The match
By lomax
Boris' size and strength are no match for Heather's rock-hard body

Boris stared arrogantly across the ring at his opponent.  His initial 
anger and indignation at being matched up against a woman had been 
overtaken by his competitive desire to win the contest decisively and 
swiftly.  At 6'4" and 260 pounds of solid muscle, he was confident that 
he wouldn't even break a sweat in knocking out his opponent, who looked 
like she was 18 years old, and couldn't weigh more than 130 pounds.  She 
had long dark hair, which was tied back for the fight, and was 
beautiful.  She looked across the ring at Boris with dark eyes and 
didn't smile, which made her look even more beautiful.  Boris couldn't 
believe that he was about to fight for his name against a girl who, in 
other circumstances, he would be begging for a date. 

In fact, the girl weighed 133 pounds, and was 5'5."  Tonight was her 
first public fight against a man, but there had been plenty of impromptu 
ones in the course of the last few years, and she was not worried.  
Since she had begun working out at the age of 15 (4 years ago), she had 
taken boxing, Karate and kickboxing as well as lifting weights, running 
and exercising almost constantly.  She had gone from doing literally 
hundreds of sit-ups a day 2 years ago, to working out with sparring 
partners who she instructed to punch her in the stomach while she lifted 
weights.  She would stand completely still for as long as 30 minutes, 
holding weights in each hand, outstretched parallel to the floor, while 
Rico, her strongest sparring partner, delivered the hardest blows he 
could to her stomach in an attempt to force her to move.  Initially, one 
good blow would knock her back, or send her sprawling, and she hadn't 
been able to hold more than 25 pound weights for longer than a minute 
without tiring.  But in the last few months, her arms had gotten so 
strong that she was routinely doing the exercise with 80-pound barbells 
in each hand, and her stomach was so hard that lately, it had been Rico 
who tired before she did, and she would laugh with the enjoyment of her 
strength as he would utter involuntary groans of pain after striking a 
hard blow to her midsection, and would reluctantly ready another one.  
Soon she would need a bigger, stronger sparring partner.  In the ring, 
Rico and the others were already almost useless.  Since they were unable 
to hurt her stomach, she only had to guard her face from jabs. She 
looked across the ring at Boris and thought that, although he was both 
bigger and more muscular than any of her sparring partners, she would be 
able to withstand his blows.  That morning, she had lifted weights for 
an hour or so, and her biceps still felt incredibly hard and strong.  
Just before removing her jacket, she glanced down at her stomach 
muscles.  Perhaps if she defeated Boris he would consent to be her new 
sparring partner.  Even though she was half his weight and almost a foot 
shorter than Boris, she wasn't scared to fight him because she knew that 
her strength, stamina, and the sheer hardness of her body were probably 
unequaled by any man, or at least that was how she felt when she was 
outracing, out-lifting, or outfighting a male opponent, as she had so 
many times in the last three years. 
 
In her karate class, none of the other students  - all of whom were boys 
- could beat her, simply because she was so much stronger and fitter 
than them.  One boy, Mark, had threatened her before their sparring 
match one class.  The biggest boy in the class, he looked like he 
weighed about the same as her, but was less muscular.  He hit her hard 
with a strong kick to the stomach.  She laughed at his reaction - he 
hadn't realized how hard her midsection was.  It was like kicking a 
brick wall, and he recoiled in a moment of unexpected pain.  Then, 
taking advantage of his lapse in attention, she came up under him with 
her left hand, but instead of punching him - a blow that probably would 
have ended the fight - she lifted him up, over her head.  With her hand 
under his stomach, she held him high over her head, and with her right 
hand flexed her bicep and smiled engagingly at her instructor.  After 
that, she only sparred with the instructor.  Heather took off her 
jacket, drawing a collective intake of breath from the audience of about 
500, mostly men, in the smoky and dimly-lit underground club.  Tonight 
was the first fight of the year, and the male-female, "battle of the 
sexes" theme had been a promoter's brainstorm.  He didn't care who won 
the fight, but more how it was fought and won, and it seemed clear that 
you couldn't lose by having an undeniably beautiful woman - a girl, 
really: wasn't she only 19? - fighting against a well-known champ?  She 
had agreed to it, and signed on to it.  She obviously knew what she was 
getting herself into.  Drake assumed that she was simply doing it for 
easy publicity, and he wasn't concerned about the outcome.  He was sure 
Boris would find a way to make it interesting but end it without hurting 
her.  

