice) and vigorously mounted her shocked but willing male partner.
The sex was mind-blowing, and not just because her plaything was orgasming over and over during their rough play. Alia had never experienced anything like it, and she knew her excitement stemmed from the beating she had just administered. And she wanted more of that feeling – later. Right now she wanted more of this man's warm ball juice shooting up into her like a Water Pik, hitting every one of her taut vaginal muscles and sending ripples of pleasure through every nerve in her body.
She then dragged him into a toilet stall, seated herself and wrapped her strong legs around his upper thighs, drawing him into her and putting her in a position to control the thrusts. She began alternately clinching and relaxing her legs, forcing him to go in and out and pound her wet box whether he wanted to or not, and at the same time put those vaginal muscles to work on his engorged cock.
Her rippling vagina left her male partner with the odd sensation of incredible arousal and total helplessness, and he became little more than Alia's rag doll/sex toy as she reached a feverish pumping pace. Finally he passed out after one last thunderous shot of cum – one that Alia thought was probably the young man's greatest ever – and as his now limp body slid to the floor, Alia sat and watched his steaming juice pour from her hole and down the toilet.
Alia hurried home and thought about the last few hours. What was it that sent her passion through the roof? She'd had plenty of guys, but none that felt like that. And it wasn't that this guy was anything special … far from it. He was a total stranger.
It was the boxing.
The feeling of dominating someone with fists alone, beating someone so badly that they would either cower at her feet begging her to stop, or lie unconscious from nothing more than her gloved hands. The feeling was indescribable, and all of her dreams that night – all of them exceedingly wet ones – revolved around the ring, the ropes and everything that happened between them.
She began taking boxing lessons from a trainer at one of the local gyms, and it didn't take long before she turned pro and started covering her college costs through her passion. She didn't make much money in those early preliminary bouts, but she was smart enough to have people place heavy bets on her when she felt she could win – which was most of the time.
She didn't mind putting in the work … in fact, she lived for the hours she could spend in the gym, constantly finding ways to improve. Her workout routine was the envy of the rest of the gym fighters, both male and female, and she had no shortage of male sparring partners who thought they were man enough to control this wildcat while getting in some cheap feel-ups in the clinches.
The men who gave her the best sparring competition in the ring usually wound up in her bed, and her dominance there also carried over. She liked nothing better than to pound a man's body at the gym, bruising and beating him with a savage attack, and shortly afterward sucking him limp, giving a hand job to bring his cock back to life and milking him again with her rippling pussy muscles. Her partners would be so drained that they wouldn't make an appearance at the gym the next day, but not Alia. She was always ready for more … more boxing, more beatings, more dominant lovemaking.
Soon, most of the women boxers in New England were no match for her, and she sent a steady stream of lesser fighters to the hospital with an assortment of injuries – cracked ribs, ruptured spleens and bruised kidneys. Her body assaults were vicious, cruel and violent … and she liked them more and more. Often, when an opponent was caught in a corner with her head fully exposed, Alia disdained that attack and chose instead to brutally beat her foe's body … she loved the feeling when an uppercut sliced through an opponent's defenses and crushed her body cavity. And when that opponent was headed to the canvas, Alia would often catch her, hang her on the ropes by her now-useless arms and continue assaulting her softening belly. It made her incredibly hot and wet … and frightened other fighters.
Many of the region's better fighters avoided her as long as possible. Such was her growing reputation as a fighter … and a white-hot sexual dynamo that thought nothing of stealing other fighters' boyfriends for her pleasure – just because she could. After her bouts, when she would make her unwitting foes pay in blood for her own sexual excitement, she needed a man badly, and never struggled to find takers.
"Nothing like shattering a woman's teeth to get me in the mood afterwards," she would tell herself.
As her fighting paychecks increased, and her side bets became more and more profitable, she was able to pay a trainer to provide personal attention. More importantly, she enlisted the services of a manager who could get her into "real" fights … main events on smaller cards, and featured undercard bouts on some of New England's major boxing events. There, the best fighters couldn't avoid her, and she began to realize she was VERY good at this.
