Angie's last stand	
by Smac
The club champion (in Fighting Talk), fights in her last club bout.
Corrected 8/6/2001

Angle sat alone in the large, almost surgical surroundings of one of 
the club dressing-rooms. 
She'd been in this position many times of course but tonight was 
special. She was experiencing a melange of emotions.
For her there were mixed feelings. She was getting older, her opponents 
better all the time. It was taking much longer for her to recover from 
each fight. All the same the fights were much more challenging than with 
the old circle and of course there was the money, soon she and Steve 
would be able to sell the taxi business and live abroad, for most of the 
year at least.
She looked down at her tiny g-string. Although her figure was still 
fantastic, such things were for young things. The bandages on her fists 
were the only other thing she wore. She wound them off, knowing the 
other girl would be doing the same. She looked longingly at her 
street clothes, hoping she would still be champ when she put them back on.
Unlike her, she stood and admired her body and features in the full-length
mirror. She caressed her large, brown breasts, all too soon her hands
would be confined inside the hard little gloves. In the old days she
used to get a buzz when the gloves were tied on, but one of the many
things she had noticed lately was that fear overwhelmed any other
emotion as she was gloved up. The butterflies used to disappear
when the little black bombs were laced on, but now a knot would
stay in the pit of her stomach. She was at least glad that 
the reporter hadn't turned up after all, she would have found it
a burden to have had to chat with her. All too soon there was a
quiet knock at the door and May, the general dogsbody, told her
that time was up. Her reflection in the mirror turned quickly
and she grabbed her white silk dressing gown from the back of
the chair. 
Slipping it on she warmed to the familiar feel of the thin well-worn 
material. She had bought it after her first fight, the one she had
with Denise at Susan's all those years ago. It was an old friend
now, she determined that she would retire the old gown tonight
after the fight and hang it up together with the metaphorical gloves.
Pulling the thin belt tight around her waist she lifted her strong
chin and strode out into the corridor. Several of the other girls
were waiting for her by the door which led into the arena. Some,
who were to fight after Angie's bout were in dressing gowns with
towels draped around their necks. The atmosphere was charged 
with emotion, but both her colleagues and Angie put on a brave face. She 
looked over to the ring and watched her opponent duck through the ropes.
"Thanks for the trouble girls, but I've got a fight on," she laughed, 
breaking the ice.
They broke ranks allowing her to walk proudly to the ring. She 
gathered her precious gown close about her breasts with one hand and 
pushed up the top rope with the other. A cheer went up from everyone 
in the room. There were no empty seats anywhere, seldom was the arena so 
packed. Not only was Angie the best boxer the club had ever had, but 
she was the most popular, both with her fellow boxers and with the 
predominantly male supporters of the SEWBC. She allowed herself the 
slightest bow is an acknowledgement of their attentions. 
She didn't normally go in for the showmanship side of boxing, preferring 
instead to get on with the serious business of rendering her opponent 
unconscious as soon as possible, whilst keeping within the rules. Her 
second and good friend, Karen rushed up to greet her.
"Hi Angie, sorry I didn't come to your dressing room, I was rather 
late, actually I've only just got here."
"Oh that's alright, I like to be an my own before a fight anyway."
She began to search along the front row of chairs for her husband, Steve. 
There he was, his head turned round to speak to someone behind him. He 
turned and their eyes met. He smiled a curious half-smile and she gave an
almost imperceptible shrug in return. She was not feeling her usual 
self. 
Karen caught her attention.
"I'd better get you gloved up Angie."
She glanced across to the opposite corner. Her opponent, a big girl 
even for the heavy-weights in this club, already sported small, black 
four ouncers on the end of her bulging fore arms.
She had entered the hall and climbed into the ring wearing nothing 
but her g-string. 
It looked identical to Angie's.
"Yes of course, sorry."
She sat and held out her own strong hands. Karen took the gloves from 
around her neck and untangling them, tucked one between her knees and 
began tying the other on Angie's fists.
"You naughty girl, you've taken the bandages off again haven't you?"
"No," lied Angle, there was no-one to do it for me."
Karen's brow creased as she wound the metre or so of surgical tape 
round the cuffs of the gloves. The referee wouldn't want any stoppages 
due to flying laces.
"How does that feel love?" asked Karen, straightening her back.
Angie smacked the gloves together between her bare knees, and rolled the 
knuckle parts together.
"Good."
She at last managed a brief smile. 
Karen had a jolly good idea how she felt. She had fought at the club 
as a middle-weight for several years before she quit after being very 
badly beaten up by an imported fighter from Germany.
"At least Angie stands a good chance of quitting while she's on 
top," she thought.
Preparations for the fight were going on apace. Soon there were more 
people in the ring. 
Angie managed another smile when she recognised the referee for the 
bout. She too was an ex-club boxer, who had declined the usual offer of 
private surgery and still bore the signs of an oft-time broken nose to 
prove it. She strode over to Angie's corner.
"I didn't believe it when they told me, finally hanging up the gloves 
then?"
"Yes, amongst other things, sighed Angie, "I've enjoyed every minute or 
it, but it's taking such a toll of my time now, just when we should be 
getting more out of life."
She again glanced across to where her husband sat. He saw her look at 
him and he replaced the ref. at her corner.
"Well good luck," he noted the look in her eyes, "and don't be afraid to 
call it a day if you get hurt too badly."
He knew from past experience that he was probably wasting his breath.
She stared at the girl in the other corner, she certainly looked a 
tough customer. She'd seen her around the club for the last few weeks 
but had never seen her fight. Indeed no-one at the club had, she had 
joined after running out of opposition at her previous, less prodigious 
club. Her reputation as a ruthless, strong boxer had preceded her and 
several of the other heavy-weights had already cried off rather than 
face her in the ring. Word had it that although she was yet only
twenty, she had been in the ring since the age of twelve, having
been trained by her father. 
Apparently he then threw her in at the deep end, for money against 
all-comers when she reached sixteen. Consequently she had learnt 
her boxing skills in the hardest way imaginable. She certainly
looked the part, standing imperturbable in her corner, her
lightly gloved fists planted on her broad hips. 
She had virtually ignored her second, saving her gaze for the champion, 
Angie, in the opposite corner. 
