Working Hard For the Money - Part Three
By Leslie McCormick
A female bodybuilder struggles to support herself




Part Three


	I'd been working for Pfizer about four months, and was one of the most popular women he had 
under contract.  I'm not very tall, but I'm big in other areas, and my size proved to be an 
irresistible draw for a particular group of men.  They were uniformly short and bald, and shared a 
desire to be physically dominated by a large woman.  Fred, my first customer, soon became a regular, 
and over time, I allowed him to take liberties with me that I wouldn't tolerate in my other 
customers.  In a lot of ways, he was a sleazy bastard, but in other ways, he was very sweet.  He 
always tipped me well, and he didn't insist on touching my pussy.  His fascination was with my tits 
and ass.  He was especially enamored of my nipples.  He liked that they were so long.  When I finally 
let him fondle my boobs, he focused almost exclusively on them.  He was fond of pulling and twisting 
them, and was amazed at the amount of pain I could withstand.
The photo and video sales were brisk as well.  In a rare moment of confession, Connie told me 
that I'd sold more videos in one month than the other girls combined.  I was flattered by this, but 
also a little puzzled.  The videos were relatively tame.  All they showed was me doing nude posing 
and stretching exercises.  Connie told me it was the way I looked, but I had trouble believing that.  
I'm not pretty.  My features are broad and plain.  Even makeup fails to heighten my attractiveness.  
Connie told me it wasn't my physical appearance.
"It's something in your eyes, and in the way you move," she said, lighting a cigarette.
I simply shrugged it off.  It wasn't something I understood.
At the start of my fifth month of employment, Connie took me into Pfizer's office for a 
conference.  Daniel was there, sitting behind his desk, drinking whiskey from a glass.
"I'll get right to point," Pfizer said.  "I got a call from a high-paying client.  He wants me 
to set up something special for him."
"What is it?" I asked.
"This guy's seen your pictures, and he wants to arrange a boxing match."
"With him?"
"No."  Pfizer waved his hand.  "There's this woman boxer he knows.  He wants to know if you'll 
fight her."
I looked at Connie, then back at Pfizer.  "Are you kidding?  I don't box."
"It's big money," Pfizer said.  "He's willing to give you five thousand dollars for a five 
round fight."
"Five thousand?"  I was stunned.  My job with Pfizer was paying pretty well, but it wasn't a 
princely sum.  Five thousand dollars was a lot of money to me.
"That's your end.  Guaranteed.  Whether you win or lose."
"I don't know what to say," I said.
"Say yes," Connie suggested.  "It's a good chunk of money."
"But I've never boxed before," I protested.  "This woman, whoever she is, will probably beat 
the crap out of me."
"Maybe not," Pfizer said.  "Charlie used to box in the Golden Gloves.  We can get him to train 
you."
Charlie was one of the bodyguards Pfizer employed to look after the place.  He was a big, 
lovable lug with an easygoing manner.  He was always regaling the women with stories of his boxing 
career.  I suspected that much of what he said was bullshit, but I liked him just the same.
"I don't know," I said doubtfully.
"Five rounds," Pfizer said.  "Three minutes a round.  That's fifteen minutes worth of work for 
a five grand fee.  How can you beat that?"
I couldn't, of course, and that decided me.  Even though I'd never boxed formally, I was always 
pretty good at taking care of myself, and I was strong and fit.
"When does he want to do this?"
"Next month," Connie said.  "We can do it here, if it'll make you feel better."
"One fight?"
Pfizer held up a finger.  "One fight, five rounds, five thousand dollars."
"Who will I be fighting?"
Connie passed across a glossy photo.  It showed a strongly-built woman in classic boxer pose, 
hands up at chest level, menacing look on her face.  She had short, blonde hair and icy blue eyes.  
Her shoulders and arms were packed with useful muscles, and in the photo, her biceps looked as big as 
softballs.  The name in the lower right corner read ‘Julie Nugent'.
"She looks mean," I said, handing the photo back.
"She is," Connie said.  I was grateful to her for the honesty.  "She's had six fights.  Three 
wins, two losses, one draw.  She's up and coming."
