Melissa delivers a belly beating KO
By Terry
A beautiful female bodybuilder boxer gives the ultimate belly beating to a guy who challenges her.


Melissa decided that today she would create a masterpiece.

The muscular beauty had the guy in the corner, dazed, hanging on the ropes,
his body an open invitation. She looked at his soft potbelly and smiled.

The dumb macho chump had offered her a lot of money if she'd agree to his
challenge of a bare-fisted boxing match. What kind of idiot would challenge a
former Ms. Olympia? Melissa had more muscles in her little finger than he had
in his entire body.

She happily took his money upfront. The guy even paid for private use of the
boxing ring that Melissa arranged with her boxing trainer. She told her
trainer that she'd call him to help get the guy out of the gym after she beat
the crap out of him.

Melissa wasn't a sadistic person. But she was proud of the incredible muscles
she had built up spending countless hours pumping iron. And she was proud of
her fighting skills, which had always been good but were much better now with
proper training. So when somebody insulted and challenged her, like this guy
had, a trigger went off in her head and transformed her into an angry machine
intent on destruction..

It didn't take long for Melissa to knock this guy silly. It was so easy she'd
barely warmed up her muscles. She had the fool in the corner. She stunned him
with another left hook. He tried to clinch. She pushed his arms off and
flipped them over the ropes. He hung there, punch-drunk and unprotected.

Now she was going to finish him off. She could have put him into La-La Land
with one good punch. But that big flabby belly was too tempting.

Melissa was inspired to do something special.

She went to work on his stomach. She started slow. She took her time.

It wasn't a simple beating. It was a work of art. It had all the rhythms and
inventiveness of an epic jazz improvisation.

Melissa danced on her toes as she worked, enjoying herself. Part of the
pleasure was punishing this asshole. But it was much more. It was a
once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be really creative, to be an artist, to go
extreme to the max. It was almost like the guy wasn't real anymore. His body
was just an instrument on which she could play, using her skills and muscles
to deliver the greatest belly beating of all time.

Like a musician uses notes, Melissa used a variety of punches. Sometimes she
threw single punches, or a series of lefts or rights, or alternating hands.
Sometimes there were spaces between punches. Or the punches came in flurries.
She'd mix in combinations of different configurations, sometimes punctuated
with a single monster punch. She varied the power of her punches across the
full range from soft to brutally hard. Some punches were quick and sharp;
others made her opponent's body quiver with the impact.

Melissa kept changing things up. Always surprising the guy. Blowing his mind.

At times the beating was almost leisurely, or it could become shockingly
relentless and savage. The changes could be very sudden or could build up to a
crescendo.

Melissa liked the feel of her fists against skin. Some punches she just
whacked his stomach, others she dug in deep, burying her fist up to the wrist.
Sometimes she kept her fist embedded in his belly, pinning him to the post for
a while. She liked the feel of the soft fat of his belly surrounding her fist.
She tried twisting her fist around, really grinding it in there. When she did
that, the guy acted like he was going to die. That one was worth repeating.

Melissa's muscles felt good as they worked. They were getting more pumped up
the more she pumped punches into the guy's body.

She loved all the sounds. The smack and thud of her fists hitting flesh in
different rhythms. The guy's grunts, groans, moans, gasps, whimpers, cries,
and sobs. It was all like music.

Sometimes Melissa laughed or talked trash, adding insult to injury. But mostly
she was silent, concentrating on her work, experimenting, studying her
opponent's face and body to gauge the effectiveness of her punches.

It was fascinating to see the various expressions on the guy's face as her
punches landed. His whole face would scrunch up. Or his eyes would open really
wide. Sometimes his eyeballs bulged out. His mouth went through all kinds of
contortions. Tears formed in his eyes and later streamed down his face.
Sometimes Melissa held his throat with one hand and got her face close to his
while she pounded him with the other hand. It was amazing all the different
emotions on his face. Pain, agony, disbelief, fear, desperation, horror,
despair.

Every so often the guy would droop forward, held up by the ropes. Then Melissa
would come in from the side, hitting him in his belly so hard it would lift
him almost off his feet. Then she'd usually knock him erect with an uppercut.
Maybe straighten him up further with a right cross. Other times Melissa would
plant her fist in his belly and lift him so he was on tiptoes, holding him up
like that. She could feel his bodyweight bearing down on her fist, pushing it
even deeper into his gut. She felt spasms go through his body. That was a good
one.

Occasionally she mixed it up with a shot or two to the head. Or some shots to
the ribs. She could have easily broken his bones, but she was careful not to.
She didn't want to put him in the hospital. She knew from experience that was
a hassle.

There were occasional pauses to savor her opponent's reaction or to let him
suck in some air. Then she'd continue with her virtuoso performance. Exploring
new variations or revisiting some particularly good ones.

Whenever the guy thought it was impossible to get hit harder, Melissa hit him
harder. . But she saved the best for last. The grand finale.

The guy was drooping forward again. Melissa gently pushed his head up and back
with her hand. She stepped back and admired her handiwork. His midsection was
covered with red welts and dark bruises. He was taking in air in huge gulps.
He was whimpering and crying uncontrollably like a baby. He was babbling
something, probably pleading for mercy.

Melissa had never hit anybody as hard as she could. It hadn't been necessary.
She'd always knocked them out before she'd got to that point.

Now was the time. Melissa grinned with anticipation. She could feel the energy
surging through her muscles. Her body felt like it was on fire.

She charged in and unleashed all her power. Her punches drove into the guy's
stomach with terrible force. She could feel his body jerk with the first
punch, then he seemed to melt completely. Her fists sank in so deep she swore
she could feel her knuckles smashing his spine.

She hit him only a few times, but the effect was devastating.

Melissa watched his twitching body crumple to the canvas. For a moment she was
afraid she had killed him, but then he let out a loud gasp of agony. After
that he lay quiet.

She had never before knocked anybody unconscious with body blows. She poked
him with her toe. This poor slob was definitively out cold.

Melissa felt elated. It really had been a masterpiece. She wished somebody
else had witnessed it, but then she might not have been so uninhibited in her
performance. She had really let it all hang out. As it was, only she and this
guy would know what happened. Neither one would ever forget it.