Black vs. White By Smac Short, sharp non rounds boxing to a finish. Corrected 7/06/2001 About twelve well heeled looking women sat in the stark room. All it contained by way of furnishings, besides the hardback chairs upon which they sat, was a full size boxing ring set up in the centre of the large, brightly lit space. The muted murmurings among the mostly middle aged women was stifled instantly when the double door opened and two barefoot, white gowned younger women entered. They parted as they neared the boxing ring and climbed elegantly through the taut ring ropes. Two of the audience rose quietly and went, one to each occupied corner. Each sombrely carried a linen bag, one coal black, the other snow white. They were the two girl boxers' patronesses. Both wore expensive looking white silk blouses, but one wore a short white leather skirt, the other black. "Are you alright?" asked the black skirted patroness. "I'm a bit scared, but I'll be ok once we get started," replied her fighter. "But you're going to get hurt?" she protested. "We're both going to get hurt." There were no stools nor any of the other things one may expect to see in the ring prior to a boxing match. The women reached over the corner post and, having taken, one a black the other a white, ribbon from the bags, tied the younger women's shoulder length hair up on top of their heads in a peculiar fountain like arrangement, sometimes seen in young girls of three or four years old. This done they silently motioned for each girls hands and, having checked them carefully for jewellery and rings, pulled the four ounce leather boxing gloves from their bags. One tiny pair jet black, the other shiny white. The gloves matched the ribbons in the girls' hair. They took their time lacing the mean looking leathers onto their girls' fists. A thin wisp of sibilant sound recommenced as the audience grew restless. It had been six long months since the last fight. One of the girls being gloved up had won that and, by dint of the club rules and the brutal nature of these battles, this was the soonest she could be expected to box again. But then perhaps box is the wrong word for what was about to take place here. The older women stood back and the boxers tested their lethal looking gloves appreciatively. Once the women had undone the belts at their waists it was apparent the little boxing gloves were all each woman had to defend herself with, all she had with which to finish the other girl. Finally two more items were produced from each bag. Two leather belts for each boxer, one about three inches wide, the other about an inch and a half. Black and white, of course. Bare feet kissed the rough canvas of the ring floor as the two fighters turned to face their corners. The women took the broader of the two belts first and cinched in the waist of their fighter. One went to about eighteen inches around, the other girth even tighter. Both nodded eagerly though. Then the narrower of the belts, round each girls' neck, and not tightened half so hard. They were both mightily breasted, the cinch belts accentuating even further the vastness of the bosoms. Both too were solidly shouldered and hipped and shaven between the apex of their thick thighs. They nodded, again, sending the two patronesses out of the ring and back to the safety of their seats and the admiring glances of most of the rest of the women audience. The girls in the ring took their cue, the simultaneous and deliberate sitting down of their sponsors. Fists began to fly, not randomly nor lightly but solidly and accurately, with little defence or parrying. Just punch and be punched. Stopping a punch wouldn't put the other girl on the floor and out of the fight. The sickening blows could easily be heard all around the room, the audience had stopped whispering and begun, some to watch, wide eyed, some to leer, some to pant for blood and brutality. After taking two or three crushing blows to her huge left breast black hooked white to the jaw with a beautiful short right cross, she went to her knees, staring ahead of her, little white boxing gloves clamped onto her bare thighs. Black backed onto the ring ropes, gently massaging her bashed breasts with the soft insides of her strong forearms. White got to her feet stoically, a thin trickle of blood starting from her generous mouth. Black seized on the fact that she was still groggy. Her tiny four ouncers thudded into the other girl's face. She was down again. On all fours. Blood dripped steadily from her nose and, when she groaned a mouthful of blood joined the splashes already on the canvas. Several of the women looked gravely at white's sponsor, who sat thin lipped, her knuckles showing white. Once more white rose to face up. She was a good boxer in her own right, but had known that this fight would be her greatest test, not only of her boxing skill, but also of her courage and ability to soak up punishment. She knew she had to stick with the other girl's already swelling tits. She