My Hawaiian Vacation - Part Two
By Leslie McCormick
A female bodybuilder finds adventure in Hawaii


  I was excited about going out with Lelani.  I groomed myself 
meticulously until I fairly sparkled.  I had new underwear I'd bought 
especially for my trip, and I put that on.  It was skimpy black silk, 
and felt smooth and sexy against my skin.  Its brevity made me feel more 
naked than if I'd gone bare under my clothing.  I wore a garter belt 
with white-patterned nylons.  Over that, I put on a dazzling white 
sleeveless blouse paired with a cream-colored skirt that was slit up the 
side.  I looked through my shoes, wanting to wear something that had a 
tall heel.  All I could find was a pair of bone shoes with a one-inch 
heel.  It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but it would have to do.  I 
could've worn my black stiletto pumps, but it would have meant changing 
my entire outfit, and I didn't want to do that.  For my first date with 
Lelani, I wanted to look virginal.  I put on jewelry, selected a 
suitable purse, loaded with it some personal items, and went downstairs 
to wait in the lobby. 
  Lelani was exactly on time.  She swept into the lobby, drawing the 
covetous attention of every man, and the jealous look of every woman.  
Her dark hair was slicked back, and gleamed with health.  She wore a 
red, form-fitting dress, and matching pumps.  Seeing me, she waved, and 
then beckoned me to follow her.  Her car, idling in the drop-off area, 
was a big, silver BMW.  I wondered what she did for a living that she 
could afford so expensive a car. 
  "You look nice," she said, when we were both in the car.  She drove 
with competent authority. 
  "So do you." 
  "There won't be a lot of people at the club tonight," Lelani said.  
"Most people come in on the weekend.  You understand that you're here as 
my guest." 
  "Of course." 
  "You've been a slave before, so you know what to do.  Follow my lead, 
and don't speak unless spoken to." 
  "I understand, mistress," I said. 
  We followed the mountain road to a long, curving driveway that led to 
a sprawling house overlooking the ocean.  There were quite a few cars 
scattered about the driveway, all of them luxury models.  Whoever these 
people were, they had money to spare. 
  A butler in evening clothes admitted us into the house.  The entryway 
was filled with antique vases and objets d'art.  From somewhere deep in 
the house came the sound of people laughing and talking.  We passed 
through a set of double doors into a massive room. 
  There were perhaps fifty people inside.  The dress was casually 
expensive.  Lelani led me through the crowd to a short, balding man with 
an impressive belly that strained at his linen shirt.  He had dark, 
close-set eyes, and a thin, humorless mouth.  A diamond ring sparkled on 
his finger. 
  "Mark, thank you for the invitation," Lelani said, extending her hand 
to him.  "This is my guest, Leslie." 
  Mark shook Lelani's hand, then looked at me.  He smiled, revealing a 
set of small white teeth.  Despite his expensive clothing, he wasn't 
well-groomed.  He needed a haircut, and there was stubble on his chin 
where his razor had missed.  Hair grew from his ears and nose, and the 
backs of his hands looked dingy with ancient grime.  Extending a finger, 
he poked me, hard, in the stomach. 
  "Nice body, but she's a little over the hill," he said to Lelani.  
"Since when did you start collecting old maids?" 
  Mark's words stung to the core, but I maintained my silence. 
  "You'll find her surprising, I think," Lelani said. 
  "I see.  Are you planning on having her participate in tonight's 
activities?" 
  Lelani shook her head.  "No, we're just going to watch." 
  "Then enjoy, my dear," Mark said.  "I'm sure you'll be impressed with 
the entertainment." 
  He moved away.  Lelani took me over to the bar where she got Scotch 
for herself, and bourbon for me.  It was expensive liquor, much better 
than I was accustomed to.  I sipped sparingly, not wanting to become 
inebriated. 
  I'm used to being stared at.  Although I no longer keep myself in 
competition shape, I work out religiously, and maintain a rather strict 
diet.  This devotion to my craft has allowed me to keep my shape.  I'm a 
big woman naturally, and the muscle I've added makes me look larger 
still.  I towered over most of the other women present, and even over 
some of the men.  Looking around, I saw that, aside from Lelani, I was 
the most muscular person in the room.  The rest of the guests had that 
soft, pasty look that comes from a constant diet of rich food and 
liquor. 
  I followed Lelani around the room as she mingled with the others.  She 
knew quite a few of the guests, but there were others who were strangers 
to her.  I wondered if she was a frequent visitor to this house.  I 
thought not, but appearances can be deceiving. 
