Mixed kickboxing, 222 pictures 1920*1080 (FullHD), completely CFNM, bloody action.

The small Kingdom of Klansbourg was known as a “pariah state”. The West condemned it as “authoritarian”; China regretted it was “short-sighted” in not accepting its offer of loans; and the Moslem world deplored its “immorality”. To the West, Klansbourg pointed out that its crime rate was a fraction of those “enlightened” countries; to China it responded that the terms of the loans would mean they could never be repaid, and therefore the Dragon would seize its assets; and to the Moslem world it replied that while they covered their women up, Klansbourg valued and celebrated its women.

And what women! It must have been the mountain air, or perhaps the fine cuisine, but Klansbourg was famous (or notorious) for its ladies. A Klansbourg woman couldn’t be short without being “diminutive”, and she couldn’t be tall without being “statuesque”.

It is the last category which concerns this story. Of all the disapproval shown to the Kingdom, it was its ancient law on rape, sexual assault and wife-beating that attracted the most international ire. If a man were convicted of any of those crimes, he had to face one of their professional female fighters in the ring, and he had to be naked. It was said to cure him of his illness, and it was also a first rate punishment.

The UN deplored it as “uncivilised”, and Klansbourg retorted: “Your primary function is the preservation of peace. We have not one nuclear weapon, yet you call nations ‘civilised’ that have enough weaponry to destroy the world several times over.” (Klansbourg always liked to have the last word.)

Such a punishment was due, reported the Press. A man known as Stefan, convicted of numerous crimes against several women, was condemned to meet Sasha, the most feared of Klansbourg’s viragos, in the ring. International outrage was rife. As usual it was a mixture of fury and entreaty.

Amid all the noise, the British Ambassador requested a meeting with the Foreign Minister and the Justice Minister to discuss it. Unfortunately he wrecked the international front over the matter, because they all got very drunk, and he was overheard saying, “Serve the dirty swine right!” Then he made it worse by musing that he wouldn’t mind facing Sasha himself, but in fun. He was recalled, and the British Foreign Secretary insisted that we couldn’t have a British official embarrassing us abroad. (Boris protested that he hadn’t done that for ages.)

But with the collapse of the international effort, and the world’s indignation turning on Britain, Klansbourg got on with its affairs virtually unnoticed. The age-old reckoning would go ahead.

The women who administered the punishment were treated as celebrities, and they had been revered ever since the ritual became law. They were often pictured training, or posing in martial stances, wearing leotards. It was a proper fight, and the man had no restrictions at all, apart from the fact that he was naked. The idea was that he should be beaten on his own terms. But he must be beaten, and that is why Sasha was chosen for this particular hard case.

*****

“This is an archaic superstition,” growled Stefan, facing Sasha in the ring.

“It works though,” she replied. “Few of you vermin ever reoffend.”

“We should drag this shit hole of a country into the 21^st century!”

“I’d take great pleasure in fighting you just for saying that, never mind your crimes.”

“A woman can only fight a man when he’s naked.”

“But I’m practically naked in this see-through leotard. Most fetching, don’t you think? Anyway it’s not quite true. After the Nazi occupation, the Resistance captured an SS officer who had abused female prisoners. Sonya Pavlov, who had this job then, insisted on him wearing his full uniform for the fight, including his peaked cap, which she knocked off his head with her first punch. After she beat him up, and he was lying on the canvas unable to get up, she made him hold a Klansbourgean flag, which the Nazis had banned, and she got someone to photograph it. The picture was on the front page of every newspaper the next day!”

“Enough of this shit!” shouted Stefan, and he lashed out with a right cross. Sasha sidestepped out of the way, and brought both her right fist and right knee up in perfect synchronisation.

“Oh yes, a woman’s trusty knee!” she crowed, as Stefan howled. “It works every time! My fist didn’t do a bad job with your chin either, did it?”

Not giving him time to recover, Sasha smashed his face with a left hook, kept her arm under his chin, and drove her left knee into his groin. It had him in the corner, and even half out of the ropes, using them to stay on his feet. She then forced her right arm under his left arm, with a different sort of hook, and ran him round the ring until he had his back to the opposite ropes, before punching him again with her left and trapping him under the chin afterwards, as before.

First blood! Sasha’s formidable left cross scored the blow, while once again she forced her left knee up into his balls. Stefan fell away, and onto his back.

“Oh, come on! We can only have been fighting for a couple of minutes, and you’re on your back already!” she jeered.

Stefan rolled over, got back up, took a run, and kicked. Sasha swerved out of the way, seized his leg, and rammed her left fist into his face, before grabbing his balls in her right hand, while her right arm still secured his leg. Stefan’s eyes watered as her gloved hand went to work.

“Got you!” laughed Sasha, before scoring another blood strike with her left fist at his mouth.

“He’s down again!” she shouted in triumph.

Stefan got up … and went back down again. Sasha had literally launched herself at him, jumping and striking with fist and knee at the same time; he flew away and landed on his front at her feet. She helped herself to his right leg, by the ankle, and yanked it up into a lock.

“Ah, Christ!” shouted Stefan. He had been prepared for punches, knees, kicks, and any amount of dirty fighting, but he hadn’t anticipated skilled wrestling tactics. Yet Sasha “knew her stuff”, and was accomplished in all the martial arts, as well as the old-fashioned brawling that was more in his line. As she manipulated his leg, she took an occasional step, so that Stefan grabbed for the ropes. Quite why he did this is unclear, but they obviously represented a chance of escape to him.