The brunette returned her stare, unintimidated. She stood about five
foot ten, had short, very short blonde hair, her face, though quite
pretty, showed signs of having taken a good deal of punishment
during her years in the ring. Several scars were clearly visible
on the fair skin round her eyes and mouth, her nose was just
slightly out of shape, though that could have been natural,
but Angie doubted it, mostly it was the way she held herself 
that betrayed all the tine she had spent in the squared circle. 
Arrogant would not have been too strong a word for it. Just days before 
the fight Angle had found out that she was called Kirsty Martin.
"You don't frighten me Kirsty," she said to herself, part whistling in 
the dark. The name Kirsty seemed too feminine somehow to suit this lusty, 
strong fighter she was faced with. 
As if she heard the blonde began smacking her tiny gloves together
hard in front of her large, fair breasts. 
Angie's attention focussed on the sound. The blonde's g-string
looked tiny, drawn up as it was, between her massive thighs.
It was clear that she too shaved off her pubic hair.
"Well at least we've got one thing in common," thought Angie.
Suddenly she remembered her wish to have this, her last fight video-
taped. She relaxed when she made out the two video cameras mounted on 
either side of the ring, ready to record the carnage for posterity.
The ring had cleared of everyone but the referee, and Angle listened 
as she began the introductions.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," said the ref, glancing round the audience, in 
deference to the fair sprinkling of women present, "tonight's 
championship fight will be fought over unlimited rounds. The girls 
will be wearing four ounce gloves. I'm sure most of you already know 
that this eighth defence of her title will be Angle's last fight 
here at the club."
By tradition the challenger was first forwards.
"May I present Kirsty, at twenty one of the youngest heavy-weight 
contenders for the title we've had for many years."
There was a ripple of polite applause and several intakes of breath 
as the powerful fighter stepped out under the full glare of the overhead 
lights. She clearly impressed the audience, reputation notwithstanding.
"She weighs in at 172 lbs. and measures 40-26-38. Once again, Kirsty." 
More applause as Angie considered her physique.
"Nothing in it weight-wise, she was slightly bigger round the waist, 
but her height, two inches taller than me must account for a good deal 
of heaviness in her bone structure."
When the champion got Karen to untie the belt and slip the gown 
from her shoulders the few members of the audience who hadn't seen 
her stripped for action gasped. Angie's 170 lbs. was made up of a 
greater proportion of solid muscle. When she moved over towards the
ref. she, quite uncharacteristically, adopted a pose which showed off
her impressive shoulders and biceps.
The crowd loved it.
Even the ref. grinned as she grabbed Angie's right glove and intoned, 
"you must all know Angie by now, I won't embarrass her by giving her age 
but she weighs 170 lbs. and comes in at 40-24-37.'
True, she had put in inch on her hips since her last fight, but what the 
hell. The knot in her stomach had gone now, replaced by a strong desire 
to get at the blonde bombshell in the opposite corner.
"Damn," thought the brunette when the referee called them out to ring 
centre, "wasn't the fight ever going to begin."
She grabbed Kirsty's left glove, Angie's right as she pulled them close 
about her.
"I know you've heard it all before, but I want a good clean fight, as 
hard as you like but you must stick to the rules. Remember punching 
only, I don't give a damn where, but only punching. In the event of a 
knock-down I want the other girl to stand well back out of the way, on 
the ropes or in a neutral corner. Right back to your corners and come 
out fighting."
Neither girl moved to touch gloves.
The time that the boxers had stood close to each other had given 
the audience ample time to compare them. Steve, of course was more 
interested than any of them in his wife's opponent. Angela again 
unusual for her, had put her hair up in a loose bun rather than her 
normal pony-tail, she had taken ages before they had left home 
arranging it, using soft plastic pins to hold it up. He drank in her 
familiar feature, as always she not only looked fit and terribly 
strong but gorgeous with it. He never tired of watching her, 
especially when she was in the ring and wearing as little as she was. 
Her huge brown breasts barely sagged, her taut, bare bottom shone 
whilst the tiny g-string almost covered the smooth bulge between her
hard, tanned thighs. She began to knock her gloves together as the
tension built up. 
Kirsty, for her part, looked almost it peace. She blinked her large 
cow-eyes as he took in her youthful physique. Her short blonde hair 
looked natural enough, the sheen of fair hairs on her strong fore-arms 
confirmed it. Standing square on to him he was able to appreciate the 
full extent of the musculature around her shoulders. Like most of the
club members he had heard the rumours that she was into the sport of
body-building. It seemed that many such women, after having spent
months, maybe years making muscle, found that they needed an outlet
for their power and aggression.
"Well this sure is one way, I don't think I'd like to take her on," he 
said to himself, "no wonder Angie's been acting strange."
Her pale breasts were as big as Angie's but looked softer, more 
vulnerable. His wife's had been tested to the limit often after 
nearly fifteen years in the ring. Shifting his gaze to her tummy, 
there was, he noticed, cheering slightly, more than a hint of a spare 
tyre. 
Somehow she had, whether purposely of course he couldn't know, allowed 
the vee of her g-string to pull right up into her crack.
He allowed himself a brief smile.
"It looks like she's got it on back to front."
Her thighs seemed quite strong, but it was obvious that here was were 
most of her extra height was made. The legs were more muscular than the 
average girls' but they were nowhere near as impressive as him wife's or 
of most of the other girl boxers he had seen. He wished he had noticed 
this earlier, there was no way he could tell Angie about it until, 
heaven forbid, something happened which made it acceptable for him to
go to her corner.
They stood still in their corners for a few seconds only before the bell 
clanged to start the fight.
Normally Angie liked to warm up fairly gently, taking her time to 
become accustomed to both giving and taking punishment. She was however 
denied such indulgence on this occasion, almost before she knew what
was happening the young blonde was upon her. 
Steve winced as he watched the hard leather gloves crash into his 
wife's unprepared face. A stinging left caught her beneath the right eye, the 
cheek flaring instantly, the girl's right hook thwacked into her 
temple, she saw a cloud of stars.
Her mind went numb for a second. Luckily, before the girl could find 
another opening, she came to her senses.
"I've got to get my ass in gear or she's going to waste me before I've 
thrown a punch!"
She had been genuinely surprised by the force of those two punches. 
She'd been in the ring quite long enough to recognise what she was 
up against. She understood why this girl was in this ring with her, 
thoughts of the championship and such flew from her mind, she was here to 
nail this big bruiser before she got flattened herself. Many of the 
audience seemed to reach the same conclusion and the air was full of 
cries urging Angie to box her blonde adversary.