The boxing public was also starting to take notice of the now-nationally-ranked welterweight sensation, one who didn't hesitate to take fights against bigger fighters. It reached the point that size differential didn't matter … in fact, Alia almost preferred it that way, since bigger boxers gave her a bigger target for her deadly body assault.
One of those bigger fighters, and one that could no longer ignore Alia's rise to prominence, was current East Coast champion Ludmilla Drago. Part of the famed Drago fighting family, Ludmilla was an enigma … no one knew much about her background except that she was from Eastern Europe, and no one knew her real age – rumors were she was much older than her listed 35. Those who followed her did know that she never changed much from the typical third-world European woman … never shaving her pussy or under her arms, infrequent bathing, bad teeth, an overall unkempt, nasty appearance.
But she had reigned supreme for over a decade, and what challengers she had were dispatched as Ludmilla used her experience and size advantage to overwhelm most competitors.
But Ludmilla hadn't fought much in the past couple of years, and was badly out of shape – a fact that would become apparent, since she insisted that all challenges be nude fights, only boots and 8-ounce gloves, and her soft body would become an almost-obsessed focus for Alia.
A public outcry finally forced Ludmilla into agreeing to a bout with her younger, healthier and unquestionably hotter adversary, but in her closed-in world Ludmilla was still supremely confident that she would add Alia to her list of vanquished foes. Her picture of Alia was barely above that of a session boxer or "foxy boxer," all tits and ass and powder-puff punches.
"How can this little, pretty girl defeat me?" Ludmilla said in her heavy accent at a press conference. "She is just a little cunt. You all like her because she is attractive, but she cannot fight like me. I will break her, who what I like with her and stand over her victorious, and you will all again honor the great Ludmilla!"
Alia wasn't one for the trash-talking. She preferred to let her actions speak for her … not that there wasn't plenty of trash in those actions.
She wasn't above illegal tactics both before a fight and during a fight … after all, that pent-up anger still seethes below the surface. Knees to the crotch, the odd elbow across the eye brow to rip her opponents' skin open, raking glove laces across the nipples, punches below the waist, head butts, hooking her opponent on the ropes and pounding away … all were fair game once between the ropes. She would not use such tactics against a "clean" opponent – she had too much respect for the sport. But if a foe berated her, or Alia felt one was unworthy of her time and talents – the "loud-mouth model" syndrome –, she would deliver a lesson in pain in the most nasty and unfair ways once they got between the ropes.
But Alia also took every opportunity to swing things her way before fights. Her favorite ploy was sneaking in weighted gloves, which would allow her to do terrible damage to her foes. But she was also not above using sex to reach her goals – offering her favors to promoters to curry their favor and get better fights and bigger paychecks, and bedding and boffing referees to sway them should she need an extra advantage in a close fight. Alia's talented pussy was just as much a weapon as her talented fists.
But such outside measures wouldn't be necessary this time, since she knew that Ludmilla's soft body would be no match for her terrible assaults. Not that she wasn't going to brutalize Ludmilla – far from it, she planned to make an example of her, the only question was to what extent – but she didn't need the added advantage.
When fight night came, Alia was a bundle of nerves despite knowing that she would win easily. That was just part of her make-up, and as she sat in the dressing room wearing only her crimson gloves and white boots, she pictured the fight in her mind's eye. The thought of the horrific, dominant beating she was about to deliver to Ludmilla made her hot, and she began rubbing the thumb of her glove across her now-throbbing mound. Her almost-instant eruption poured juices down her legs – just before the knock at the door indicating fight time – and she decided no clean-up was necessary. She wanted Ludmilla to smell her excitement as much as possible when the two met at mid-ring.
+++++++
The accounts of the one-sided fight in the next day's newspapers and television reports failed to adequately describe the cruelty, the pain and the dominance that Alia dispensed on the now-former champion. Suffice to say that ringside doctors resorted to CPR to get Ludmilla's heart restarted and to get air into lungs surrounded by at least a dozen broken ribs. Her internal organs were all damaged and bruised, and the coma in which she lay at a local hospital was expected to last indefinitely.
Ringside onlookers had never seen such savagery.
