“Not so fast,” she recognised the voice of Henri, Antoine’s bodyguard behind her. She turned round to see him entering the ring and wearing a hideous grin (along with shorts and MMA gloves, like her).

“Hello Henri,” she greeted him. “What are you doing here?”

“Antoine’s very angry with you.”

“Oh? We’ve come to an agreement. He’s going to pay me my money, and I’ll take his cage off.”

“I’ve already done that,” Henri told her with distaste, “and your deal’s now off.”

“Well, I’ll go and see him about it.”

“Not before you’ve seen me,” Henri told her, grinning all over his ugly face again. “Tell me, do you box?” he finished, raising his fists.

“Try me,” Sabrine answered, raising hers in turn.

“I’ve never fought a little girl before,” he told her as they started to circle.

“Nor are you going to now, I’m a grown woman.”

“Well, you look like a little girl to me, and when I finish with you, I’m going to tear that silly leotard off you and spank that naughty round arse of yours.”

“That’s if I don’t have those shorts off you first.”

“Bitch … What the -?”

“Missed!” she laughed, as he hit only air.

She avoided his lumbering attempt to hit her with a move that resembled a slide tackle in football, so that his fist went over her head. Then she banged one into his chest, while he was still outstretched. Yes, he was slow, she thought – too much booze, cigarettes and rich food. If she kept her concentration, this should be straight forward.

With a crisp little movement to the side, she dodged his left fist, then got him with a beauty to the chin. “He’ll try to tower over you if he’s taller,” her mother had advised her about a man in general. “So play him at his game. Aim upwards, hard and straight, to his chin or jaw. Then look at the surprise on his face!” Sure enough, once her left fist had cracked him on the chin and rocked his head backwards, he looked baffled – and hurt.

“Hit her! What’s wrong with you?” shouted Antoine to his bodyguard through a window. Clutching his sore ribs and breathing with difficulty after his bout with Sabrine, he looked on as she warded off an attempted right cross. Damn her, she looked as if she was enjoying herself, too! He swore under his breath when Sabrine struck Henri’s cheekbone with an overhand right.

With both his face and his pride stung, Henri launched a massive right uppercut. It would almost certainly have knocked Sabrine out if it had hit her. IF it had hit her. As it was, she confidently ducked under it.

Crouching, she waited for her adversary to overreach after hitting nothing, then helped him on his way. She punched hard and high to his chin, doubling the momentum of the bungled uppercut, and he landed, stunned, on the mat. Then, remembering his boorish threat to tear off her leotard, she whipped his shorts off him while he was still dazed.

Antoine was close to pulling his hair out. He calmed his fury with a brandy, then let Henri have a verbal battering through the window:

“You great clumsy lump! How can you let a little girl like that knock you down?”

“Well you lost to her,” Henri replied sulkily while he got up.

“Yes, but I’m not a fucking bodyguard!” Antoine exploded back at his employee, the brandy clearly not working.

Sabrine enjoyed the encounter, and chuckled while Antoine’s “strong man” rubbed the sweat (or tears) from his eyes. Just to see her cocky smile enraged Henri, and he swept a furious left hook in a huge semicircle, which she avoided by stepping smartly back.

“Stand still, you bitch,” he hissed, as she nudged herself out of the path of an attempted cross, while Antoine hurled obscene insults at his unfortunate minder.

“This is how a bitch fights,” she whispered, plunging her left fist low into his abdomen.

“Christ, where did she learn to fight like that?” thought Henri, as waves of bilious pain swept around his lower stomach. Once again, she had calmly, patiently waited for the right moment, then responded with devastating strength and precision. He doubled up, trying to absorb the shock of her little fist, and she punished his exposed jaw with a right cross. It sent him spinning.

Just as he was about to steady, Sabrine got him on the jaw with a left cross. Despite his plans going disastrously wrong, Antoine couldn’t help admiring (and lusting after) the woman who was humiliating his protector. He was slyly filming the encounter, and his phone caught her side profile at this moment. What a still this would make! Her fist hitting Henri’s jaw; his agonised look; the beautiful curving outline of her breast; the voluptuous semicircle of her bottom.

Ducking her head slightly, Sabrine landed a right cross to Henri’s opposite jaw. “I wonder …” thought Antoine to himself, as this remarkable woman had by now turned the humiliation of his hard man into his disgrace. He looked on as she blackened his right eye. She wasn’t smiling now. She was fighting with controlled fury, determined to win, and angry that they had tried to cheat her.

Henri matched her anger if nothing else. As he saw it, he was doing what he was instructed by his boss to do. He was trying very hard to meet Antoine’s demands, but was being made to look a fool by this infuriating little bitch. The elusive young woman slipped out of the way of anther attempted strike by him and replied by drumming his chest with a firm right. It marked (literally) her second score there.