The first few seconds of the round seemed to last for ages. 
Again the blonde came for her. 
It was her turn for surprise. She could not land a punch on the older 
woman. Angie bobbed, weaved, danced and ducked, confusing the big 
fighter completely. It couldn't go on like that for long, of course, it 
didn't get the young girl onto the canvas and it used up too much
valuable energy. But it did demoralise her and her frantic, but
unfruitful punching wasted energy. 
As soon as Kirsty let up Angie started to plant some hard left 
leads. The challenger tried the same evasive tactics as Angie, but she 
didn't fare as well. 
It seemed as though the champion's gloves were locked-on to her face, no 
matter how much bobbing and weaving she did, the stinging punches still 
got through to the target.
Angie felt much better as she danced back to her corner at the end of 
the first. She had all but forgotten about the two crushing punches she 
had taken earlier. Karen lifted her head so that her face would catch 
the full glare of the overhead lights.
'Good, there's no mark there.'
She had feared that the blow under Angie's eye may have raised a bump, 
which was never a good thing, especially so early in a bout.
"Feel ok?"
"Yes fine," grinned Angie," she won't catch me like that again."
Taking no chances with the eye, Karen smeared a finger-full of Vaseline 
under it.
Ever-watchful, the tough-looking referee wiped most of it off with her 
thumb as the fighters came together for the second round. 
Kirsty didn't bother with the bobbing and weaving this time. She just 
bore in and drove the startled champion back into her own corner. 
Karen, only inches away from her bare bum, watched the young girl's 
rock-hard fists thudding round into Angie's kidneys. She looked to the 
ref. but one glance told her that there would be no intervention. 
She had said "punching only," but as for where one could hit, this 
was never laid down at the club and was generally taken to be anywhere
one could land a punch. Earlier that month Karen herself had seconded a 
fight between two beginners when they had even punched each other's 
thighs as legs were brought up to protect their crotches. 
However Angie wasn't going to stand this treatment for long. The girl 
got a few crushing blows in, true but then the champion, using her 
superior ring-craft, ducked low and twisted out of trouble. The 
look of surprise on Kirsty's face caused many of the audience to smile. 
It was clear that she had expected to floor the brunette.
Again the young boxer had misjudged the older woman. She regretted her 
naiveté even more as she took a crisp right hook to her bulging left breast. 
Realising she was wide open, she quickly raised her guard. 
Angle had only got one punch in, but it had been a good one. Now the 
girl was covered again. The breast blow stung her, heightening her 
awareness and concentrating her mind. For the first time in the fight 
she began to think a little about what she was doing. In a small way 
the beautiful punch had been counter-productive for the brunette. But
she couldn't help smiling inwardly as she watched the large milky
breast redden. Kirsty hadn't fought for several months so the pain
in her chest was the worse for that. 
Angie always made sure that her breasts didn't get a chance to escape 
punishment for very long, except after a fight that is, when she often 
had to stay out of the ring entirely for a month or two. 
Steven stared thoughtfully at his wife's beautiful, tanned breasts 
with the large, brown nipples and was pleased that he wouldn't have 
to watch them being punished again, at least not in a professional ring.
He'd told her at the outset that he thought them too big for the sport,
but she'd proved him wrong, she'd been through agony time and time 
again, but she'd proved him wrong. She'd even bought a special 
sports bra in her size, 40C, to wear for a few days after each fight, 
once the bulk of the swelling had subsided. She'd had the dickens of a 
job to find a sports shop with such a large size in stock. He gave her
full credit, for a woman of her age she very seldom wore a bra at other
times and he wondered if this had helped, along with the training,
to keep her tits in such magnificent condition. All the pundits said no,
a bra helped, but neither he nor Angie were sure.
His attention fully returned to the ring to see his wife take a 
vicious short right uppercut to the midriff. The knuckles dug in 
just below her breasts, it was the perfect punch to wind an opponent, 
but not Angie, her diaphragm held and again the blonde was surprised 
to see her holding up. The blow did hurt Angie a good deal, but she 
had no intention of showing it. 
She did twist her torso slightly to the right, offering the girl less of 
her belly as a target.
"It's time I pulled something out of the hat," she thought to herself, 
"if that punch had caught me higher up my breasts would have been off to 
a bad start."
As it was the base of her breast bone ached terribly and she could feel 
her skin tingling and the flesh flared red. Knowing the second round 
must soon be over, she decided to chance a decoy manoeuvre. It was an 
oft-used plot of hers in the ring, to risk the chance of taking a belt 
herself in order to get a decent, unhindered crack at her opponent. 
To this end she dropped her right glove slightly, uncovering the lower
half of her face, especially her nose. 
The look in Kirsty's eyes told her that the bait had been taken. Quick 
as a flash, the straight right pistoned out, straight from the 
shoulder, she nodded at the very last moment and the glove landed smack 
on her forehead. Kirsty didn't pull her guard back quickly enough, she 
whipped her own left hook into the youngster's already blushing right 
breast.
My she was glad she'd not had to take that punch on the nose, she felt 
as if she'd been kicked by a mule as it was.
Kirsty stumbled backwards, wide-eyed, apparently gasping for air. Her 
soft, resilient tit-flesh had been crushed and sheared by the blow. She 
glanced down as if to make sure her breast hadn't been torn off 
completely.
"That's more like it," sighed Angie.
She had no delusions about this fight, there was no room for compassion, 
it was kill or be killed. Sportingly she let the girl set her guard 
somewhat, but she was still struggling for breath when the brunette 
caught her with the very punch she herself had just avoided, a hard 
straight right to the centre of the face. The feel of the upstart's 
lips and nose yielding beneath her barely covered fist heartened her 
further. Kirsty was in more pain than she could remember. Eyes misty,
her nose and mouth smudged with blood, but worst of all the dull ache
from her damaged right breast, she was so relieved to hear the bell,
Angie was quite sorry to have to leave it there, even for a minute,
but she reluctantly swung round and headed for her corner. 
Karen was very excited.
"You were great," 
"It's only the second round," smiled the brunette, pouring on cold 
water. She had been in this game too long to get complacent over one or 
two good punches. Ok she'd won that brief battle but the war wasn't 
over by a long chalk, of that she was quite sure. This was a strong, 
tough girl she was up against, she may be arrogant, but Angie was sure 
that this last club fight of hers was going to be some scrap.