Drake glanced up when he heard the collective breath, and saw Heather's 
body for the first time.  His eyes widened with amazement and he drew an 
even deeper breath.  Before he had any more time to think about the 
vision of beauty mixed with brawn, something he could never have 
imagined, that had just crossed his plane of cross-eyed vision, the bell 
rang to start the fight. As she had expected, Boris came directly for 
her, ready to start the fight aggressively.  As he came closer, his gaze 
ranged over her body, and he was thrown off of his concentration by her 
alluring blend of sexiness and strength.  Her long hair, even tied back, 
reached her shoulders.  Her hips curved outward from her narrow waist, 
and her legs were stunning - stunningly muscular but still incredibly 
shapely.  But as his vision traveled upward, a slight murmur of doubt 
crossed his mind.  Her stomach looked rock-hard, harder than any 
opponent's stomach that he had faced.  Although all male boxers had 
ridged abdominal muscles, none that he had ever encountered before 
appeared to be carved out of solid granite.  Her arms were also 
beautiful, yet looked incredibly strong too.  Her biceps, like her 
midsection, looked as if there were rocks underneath her skin.  
Although, he noted, her skin itself was smoothly textured and glistened 
slightly with sweat from the heat in the room. Heather started to enjoy 
the situation she was in.  She was conscious of the air of anticipation 
in the audience, and she wanted to give them a good show, like in the 
Karate class.  But she still realized that she faced a much more 
formidable opponent, and she had to be careful.  As Boris drew close, 
she saw the size of his fists and his muscles, and decided that she must 
protect her face, which had not endured many hard blows, from his 
unpredictable fists.  When he began to circle in for his first blow, she 
forced herself to remember standing in the gym, with her stomach 
completely exposed, her arms outstretched with 80-pound barbells.  For 
30 minutes!  She felt strong, very strong.  Then she raised her fists to 
protect her face. Boris, who was left-handed, swung a right jab at her 
chin.  She blocked it with her right hand.  At the same time, Boris 
brought his left fist up in a sweeping uppercut, directly at her 
midsection.  He had to test her early.  He wanted to knock her back and 
take her breath away, but not too hard.  His fist crashed into her 
stomach, and Boris let out an involuntary sigh of pain.  What happened?  
He had to look down to see what he had hit: her belt?  He had never hit 
anything that hard.Heather suddenly smiled, realizing that she was 
stronger, maybe much stronger than him.  She knew that hadn't been his 
hardest blow, but she was no longer afraid to find out what was.  So 
instead of taking advantage of his confusion and striking back, she 
stepped back and put both hands on her hips, inviting him to try again.  
With a snort of rage, Boris lunged at her and attacked her with all his 
might.  He hit her with a volley of right-left-right, directly to the 
midsection, and realized as he did so that all was lost.  His blows had 
not moved her back an inch, and his hands and wrists hurt from the 
impact.  This girl's stomach was harder than rock: it was steel!  

He knew with dismay and sudden fear that he couldn't hurt her that way.  
Meanwhile, the audience had started chanting her name, cheering her on.  
He was being humiliated!  It was unbearable.  She still stood there, 
with her hands on her hips.  Then, she slowly raised them up over her 
head, daring him to try yet again.  What could he do? Studying the 
girl's invincible stomach, Boris suddenly hatched a plan.  Perhaps if he 
could catch her off guard, deck her with a shot to the jaw.  She had her 
fingers interlaced, her steel-cable arms straight over her head, daring 
him to hit her - now was his chance.  He came at her again, as if to 
slug her in the gut, but instead brought his left in a swift uppercut to 
her chin.  But moving more quickly than he had thought possible, Heather 
anticipated his move and parried his fist aside with her left hand.  
Then, she brought her right fist up under him, and drilled a shot to his 
stomach.  This time, the effect was much different: he doubled over in 
pain, silently cursing himself for not taking his abdominal conditioning 
as seriously as she obviously did.  As his body momentarily continued to 
lean forward toward her, Heather decided she would try a surprise move, 
one that would really ignite the crowd.  She knew that he weighed over 
250 pounds, and she wasn't sure if she would be able to do this, but she 
thought again of the 80-pound barbells out at her sides - for half and 
hour - and knew that she could have lifted even more.  She brought her 
right hand up underneath him, but instead of hitting him again, she came 
up open-palmed.  Like the boy in Karate class, she then lifted him, with 
one hand on his stomach.  The audience came to their feet in thunderous 
shouting, a combination of applause and sheer disbelief, as she lifted 
his entire 260 pounds, straight over her head, with her right arm alone.  
Then, she walked, carrying him, to the edge of the ring, and flexed her 
left bicep to the audience.  The applause and general shouting became 
absolutely deafening.  She walked back to the center of the ring and 
lowered him to the floor.  Then, leaving him there, she walked around 
the ring, first pausing to let down her hair, and flexed her biceps 
seductively to the crowd.  As Boris got to his feet, Heather stood with 
her back to him, pretending she couldn't see that he was up, walking 
toward her.  She was still flexing her biceps to the crowd, who were 
shouting uncontrollably: they had never seen anything like tonight.  

