Caned Sugar
By Smac
A young woman challenges a bullying woman to settle it, with the gloves on

Corrected 11/06/2001

Jane jogged up to the imposing door, pausing almost imperceptibly 
to catch her breath, before keying in her entry code. The lock 
clicked over and she shouldered the oak slab. As soon as there was 
room she squeezed through the gap and pushed the door shut. There 
was that familiar smell, a tangy mixture of perfume, leather and 
sweat. Along the walls of the rather grand entrance hall there 
were framed photographs. All of boxing and wrestling matches and
all the participants were women.
She was in her second home, the Ring Club. There were about fifty 
members all together, all women and they all boxed and/or 
wrestled. Indeed some of them practised a little light S&M in some 
of the more private rooms away from the main reception area.
Being a very large town house it provided excellent facilities for 
the combatant girls, a swimming pool, sauna, keep fit room, work 
out rooms and, of course, the large arena with its two, 
permanently erected boxing rings. Many of the members, or their 
husbands and lovers, were rich. Jane didn't fall into this 
category, but she was a popular girl and above all, she liked to 
fight.

It was seven am. for all she knew she could be the only person in 
the club. She headed for one of the work out rooms, passing the 
two boxing rings as she did so. Images of some of the fights she'd 
both seen and taken part in flashed through her lively mind. Last 
month, the championship fight to a finish, it had lasted seventeen 
rounds, till both of the boxers faces looked like raw neat, and 
their breasts.......... 
Her last scrap, over two months ago now, she'd knocked out a big 
West Indian woman in three rounds. The black woman would have liked 
it to last longer but Jane had grown tired of hitting her.