The more wayward Henri became, the more assured Sabrine seemed to be. To Antoine, she seemed to bat away Henri’s latest attempt with contempt. Her raised left fist steered his effort at a left cross hopelessly off course. Similarly, her left arm, crossways, forced an attempted right cross over her head. Meanwhile her right fist looked to be ominously poised.

Antoine didn’t have long to find out what it was poised for. She sent it into action for a masterly uppercut. Henri yelped and fell back against the ropes. This only spurred Sabrine to greater momentum. Aiming upwards, in her mother’s approved fashion, she caught Henri’s left jaw with her left fist, turning his head to look outside the ropes behind him. (How he wished he was there now!) Antoine felt oddly aroused as he heard the crack of her fist landing on the powerful man’s jaw. He gaped at her curvy rear view in the foreground, while beyond, her fist pushed her opponent’s head over the ropes.

She was sending him into oblivion, but brought his senses back with a hefty right to his stomach. He couldn’t take too many of those, he knew, as dull aches reverberated around his mid-section. He had to counterattack, so he fired a huge left cross. But she had slowed him down, especially thanks to her body shots, and she was able to anticipate it before he launched it. It whistled past her right ear.

Sabrine responded by hammering her right fist into his jaw. He cried out in pain and retreated a couple of steps, close to a corner. She sent him fully into it with another of her specialist left crosses, aimed upwards at the chin. Her mother had been quite right – a woman can turn a man’s superior height to her advantage.

“C’est une belle femme,” Antoine murmured to himself, shaking his head as the female punished the male. His arousal increased a couple of notches.

Never mind Henri, he wondered how much more he could take, watching as Sabrine uppercut the hapless male. Her right fist soared into the air via Henri’s chin; his head shot upwards, and his body lurched back several steps to avoid going down.

Sabrine insulted him by blackening his other eye. His vision was already impaired after she struck his right eye. Now she was a blur to him. The damage was as much psychological as physical. If he couldn’t even see his opponent properly, he would be forced to think only in terms of defence.

Not that it did him much good. Sabrine was able to land her punches with impunity now, and she banged his chest for a third time with a scoop-like left uppercut into it. Being young, Henri had never experienced heartburn before; but now he got that scorching feeling in his chest and throat, that many of us experience later on in life. He even thought he was going to be sick, and put his hand to his mouth after her fist struck. Luckily, that extreme reaction passed.

It was time to try one of those upward crosses with her right fist. Oh, yes! Being right-handed, Sabrine was devastating with that punch. She leant into it expertly, with perfect poise and balance, from her toes to her knuckles.

Those knuckles which were doing such damage! She came at him again with her left, under the chin this time, for a superlative uppercut. For devotees of women vanquishing men in combat, this punch was for the connoisseur. Sabrine was at the same time desirable and destructive. There was on display both womanly charm and raw strength. She knew Antoine was watching (and what a pervert he was) so she pushed the wonderful curves of her buttocks out in his direction, while her fist pummelled Henri’s chin beyond.

You would think she would be tiring by now. But she didn’t seem to be, for she now hurled her right fist over his defensive right arm to smack into his jaw. He was starting to fold. He couldn’t take much more – who could? But Sabrine seemed to be surfing the waves of victory, thrusting her left fist into his stomach and wedging him against the ropes.

For the first time, she noticed he was bleeding. Quite when it began, she didn’t know, so intent had she been on the immediate goal of eliminating Henri as a danger. Anyway, there it was, in several places on his face. So she gave his nose a blistering punch from the side for luck, then surveyed the bloodied mess of a once-proud man.

“Oh dear!” she mocked him, propped up by his arms over the ropes. “It seems the little girl has made the big man bleed! And – I say – how rude!” she commented on his massive defeat boner. “Did I do that?” she asked, archly. “Well, fortunately, I’m not a little girl, as you called me, but a grown woman, and a grown woman knows just how to cure such a problem on a man. Here we go …”

She stepped towards him, turned round, and started to rub her buttocks against his erection. Henri moaned, then sobbed, at the feel of those peachy, pliant wonders rubbing his rampant manhood. She was as expert at teasing a man sexually as she was at destroying him in a fight. She ground her tight round bottom up and down then round and round.

Sensing him twitching, she jumped out of the way and turned round in time to see him orgasm furiously. She laughed and pointed, astonished by the amount he came. Then she became mock-serious.

“Look what you’ve done all over Antoine’s mat!” she scolded him, in an impersonation of a schoolteacher. “He’s going to be furious! But never mind, I’ll punish you for him!”

So saying, and with him lodged against the ropes, she plunged her fist up against his chin one last time, to send him sprawling, unconscious, onto the mat.

The sound of applause wafted out from the open window to the ring where Sabrine was posing over the beaten male.

“Bravo Sabrine!” called out Antoine through the window. “Henri is fired as my bodyguard with immediate effect, and the job is yours if you want it. It pays a lot more than being a racing driver.”