True, she did have a rebellious look about her. She had purple hair, which is always a giveaway – it’s usually the mark of shouting students, protesting in front of vehicles on a motorway, or throwing soup over works of art.

At the moment, however, she wasn’t sitting on the M25. She was standing angrily in the corner of a boxing ring, in Todd’s imagination. She wore a purple leotard, which acted as another layer of skin – and a meagre one at that. It seemed to advertise, rather than modestly hint at, her wonderful large breasts. She looked formidable, especially her sturdy thighs. Black boxing gloves, and boots to match her leotard, completed the picture, as she glared angrily towards her opponent in the opposite corner.

No, on this occasion her opponent wasn’t Todd, but the good girl, Aira. Aira was Japanese-American, with long blonde hair and delicate, gentle, Asian features. She had obviously bought her gold leotard in the same place as Poison, because it was just as threadbare, and therefore revealing. (The tailor must have saved a fortune on material.) She had a similar figure to Poison, with lovely large breasts, though less stocky. In contrast to Poison’s belligerent look, she wore a thoughtful expression. This match looked as if it was going to be power versus subtlety and surprise.

They were about to fight over Todd, or rather which one of them got to take him on. When they were both ready, they met in the middle, hurried through the formalities, and Poison got in a quick, sharp left jab to the jaw.

Playing on her bad girl status, she gave Aira no time to recover but steamed in with a right to her stomach. Winded, Aira tried to play for time by clinching, but the determined Poison used the clinch to march them both to the ropes. Clearly knowing her business, Poison landed another blow to Aira’s stomach, before thrusting her right knee up into the same place. Three times in a row she had hit the same spot, and Aira’s suffering was plain to see.

Poison let her limp off the ropes, but she hadn’t suddenly become the good girl. No, it was purely calculation. Given the room she needed, she knocked Aira to the mat with a right hook, then celebrated the early knockdown with a mock lap of honour around her downed, stunned opponent.

Impatient to carry on, Poison now pulled Aira’s hair to “encourage” her to get up. Obviously an exponent of the worth of body shots, she landed a solid left to Aira’s now vulnerable stomach. In the spirit of the old “one-two”, she zoomed her right in there next, a little to the side, so it partly encompassed the kidney area.

Consumed by the roaring pain in her body, Aira dropped her guard to prevent any more damage there – and got Poison’s left glove on her chin. It was a fierce left hook, and it put Aira down on the mat once more.

After glaring down at her opponent, Poison began to count down. When she got to 5, Aira got up, the bad girl noting that she should have stayed down. Arrogant, yes; but it must be remembered that Aira had not got in a single punch. So far it had been one-sided, a domination. They had a few moments’ rest in their corners, Poison looking triumphant and Aira close to ill. A referee would have asked her if she wished to continue.

At the agreed moment, the two women ran at each other. Aira made a good show of it, considering how she had been feeling. Poison flung a right cross at her – and missed. Or rather, Aira evaded it. The blonde leant back, and it sailed over her head. That would have boosted her confidence.

In fact, Poison now faced a different Aira. We can never quite know what goes through a person’s head. But after viewing the footage, it looks as if she realised she had hit a low point in that corner, and told herself she must and would recover from it. Recovery came in a limited way with dodging Poison’s right cross; now it came in a positive way with a sweeping left hook. It caught Poison both by surprise and on the jaw, spinning her partially round.

Aira grasped the opportunity of her opponent facing away from her and landed a free shot to her head. Poison retreated and smiled, seemingly enjoying the fact that it had turned into a contest after all. Both women looked to attack at the same time; both were blocked with honours even. Until, that is, Aira caught Poison, mouth and nose with a firm left jab.

Poison took a step back. Emboldened, Aira pursued her and punished her chin with a right cross. Poison shook her head, trying to sober up after the blow, and sent her left fist flying at Aira – straight over the stooping girl’s head. Coming back up, she caught Poison full in the stomach with her left.

Having set such store by body shots, this damaged Poison psychologically as much as physically. She was still working on recovery when a crouching Aira slammed a rising right cross at her jaw. Sensing victory, Aira fired a short, stabbing left uppercut at Poison’s jaw, then followed it with a good old-fashioned punch on the nose.