A quick wipe with a damp sponge and Kirsty's face was back to normal, 
no sign of bleeding. 
Although her second did smooth her breasts, nothing could dull the 
pain or pale the flaming red skin. 
Angie looked good, Karen did nothing, she just lounged against the 
ropes chatting to her. Soon both of them were smiling at something. Karen 
looked very pleased with her charge. 
Kirsty and her surly second clearly didn't share the joke. The blonde 
motioned her closer and asked her something. From a drawstring bag the 
second dusted the soles of the girl's feet with powdered resin. The 
arena lapsed into a silence, shattered seconds later by the clanging 
bell. When the two came together it looked as if they had just begun 
the fight, neither was much marked. The round began, the exchanges were 
more classic, more open. Kirsty showed that she could box as well as 
scrap.
Steven wondered if the blonde had ever gone 20 rounds before. As a 
fight to the finish, this match could last even longer. He hoped he 
wouldn't regret his condoning of Angie's decision to go for unlimited 
rounds. He noticed that even after six minutes of fairly brisk action, 
neither girl showed any sign of sweating, a tribute to their fitness. 
A fierce straight right from his wife to the bridge of Kirsty's nose 
started fresh crimson running over her lips and chin.
"Damn," spat the blonde, "that hurt."
She reacted by poking a right of her own into the nipple of Angie's left 
breast. They both came up onto their toes and a series of exchanges began 
that several of the onlookers were later to describe as a slug feast. 
The boxers were really fired up, the girl with her stinging nose, Angie 
from her aching tit. The non-stop punching lasted for a couple of 
minutes, they hit and were hit all over, bellies, breasts and faces. 
The closing half minute or so of the round found them breast to battered
breast, occasionally digging each other in the guts with the hard black
gloves. As they turned for their respective corners their seconds were
able to see clearly for the first time since the fury began, what the
damage was.
Even from where he sat, Steven could see that both boxers were red-
faced and shiny with sweat. 
Angie managed a weak smile as she lowered herself gently onto her stool. 
Karen was concerned to notice her teeth, smudged red.
"Probably some little cuts inside her mouth," she thought to herself. 
"Hardly surprising after that lot."
She offered the brunette water to rinse her damaged mouth, but she 
waved it away. Angie did not like too much fussing about between 
rounds, she preferred to sit quietly and make the most of it. She 
glanced down between her legs and noticed that, as usual, the g-string 
supplied by the club had become completely transparent, sweat from her 
glistening body having soaked into the thin white silk.
"I wonder if those bloody men buy them specially? Still they 
were very magnanimous," she thought wryly, "they never ask for them back."
She had quite a collection, some of course were too stained to be worth 
keeping and had to be thrown away.
'I must have lost pints of blood in this ring," she whispered to herself.
She was sorry this was her last fight in this ring though. She'd had 
some damn good scraps here, she'd been hurt, badly, a time or two, 
but overall her memories of the club were good. Her gaze travelled 
down further to her feet. She smiled when she noticed her toe-nails, 
painted bright crimson. That was another thing she would never have 
dreamed doing in her previous fights, She always liked to wear just 
the gloves and whatever else the club supplied. She hoped that it 
wasn't a forewarning of things to come later in the fight.
Kirsty's nose still ran red, despite the damp sponge, applied the 
moment she flopped down on her stool. Her second, having finished her 
towelling down, pinched the bridge between her finger and thumb, making 
the girl wince. She began dabbing again with the sponge.
"Leave it alone, Jo, you know it won't stop and it's not bothering me."
Jo, her second, knew from past battles, that the blonde's nose bled 
profusely if hit at all hard. 
Consequently nearly all of her fights since the age of about sixteen, had 
seen her looking a mess after just a couple of rounds. She only 
managed to shake Jo off as the bell sounded for round four.
The two powerful women squared up to each other and began to 
exchange blows. Even the ring-wise referee marvelled at the way the 
boxers faced each other. They weren't circling but merely stood a few 
paces from each other, using straight lefts and rights.
"Well, one thing's for sure," thought Karen, watching both girl's heads 
being rocked by the hard punches, "they simply won't be able to keep 
that up for long."
In the event she was quite wrong. The rally went on for well over a 
minute, their faces taking most of the blows which landed. As if by mutual, 
tacit agreement they both backed off at the same time and began a 
period of more conventional boxing. Because they had pulled back from 
each other, lowering their guards slightly and had begun to circle, the 
onlookers and their seconds were able to see the damage done during the 
frenzy of punching. 
The blonde's fair skin made her look the worst for wear, but no-one had 
any doubt that the brunette was just as badly bruised. The exchange 
had been as even as it had been brutal. 
Both bled quite badly from nose and mouth, again Kirsty's nose faring 
worst. The tops of her great milky tits were well spattered with the 
blood dripping from the end of her chin. 
Angie's gloves had further spread the gore around and even the short 
once-fair hair framing her face was stained crimson. Only herself 
and Jo were not shocked by her condition. Jo had seen her go on for 
round after round covered in blood, usually to win in the end. Her 
face, especially her nose, might be weak and soft but the rest of 
her certainly wasn't. The punches thrown now, though no less hard,
were less frequent, the boxers taking the normal evasive measures,
whereas before they had merely stood and took what got through their
guards. Whilst Angie didn't mind mixing it, she did feel 'happier'
to be standing off again. She felt more in control of herself, rather
than having to respond to the punches piling in. Once she had come
to terms with the bloody face before her, she was delighted with
her handiwork. Though, glancing at the blood running down her
cleavage, she knew her own face must be in a mess. 
Bunching her strong fists in the sodden gloves, she resolved to do 
some more work on Kirsty's face. Her reach was about the same as the 
blonde's, so it wouldn't all be one way. Her straight left flicked out 
twice in quick succession. The fair head rocked, both hard blows had
got to her already damaged mouth. 
Despite the mist in her eyes, the next time she saw the fist coming she 
drew her face back slightly to take the edge off the punch and 
countered with a straight right of her own. 
Angle, for all her ring craft, was too complacent. It was a good 
counter, she hadn't left it long before she'd whipped her own left back 
in close. Now she felt her left eye beginning to swell.
"Damn, she can move when she wants to."
She didn't know, of course, but with the punch, her dark brown hair 
had come loose at the back. They fought the last seconds of the 
round, both bleeding freely, but with the champion's eye puffy and hair 
dishevelled.
"I'll have to do something with your hair love," whispered Karen.