did land many good punches there in the following five minutes or so but the black belt belted her in the face the whole time. She was sure her nose had gone and her eyes were no more than puffy slits. But she could clearly see the damage she'd inflicted on the other girl. Her breasts looked like water filled balloons. If only she could stay on her feet, and keep hitting them hard for a little longer, something was bound to give. She'd also managed to catch black a couple of hard ones on the nose, so she wasn't the only boxer bleeding.. And was she bleeding, all down over her front, even her baby bare pubic mound and thighs were wet with her blood. Her broad white belt had held the trickles back for a while but the streams from her busted nose caused the dam to overflow. She was on her knees again. It wouldn't be long now before she'd be fighting blind. She knelt in virtually a puddle of her own blood. She must get back up and finish off those tits. Her patroness signed as she struggled to her blood spattered feet. Black uppercut her in the crotch. But she turned her involuntary doubling over to good use and pistoned her right fist into the bag like left breast in front of her. Black screamed and fell back onto the ropes. Her whole breast had opened up like an overripe melon. The white girl took advantage of the rest, even going so far as to stroke her stinging cunt with her crimson stained white boxing gloves. The black girl had begun to bleed seriously. It was all down her left side and there was no sign of it diminishing. She needed medical help urgently. But first she, and all the women in the room knew what had to be done, especially the other girl in the boxing ring with her. She shrugged her hefty shoulders off the top rope and made off across the ring padding through a trail of the blood which still poured from her burst tit. It was a matter for debate as to whether the other girl could see her coming, she certainly felt her. There was venom in those punches. She took about half a dozen, gloves still down by her blood streaked thighs, before going down in a welter of blood at the black belted girl's bare feet. There were no cheers, no applause, black had won alright, but at what cost? The two patronesses were on their feet soon enough. The black skirted one carried a large dressing. She'd seen enough of these special boxing matches and had come prepared. The other woman's face was as white as her thick leather skirt. They kicked off their shoes and climbed into opposite sides of the blood spattered boxing ring. The black girl's breast was bound up, the blood loss stemmed at last, white's sponsor cupped her boxer's broken face in her trembling hands. There was already blood all over her pristine white blouse whilst her leather skirt stretched taut across her big buttocks. No words were said on either side. White's sodden gloves finally yielded to her sponsor's strong fingers. She continued to lay in her own blood on the canvas, spent. Meanwhile her patroness was fiddling with the small buttons down the front of her own white blouse. It came off the reveal a substantial white bra, which itself yielded up a pair of tits which even dwarfed the black boxer's breasts, mightily swollen as they were. In addition, through each big, brown teat, was a thick steel ring. She grimaced as she pulled on the bloody little white boxing gloves and held them out to the other sponsor, for her to lace them onto her fists. This wasn't unusual but it was a little inconsiderate in view of black belts injuries, still it rarely took long for the trained boxers to do the business. The middle aged woman nodded slowly and the boxer, breast still tightly bound, came for her across the ring. She had to step over the still prostrate white belt, who couldn't have seen anything anyway, effectively blinded as she was. The leather skirted woman put her messy gloves up in a semblance of a guard but the right fist of the boxer found her face straight away. After about half a dozen stinging rights she went to her knees. Her face was ashen, there was a little blood at her nose. She glanced at her fallen girl and heaved herself up again. The right glove crunched her nose and she began to bleed badly herself, the upper slopes of her fine breasts becoming wet with her face blood. Her head went back time and again as the hard blows smacked into her soft face, she'd not raised a fist herself. Soon her blood was all down over the front of her once white leather skirt and she felt the rough ring ropes biting into her back. It won't be long now. A right cross to her mouth and an uppercut to the jaw finished her. She hung on to the top rope with her right glove long enough for the boxer to send her left nipple ring right back into the heart of her bloated breast, before joining her fighter, laid out on the floor of the boxing ring, beaten and bloody. Black belt turned slowly for her corner, the dressing over her burst breast was beginning to leak blood ominously.