But, she reflected, it was only the first round.  Boris came up behind 
her and wrapped his arms around her, thinking perhaps to subdue her with 
a bear hug and fling her to the floor - maybe with his weight on top of 
her he could hold her for a count of three and still win the fight. She 
felt nothing but strong, immensely strong, but she thought she would 
play along with him.  When he wrapped his arms around her, she pretended 
to struggle, as if she could not break his grip.  In reality, she felt 
that she could have done so, embarrassingly easily.  But he wrestled her 
to the floor.  Then, sitting on top of her, he leaned down to press her 
arms to the floor.  The ref counted, "One, two.!" But before he reached 
three, she lifted his hands up in the air.  She was holding him at bay, 
her arms only inches above the floor.  He put his knees on her biceps, 
and leaned all his weight forward to crush her to the floor.  He was 
sweating heavily; but she was smiling faintly and was not breathing 
heavily.  Slowly, she began to raise him off her, irresistibly.  With 
her right hand, she reached up and, despite the pressure from his knees, 
reached his chest.  With just the one hand, she began to lift his body 
off her, while he grunted with rage and desperately tried to reposition 
himself, but to no avail. 

Suddenly, he was wrestling with all his strength against her right bicep 
alone, as she lifted his body inexorably off the floor and into the air.  
With both his hands wrapped around her right bicep, he struggled with 
all his might to force her back down, but the audience roared in 
encouragement as she rose to stand up, lifting him once again into the 
air as she did so.  The sight of the girl, weighing less than half of 
him, raising him high in the air with her one mighty arm, her bicep 
standing out from between his clutched fingers like a jagged boulder, 
was too much for the audience.  Some screamed; others fainted into their 
seats.  Again, she dropped him to the floor, thinking "this isn't 
getting any more interesting."  At this point, the fight was for all 
intents and purposes over, and her main thought was that she should do 
something to retain the audience's interest. Boris got up from the floor 
and faced her.  She shook her hair back and smiled at him.  Although he 
was exhausted and aching, she looked fresh and was hardly breathing 
heavily.  He had pride: he had to do something to pierce her smug sense 
of victory.  For a moment, he forgot that his best efforts had already 
proved worthless, so he came at her again, this time dancing and jabbing 
like Ali, as he remembered doing back in his early days, when he was 
fighting stronger, more experienced boxers, before he was the champ and 
the presumed incumbent in most of his matches. Heather waited until 
Boris was close, and took a couple of shots to the chin.  

She retaliated with a hard left to the stomach.  She followed that with 
another.  Boris skipped back, then came close again.  As she peppered 
her with another right, then left to the jaw, she stood in through the 
pain and lowered her left fist.  As Boris cracked yet another left to 
her jaw, he was starting to think maybe he would gain control of the 
fight after all.  She didn't seem able to either dodge or parry his 
blows, and her face wasn't rock-hard like her stomach. Just then, 
Heather brought her left fist up in a blinding uppercut that caught 
Boris on the jaw and lifted his entire body up into the air with an 
audible crack.  For an appalling, suspenseful moment, his body appeared 
suspended motionless in thin air.  Then, he crashed back down, and 
crumpled to the stage in an unconscious heap.  She stood over his body 
and flexed her rock-hard muscles again for the crowd.  Then she lifted 
him a third time, with only her left hand, and held him up over her head 
while she walked around the ring to all sides. There was nothing more 
she could do to show off her strength, so she gently lowered him down, 
laid him on the floor of the stage, and walked slowly away.  

The thunder of the applause followed her, ringing in her ears.  She 
doubted that any present were still convinced that women are the weaker 
sex.