Ludmilla had attempted to intimidate Alia by spiking her blonde hair high on her head, making her look even larger than the 30 pound-advantage she already held. In a way, though, that only added to the visually-striking contrast between the fighters … one an over-the-hill, out-of-shape hanger-on … the other a youthful, healthy, toned, nubile and hot vixen, an embodiment of forged steel and sex appeal.
It was a contrast obvious to all … except to Ludmilla's corner crew.
"She is just a little girly girl," her corner screamed in Ludmilla's ear. "She cannot hurt you … she is weak. Look at her … she cannot stand up to one such as you." Ludmilla nodded and pounded her gloves together with a loud thwwappp, a noise that intimidated opponents many years ago … but now only looked like a last desperate act to build her own confidence.
It turned out that hitting her gloves together was one of the few times her fists made clean contact against anything all night. Alia pounded Ludmilla unmercifully right from the opening bell, alternating her attack from lefts and rights to the European's spiked head and then going down low to her flabby abdomen – and occasionally lower to Ludmilla's unkempt bush.
Alia could have knocked Ludmilla out in the first round, but that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to punish Ludmilla, dominate her, hurt her badly, show the world what a REAL champion can do. So she made the bout last the full 10 brutal rounds, to the point that Ludmilla was unresponsive and even Alia couldn't pick her up as she had several times, draping her on the ropes and firing uppercuts almost from canvas level deep into her belly, hurting her terribly. Three times at the end of rounds, instead of sitting on her stool, Ludmilla laid her sore stomach on the stool while she vomited up bile and blood from the intense pain.
Ludmilla tried to unload punches in the first round, but Alia was far too fast and was able to block or dodge every one while keeping herself in range to do damage. It didn't take long for Ludmilla's blows, the ones she had used to dispatch previous opponents, to lose all of their force, and Alia was free to continue her onslaught unabated.
At one point in the third round, Alia stood in the middle of the ring with gloves on her hips, displaying her naked and wide-open body and daring Ludmilla to hit her. Most of the fading champ's strength was gone, but she summoned up all her will and hit Alia in the abdomen with a left-right combination. Alia never flinched, barely felt the punch. Ludmilla then began hitting Alia's crotch over and over with her own uppercuts, and Alia's only reactions – other than watching her pussy juices fly with each punch – was to at first smile at Ludmilla's inability to hurt her, and then to moan as the punches brought her to another orgasm.
"She is like a piece of iron," Ludmilla told her confused corner when she flopped back on her stool after the third round. "I don't understand … by this time, my opponents are devastated, cowering in a corner and begging for mercy. This one, this little brunette … "
The onslaught continued over rounds four and five, with all of Ludmilla's punches either sailing over a ducking Alia and leaving her open for untold body abuse, or bouncing harmlessly off Alia's supple body. Either way, Alia was counter-punching Ludmilla at will, but each time it appeared that Ludmilla was about to go down – or give up – Alia would clinch her into the ropes, keeping her upright and not allowing her to end the fight before the soon-to-be new champion was ready.
When Alia left her corner for the sixth round – after hotly rubbing her between-the-legs volcano on the stool for the entire break between rounds – she walked across the ring and stood in front of Ludmilla, who was leaning on her corner ropes unable to focus, let alone defend herself. She looked like death standing.
"Still think I'm a cunt," Alia said as she pounded Ludmilla's guts yet again. "Still think I'm just a pretty thing that can't fight," she said as her left hook bounced off the side of Ludmilla's blood-covered head. "You're too old, slow and fat, bitch," she said as her straight right hand crushed Ludmilla's jaw, splitting her brutally-swollen lips once again and knocking what few teeth she still had flying out of the ring.
The entire sixth round was conducted in Ludmilla's corner as Alia continued to drill the European with hard lefts and rights, alternating between her disfigured face and a body that was past red and bruised and was showing obvious signs of severe internal bleeding. Such was the damage that Anna's fists were doing.
When the bell rang to end the seventh, all Ludmilla's corner needed to do was place the stool on the canvas … since Ludmilla had never moved after standing to start the round. For a few seconds, Alia stood over Ludmilla, and now things were totally reversed from the fight's beginning. Now it was Alia who appeared bigger and stronger, as her gloves hung at her sides, inches away from inflicting more damage and framing her white-hot pussy that was roaring with the thrill of cruelly dominating an opponent.