  When the clock tolled ten, the guests began to migrate toward the 
lawn.  We followed. 
  The grounds were well-lit with floodlights.  Chairs were arranged 
around an open air boxing ring.  With much jostling and laughing, the 
guests took seats.  There was an air of expectation in the air.  Lelani 
and I sat near the back of the crowd, in the last two seats of the last 
row.  There were just enough chairs to go around.  When everyone was 
settled, Mark came to the front of the crowd to address them. 
  It was a boring, self-important little speech, and had more to do with 
promoting himself than with anything else I could see.  In the 
floodlights, the skin of her scalp and forehead were shiny with oil.  I 
told myself to reserve judgment, but it was impossible for me not to 
dislike him.  He seemed unctuous and uncouth.  He was one of those men, 
who if they didn't have money, wouldn't have a friend in the world. 
  After a while, he finished, and took a seat in the front row.  A tall, 
heavily-muscled man stepped from the shadows, and a hush fell over the 
gathered guests.  The evening's entertainment had begun. 
  Two robed and hooded figures emerged from the house, and came toward 
the ring.  Each one was accompanied by a tall, heavy-set man.  They 
entered the ring, and took up positions in opposite corners. They sat on 
the three-legged stools provided while their trainers massaged their 
necks and backs while waiting for the referee. He was a short, pudgy man 
with a striped shirt, and he came into the ring with a self-important 
air.  He waved the two combatants into the center of the ring, and then 
waved them back into their respective corners.  The attendants removed 
the combatants robes, and a murmur ran through the audience.  The 
fighters were two women, nude except for boxing gloves and boots. 
  The taller and heavier woman was a beautifully built black woman with 
impressive shoulders and legs.  Her opponent was a towering brunette 
with washboard abdominal muscles, and thighs like tree trunks.  Both 
women were slick with oil, and in the lights, their bodies gleamed and 
shone with highlights.  Neither woman wore headgear, and I was surprised 
at that.  Except for their nudity, this closely resembled a professional 
bout. 
  I turned to Lelani, intending to ask a question, but she anticipated 
me. 
  "The black woman's name is Sheree.  The other fighter's Becca.  Watch 
her.  Her next bout is going to be with you." 
  I started to say something, but Lelani shushed me.  A bell rang at 
ringside, and the fight was on. 
  The women were experienced boxers.  There was none of the flailing and 
roundhouse swings normally associated with amateurs.  They stalked each 
other intently, circling, looking for an opening.  Sheree landed the 
first punch, a stinging jab to Becca's face.  It was hard enough to 
force her back a step.  Sheree, sensing an opening, moved in, but Becca 
recovered, and counter-punched. 
  Despite the difference in weight, the women were evenly matched.  Each 
one managed to get in a few good blows.  I watched intently, aware of 
how their bodies looked and moved as they jabbed and sparred with each 
other.  Each fighter was looking to strike blows on the most sensitive 
parts of each other's anatomy.  More than once, I saw a gloved fist 
smash against a breast, flattening it against the hard bone underneath.  
I remembered how Susan used to torture my tits, and I wondered how the 
women could withstand such blistering attacks.  They seemed inured to 
the pain, though.  Neither one gave an inch, even when their boobs were 
hit with successive blows.  The ferocity of the fight was beginning to 
excite me.  I licked my lips, and squirmed in my seat. 
  In the third round, Becca went on the attack.  She maneuvered Sheree 
into a corner, and began pummeling the black woman's ribs and belly.  
The crowd was on its feet, sensing the kill.  Becca had her feet 
planted, and was hitting with a good rhythm, using the power of her legs 
and hips to drive her fists into Sheree's midsection.  I could see 
Becca's gloved hands sinking into the wall of muscle of Sheree's 
stomach, and the breath came hard to my throat.  Why was this exciting 
me?  I'd never been stimulated by this kind of violence in the past.  I 
pushed the thought from my mind, and watched the fighters move and 
weave.  Sweat ran down their bodies like a stream, and as they punched 
each other, drops of perspiration and blood flew over the ropes, and 
into the crowd.  At ringside, a statuesque blonde was on her feet, 
screaming at the top of her lungs.  She was spattered with the fighter's 
exertions, and as I watched, she absently reached up with one hand, and 
touched the blood on her face.  Her eyes were fixed, and bright with 
lust.  And she wasn't the only one affected.  Men and women both were 
caught up in the emotion.  Everywhere I looked, I saw the same lustful 
expressions. Sheree was weakening.  She tried frantically to escape, but 
Becca was relentless, and kept forcing Sheree back into the corner.  The 
crowd was screaming for Becca to finish it. 