I looked at Pfizer and Connie.  If I stood to earn five thousand from this match, it stood to 
reason they were going to make just as much, if not more.  I wondered who the client was, and why he 
was so intent on having me box.  It was something I'd have to talk to Connie about later.  I didn't 
think she'd keep secrets from me.  She liked me, and often told me things she wouldn't share with the 
other women.
"Okay," I said, letting out my breath.  "I'll do it."
"Great," Pfizer said.  "I'll call, and get it set up.  Connie, why don't you get Leslie set up 
with Charlie, and get her into training?"
"You didn't tell her about the condition," Connie said.
"What condition?" I asked.
Pfizer sighed, and leaned back in his chair.  He shot Connie an annoyed glance, which she 
returned blandly.
"You have to fight in the nude," Pfizer said.
"Nude?"
"Well, not totally nude.  You can wear a thong, but nothing on top.  He was pretty adamant 
about that."
"When were you going to tell me?" I asked angrily.  "The day of the fight?"
Pfizer shrugged.  "It slipped my mind.  You still interested?"
I hesitated, but the five thousand lure was powerful bait.
"Who's going to be watching?"
"The client, and a couple of his friends."
"That's all?"
Pfizer nodded.  I sighed again.  What the hell.  After my body worship sessions with my 
clients, I'd have to be a hypocritical prude to refuse this request.  If the client got his jollies 
by watching naked women box, who was I to condemn him?
"Okay," I said.  "I agree."

Training was harder than I'd expected.  I was in good shape, but it was bodybuilding shape, and 
not boxing shape.  Charlie was a tough trainer, who insisted on a lot of road work.
"Boxing's all in the legs," he said, during our first session.  "If you ain't got the legs, you 
ain't got a chance at winning."
So, every day, I had to run between three to five miles in addition to the gym work.
I was good with the body bag, but lousy with the speed bag.  I have good eye-hand coordination, 
but I simply couldn't master the art of punching the speed bag.  I'd hit it once or twice, but my 
efforts were largely futile.  Every time Charlie showed me how to establish a rhythm, I grew even 
more self-conscious.  He made it look so easy.  Despite my ineptitude, I continued to practice with 
it.
One of the other women working for Pfizer was a former collegiate wrestler.  Charlie enticed 
Michele into acting as sparring partner for me.  It would give me practical experience for the fight.  
Two weeks before the scheduled bout, Michele and I spent every other day in the ring.
She was much better than I was, and for the first week or so, she continually landed punches 
against my head and body.  We were both wearing headgear and body jackets, but her punches still 
stung.  She was quicker on her feet than I was, and always managed to maneuver into a position where 
she could strike a blow.
One day, frustrated by my inability to hit her back, I lost my temper.  Charging, I grabbed 
Michele around the waist, and forced her back against the ropes.  I was throwing punches wildly, 
forgetting everything Charlie had taught me about balance and coordination.  Michele weathered the 
attack until my arms tired, and then she delivered two hard punches to my forehead which knocked me 
to the canvas flooring.  I sat there on my butt, looking up at her in surprise.
"That's why you don't lose your temper, Les," Charlie bellowed from his corner.  "Because 
that's exactly how you'll wind up.  An angry fighter is a stupid fighter."
It was a hard lesson, but I learned it.
During the training, I continued to see clients who wanted time with me, although it was hard 
for me to feign enthusiasm.  Luckily, there were very few requests for me to wrestle.  Most of the 
sessions were for body worship, and while they were tedious, they weren't exhausting.  After a hard 
day's worth of training, all I wanted was to soak in a hot tub, eat eight ounces of rare beef, and 
sleep.  Still, I couldn't afford to give up a month's worth of pay.  The bills continued to pile up, 
and I needed the money.  I wasn't scheduled to compete again until the following spring.  This job 
was my only source of income.
The day of the match finally arrived.  It'd been scheduled for a Saturday night.  I arrived at 
Pfizer's warehouse early in the day.  I was nervous and keyed up, and couldn't stand the thought of 
sitting around at home.  Connie had commandeered one of the studios for the occasion, and had turned 
it into a waiting room for me.  I tried waiting in there, but couldn't stand the quiet and solitude.  