As she walked away, showing her perfect backside to Ludmilla's corner, the European began to weep. "I'm quitting," she told her corner. "I cannot take any more … I have never felt such pain. She is too good, too strong, too fast, too … young … I don't know what she will do to me if I don't stop now."
"You CANNOT quit," her corner yelled. "It would be an embarrassment to your country, to all of us, to quit against this little American girl. All you have to do is land one punch and she will fold up. Just look at her."
Her corner was obviously looking through hope-colored glasses. Alia was still as fresh as when she started … maybe even more so. Hurting badly and dominating an opponent was her biggest thrill, and always gave her an adrenaline rush. That's why her punches were just as brutal later in fights as the first ones she threw, and had more effect as her foes wore down.
Somehow, Ludmilla's corner got her up for the eighth round, and what followed were two more rounds of torture courtesy of Alia's fists. At one point she was a monotone, banging Ludmilla's badly-injured abdomen with alternating lefts and rights that almost appeared set to music … one, two, BANG, one, two, BANG, one, two, BANG, as her hands buried deep into Ludmilla's gut.
When Ludmilla tried to go down, Alia grabbed her and hung her arms over the corner ropes, making a human turnbuckle. Alia would hit her a few times, and then dance back, waving her arms over her head to show the crowd how much she was in control. Ludmilla would just hang there, not able to even untangle her useless arms from the ropes, and wait for the beating to resume.
"Who's the champ," Alia screamed as she jabbed a visionless face, Ludmilla's eyes long since swollen shut. "You have never even imagined anyone as good as me! I'm going to make sure you never waste my time again, you fat cunt!"
While Ludmilla hung on the ropes, Alia stripped off her left glove and rammed her fist up the European's wet and stinky pussy, fisting her cruelly while continuing to punch Ludmilla's red gut with her right hand. It almost felt like her two fists were meeting and Ludmilla's insides just happened to be in the way, and Alia felt the mixture of blood and cunt juice coating her hand as she twisted it around inside Ludmilla's mound.
She removed her hand, but only momentarily before ramming it in again, and started rhythmically fist-fucking her adversarial pussy. The steady and audible "squish, squish, squish" made ringside fans blush and made Alia soak herself all over again. When she removed her fist for good, she rubbed it in Ludmilla's face and demanded that the European lick it clean, which she did as much as possible in her semi-conscious state.
After the ninth round, Ludmilla's corner crew had to drag her spread-eagled by the arms, and Alia had another twinge of excitement as she watched. With this being the final round, Alia knew it was time for one more moment of dominance.
When the two met at mid-ring – Ludmilla's corner had to shove her in the right direction since her vision and her will was gone – Alia grabbed her in a clinch and whispered in her ear.
"You only think you're in pain now," she said. "You may not survive these last three minutes … I may decide to kill you right here. If you do live, I want you to remember that if I ever see you around my ring again, or I ever hear that you had one unkind word about me, I will find you and kill you with my fists just for my pleasure."
Alia didn't know if Ludmilla understood what she said, but she got her message across with her fists, breaking the clinch and beginning a horrific last-round pounding of the meat bag that used to be a human being. Her laces ripped open big gashes on Ludmilla's face and body, and her follow-up punches splashed blood all over those watching in horror at ringside. A combination of piss, blood, used-up cum and pussy juice ran down Ludmilla's thighs and calves.
Ludmilla stumbled and fell over the ropes face-first, her head lolling outside the ring and pointing out to the crowd as blood flowed in rivers over the table next to the ring. Alia used the opportunity, with Ludmilla's back to her, to pound Ludmilla's sides with huge hooks, destroying her kidneys and making her cough up blood, and rubbing her snatch against Ludmilla's broad ass – one of the few body parts Alia hadn't abused.
Just before the final bell would have sounded – Alia had a highly-functional clock in her mind, and knew exactly when to make her final move – she swung Ludmilla's lifeless body around, yelled "good night, comrade," and unleashed a huge left hand, the impact of which caved in the right side of Ludmilla's face completely, causing her eyes to roll around as she slammed head-first into the canvas, not moving a muscle. That's when the ringside medical personnel came through the ropes, effectively ending the fight.