  The punishment finally became too much to bear.  Sheree dropped her 
arms to protect her stomach.  It was the mistake that Becca had been 
waiting for her to make.  With the speed of a striking snake, Becca 
switched her attack to Sheree's face.  With a rapidity almost too swift 
to follow, Becca began pummeling Sheree's face.  A left uppercut snapped 
Sheree's head back.  A right cross raised a welt along the shelf of 
Sheree's jaw, and caused her knees to buckle.  A left jab landed 
viciously against Sheree's right tit.  It flattened, ballooning out to 
the sides like a cartoon.  Another uppercut raised Sheree up on her 
toes.  By now, Sheree was glassy-eyed and unfocused.  She was having 
trouble keeping her gloves up. 
  The audience was on its feet, roaring and screaming its approval.  
There was blood on Sheree's face from the cut that Becca had opened over 
her eye.  Exhausted, Sheree dropped her guard.  Becca drove a left hand 
into the unprotected midsection, and then her right.  Sheree fell to her 
knees.  Becca delivered the coup de grace, a hard right hand that 
smashed into Sheree's cheekbone.  Sheree's eyes rolled up into her hand, 
and then she pitched forward onto her face.  The referee waved Becca to 
a neutral corner, and then counted to ten over Sheree's prone body.  
When he reached ten, Becca did thrust her arms into the air, and jumped 
for joy.  Her lips were swollen, and one eye was almost closed shut from 
Sheree's fists, but she still grinned victoriously.  Her attendant came 
forward with her robe, but she shrugged him off, and pranced, naked, 
around the ring's perimeter.  She leaned over the ropes, and shouted to 
the crowd who responded in kind. 
  "What's she saying?" I asked. 
  "Probably boasting," Lelani said.  "She was the underdog.  Sheree's 
never lost a fight before.  Becca claimed she was going to win, and even 
predicted the round."  She grinned wickedly.  "I'll bet a lot of people 
lost money on the fight." 
  "She's fantastic," I said admiringly. 
  "Would you like to meet her?" Lelani asked. 
  "Very much so." 
  "Give me a minute to arrange it." 
  The fight's emotion and energy had flowed into the crowd.  The men and 
women around me were filled with it, and you could see by their eyes and 
motions that the bout had excited them.  I felt it as well.  My nipples 
were hard with excitement, and my pussy was wet and open.  I had 
butterflies in my stomach, and as I watched Becca leave the ring, I felt 
a thrill shoot through me. 
  While waiting for Lelani to return, I went back indoors and got myself 
a drink.  I was consuming more alcohol than I normally did, and knew I 
would have to cut back drastically if I wanted to stay in halfway decent 
shape.  The older I get, the harder it is for my body to bounce back.  I 
didn't want to repeat the arduous training and dieting I'd gone through 
after being freed from my former mistress, Susan. 
  Lelani returned after a while, and took me through the house to a 
small bedroom on the second floor.  Instead of a bed, there was a towel-
draped table.  The room smelled of liniment and sweat.  I guessed that 
this is where the fighters waited before the bouts. 
  Becca emerged from the bathroom.  She'd removed her gloves and boots, 
but still wore her robe.  A white, terrycloth towel was draped around 
her neck.  Her hair and legs were wet, and I guessed she'd just emerged 
from the shower. 
  Up close, I could see the damage that Sheree had done to her face.  
Her eyes were puffy and swollen, and she had a split lip.  Her cheekbone 
was bright red, and I knew it would turn purple.  Becca showed signs of 
earlier damage as well.  There was the faint tracing of a scar above her 
left eye, and her ears had the rough, thick look most boxers sported.  
Even through the concealing robe, you could see that she had a hard, 
strong body.  There wasn't an ounce of fat on her.  She went and sat on 
the table.  The robe, which was belted loosely, fell open, exposing 
Becca's breasts and stomach, but she made no move to cover herself. 
  Lelani introduced us.  Becca's grip was firm and strong, though I was 
surprised at how small and fragile her hands appeared to me.  Given her 
chosen sport, I would have thought they'd be thick and callused. 
  "Congratulations on your win," I said. 
  "Thanks.  Sheree's a tough opponent.  It was a hard fight." 
  "I thought it would last longer," I said. 