I found one of the photographers, and coaxed him into doing a new set of photos.  In keeping with the 
upcoming fight, he came up with a boxing related theme.  By the time the shoot was over, it was time 
to get ready.  When I got back to the waiting room, I found Charlie and Michele waiting for me.
Since becoming sparring partners, Michele and I had grown close.  We liked to hang out 
together, and often spent nights and weekends at each other's apartments.  I didn't think Michele was 
a lesbian, but I'd never seen her with a man, nor did she ever talk about having a man in her life.  
It didn't matter to me one way or the other.  She was a good listener, and I felt comfortable in her 
company.
Charlie, who was as nervous as I was, paced the floor.  The way he went on, you'd think it was 
he who was going to fight.  He kept up a stream of chatter, talking about any subject that popped 
into his head.  Michele, on the other hand, was quiet and reserved.  She made me undress and lie down 
on the training table.  She rubbed me down with oil, helping to get my muscles loose.  This was the 
first time she'd seen me nude, and I was pleasantly surprised by the ease with which she handled my 
nudity.  There was no hint of sexuality.  Her touch was cooling, calm and confident.  Charlie, on the 
other hand, kept staring at me.  I knew I'd soon be nude in front of a room full of strangers, but 
Charlie was being such a leech, I made him wait outside until Michele was finished.
When the rubdown was finished, I put on a robe, and then Charlie returned to tape my hands.  
The bandages felt stiff and rough, but I knew they were necessary.  I didn't want to suffer a broken 
hand if I could help it.  The gloves went on next.
By the time Charlie had finished lacing them up, it was time for the fight to begin.  I 
followed Michele out to where the ring had been set up.
Pfizer had done a good job of converting the video studio.  Three rows of chairs were set up on 
one side of the ring.  A group of well-dressed businessmen sat drinking and talking.  I wondered 
which of them had sponsored this little contest.  When I emerged from the waiting room, and entered 
the ring, they grew animated.
Julie entered the ring a little while after I did.  She was accompanied by a woman trainer, a 
squat, ugly woman with a butch-dyke haircut.  Julie didn't look at me, but went immediately to her 
corner, and sat down on the three-legged stool.  She stared at the canvas while her trainer squatted 
in front of her, and whispered last minute instructions.
A man I'd never seen before was acting as referee.  He was tall and broad and had a no-nonsense 
attitude.  He motioned us to the ring's center, and went over the basic rules of the bout.  I barely 
heard him.  I was concentrating on my opponent, trying to size her up.
Up close, she was meaner looking than she'd been in her photograph.  She had a thin nose and 
lips that were set in a hard line.  Her eyes were like pieces of chipped ice, and they went through 
me like a laser.  A knot of anxiety gripped my stomach, and for a brief second, I thought I'd vomit.  
The feeling passed quickly, though.
We went back to our respective corners.  Charlie removed my robe, and a cry of admiration went 
up from the businessmen.  Julie dropped her robe to the floor, and at the sight of her naked body, I 
felt an icy finger of fear move down my spine.
She was in absolutely magnificent shape.  There wasn't an ounce of excess fat on her body.  She 
had small tits that sat high on her chest.  Her nipples were faintly pink, and barely visible against 
the mound of her breast.  There was no hair on her pubes, and the red slit of her pussy was clearly 
visible between her legs.  She had strong, muscular legs, and when she bounced on her feet, the 
muscles rippled and flexed beneath the skin.
Charlie shoved the plastic tooth guard into my mouth.  It felt strange and uncomfortable, and I 
bit down hard on it, trying to mold it to the shape of my mouth.  The bell rang, and the fight began.
	I moved to the center of the ring.  Julie came to meet me.  Her left hand streaked out, and 
before the motion registered on my brain, I felt the impact of her glove on my right cheekbone.  It 
snapped my head back, and forced me to retreat a step.  She moved with me, throwing another jab that 
landed in the same spot.  I saw stars.
	I was dimly aware of Charlie bellowing at me, and moved to my left, away from her lethal jab.  