The pictures the next day showed Alia standing over Ludmilla's beaten body even as doctors tended to the beaten ex-champ, raising her gloves in complete victory and radiating a sensual heat that was palpable even in photos.
Alia hurriedly and angrily answered reporter's questions, having more pressing things (specifically, a fiery ache in her loins) to take care of. "How dare you people send such a weak opponent into a slaughter against me?" she said. "A champion like me deserves better competition than this old worn-out hag. I'm ready to fight anyone … anywhere … right now."
At that last statement, she spied Ludmilla's corner man – maybe her Latin lover, Alia thought – standing close by, grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out of the arena and into a waiting limousine. A fitting prize, she thought, for her labors, and the two spent the night's remaining hours in wildly passionate attacks on each other's body, with Alia not tired at all from 10 rounds of aerobic workout. Instead, she was invigorated, and anxious to dominate yet another part of Ludmilla by raping her corner man.
And again, just like the bout she'd just finished, Alia wanted this to last a long time, too. But she had to pace herself – she would have been waaaaayyyyyy too much for him if she hadn't – until she had her overnight lover's used-up body delivered back to Ludmilla's camp the next morning, his ball sac drained and flat.
She was now a champion, and she figured that she deserved this. Besides, she gave Ludmilla's corner man a night of passion for a lifetime, one of which he still tells stories to his comrades.
Word spread quickly through the boxing community that Alia's talents were even greater than her potential foes feared. Few hit harder than her, but what was worse is that opponents rarely saw her punches before they landed, such was the speed of her hard and fast hands … lethal weapons in every sense of the word.
She reigned undisputed on the East Coast, with only the unknowing and the overly-confident being foolish enough to enter the ring with her, and all coming out the same way – horizontal, on a stretcher, beaten and broken. Soon Alia had no competition daring enough to face her, and she began to look outside her East Coast sphere of operation.
There was a big, beautiful world out there just waiting for her to dominate, and she figured that heading west would be a good place to start. The thoughts of what may lie ahead, past where the sun was setting, were enough to make her wet all over again.

It was a great party (but, then again, aren't all parties in Las Vegas pretty great?) … until Anna showed her ass and Alia had to take matters into her own powerful hands.
It seemed like every member of the Vegas boxing world – and, by extension, the West Coast boxing community – was on hand at the Orleans Casino penthouse. There was nothing in particular to celebrate, except for the sport's continued success in bringing top-flight bouts to the "jewel of the desert."
Alia watched the party action closely. It was her first time at one of these gatherings, and she stayed on the periphery, picking up information here and there, determining who the power players were and who were only hangers-on. Occasionally, she'd strike up a conversation with one of the power brokers. Alia always made a great first impression, but tonight – dressed to kill in a slinky black dress – was a night to lay the groundwork for future fights.
She'd only been in Vegas for three weeks, having relocated from the Boston area when she ran out of East Coast opponents willing to step in the ring and be dominated by her. The New England-area fighters saw first-hand what she was capable of doing in her title fight against Ludmilla Drago – who remained in a coma for over three weeks and still hadn't left the hospital – and hid in the shadows when it came time for Alia's first title defense.
She didn't have any bouts set up out West yet, but her brief conversations with promoters and officials at the party produced some excellent prospects. It didn't hurt that Alia made sure to stand close enough to give those same promoters a good look at the package, and "accidentally" brushed against each with a hand or a thigh.
Even though she hadn't seen any ring action other than in the gym, she did get the opportunity to watch other fighters on the city's frequent professional cards. She attended most of them incognito, wearing a hooded shirt and attempting to blend into the background (as much as someone like Alia could). And she was less than impressed with what she saw in most of the bouts.
Alia also couldn't figure out all the fuss over one fighter, a big blonde named Anna something. She had seen the big-haired and big-bosomed Anna fight some tomato can with tits in one preliminary bout, and it didn't take much for Anna to hammer out a technical-knockout win.