Still in her track suit she climbed onto one of the bank of 
exercise bikes and, although her face already shone with 
sweat, began her warm up. By nine she'd already done several 
circuits of the weights and some more bike work to keep her 
circulation on the go. There were more girls around, two others in 
the room with her now, neither of which she knew too well. Her 
track suit top was in a corner of the room, leaving her in a lacy, 
well-filled white bra. She didn't feel at all self conscious, 
especially as the other two were working out as nature intended, 
both as naked as the day they'd been born. (They had as much body 
hair as then as well). She watched them unashamedly for a short 
while as they first threw themselves around the weight circuit, 
then subsided onto their backs on the mats to do stomach curls and 
cycling in the air. The latter particularly would have appealed to 
Jane, had she been that way inclined, which she wasn't. She wasn't 
even bisexual, as some of the women who weren't blatantly lesbian 
were. At just twenty two and very attractive she knew she'd plenty 
or time for men, but she wasn't ready to settle down yet. She 
wasn't ready for some man to ask were she got her cuts and 
bruises from. Tearing her eyes away from the two sweaty, naked 
women, she grabbed her top and towel.
It was in the sauna, after a very brief swim, that she began to 
pick up enough bits and pieces of various conversations to know 
that something was afoot. When the crowded room suddenly began to 
clear and the women hurriedly dried and some covered themselves, 
she went with the tide. Yes, they were headed for one of the 
larger upstairs rooms.
Apart from a couple of dozen variously attired, and naked, women 
around the periphery the room was empty save a leather topped 
vaulting horse roughly in the centre. Over it, breasts down, 
bottom up was one of the club's more overt sub missives. She was a 
big woman, in her late thirties, the globes of her buttocks already 
sported a couple of nasty looking red weals and a lesbian in leather 
trousers and ringed nipples was lifting the long cane above her head. 
Jane flinched herself as the big woman moaned softly, but when her 
buttocks had unclenched she slid round so that she was lying along the
length of the leather horse and contemptuously rolled over
onto her ravaged back. Her tormentor shrugged and brought
the cane down onto her succulent breasts, right across her 
big, brown nipples. She screamed that time but was silent for the 
subsequent blows. Jane watched for a short time but the brutality 
and the closeness of the room made her glad she had her back 
virtually to the door.
There were still several women in the work out room when she 
returned. Perhaps they hadn't heard about the punishment or, 
perhaps like her, they weren't into that kind of thing. She 
grabbed a pair of bag gloves and clumsily pulled them on. She 
couldn't know that, across the room, another girl was getting 
gloved up as well. 
They headed for the heavy bag from opposite sides.
"I was first," growled the other girl.
The sight of the beating had fired Jane up more than she admitted 
to herself, "On your bike," she replied, defiant.
She was backhanded across the mouth for her trouble.
She was stunned, but only with shock, for a second then she lashed 
out, smacking the surly girl in the eye.
"Want to make something of it?" hissed the other girl.
Unthinkingly Jane said, "yes."
If she'd given herself time to consider she MAY have had second 
thoughts. This Anne was bad news.
She was about the same age as Jane but had been a fighter all her 
life and few of the members now would face her with the gloves on. 
She, unlike Jane, was not well liked, always morose and with no 
sense of humour and lacking in the art of conversation. She liked 
to talk with her fists. She too wore a track suit but Jane knew 
that under it was muscle, and lots of it.
........but not now."'
She'd been working out for more than two hours, she couldn't risk 
taking the chance that Anne would be tired too.
Anne stood provocatively, gloves on broad hips, "anytime, 
anywhere."
Jane got a grip on herself. After the beating she'd seen and the 
smack in the mouth.  
She hadn't boxed for about three months, which was good, she was 
in good shape and she was mentally ready for the bully, Anne.
"The sooner the better," she smiled.
"Saturday?"
"If you like," she replied.
"Here of course," snapped Jane, she wanted this fight to be fought 
in a ring, with a ref. and not in some back street somewhere.
"Boxing of course," leered Anne.
"Of course," sighed Jane.
"To a finish?"
"If you like," her palms began to sweat in the smelly bag gloves. 
She'd only gone in once with unlimited rounds and then, 
fortunately or otherwise, her opponent had only lasted eleven 
rounds. Even then she'd been in a state herself at the end of the 
fight. She hadn't put the gloves on for a good six months after 
that punch up.
"Just one more thing," snarled Anne, "what size gloves, I don't 
care for those sissy eight ounce things, how about four ouncers."
"Six ounce then," swallowed Jane.
"Fair enough, I'll see you Saturday if not before," she marched 
off presumably to get the ring booked up for the fight.
Jane tugged the sticky gloves off, her hands were trembling, what 
HAD she let herself in for. She had to tell someone.
In a panic she looked round the room, no one she knew very well.
Into the changing rooms.
Relieved she sat on a bench, head in hands. She felt a warm hand 
on her shoulder, it was Ruth.
She swallowed.
"I'm boxing Anne on Saturday."
Her eyebrows arched, "that's rather rash."
"I've got less than a week to get myself ready, you'll help me 
won't you?"
They worked hard but they couldn't do much ring work as Jane 
couldn't risk any injury as the fight was so soon. Even so she 
seemed to spend the whole week drenched in sweat but the hardest 
part was the mental preparation. She had to overcome her fear, 
forget the times she'd seen Anne pulp other girls, convince 
herself not only that she could win, but that she would win. By 
Saturday morning there was a different Jane, her eyes were as hard 
as her muscles, there was a spring in her step. Her sister Kate 
had joined them and she was helping to pack Jane's things into a bag. 
There wasn't much to take really, but her hands trembled as she put 
in cotton wool and Vaseline.
Before she knew it she was at the club with her two seconds Ruth 
and Kate. Due to the amount of needle in the match, this was no 
friendly fight, the committee had allotted them each a separate 
changing room, so the first time she would see her opponent would 
be in the ring. Kate took the silky dressing gown out of the bag 
and shook it out. Ruth began to bandage her fists once she'd 
stripped bare. Her knees were trembling, but it wasn't with the 
cold.
In the adjoining room Anne, alone, had tossed off her leather 
jacket, dropped her thick black leather skirt and yanked her thin 
white tee shirt over her head. She turned to the mirrored wall and 
posed in her tiny white panties, allowing herself a crooked, cold 
grin. 
She wouldn't be bothering with bandaged hands, besides there was 
no one there to tend her. She turned, grabbed the ugly dressing 
gown from behind the door and felt in the pockets. As usual her 
ring attire was there, a tiny white cotton g-string. She pulled 
her own panties off and roughly pulled the cotton up into her 
crotch.

One of the committee members came to fetch them. They avoided any 
eye contact as they walked briskly into the arena. There were 
several women around Anne's corner as they ducked through the 
ropes and a couple elected to stay as her seconds. But she never 
spoke to them. Her short, dark, curly hair needed no attention, 
someone brought over a pair of white six ounce boxing gloves and 
one of her seconds began to lace them on to the sullen girl's fists. 
Kate had to tie her sister's long blonde hair back to keep it out 
of her face during the fight, whilst her friend Ruth carefully tied 
the cruel white leathers onto her wrists. When the gloves were 
firmly on she tapped them together between her shaking knees, both 
to pack her fists in further and to test how they felt. 
She'd never worn such light gloves before, most of the younger 
women used eight ouncers only the older, braver, beefier women 
used six and sometimes four ounce gloves on each other. The ref. 
an elegant woman of about forty, dressed in an expensive looking 
maroon leather skirt and jacket coughed politely and beckoned the 
boxers out to the centre of the ring. They looked one another 
hard in the eye whilst she reminded them of the few rules. 
There was a gasp when the two dressing gowns came off.
The black-haired Anne, looked the boxer. Strong forearms, bulging 
biceps and good shoulders. Her breasts were surprisingly big, many 
body builders, for that's what she was, seemed to end up with 
tight little almost non-existent tits, but hers were well, big.
Jane looked stunning, some of the les women were drooling. Her 
tanned body set off by the little white g-string looked good 
enough to eat. But there was still that glint in her blue eyes.