  Becca shook her head.  "I've been studying her for a while.  She's a 
strong fighter, and can punch like a mule, but she has trouble moving 
from side to side.  I knew if I could get her into a corner, I could 
take her out."  Becca held up a hand and grinned.  "She's not the only 
one who can punch." 
  "Leslie is interested in fighting you," Lelani said suddenly. 
  Becca gave me a speculative glance, her gaze traveling down my body.  
"You look pretty fit," she said.  "Have you ever boxed before?" 
  "Yes, I have," I said, thinking back to my time with Daniel Pfizer.  
In addition to wrestling and body worship, I'd done some amateur boxing.  
The fights hadn't been long, but one of them, in particular, had been 
brutal.  My opponent, Carrie, had cracked two of my ribs, even though 
I'd won the fight.  (See Working Hard for the Money - Part Three.) 
  Without warning, Becca shot a hand toward my face.  The move was 
totally unexpected.  Instinctively, I moved my head aside, and put up a 
defensive hand.  Her half-closed fist slapped into the palm of my hand.  
Becca grinned openly. 
  "Nice reflexes," she said.  She looked at Lelani.  "You know my 
handler, Bill Thornburg?  Contact him, and we'll set something up.  Now, 
if you don't mind, I want to get dressed, get my money, and get out of 
here.  I need some sleep." 
  We thanked Becca for her time, and left.  When we got back downstairs, 
we discovered that the party, now that the fight was over, was getting 
into full swing.  Couples danced in the ballroom, and on the lanai 
adjacent to it.  The buzz of conversation had gotten considerably louder 
as people's inhibitions began to melt away. 
  I saw one woman who had her dress pulled off her shoulders, exposing 
her bare breasts.  The man accompanying her was painting them with 
colors squeezed from a tube of dye.  He concentrated intently, drawing 
swirls and curlicues around the surface and underside of her tits.  
Across the room, a man was slowly undressing.  He was obviously drunk, 
and was removing his suit with elaborate care.  When he was naked, he 
crossed the room on unsteady feet, and went out into the garden where he 
was lost from sight. 
  "Do you want to play?" Lelani asked me.  She stood beside me, her hand 
roaming over my buttocks.  Her fingers pinched and kneaded the firm 
flesh. 
  It wasn't a question I was expecting.  I was the slave; Lelani was the 
mistress.  I was obligated to do whatever she asked.  Susan had never 
sought my permission.  My only out with her had been the mercy word 
she'd given me.  I could use it any time I wanted, with the 
understanding that its use would irrevocably terminate our relationship.  
During my entire stay with Susan, I'd thought the word many times in my 
head, but I'd never said it aloud. 
  "I'm at your disposal, mistress," I answered. 
  Lelani looked at me.  I don't know what she saw in my face, but she 
immediately removed her hand from my ass. 
  "We'll leave," she said.  "I'm going to say goodbye to Mark.  Go wait 
for me in the car." 
  I didn't know if Lelani was angry with me or not.  It wasn't something 
I could control.  I'd given the proper response.  If she wanted to take 
offense at it, there was nothing I could do. 
  I went out of the house, and searched for the car.  It was parked 
under a tree.  I stood near the passenger door, waiting for Lelani.  The 
night was perfect.  It was warm, with a soft breeze.  Above me, the moon 
shone in the sky like a searchlight.  Impulsively, I removed my clothing 
until I stood naked.  My cunt was still moist from my earlier 
excitement, and I slipped a finger into my slit, gathering some of my 
come juice on my forefinger.  I put the finger into my mouth.  I love 
the taste of myself.  My juice has a salty, pungent taste, with a 
lingering aftertaste.  I pushed two of my fingers into my pussy, and 
licked my fingers clean. 
  "What are you doing?" Lelani asked when she saw me. 
  "Masturbating, mistress," I answered truthfully. 
  "Did I give you permission to do that?" she asked. 
  "No, mistress." 
  "You realize that I'll have to punish you for this infraction," she 
said.  She came close to me.  Her hand stole up and captured my turgid 
nipple.  She twisted it in her fingers, never taking her eyes from my 
face. 
  "Yes, mistress," I answered.  "I should be punished." 
  "Get in the car," Lelani ordered.  "I'm taking you home." 
  I didn't let Lelani see the smile of satisfaction that crossed my 
face.  Sometimes, people need to be guided in order to do the right 
thing.  Lelani put the car into gear, and drove away. 

End of Part Two