When the announcer said after the fight that Anna's record had improved to 8-0, Alia was shocked. She couldn't imagine this overweight blond winning eight straight against anyone, but the fans in attendance were yelling like Anna had just won a world title.
"It doesn't take much to impress people out here," Alia said under her breath.
Anna was playing to her growing numbers of fans, teasing them by opening and closing her short-cut robe and showing her voluptuous chest encased in a way-too-small white bikini top. A layer of belly fat hung over her bikini bottom, and Alia was privately disgusted at the scene – she always looked down on people who didn't honor their own bodies … even if they couldn't match up to her toned hardness, they should at least have some pride, especially if you were a fighter and flaunting yourself in public.
The fans didn't care. All they saw was blond hair, big tits and big, swaying hips as Anna sashayed around the ring, gloves in the air after another easy win. Close behind was Eddie, whose pockets were steadily being lined as Anna's success and notoriety grew, and Arlen, whose jeans were stretched to the breaking point just from watching Anna dispatch another awful foe.
Arlen and Anna had gotten married at a Vegas quickie chapel right after Anna's first fight, with Eddie giving the bride away. It was part of Anna's plan … now married, she could dominate Arlen even more severely and could take his cock and his cum anytime she wanted. And, Anna thought, other women would think twice about seducing Arlen, lest they face her fists.
Eddie's mind during the wedding wasn't on the nuptials, or on the way-too-tight dress that Anna wore. Instead, it was on how he was going to "sell" Anna to the world. He solved that problem by hiring Dan Steele, a local sports writer who was once very well known in Vegas boxing circles – and now one that had a problem holding a regular job amid the booze, gambling and picking the wrong women.
Still, he knew that Dan had the contacts in the media to spread the word about Eddie's newest protégé, and had him kick the public relations machine into high gear.
The biggest key to generating publicity, besides the fact that Anna's physical appearance was ready-made for Vegas, was having some measure of success between the ropes. That became Eddie's department.
Anna eventually ran through seven more hand-picked opponents with little trouble. Occasionally, one of those foes would almost accidentally dig a punch deep into Anna's soft belly, but she was strong enough to wrap her opponent in a virtual bearhug – her tits effectively muffling a further body assault – until she could fully recover. It was one of the few things she had learned about defense … the rest of her skill level was confined to roundhouse punching.
Eddie knew this … knew that Anna was a "club" fighter only. Sure, she could more than hold her own in her neighborhood brawls back in Texas, and could handle herself well enough to win those "Toughwoman" contests. But she was far from skilled enough to be truly successful on the professional level. She had the killer combination of a glass jaw and a powder-puff punch – at least, as compared to the professional elite – despite her large build.
Eddie also knew that she was gaining weight … what used to be an hourglass figure was slowly expanding in all directions. And she and Arlen were becoming more ravenous all the time … Eddie could tell that the two had been banging each other hammer and tongs even on nights before a fight. But Anna was his meal-ticket.
That's why he lined her up with opponents barely worthy of a professional license, and on occasion would slip some side cash to their trainers to get them to slack off on their own fighters' preparations. Once, against an opponent who might have had a chance to snap Anna's streak, Eddie slipped the boxer herself a few hundred, and ironically she showed little defense as Anna pounded her to an early knockout.
Anna didn't know and didn't realize what was happening … in fact, she actually thought she was a prodigy, a chosen one, one destined for boxing greatness, and Dan's ability to get her name and photo in the papers only fueled her delusion. And that attitude came through big-time in her post-bout celebration on the night that Alia was in the audience.
Alia was almost sickened by the brazen display, but she quickly realized that, if this was among the best that the West Coast could offer, she could dominate here just like she had back home. Then the whole country would be hers … chances to impose her will from coast to coast, to humiliate her opponents and dominate their male partners unburdened by geography.
The most brutally dominant fighter as far as she could imagine … the thought alone was enough to make her soaking wet, and she was stroking her throbbing crotch all the way back to her hotel. When she arrived there – and before she used her heavy-duty vibrator to induce a thunderous orgasm – she found a party invitation slipped under her door. It was for the next night, and at the time Alia didn't realize that her attendance would change her life in a big way.