Poison’s face was being bludgeoned by Aira. Those parts of it that weren’t raw with pain were numb with it. So when Aira scored with a right cross to the head, she was only a whisker from being knocked out. Aira knew it. Her opponent was no longer capable of fighting back. She could take her time and pick her target. She chose her jaw. Swinging a massive left hook at it, the golden good girl sent the pugnacious purple girl to the mat.

Aira went straight into the count out. Standing and celebrating, she announced, “Bad girl down” at 4. At 8, she questioned, “Bad girl out?” (She wasn’t by this time, though she was clearly suffering on the mat.) By 10, Aira claimed the victory prize: Todd.

As was her due, Aira posed over her defeated opponent. She straddled her for some more posing, before fetching a strap on (and she was supposed to be the good girl?)

“Suck it, loser,” she ordered, and Poison obliged, bringing her to a climax. After some more posing (still wearing the strap on) she demanded Todd meet her in the gym for a private match.

Still flushed with victory, Aira treated Todd with contempt, insisting on him being naked and hissing, “Put ’em up, Pussy!” Scowling, she brought her gloves to bear too, then caught him on the nose with a left jab. He flinched and she kicked him hard in the stomach, her right foot placed vertically, so that while the toe of her boot reached his chest, the heel scraped his manhood. It sent shudders of pain way beyond the area she had actually hit, and he dropped to the mat onto his back.

Aira set about him as he lay on his back. Her left glove smacked into his face, turning it sideways. Then she crouched over him and caught him on the temple with her right, before hurling a huge right at the same place.

Sitting on his middle now, Aira whacked him on the jaw with a left, before her right thundered into his other jaw. Cheap shots, certainly; but they were certainly effective, and poor Todd’s head was nodding and shaking away like some over wound-up toy. Her left glove swept his face to his left. And again, after a little token, futile resistance from him.

When she thought she had done enough of this, Aira stood up and her feet took over from her gloves briefly, before she demanded he “Get up and fight”. He did the first part of what he was told, somewhat shakily.

Aira’s glare was unnerving when he raised his gloves and they circled. He tried not to catch her eye. But that’s no good for second-guessing someone’s intentions, and she planted a beauty of a right cross on the side of his face.

He tripped backwards, trying to stay on his feet, so she clocked him with another similar one on the temple. He dropped to the mat, somehow turning onto his hands and knees (Todd’s actions are often mysterious). As before, Aira let her feet take over and she jump kicked to the back of his head, bringing him down completely. She leapt onto his back, swept her left arm around his neck and enforced a rigid headlock/choke.

“Submit now,” she insisted.

Todd, looking ill, confirmed, “I submit to you”.

Aira stood over him, with her foot on his head and told him, rather unnecessarily, that she had won the fight. After which, it was strap on time. (“Yuk,” thought Todd, then he gulped when she told him, “You belong to me”.)

She clutched the back of his head, forcing him to work harder on the thing, as he knelt trying to please her. Seemingly he succeeded, and she had another blast of pleasure.

“Stand up,” she instructed. He did, only to be sent back down by that fearsome right fist of hers.

Aira straddled him, squatting over his face, while she flexed, savouring her victory. Working her way down his body, she spread his legs and began thrusting, driving the strap on against him. As so often with these women Todd seemed to end up with, she derived pleasure from using the contraption strapped to her. So just as a man and a woman gain pleasure from – I will say it – normal intercourse, she went into a frenzy of ecstasy. (What Todd felt is less clear.)

Sated, she sat on his face, facing down his body. Then she lowered herself so that they were in the old reliable “69” position, took his cock in her hand, and started pumping it. In a way, it was another attack on him, but the first one that he enjoyed. She grinned in satisfaction when he came, shuddering beneath her.

After a brief straddle pin and flex, she placed him in a schoolgirl pin, trapping his wrists on the mat and grinding her body against his.

“Do you admit defeat?” she demanded.

“Yes, you have beaten me up,” he answered, as always, experiencing a thrill of pleasure while admitting it.

Aira seemed to be the champion poser and flexer. She couldn’t get enough of it, and did some more, firstly straddle pinning him again, then standing over him. Finally, just to dispel any doubts anyone might have about her worthiness, she declared:

“Good girls win fights.”

What do you think?