I threw a jab or two of my own, but she countered them easily, catching them on her glove.  She 
stared at me intensely, her eyes never wavering from my face.
	My cheek burned where I'd been hit.  I wanted to rub it, but kept my guard up while I moved 
around, searching for an opening.  Julie threw a right that I managed to block, but she followed it 
up with another left that crashed into my right side.  An explosion of pain spread outward from my 
ribcage.  Julie punched as hard as a man.
	Despite the punishment I was taking, I kept moving, trying to slip the punches she threw at me.  
She was clearly the aggressor, and by the time the first round was ended, she'd hit me repeatedly in 
the ribs.  My right side felt bruised, though no marks were yet visible.
	"Goddamnit," Charlie yelled at me.  "Stick and move.  Stick and move."  He slapped the side of 
my head.  "Can't you remember nothing?"
	"She's fast," I said.  I took a mouthful of water and spit it out.  Only one round, and I was 
already sweating like an animal.  It was hot in the room.
	"Stick and move," he yelled into my face.  "Use your left hand to keep her away."
	The bell rang for the second round.  I tried to keep Charlie's advice in mind.  I threw out my 
left jab, sticking it straight out from my shoulder like I'd been taught.  It seemed to help.  I got 
lucky and landed a solid punch against Julie's forehead that I felt up the whole length of my arm.  
It staggered her, and sent beads of sweat flying through the air.  In the background, the businessmen 
cheered.
	I thought the punch would make Julie more cautious, but it had the opposite effect.  She came 
barreling into me, and forced me back against the ropes.  Planting her feet, she pounded away at my 
chest and midsection, her blows landing against my body like incoming artillery.  I had a moment of 
panic, and then my training took over.  I caught her punches on my arms and gloves, twisting my body 
to dodge her gloves.  Julie flattened my left tit against my breastbone, sending a fire of pain 
through my torso.  Breathing hard through my nose and mouth, I counterpunched, driving my fists into 
the exposed area of her face.  I punched as hard as I could, wanting to inflict enough pain on her to 
make her stem her attack.  A cut opened above her eye, and blood sprayed out along with sweat.
	The businessmen were howling with glee.  I heard their voices like distant waves at the 
seashore.  All my attention was focused on the woman in front of me.  She was throwing punches like 
an automaton, and if I didn't escape from her soon, the fight would be over.  The entire length of my 
body from chest to abdomen was on fire.  I couldn't take much more punishment.
	Desperately, I launched a left uppercut.  By an incredible stroke of luck, it slipped past 
Julie's pistoning arms, and landed under her jaw.  I'd put all my weight behind the punch, and it was 
hard enough to lift Julie up on her toes.  I drove my right hand into her nose, and felt it break 
beneath my hand.  She fell backward, blood spewing from her eye, nose and mouth.  I was tired, but 
forced myself to go after her.  Now that she was dizzy and off-balance, it was my chance to finish 
her off.  I moved in, and threw a right cross that landed flush against Julie's chin.  Her head 
snapped to the side, and then her knees buckled, and she fell to the canvas with a thump.
	The referee rushed over, and waved me into a neutral corner.  He bent over Julie, and began to 
count, but before he reached the count of three, the bell ending the round sounded.
	"That was great," Charlie yelled, clapping my shoulder.  Michele elbowed him aside, and using 
the big sponge, squeezed cool water over my shoulders and chest.  My entire body ached.  My tits were 
tender from being pummeled, and the skin along my right side was red and inflamed.  The sweat, 
mingling with the water, formed a small pool beneath my feet.
	"How do I look?" I asked Michele.
	She shook her head.  "You're going to have one hell of a black eye," she said.  Then she 
grinned.  "But you don't look as bad as she does."
	"I don't think I can go on," I said.  "I hurt everywhere."
	Michele leaned close and lowered her voice so that only I could hear what she said.
	"Next time you get hit in the face, go down and stay down."
	She moved away as the bell rang, signaling the start of the third round.