+++++++
The energy level at the Orleans Hotel and at the party were both at a high level before Anna showed up with Arlen, Eddie and Dan in tow. Eddie insisted that Anna wear something that would catch the eye of the Vegas boxing crowd, and Anna obliged with a white satin number that left nothing to the imagination – including her out-of-shape belly and her too-prominent hips. She looked more like a Vegas streetwalker than a fighter, but Eddie and Arlen didn't care because Anna's best two assets bounced around almost unencumbered every time she moved. Dan basically kept his distance and began working his many contacts in the room.
Anna and Arlen had obviously been partying before the party, both already half-drunk and their voices at a high volume level, and the party's open bar was their first and most frequent stop. After all, the hurricane drinks at the Orleans were legendary.
Alia was seated at a couch near the bar, talking to a local promoter who was intently interested in her words and her taut body. She couldn't help but notice Anna weaving her way back to the bar and tried to ignore her, but Anna spotted Alia, and a brief light of recognition swept across her face.
"Heyyyy, I know you," Anna screamed, stumbling over to the couch while spilling half of her drink. "I sawwww your pishhher in a magazeeeen. You're that fightuuur from … somewhere."
Alia, disgusted with everything about Anna at that moment, stood up but didn't say anything. She just stared daggers.
"You're suhhpooosed to be real guuuuud," Anna blurted out. "I'm purteee guuuuud, too … ain't got beat yet since I got heeeer."
That will soon change, Alia thought, but she only said, "I think you've had a little too much to drink … why don't you sit here?"
"I donnnn't need to sit … I'm a fighter, and I can hannnnle myself. And I can hannnnle you, cutie," Anna said, jabbing a finger into Alia's chest. Alia grabbed her hand firmly, and repeated, "You really should sit down and shut up."
Arlen and Eddie were standing close by and a drunken Arlen started to intervene, but Eddie held him back. He had an idea what was about to happen, and it would be golden for building public interest for a fight between Anna and whoever this new challenger was. The two stayed on the periphery, watching.
"You donnnn't tell me to shadddup," Anna said. "I'll fight yooouuu right heeeerrr." She gestured to the floor with her hand at that last statement, managing to spill the rest of her drink on Alia.
Alia responded by pushing the big blond away and staring her down, and Anna came back the only way she knew, swinging a looping overhand right aimed at Alia's jaw. Alia's quick reactions would have been easily enough to make Anna miss under the best circumstances, but in Anna's inebriated state her punch looked to be in almost slow-motion to the crowd that had gathered around the two.
Alia easily ducked under the punch, and out of instinct lashed out with two uppercuts directly into Anna's soft belly. Anna crashed to the floor like a rag doll, losing control of body functions – and losing a river of Arlen's cum that she'd milked from his cock just before they left for the party. Arlen's seed quickly soaked through Anna's tight dress both front and back, and photographers jostled to get pictures of the big blond out cold on the floor.
Alia decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat, but in a moment of inspiration – and horniness, since she hadn't had a man to dominate and control for a few days – she grabbed Arlen's arm in a death-lock and headed toward the door.
Nobody stood in her way … in fact, most of the partygoers were only momentarily stunned by the two women's quick altercation, and were well on their way back to partying. The only person near the door was Dan, who only smiled broadly when he caught Alia's eye as she and Arlen swept by. Alia didn't know who he was, but she was struck by what she thought was a look of … understanding, maybe? … on Dan's face.
It took only minutes for a cab to zip Alia and Arlen back to her hotel, but Alia had already straddled Arlen in the back seat, had freed Arlen's impressive cock from his pants and underwear and was sucking it hungrily, taking the first of his many orgasms that night, almost stealing it as she drained his now-throbbing member.
The elevator ride to her room seemed to last an eternity, even though Alia had Arlen pushed against the wall and had his cock vise-gripped between her thighs. As soon as they reached the room, Alia stripped Arlen naked, leaped out of her own dress and literally threw Arlen onto the oversize bed.