It’s what she wanted. She let him go, and he used them to get up. Steadying himself, he turned to face her – and once again she jumped. He vainly tried to repel her, with a punch that got nowhere, and she grabbed him in a headlock, using the momentum from her jump to land him back down on the canvas.

Sasha left him sprawling and took a couple of steps back. He got to his feet, and she struck with a right cross, which he managed to deflect, to her surprise.

“Not having it all your own way after all, are you?” Stefan chortled.

“No, you’re right. I must say …”

Her straight right ploughed into face, catching his mouth and nose. It was the third time she had cut him, and it told on him psychologically as much as physically. He retreated a step, but she kept up with him, hammering her left fist into his kidney. She followed up with right, at the same spot on the other side.

These two body blows probably had a greater effect than the head strikes, even though they weren’t as dramatic by drawing blood. The pain in his middle would slow him down for the rest of the fight. Obviously Sasha knew this, but she always liked to “make an impression on a man’s face first”, in her words.

Then she punched his penis. Stefan shuddered with the pain, and he was close to fainting.

“What’s that matter,” taunted Sasha, “don’t you like a woman’s hand round there?”

He swung his fist in reply, but there was a touch of despair in the way he did it, as if he didn’t expect it to make contact. Neither did it. Sasha ignored it, and landed a karate kick in exactly the same spot where her fist had been moments earlier. Her stiletto heel drew blood on his scrotum, and Stefan felt sickened at the sight. Now he understood and respected Klansbourg’s law! By God, he’d never mistreat another woman! Meanwhile he had to survive this ordeal …

Sasha grabbed his left arm, swung behind him, and heaved it into an arm bar. Stefan noted how she could instantly switch from dirty fighting to expert, practiced moves. Both were devastating in their different ways. She was hauling his arm behind him, unsubtly reminding him of her strength by forcing it straight away, and dispensing with any steady build up. If she carried on she would break it.

She realised it, spun him round, and punched him on the nose, while banging her boot into his groin again. He was in a corner once more, though he couldn’t remember arriving there, with his neck over the top rope because of the force of her punch, but her elegant boot was still firmly against his manhood.

Increasing the tempo, Sasha swivelled on her left heel, turned away from him, and super kicked. His shoulders joined his neck and head over the top rope this time.

“I must do something,” thought Stefan, coming off the ropes and firing a mighty uppercut. They both heard the “whoosh” as his fist soared into the air harmlessly, while Sasha leant back out of the way. A second super kick with the other foot from her had him back on the ropes.

“That’s how you do an uppercut!” she called to him, as his head banged against the corner post, arresting his fall. She held her fist in the air, like a cricketer showing the maker’s name on his bat, at the end of a stroke which has sent the ball way over the boundary. Then she rammed her left knee into his groin, before pivoting round again, and karate kicking with her right leg into the same, excruciating, wound.

She was intent on forcing the issue now, as she angle-kicked his jaw with her left foot, before bringing her right knee into his chest. She repeated the move, swapping legs and jumping, to give extra power to her knee hammering his chest. It brought Stefan to his knees, so she helped himself to his face with her left fist.

Just giving him time to stand up again, Sasha powered a right cross into his face, thundering him back into the corner, before having him dancing about with an equally fearsome punch from her left. He swayed, steadied, stood back up … and a stiletto heel struck his face like a cavalryman’s lance. Her high kick ran him backwards against the ropes, so she swapped legs, and fired a second high kick. He faltered, dropping; and Sasha, aiming a third kick upwards, brought him back onto his feet, catching him with the flat of her sole this time.

“I’m showing off now,” she thought to herself, as she turned away from him, and hurled another, angled, super kick at him. Then she jumped, bringing him down with a flying head scissors.

But what was she up to? All of a sudden she came over intimate, putting her arms round his neck. Next she reached down and stroked his cock, which responded, despite all the punishment it had received.

Now what? She abruptly ceased her caress, leapt on him, and lay about him with her fists again. Her left hook swung into his cheek, and his head jerked to the side. At the same time she moved back a little, teasing his erect cock with her lovely round, generous, bottom. Moreover, as she punched, her large, scarcely restrained breasts swung provocatively. Back came her right fist into his face. Up and down her buttocks rubbed against his cock, and “Look at us!” insisted her breasts.

“For scum like you, I always like to finish with a little sexual assault of my own,” Sasha informed him, before turning round to sit on his face. “Ah yes, that’s right, you know what to do. Oh yeah, right there!”

She briefly, and threateningly, locked his cock between her stiletto heels for a moment, before adopting the “69” position and grabbing his cock. Then she turned towards him, squatting and squirming above his face, and he sensed he must keep on with his tongue if he wanted to survive. She reached behind for his cock again, and gave his balls one final grab before standing for a triumphant pose.

“You interrupted me, you know,” she told him casually, almost lazily, with her boot on his cock. “You remember I told you about the lady who beat up the SS officer? Well, the only other occasion that I know of where the man was clothed – at least partly – was when a circus strong man was convicted of the sexual assault of his assistant. Maria Stambulov, the lady who had this job then, declared she would fight him while he wore his circus outfit. The next day the newspaper headlines read, ‘Government girl beats up circus strong man’. Did you like that story?”

Silence.

“I said” – her voice took on a menacing edge – “Did you like that story?”

“Yes,” came a half-croak, half-groan.

“Good. I’ll leave you in the care of the medics now. They’re all women, and they don’t like sexual predators. But you’ll be fine …”