The bell rang, they marched out, bunched buttocks and bunched 
fists. Jane instinctively went to touch gloves but, stopped 
herself in time. As she brought her guard up Anne pumped a 
straight right into cheek. Now she knew how the gloves really 
felt. 
Hard. 
Her stomach turned to water. All the confidence she'd built up 
momentarily failed her, but then she thought she'd got a pair of 
boxing gloves on too. They finished the first three minute period, 
having both taken several hard punches in the face. No one in the 
room, especially the two boxers had any illusions 
about this fight, it was for real. Only one girl would leave the 
ring unaided, there would only be one winner, no quarter asked or 
given. They came out for the second round neither having even 
bothered to sit on their stools, let alone receive any assistance 
from their seconds. The first breast punch of the fight saw Jane's 
right glove thud into the dark girl's fat left breast. She didn't 
even blink, just countering with a right cross of her own which 
opened up a small cut on Jane's lip. Neither girl wore a gum 
shield, some of the women did, but it was considered rather sissy. 
The tit punch brought it home to Jane, this girl was like a fork 
lift truck, hitting her was verging on a waste of time. She gasped 
and doubled over, Anne had uppercut her in the guts, just above 
the tiny vee of cotton between her thighs. She took her time, 
bunching her right fist ever tighter in the tiny boxing glove. 
Then she uppercut Jane again. Her gagging mouth snapped shut and 
she went to her knees. The proud beauty kneeling before her 
callous opponent. That moment was the end of the fight for her. 
She was up at eight, gloves over her face, elbows over her 
luscious, as yet untouched breasts. There was a different 
atmosphere in her corner too as she plonked her little bottom on 
the cold stool. All three of them, her and her two seconds were 
merely going through the motions now, it was just a matter of 
time. They knew better to suggest that she threw the bout she'd go 
down fighting. Hurt, tired and humiliated but still fighting. She 
got through the third but her face was very puffy, especially 
around her eyes. In the fourth Anne treated her breasts like a 
couple of punch bags. She whimpered as the tiny, hard gloves tore 
into her tits. Kate wished it was all over as she patted her sisters 
battered breasts with the wet sponge. The hard bitten ref. came over 
to ask if she was coming out for the fifth. Jane looked up at her, 
her left eye a puffy slit, but said nothing. When the bell rang she 
pulled herself up by the ropes with her gloved fists. 
Two punches into the round saw her nose trickling blood and her 
left nipple looking red raw, like a squashed strawberry. Her eyes 
were glazed, she couldn't properly defend herself, the fight 
should have been stopped, but she had agreed to the 
rules, a fight to the finish. Anne took full advantage and a 
morbid pleasure in the blonde's predicament. She laid into her 
pretty face with both fists. Her poor head rocked from side to 
side, the sweat-darkened hank of blonde hair swished from shoulder 
to shoulder as she took the cruel blows. Her corner and several of 
the women in the ringside were shouting at her to go down, but she 
was past hearing them, or anything. when she did go to the canvas 
it was because she was spent. She crumpled at Anne's feet, lying 
on her side, her boxing gloves over her bruised and bloody face,
her knees slowly came up to almost touch her bloated breasts.
Then her body relaxed and she rolled over onto her tummy,
her bare bottom quivering as she sobbed. Anne held her gloves
up above her head in the typical boxers' salute, but few of
the women applauded her, even her seconds remained silent. 
The ref., having made the brief announcement of the fifth round 
knockout, left the ring. No one noticed Anne go to one of the 
neutral corners. It was awkward for her to feel for the cane she'd 
hidden behind the corner padding some days before. In a flash she 
was standing over the finished fighter, she'd managed to get a 
grip on the cane with her right boxing glove. She whipped it down 
on the ripe, sweaty buttocks. And again leaving two livid, 
parallel cuts across the girl's beautiful bum. Then she threw the 
cane at Jane's seconds and left the ring and the hushed room.

"Right," hissed Kate, "you've got it coming."