She took a small mirror out of her bag to show Angie what a mess her 
hair was in. For the first time ever during a fight she caught sight of her 
battered, bleeding face.
"Christ, I must be mad."
Forcing herself to ignore the bloody lower half of her face, she 
concentrated on the eye, there was a small mouse forming under it.
"Thank goodness it's not over," she sighed to herself.
It took Karen the full minute to rescue the hair, even so she couldn't 
return it to it's former glory. Taking out all the plastic pins, she 
used a rough piece of string to tie it loosely at the nape of 
Angie's golden brown neck. Consequently she stood for the round, her 
face and breasts in the same bloody state as when she had sagged down 
at the end of the last. For a different reason, so did the blonde.
She had told her second to stop mauling her around and the sulking
girl had got out of the ring all together, leaving her alone in her
corner. If this had happened to Angie there would have been an outcry
but this girl oozed hubris to the extent that no-one in the audience
bothered to protest.
So they squared up for round five. 
Steve, watching Angie hunch her shoulders as she set her guard, 
thought that the fight was far from over. They began by smacking each 
other's breasts around, neither had any kind of guard set. Their 
once-resilient breasts quickly became red and swollen. The blonde 
took the most punches and this was reflected by the state of her tits. 
Despite her training and past hard fights, there were tears in Kirsty's 
eyes and her lower lip pouted. 
She looked more her tender age then when she had stood, self assured, 
waiting for the fight to begin. She took another fearsome belt in the 
tits and staggered backwards onto the ropes. Angie came 
forwards expectantly, there was no reaction from the girl so she began to 
slug her in the guts with both hands, trying hard for a knock-down. 
Angie herself still suffered as her breasts moved around her chest, but 
she was a very long way from her limit. She was very surprised at the 
girl's ability to soak up the punishment and at how hard her belly 
muscle-wall turned out to be. The blonde took at least ten blows to 
the belly, everyone, especially Angie, expected her to drop soon. She 
wasn't clever enough to box her way out of trouble, but she was still 
strong. Suddenly she lashed out with a perfect right uppercut. The 
stinging blow landed on the tiny patch of white silk barely covering 
Angie's vagina.
She nearly went down.
She felt sick. Even amongst these tough women, few were willing to 
initiate a first strike between the legs. For the blonde, the low blow
had got her out of trouble, for the moment anyway. Now it was the
brunette's turn, she collected several cruel thumps in her guts.
Her lower half felt like lead. As If by agreement, the two boxers
stood back and raised their fists. For the remainder of the round,
about thirty seconds, they exchanged punches to the head. When they
turned for their corners the two seconds got the sponge ready.
They would certainly be needed. There were four bloated breasts
for starters, both were bleeding from the nose and mouth again,
Kirsty especially and Angie throbbed dully between the legs.
"She's got to go," snarled the brunette as she lowered herself gently 
onto the stool.
"Hurt?" asked Karen.
"You bet, I haven't been hit between the legs for ages," "I'd almost 
forgotten what it feels like, now I'll damn well do my best to 
remind her."
Her eyes narrowed is she looked across the ring.
"Ice?" offered Karen.
"She'll see," thought the brunette, "but what the hell, I'm not 
Superwoman, yes thanks Karen."
The girls in the club had long since devised a sovereign remedy for 
punches in the pants. Karen draped a towel over Angie's middle and 
scrunched a handful of crushed ice from a small bucket. Pulling the 
sweat-sodden vee of material away from her lips, she rubbed in the ice. 
Angie relaxed, sighing as she felt several chunks of the ice slip 
right up into her scalding vagina.
In the opposite corner Kirsty's tits were receiving similar 
attention, The breasts really did look very painful. No amount of 
ringside nursing would ease the bruising or the pain. The breasts had 
swollen several inches and, for the first time in her boxing career, 
her large, flat nipples had begun to feel decidedly raw. She rubbed 
them gently with the smooth inside of her forearms to check. She 
winced and allowed the girl to continue with the ice bag. Again neither 
fighter had been cleaned up about the face. 
The last exchanges of the fifth had fuelled the flow of blood. It 
splashed onto the blonde's breasts even as Jo worked on them. 
Angie, doubled over trying to ease the pain between her legs, watched 
drops of her face-blood spattering the canvas and her tanned thighs.
"Here we go again," she thought as she heard the bell clang for the 
sixth. Her legs had set somewhat whilst she had been on the stool and she 
grimaced slightly as she rose. Water ran in rivulets down the insides 
of her bronzed thighs as the ice rapidly melted inside her. She
cheered up a bit when she noticed how the girl held herself.
It was obvious that, despite Jo's attention during the break,
she was still suffering from her bosom. Her elbows were tucked in
so close they squashed her bloated breasts almost flat.
The front, nipple-part of the tits was covered all right
but consequently the majority of the meat bulged from 
each side of her fore-arms.
"Well thanks a lot," thought Angie, "that hands it to me on a plate."
"I'll only be able to lob in a few before she twigs, so I'd better 
make these count."
She moved in closer, ignoring a couple of stinging lefts to her poor 
face. A crashing right hook smacked into the middle of the young girl's 
chest, her mouth opened wide but no sound escaped. Instinctively she 
swung her left elbow over to close the gap, exactly what the champion 
had predicted she'd do. The other right hook took her bang on the 
nipple of her distended left tit. Angie was awed by the power of the 
punch. She even felt the girl's ribcage under her thin glove. Kirsty 
crumpled to the ring floor and lay in a heap, her bare, heaving
body glistening with sweat. She sat up and uncupped her right glove 
from her breast. 
Angie could see a bubble of blood welling from the already-skinned 
nipple. The girl struggled to get up, she was so used to hearing a 
count. She hadn't liked to admit that this would be her first fight to 
a finish. Her face was white when she finally managed to gain her feet. 
It wasn't all due to the pain though, she was wild. She tore into the 
unsuspecting brunette and began to throw so many hard punches, that
some were bound to get through. Poor Angie went down after taking
several punches to the head, the one which did the trick was a
right swing to the side of her face.
Two knock-downs yet the round wasn't half a minute old, and the fight so 
young. Angie didn't look too good when she got up. She was still dazed 
and her vision was blurred, any other boxer in the club would have 
stayed down much longer, it was unlimited rounds after all, there would 
be no count. But as soon as her head had cleared, she felt much 
better. The blond had to bear the continual pain of her damaged tits. 
