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Mixed boxing, 190 pictures 1920x1080 (Full HD), completely CFNM, no blood.
Edgar had a long think, and decided he had to move. Everyone laughed at him where he was: he was the fool who got into fights with girls, and invariably got beaten. Sometimes the “rules” they made meant that he had to fight naked, and hundreds of people understood that it aroused him to be defeated by a woman. He had no chance at all of getting a girlfriend if he stayed where people knew him.
He applied for jobs in other areas, saying that he planned to move there, and soon he was accepted for a position a few hundred miles away. All he had to do now was find a flat to rent, and no one need know about his humiliating past.
It went so well. He liked his job, found a decent flat, and got a nice girlfriend, Sharon. After they had been going out with each other for a few months, she moved in with him. Once she had changed the curtains and redecorated the place, she declared it needed a “big sort out”. (You know what they are.) Nothing was spared, and anything that was no longer of use was thrown out. But then Sharon found something that turned Edgar’s new, humdrum life upside down.
“Wow!” she declared. “Boxing gloves! I never knew you fought.”
“I used to a bit,” Edgar stammered in reply, not really wanting to talk about it. “But I gave it up. I don’t know why I kept them. Let’s give them away, shall we?”
“I haven’t had a good fight for ages!” Sharon mused, ignoring him.
“You mean you… ”
“Yeah! At school I was often outside the headmaster’s office for fighting.”
“Yes, well that’s school, isn’t it? A lot of youngsters do that, but they grow out of it.”
“It must have taken me a bit longer than most, then! I’ve had a few lively Saturday nights since then.”
“Really?” asked Edgar, uneasy about where this conversation could go.
“You know the ‘Rose & Crown’ in the High Street? Well I’m still not allowed in there.”
“Why not?” he asked, not wanting to hear the answer, but nevertheless realising he was expected to ask.
“I punched a doorman in the face and he fell backwards over a table. It was really funny! Everyone round the table scattered, and the drinks flew everywhere!”
“Why did you punch the doorman?”
“He said he would let me in free on New Year’s Eve if I did him a certain favour.”
“Ah. When was this?”
“About a year ago. But seeing these gloves has brought back a lot of memories. I used to love a fight! I bet I could beat you.” Sharon concluded, noticing how ill at ease he was.
She put the gloves on, and did a bit of shadow boxing. God she was desirable, doing that, thought Edgar. When she faced him, her breasts swung delightfully, with each “punch”; when she turned away, her bottom danced with every movement. Naturally she knew the effect it had (it was why she did it).
“Let’s go down to the basement now. Among the stuff that people have dumped in there, I remember seeing a pair of gloves that will probably do for me. Let’s go and have a fight!” she finished, winking at him.
“I’m cursed,” thought Edgar. Indeed he was! He had changed his life to get away from fighting women, and the stigma it had given him. Yet here he was, all over again.
“I’ll tell you what I’d really like,” Sharon confided, abruptly finishing her shadow boxing. “It would be a real turn on for me if you were to fight naked.”
“Oh, what a surprise!” he thought bitterly, but of course he couldn’t say, except to ask: “Supposing I don’t want to – fight, or go naked?”
“Would you like a blowjob?”
So there he was, naked, in the basement, complete with boxing gloves. But what a sight she was! Her black leotard clung tightly to her fabulous figure. It was cut over her broad hips, before nipping in almost urgently at the waist, and then filling out to accommodate her full breasts. She insisted on kissing him, to emphasise that this was a “friendly” fight, and then they adopted stances, Edgar breathing heavily at the possibility of another disastrous encounter with a woman; and, even worse, his girlfriend.
Sharon meant business from the start, he could tell. Smiling, she threatened a couple of punches to tease him, and then she was in at him. It was a medium strength right to his stomach. It hurt a little, and Edgar sensed that she was holding back a bit. He punched tentatively with his left; she was on it instantly, blocking it, and she struck him again with her left in the kidney area. It was a swifter blow than the previous one, with a definite hint of menace.
Edgar retreated a little, but she was after him like a cat with a mouse, hitting him right and left again in his middle, yet more powerfully. It was painful for him to breathe now, and he felt himself slowing down.
The old tactic never fails, Sharon thought with satisfaction. Hit them in the middle, make their stomach and ribs ache, then set about them good and proper!
Edgar’s girlfriend now socked him in the face. She wasn’t holding back at all now, and her right cross nearly had him over. His head jerked violently to his left in reaction, while he struggled to keep his balance. “Must fight back,” he thought, swinging his left at her. But, lightning in her reaction, she met it and repelled it like a pro.