	Julie and I were more cautious with each other than we'd been in the two previous rounds.  The 
damage we'd inflicted upon one another was fresh in our minds, and neither of us wanted a repeat 
performance.  Julie's trainer had put a butterfly stitch in the cut above her eye, but it still 
seeped blood.  Her broken nose gave her face a skewed appearance.  I was amazed by what I'd done.  
Never in my wildest dreams had I ever envisioned breaking someone's nose.  It was exhilarating in a 
strange and unfamiliar way. 
	Julie was flushed with exertion.  Her accelerated blood supply had turned her pale nipples and 
bare pudenda a deep strawberry color.  It looked as though someone had taken a crayon to her body.  I 
wondered if I looked just as incongruous to her.
	We circled each other for nearly a full minute.  The businessmen grew restless and yelled for 
us to fight.  One or two scattered boos were heard.  Egged on by the catcalls, Julie danced in on 
quick feet, and tagged me twice on the right side.  The punches were rabbit quick and took me by 
surprise.  They forced the air from my lungs, and sent me stumbling and falling toward the corner.
	Julie came after me, moving swiftly but carefully.  She cut off my angle of escape, and darted 
a jab that found my mouth.  My lips mashed against my teeth, and I felt the lower one split open.  
The sharp, coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.  Another jab caught me on the cheekbone again.  A 
right hook thundered against my ribs.  My body felt like an open wound.  Another punch landed against 
my ribs.  I fell to one knee.
	The referee immediately rushed in, and ushered Julie to a neutral corner.  I heard his voice 
boom in my ears.
	"One.  Two.  Three."
	I remembered Michele's advice. I was tempted to stay down and end this now.  I'd get my money 
whether I won or lost, and what percentage was there in continuing to get beaten up?  Still, some 
competitive fire forced me to my feet.  If I was going to lose this fight, Julie was going to have to 
beat me fair and square.  I wasn't going to hand the fight to her on a silver platter.  I got 
unsteadily to my feet.
	The referee had barely cleared my gloves before she was on me again.  Her fists pounded against 
my tits and ribs and stomach.  My poor boobs were taking a lot of punishment.  They screamed in pain.  
I teetered backward, saved from falling only by the supporting ropes.  Julie advanced on me, her lips 
pulled back her teeth in a snarl.  She was going to finish this now.  I read that clearly in her 
eyes.  She was going to take me out.
	I threw a hard right.  I had no target.  The punch was meant to ward Julie off, and not to 
inflict any real damage.  So I was just as surprised as the people watching when my fist crashed 
against the shelf of her jaw.  It knocked her mouth open, and sent the mouth guard out of her mouth, 
and flying across the ring.  Julie's body twisted toward the right as her head and shoulders carried 
her in that direction.  Her feet twisted together, and she fell like a toppled tree, landing hard 
enough to jar the canvas beneath my feet.  She uttered a choking little gasp, and then lay still.
	I was dazed.  Even when the referee counted Julie out, and raised my hand in victory, I was 
still waiting for her to get to her feet and finish me off.  It didn't seem credible that my one 
lucky punch had knocked her unconscious.  I was victorious.
	Charlie and Michele helped me back to the waiting room.  They lay me on the table.  Charlie 
unlaced my gloves, and cut the tape from my hands while Michele sponged the blood from my face.  Her 
fingers poked and probed at my torso.
	"You're going to have to go to the hospital," Michele whispered.  "I think Julie cracked your 
ribs."
	"In a minute," I said, although every breath was like a fresh stab wound.  "Right now, all I 
want to do is rest.  I don't want to move."
	Michele went and got a blanket.  She snapped it open over me, then leaned down, and kissed me 
gently on the cheek.  Even that slight pressure sent pain flaring through my face.
	"You were wonderful," she said.  "I'm so proud of you."
	"You're the champ," Charlie trumpeted.  "A kickass champ."
	I hurt too much to celebrate my victory.  Maybe later, after I received medical attention, and 
I'd had a chance to sleep for a day or two, I'd be able to appreciate what I'd endured.  But that was 
in the future.  Now, all I wanted was a little peace and quiet.  I closed my eyes.
	Michele and Charlie took the hint, and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and 
with my battered and bruised body.


End of Part Three