For the first time since the fight had started she began to worry about 
the amount of punishment she was taking. Also she was 
beginning to harbour sneaking doubts about the outcome of the fight. 
This was not a good thing for any boxer to dwell on.
Everyone in the arena must have been as surprised as Angie's second, 
Karen, that the fight was turning out to be so evenly matched. One boxer
only twenty and relatively inexperienced, the other more than twice her age 
with the same number of years in the ring as Kirsty had birthdays. Her 
natural strength, the body-building and her animal aggression must be 
making up for the blonde's lack of ring-craft. In the ring the girls 
laid into each other, each trying hard for another knock-down, Steve 
thought back over his wife's years at the club.
"It must be fifteen years. Yes, that's right." They'd worked it out the 
previous night.
"She took some stick when she first started to fight in that ring."
He remembered how, after some of her first fights, ten-rounders in 
the vicious little four ounce gloves, he hadn't been allowed to touch 
her large, inviting breasts for days. Normally she loved to have her 
tits fondled, kissed and even bitten, but after most of her fights here 
they were usually out of bounds for at least a week. In some 
fights she suffered less, often she suffered more. It was the 
essence of woman's boxing, not so much a trial of 
strength, but one of endurance and guts. There were clean knock-outs, of 
course but more often a 'knock-out' meant that the boxer could no 
longer face her opponent's leather-bound fists, rather than her having 
lost consciousness, as in men's boxing. He tried to guess how many 
fights she'd had in this room, but couldn't remember.
"I must get hold of the club secretary after the fight and take a photo-
copy of Angie's fight record."
"The pieces of paper," he thought, "would tell blindly of win, lose, 
number of rounds, opponent and the rest, but they wouldn't 
reflect the pain and punishment."
Then he remembered the video. He spun round to check the cameras. One 
of the operators, a friend of his, gave him the thumbs-up sign and he 
sank down relieved.
"It would be criminal if this battle didn't end up can."
The round was in was closing stages now, the girls had spent the entire 
time, since Angie had been knocked down, leathering each other, mostly 
about the head. When they broke off finally at the bell, Steve made to 
study his wife but his eyes were drawn to the big blonde instead. 
Her entire face was covered in blood, several streams ran down 
between her spattered breasts, even the front of her g-string was wet 
with blood. She gave the audience a broad smile as she turned for her 
corner, she certainly seemed to like to fight.
"That was some round," gasped Karen, as she moved tend to the brunette.
"Yes, I enjoyed it."
It didn't look as if she had though. She had nearly as much blood on her 
as the blonde. Her skin was darker so the bruising didn't look as bad, 
but she must have taken more than fifty hard punches to the head in the
last three minutes. She waved the second away.
"Don't bother Karen, I just want to rest.'
She laid back on her stool, her sweaty back on the corner-post, her 
elbows on the ropes, blood-streaked legs stretched out way in front of 
her, the small blood-sodden gloves dangling at the ends of her bruised, 
spattered arms. 
"It goes quite well,' she smiled inwardly, matching the nail-varnish on 
her toes with the blood splashes on her thighs.
"You ok?" asked Karen.
"Yes fine, honestly, I was feeling a bit tired, but that round has got 
me onto my second wind I think."
The seventh began and ended the same. Without any clinching or 
holding, they kept up one long exchange of punches. Faces and breasts 
suffered under the riot of blows.
In her corner the young blonde hugged her bloated, blood-spattered 
breasts. Her second firmly pulled her arms away and made her lay her
gloved hands on her thighs. She sighed when she saw fresh blood pumping
from the left nipple.
She summoned the referee over.
"Are you alright to carry on?"
"Of course, it will take more than a few drops of blood to stop me. 
I've bled worse from the tits than this," she lied.
This was the worst battering her tits had ever taken and they'd 
certainly not bled before. 
Even this arrogant bruiser was more worried than me cared to admit, 
even to herself. 
The ref. looked her up and down.
"What a mess."
There was even blood running down the inside of her thick, white thighs. 
She turned to the shocked second.
"I want you to wipe all the blood off that breast and call me over at the 
end of the next round if it is any worse."
The second nodded and, despite Kirsty's protests, wiped the damaged tit 
clean with a damp sponge. When she'd finished blood still oozed from the 
milk tract to drip onto her left thigh.
In the other corner Karen was trying to staunch Angie's streaming nose. 
She was a nurse by profession so if she couldn't stop it, no-one could. 
The brunette winced as her nose was pinched and ice applied.
"0w, I think I'd rather put up with the bleeding,' grinned Angie.
"Do me a favour and sponge my back down would you?'"
"Sure, that's what I'm here for."
She pulled the battered head down towards her and begun to wipe the 
Strong, sweat-slicked back with long strokes of the sponge. 
Angie watched blood from her nose dripping onto the canvas between her 
feet.
"We'll both bleed to death if It goes on much longer," she mused 
morbidly. 
It seemed she'd just sat down when the bell went.
They came out for the eighth. Angie's target was the left breast, it 
stood out because the right was shiny all over with blood, whereas 
the only blood showing on the left was at the nipple. 
Kirsty was no fool, she knew what the plan would be. She did something 
which surprised everyone, especially the champion. She changed her 
stance to south-paw. Many of the beginners at the club fought south-
paw till they got used to boxing. 
Obviously Angie hadn't fought against a cack-hander for years. If 
the blonde could really fight effectively leading with the right it 
could be a good move on her part. It gave more protection for her burst 
breast and it was sure to confuse the champion. Angie soon found out 
as the straight rights began to thud into her face. Fresh blood spurted 
down over her front.
"Shit, it looks like she's had her nose broken," gasped Steve to no-
one in particular.
The punches were hard enough, especially inside the thin, wet fours, 
but her nose hadn't broken. 
Anyway there was no chance of the fight being halted to check. 
Unlike men's boxing, the only thing that brought a pause in club boxing, 
especially championship fights, was the bell or a boxer hitting the 
deck. It had always seemed rather cruel to Steve, but that was 
the way the girls themselves wanted it. A girl who got into this ring
had accepted the fact and had the guts to face up to it.
His wife rushed at the girl, crowding her into a corner in a 
desperate attempt to create a breathing space. Blood from her nose 
streamed over the blonde's wide, white shoulder. 