Sharon’s right fist crashed into his face a second time, angling in like a deceptive missile. It bludgeoned his jaw and had him reeling momentarily, so she enhanced her ascendency with a left cross, hammering his other jaw.
Her punches were unrelenting now, as a right hook ploughed into his battered left jaw. Stunned as he was, Edgar noticed that she was smiling all the time. There was no rage or apparent determination – this was a girl “having fun”, for God’s sake! Her fist earned her a yelp from him as well, which gratified her.
She punched him in the mouth. Her bullet-straight left smacked against his lips. Bewildered, Edgar found the pain in his stomach, ribs, both jaws and now his mouth overwhelming, and a mental shutter came down. He lost control, then consciousness, and sank to the floor.
He came round (more or less) in seconds, to see his girlfriend celebrating his demise at her hands – literally. Humiliated, all over again! He lay there, and resented Sharon, arms aloft and doing an early victory lap. If he could channel that resentment, he might yet be able to restore some personal pride.
Sharon was thinking similarly. She wanted some competition, so she gently taunted him as he got up.
“I did it, I knocked you out!” she crowed. “What’s it like, getting decked by your girlfriend?”
She danced around him, pretend-jabbing, and he put his guard up. He cursed her impudent smile, and longed to be able to wipe it off her face. She struck expansively with her right, and he warded it off with both arms; but it was a feint. The real blow came as he was still congratulating himself on his defence. It was her left foot under his balls.
It wasn’t that hard though, and it startled him more than it hurt him. It was all part of goading him to fight harder. After defending himself from a right from her, still wearing that infuriating smile, he lashed out with his right, and she blocked it. However, he warded off a return right from her.
It began to give him confidence, and he swung a right hook, but she leant back out of the way. As he was following through, she hooked his neck in the crook of her left arm, and kneed him in the balls. It had about the same force as her previous kick, and as he backed off following it, she jabbed him sharply on the chin with her right. In return, he caught her with a glancing blow from his right.
Emboldened that he had at last made contact, Edgar fired an uppercut. He almost over-balanced though, because it went harmlessly into the ether, as Sharon darted out of its path.
“What a good idea!” she jibed, smashing his chin with an uppercut of her own. Next she banged her right into his chest, before powering a superb left cross at his chin. He floundered, close to panic, so she completed the attack with a right cross. It brought him to his knees, so she hit him with a left. His head was level with her stomach, and her punch appeared to grow out of the gentle curve of her bosom, wobbling slightly a few inches from him. As he fell onto his back, he dreamily thought how incongruous it was that such femininity could produce such brutality.
Nor did the brutality stop. Once he fell, Sharon was on him. She punched him on the nose. She sat on his middle (teasing his cock with her buttocks) and punched him on the jaw. When his body went limp, she briefly knelt on his face to emphasise her dominance, before jumping up and once again celebrating. She strutted around, arms raised, and waited for Edgar to recover partially.
“You want some more?” she asked, as he stirred.
What had happened to his gentle girlfriend? He knew her as someone who liked to go shopping for a day – a whole day! – with other girls, giggling and gossiping. She enjoyed trying on dresses and “doing a twirl” for the appreciation of the company. She’d stink the place out, trying on perfumes. Yet here she now was, fighting like an experienced pugilist, and relishing it!
She stood over him, and he noticed her earlier smile had gone. She was grinning now, no doubt in anticipation of laying into him once more. What could he do? Give up? Somehow she wasn’t acting as if she’d accept that. Anyway, he didn’t want to. He was sick of her mocking him, laughing at him, and belittling him. He’d teach her a lesson!
He got up and glared at Sharon, putting his fists up. She dared him to hit her, and he thought, “I will, when I get the chance.” But he didn’t. She fired a right cross. It soared over his tardy defence and struck tellingly on his chin. As before, she followed up with a mirror image punch with her left.
Edgar’s poor chin! His mouth gaped open in pain, and he lost control of his body, collapsing to the floor for a third time.
“Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch,” laughed Sharon.
“Bitch!” thought Edgar. Here he was again. He shed bitter tears of anger at the injustice of it all. He’d made such an effort to leave his past behind and start a new life, only to have his old life drummed back into him by Sharon’s fists. The only consolation was that she didn’t see him cry, as she seemed to be playing to an imaginary audience. He wiped his eyes, and stood up again. She greeted him with upraised fists, eager to dole out more punishment.
She had slowed him down fatally. She drew her right fist back, able to take her time and choose her target. Edgar, trying to keep concentration, moved to protect his face - and she buried her fist in his stomach. He lurched forward, coughing. It was time to end it, thought Sharon. As he stumbled, gasping and clutching his stomach, she released her left fist for the last time. It smashed against his jaw, and he tumbled helplessly down to his final humiliation.