The next few hours were intense beyond belief. Alia alternated between riding Arlen unmercifully, screaming in lust and ecstasy as Arlen's cock plunged deeper into her throbbing pussy than any partner she could remember … then bouncing off and roughly punching his stiff member with lefts and rights that slowly built in intensity … following up with a rugged hand job and going down on him once again just before another thunderous cum shot … and eventually grinding her on-fire pussy into Arlen's face and mouth and demanding that he tongue her until she shuddered with delight.
Eventually she dragged Arlen on top of her, grapevined his legs and did most of the pounding as her thrusts sent Arlen's cock deep inside her. As she spasmed with another juicy orgasm, she rammed a finger into Arlen's ass and instantly released another load of cum from Arlen.
She dominated Arlen with every ability she possessed, and Arlen's cock remained a stiff sword, giving Alia more and more opportunities to satisfy herself. She couldn't remember a man who could keep up with her at this level of excitement, and her pleasure reached new heights. But she also wanted to send Arlen back to Anna flaccid and limp, worn out from their thunderous tryst … and besides, her dominant side and her competitive nature made sure she wore out her partner before he wore her down.
That didn't happen for a long time. Every time it appeared Arlen was about to go soft, while Alia was licking a pool of cum from his belly, she would begin punching his guts again and Arlen would spring back to attention, his bouncing cock inviting Alia's mouth back aboard for another ride and another milk-white drenching of her rapidly-tiring throat. At the same time, though, her mound was wiping out Arlen's facial features, and his tongue was thrusting around inside Alia's pussy – reinvigorating her all over again.
Eventually, even Arlen's member began to lose its steam amid the sticky, white pool that once had filled his ball bag, and Arlen finally passed out after Alia rode him to one last orgasm, just as the sun was rising over the Vegas strip.
Alia summoned up all her energy, helped the worn-out Arlen to the elevator and through the lobby, and loaded him into a cab. She had checked his wallet and found his hotel room key, and gave the driver orders to get him to his hotel and make sure he went directly to his room. Even in her exhausted state, Alia knew the sight of Arlen would drive Anna insane … which is exactly what she wanted.
+++++
Eddie and Dan each had an arm swung around their shoulders, and they were walking the unconscious Anna back to her hotel room. The party had effectively ended for her when Alia drilled those two punches under her ribcage, forcing her to vomit up much of her imbibed alcohol and forcing the juices of Arlen's pre-party orgasm out of her pussy. Both bodily fluids fouled her dress, and she was an ugly sight as Eddie and Dan slowly got her inside.
The two literally dragged her to the bed, stripped her (both thinking simultaneously, damn, she's got some great tits, too bad the rest of her body doesn't measure up to those), covered her with a blanket and let her sleep off her drunken and painful state.
Dan wasn't sure of his next step, but Eddie certainly was. Right after all of the party's unexpected commotion, he asked around and found out Alia's identity … only then realizing that the East Coast's premier fighter had just laid out his protégé with only two punches. Instead of being upset, Eddie saw opportunity.
"We're going to stage the biggest women's fight in history," Eddie told Dan. "We get the two of them together … with the attention and the fans that Anna's built up, and what that other little bitch did back East … both of them being real lookers … and after what happened tonight? The people will eat it up."
"I'm not really sure that Anna's ready for this," Dan said. "She hasn't fought a lot of really good boxers yet, and this one's obviously really good … you heard what people were saying about her last East Coast fight before she came out here?"
"I'll take care of all that," Eddie said. "There are ways to even up those kind of odds."
Dan didn't like the sound of that.
A few hours later, Anna began stirring. She couldn't remember much after arriving at the party, but the throbbing pain in her belly told her something had happened. She was still trying to figure out exactly what when Arlen came staggering into the room, clothes barely on and looking like he'd been through his own championship bout – and, in actuality, he had.
Knowing better than to try to lie to Anna as she sat on her bed, Arlen fessed up as to his whereabouts over the last few hours, and Anna was speechless. Eddie shut the door between the bedroom and the rest of the suite before the shouting started, and picked up the phone to place one of the most important calls of his life.
A sleepy-sounding female voice answered on the other end.
"Is this Alia," Eddie asked.
"Yes … who is this," came her response.
"Alia, my name is Eddie Hopkins," he said, "and I am about to make you a very rich and famous woman."
END PART ONE