Steve hoped his wife would be able to adjust quickly to the blonde's 
change of tactics, the most urgent objective was to stop the straight 
right lead thudding into her poor face. For the moment the girl was 
subdued, surrounded on two sides by the ropes, her only way of escape 
blocked by the big brunette. She was punishing the girl's breasts again, 
short straight punches, using both hands. Kirsty's eyes filled with 
tears, she began to regret the drubbing she'd just meted out to Angie's 
face. The brunette was determined to floor her. Her white arms were 
at her sides, still the punches thudded into her breasts. Ordinarily 
Angie may have backed off after throwing so many punches into an almost 
defenceless opponent, but there was something out this girl......
She was saved from having to make a decision because, after another 
couple of crushing blows the blonde dropped like a stone, straight down 
at the champion's feet.
"That's more like it," spat the brunette.
She didn't often lose her temper in the ring, but on the few occasions 
she had, rather than impair her boxing, she found that it 
concentrated her mind and muscles beautifully. She stepped back from 
the mess of arms and legs. The blonde's sour-looking second came 
round the outside of the ring to where Kirsty lay. The blonde was 
awake, at least her eyes were open, but she showed no sign of rising. 
She croaked something to Jo. The second straightened her out 
and sat her up. 
Angie felt she had got her own back when she saw the blood dripping from 
both the fallen boxer's nipples.
The referee squatted down by the girl.
"Are you going to carry on?"
The girl looked up at Angie towering over her. Her eyes narrowed.
"Yes, I'm alright."
"She's got guts," admitted the brunette.
She rose using the ropes like the rungs of a ladder for her gloved 
hands. Her breasts had swollen enormously. They were just huge red 
bags of blood-spattered flesh, hanging from her drooping shoulders. Dark 
red blood dripped steadily from each skinned nipple. Everyone in the 
arena thought that the end must be near. She raised her guard and 
Angie noticed that she still kept up the south-paw pretence. She 
raised her own right glove higher trying to cover her face. 
Of course the glove was far too small to be of any real use as 
a shield. Again the sledge-hammer rights began to land eliciting the 
same tactics from the brunette. Despite her weight and the punches 
she was piling into the champion, the girl was forced to the ropes 
and had to take crippling jabs to her own breasts and belly. So it went 
on the blonde punching to the head, Annie pushing on to the ropes and
going for the breasts. 
The girl went down four times like this before the end of the round. 
Angie was so covered in blood already that the extra produced by 
the last three minutes of fury hardly noticed. 
Kirsty's breasts looked very bad and, after a brief examination, the 
ref. called for the doctor. The club boasted several general
practitioners  amongst it's members and one was always on hand during bouts.
He examined the distended breasts from a couple of inches away. It 
looked almost comical, this well-dressed man, wearing pince-nez,
peering at the crying girl's bloated breasts for about a minute.
He reached out and gently patted one tit. 
She winced.
"Hurts does it?"
She said nothing.
"I'm not sure that you can go on in your condition, you're only young, 
you don't want to risk any permanent injury do you?" he smiled.
"Bollocks," whispered the big blonde in his ear.
He walked slowly back to his seat, shaking his head. She sat, her 
gloves between her tightly clenched thighs, bearing the terrible pain 
in her bosom. 
Karen had already decided there was nothing she could do for Angie. 
She too just sat, misty-eyed, dreading the bell.
For the ninth time they came together.
"I thought this last fight might be different," thought Angie, 
"but if nothing else, it's certainly the hardest I've ever had. She's 
got to go eventually, but if she nails me with that right many more times 
it will be me they carry out." 
Sure enough the now familiar right fist came crashing through her 
all too inadequate guard. She saw stars.
"Fight like with like."
She pistoned her own right glove. Straight from the shoulder, she was 
moving forwards slightly and the blonde was coming for her again. 
The dynamics couldn't have been more auspicious. The thinly padded
fist crushed the blonde's weak nose. Definitely broken. Tears streamed
down her red cheeks, blood spurted down over her front. 
Angle allowed herself a brief inward smile. 
Surely the girl wouldn't want to go on with an injury like this. 
The fight wasn't stopped, of course, it was up to the girl to quit. 
She dabbed at her eyes with the bloody gloves.
Angie came too, this girl wasn't going to leave it at that. The 
brunette realised she had been mistaken in thinking that she'd already 
won the fight. She could have belted the blonde a few more times 
instead of standing there, hands on hips, admiring her handiwork.
As if to confirm her intention the big blonde swung her dull-stained
right glove round in a great arc towards the unsuspecting brunette's face. 
Her nose too was mulched flat against her face. Her ears popped as she 
felt her own nose cartilage snap.
"Shit, another couple of hundred on medical bills," moaned Steve, 
rather selfishly when he saw the torrents of blood pouring from Angie's 
nose.
"She's had her nose broken more times than I can remember."
His heart sank as he thought of the coming days when she'd have to go 
round with a disfiguring plaster on her face, not to mention all the 
bother of driving her miles, after the fight, to the clinic. The club 
doctors were quite capable but they could afford the best.
The referee, like everyone else in the arena, knew of the two broken 
noses, but there was nothing she could do. If they wanted to continue
the fight, it was up to them. She looked down over her once-white
leotard, there were flecks of blood all over it, and her bare arms and
shoulders.
Neither of the two boxers could see very well through the mist of tears 
in their eyes. They more or less felt for each other with the sodden 
gloves, hitting out indiscriminately. The blows were as hard as ever, 
even if their accuracy was poor. 
Steven winced and his guts knotted when he saw Angie take another hard 
right to her busted nose. Slowly the two dogged fighters recovered 
from the initial shock of their damaged faces, though both continued 
to bleed very heavily. 
The patch of ring near the centre was quite red with their blood. 
They came back onto their toes and, almost unbelievably began to 
exchange punches. Each blow to the head sent blood flying across the 
ring, the referee was covered, she would need cleaning up during the 
break even if Kirsty and Angie didn't bother. After what seemed an 
eternity, the bell sounded the end of the round.
Karen said nothing as Angie lowered herself carefully onto the stool. 
She could tell by the look in the brunette's eyes that the last thing she 
wanted was to be touched, anywhere, especially about her face. 
Jo was rash enough to try to dab at Kirsty's gushing nose with a damp 
sponge, but soon withdrew after being told, none too politely, to desist. 
The referee came over to Karen and said if she wasn't going to use the 
sponge, could she. 
Karen squeezed it out for her and she wiped her face and arms.
Steve, though reluctant to interfere, thought he had better see how 
Angie was. He crossed to her corner.
She smiled weakly, "some scrap eh."
"You must be daft to carry on boxing with a broken nose," he fumed.
"I've seen you do it several times. Anyway I've busted hers."
He couldn't argue with that. He simply shrugged his shoulders and slowly 
shook his head.
"Well try and nail her soon, I don't want it to go on a moment 
longer than necessary."
"What do you think I've been trying to do for the last nine rounds you 
stupid bastard."
Straight away she was sorry for swearing. It was so unlike her, but 
Steve, knowing from his own ring experience, what pressure she was under, 
forgave her unbidden.
It seemed so pointless now to mention that he had thought Kirsty's legs 
suspect, he patted her matted hair.
"Ok love, just do your best."
His eyes were moist when he regained his seat. None of the people 
around him tried to make conversation with him, they left him to watch 
his suffering wife ready herself to come out for the next round.
The bell rang, the blood-stained stools were swung out of the ring and 
the two women strode towards each other.
"I hope this will be the last round," wished Steve.
Angie dimly remembered the times she had floored the girl in the 
eighth round, battering her breasts till she dropped. It may mean that 
she would have to take some more stick in the face, but it might be worth 
it. Just to see the big blonde writhing on the blood-spattered 
canvas would cheer her up, and do no good at all to her opponent's moral. 
She bullied the girl back against the ropes, her eyes widened as she 
feared what was coming. Angie lost her cool again and her own breasts, 
shiny with blood from her nose, bobbed and swayed as she piled in two-
handed to the young girls bloated tits. She couldn't take many punches 
there, but she managed to hit Angie very hard in the mouth before she 
crumpled. She went down on her knees, her arms round the champion's wet 
thigh. Angie moved to uppercut her in the face but her arm was stayed 
by the referee.
"Come on Angie, you should know better. You want to win this one fairly 
don't you?"
The brunette relaxed slightly. The girl still showed no sign of rising 
so she disentangled her leg from the clutching gloves and went to lean 
on the ropes, dabbing at her split lips, the referee bent to speak to 
the fallen boxer.
"Are you finished?"
"How long have I got?"
"As long as you like."
She stayed down for another fifteen seconds or so, then she struggled 
to her shaky feet.
"She won't get up next time, snarled Angie. Again she took a heavy 
punch to the face when she went for the blonde's tits. What tits 
they were, The swelling was incredible and the dark blood pumped 
freely from her nipples 
Some of the more squeamish onlookers began to hope he ref. might step 
in. But no, the blonde was still on her feet, her arms were down 
beside her blood-streaked thighs though as her breasts were crushed and torn 
by the champion's gloves. She bent almost double, her white, sweaty 
bare bum sticking out through the ropes. It was as if she was 
deliberately offering her bleeding breasts up for the inevitable 
uppercuts.
"Oh well, here goes," said Angie to herself.
The strong right arm pumped up and down several times. Angie stepped 
back and watched fresh blood spurting from the blonde's burst nipples. 
She fell cleanly this time, rolled onto her side and lay still. 
Angie knew she would not get up.
It was over.

She draped herself over the top rope end sobbed. The arena stayed 
quiet, no-one dreamt of cheering or clapping. Angie had won alright 
but it was something of a hollow victory. She looked half-dead 
herself. Of course, all attention was focussed on the bloody wreck 
slumped on the ring-floor. She seemed to 'stretch', then roll over 
onto her back, letting every-one see her terrible injuries. Her 
once-blonde head lay in a pool of blood and crimson 
pumped from her ruptured nipples and ran down her sides. 
Angie looked down over her own front. At least one couldn't see through
the g-string now, it was opaque, soaked with her blood. Blood from her
spurting nose splashed onto her bare feet.
'Yes, it's an almost perfect match,' she thought as she compared the 
blood with the nail-varnish.
"I've learnt a lot tonight."
The girl still showed no sign of movement. The doctor wearily 
clambered into the ring. She was breathing, that was the main thing. 
It would have looked bad for the club otherwise.......
He motioned the referee, who came over to help him raise the smashed 
boxer into a sitting position, her back against his bent knee. His 
light grey suit was already badly stained by the blood from Angie's 
nose that had run down the girl's shoulders, he tutted and draped a 
towel, proffered by Jo, over his once-immaculate trousers. He waved 
a bottle under her nose and she stirred. She had been out far about 
four minutes. As soon as he detected movement, he motioned to the
referee and she called over a couple of male members of the club.
They carried a canvas stretcher. Piling awkwardly into the ring,
they picked up the wrecked blonde and roughly dumped her face-down
on the stretcher. The doctor nodded and they manoeuvred her out of
the ring. The only legacy of her half-hour or so in the ring was
a pool of blood near the ropes and the brunette's not inconsiderable
injuries. By now Steve was by her side.
'Let's get out of here,' he urged, disregarding the video, the fight-
records and everything else.
He just wanted to get his wife out of this ring and out of the club if 
possible. Karen came over with her old robe, he draped it gently 
over her spattered shoulders and folded her through the ropes. At last 
the onlookers came alive, and ripple of applause began, welling into a 
richly-deserved roar of approval. Angie's ears were deaf to it though,
all she could see were her street-clothes hanging in her dressing room.
By the time they reached the comparative quiet of the room, the front
of her white silk robe was soaked with the blood pouring from her nose.
She sat down on the table and Karen, who had come with thin, prepared
cotton-wool plugs for her nostrils. 
Once in place, he knew what the boxer's next priority would be. He 
pushed her back, flat on the bed and, opening the front of the 
ruined robe, cut the sides of the red-soaked g-string and gently drew 
it out from between her bloody thighs. She crossed, with the soiled
scrap of silk between finger and thumb end dropped It contemptuously
in the waste bin.
At last Steven managed to get the blood-sodden gloves off his wife's 
fists.
Angie moaned softly and her breathing became deep and slow. 
"Do you think I should stay with her?" asked Steve.
"Yes, I certainly do, when she wakes up you had better think about 
getting her nose fixed straight away, it looks pretty bad to me.
I've got to second another of these crazy women now."
She turned and left Steve alone with his sleeping wife. She had retired 
undefeated, but at what price.
"Still," he thought, 'her tits have got off quite lightly this time." 
Turning to look at her he was again appalled it the state of her.
"Pity she had to take so many of those rights in the face."