The Challenge
By Smac
A woman boxer decides to challenge a man before her boxing days are over

Corrected 12/06/2001

The two boxers stood aide by side.
Their managers stood back from them as if mentally weighing them 
up.
One of the shabby looking men had his head cocked to one side and 
he jingled the loose coins in his, baggy trouser pocket.
The other's doleful eyes flitted from one boxer's face to the other.
"This Dave Charnley," thought the latter, "he's got a bad 
reputation. He's hard and, if things don't go his way, dirty with 
it."
The two boxers were roughly the same height and build and, at
10 st. 7lbs. or thereabouts, could both be said to be welterweights.
Why his fighter wanted to box Charnley of all people heaven knows.
Why box a man at all in fact.
For Tony trained and managed Marilyn, his wife.
It was she who stood over by the boxing ring with the swarthy, 
scowling Charnley. 
She'd made up her mind to challenge a man in the ring about six 
months previously, and this Monday evening they'd met to make the 
final preparations, Charnley and his manager, Max had agreed, in 
principle, to the fight some weeks before.
Marilyn could only have a very few years left in the ring and, for 
some time she'd thought she ought to test herself against a man. 
Not many women could stand up to her, it was becoming more and 
more difficult for her to get challenging fights.
Many of the details had already been decided. Some, like the size 
of the boxing gloves were preordained, in any case. They were both 
welterweights, so the boxing gloves they were to use would be the 
hard, hurtful, 6 oz. leathers. The women boxers always wore bikini 
briefs, seemingly the briefer the better and usually boxed bare 
foot. The men normally wore the standard, and awful, knee length 
shorts but Charnley had agreed to wear a small pair of swimming 
trunks for this fight against Marilyn. 
Tony asked if the below the belt rule could be waived to, level up 
the playing field, as he had so glibly put it.
Dave and his manager both smiled cruelly but nodded their grudging 
assent.
As it was to be a semi private match both boxers had just agreed 
to make it a fight to the finish with as many three minute rounds 
as it took for one of them to be beaten senseless.
Marilyn had been adamant about this. 
"If I'm going to box a man, then I'm going to go all the way," she 
had asserted.
To this end, when the question of a referee had come up, she had 
suggested Tony's sister, complaining that a man might prove too 
patronizing and protective towards her.
"She'll let him kill you," groaned Tony.
His sister was another of his women boxers and she was a avid 
student of the blood and snot school of boxing.
"When we gonna do it?" growled the apelike Charnley.
Tony looked at his wife.
"I thought Wednesday night would be as good a time as any," 
replied Marilyn, "we can't do it at the weekend for the next 
couple of weeks because of the men's league, so it will have to be 
during the week sometime and everyone I've asked says that 
Wednesday's their best night."
All three men nodded and, after agreeing in principle on the 
people they were going to invite to watch them box, the party 
broke up.
The little hall was packed by seven on the Wednesday evening. The 
audience split about fifty:fifty men to women. They looked a rough 
lot. Most of the men in leather jackets, jeans and trainers. The 
women mostly in leather jackets too, some with short skirts to 
match and tatty high heels, and a few in long leather boots.
Max, Tony and the two boxers appeared to a muted round of applause 
and gruff cries. The two fighters still in their street clothes.
When invited, one of the press boys had suggested a pre fight 
photo or two, so now a space was cleared in front of the boxing 
ring and Marilyn and Dave shrugged off their coats and offered 
themselves up to the photographer. Dave, inevitably, wore jeans 
and tee shirt. Marilyn's 40-23-38 inch figure was clothed in a 
fitted tan leather jacket, a very thin white blouse under which 
her lacy white bra could clearly be seen, and a tight cream skirt 
to just above the knee with tan, calf length, leather boots. She 
hair turned, her long, thick chestnut hair swirling and stood,
big meaty breasts thrust forwards. 
The photographer fired away.
Her exhibitionism got the better of her and she slipped her heavy 
leather jacket off, handing it to Tony.
He smiled briefly and thought, "She looks gorgeous now, but what 
about after this fight?"
Several at the men in the audience were shouting for her to shed 
more of her clothes but she nodded to Dave and they both headed 
for the changing rooms.

When they reappeared ten minutes or so later, they both wore 
towelling robes. Marilyn kept on her leather boots and Dave had 
adopted an incongruous pair of brightly coloured flip flops. Both 
pairs of hands were heavily bandaged and Marilyn's hair was in a 
thick plait down between her shoulder blades girded with 
thick, white surgical tape. 
Josie, her sister in law, had the little red six ounce boxing 
gloves she was to wear, round her neck by the white laces.
It looked like Max was to look after Dave's corner, in fact he'd 
already got one of the little black boxing gloves tightly laced 
onto one of Dave's meaty fists. Soon Dave was able to pound his 
leather covered knuckles together, packing his bandaged fists 
tighter into the thinly padded boxing glove's.
Marilyn glanced up from her own gloving up at the awesome sound.
Finally both boxers had their glove laces bound over with white 
surgical tape before the belts of their gowns were slipped and 
they were able to shrug them off.
The audience, especially the men, gasped at the sight of Marilyn 
when she bent over, bare assed, to slip off her little boots, her 
great, brown tits hanging vertically, straining the flesh where 
they met her chest. She stood bare painted toed, feet apart, her 
smooth, hard calves and thighs bunched, bare, round bum quivering 
slightly. There was a massive bulge almost like a rampant penis, 
in the front of her tiny white tanga. She smacked her little red 
boxing gloves together over her flat, board hard abdomen. Her 
huge, firm breasts jutted massively over the fists, two big,
ebony teats protruded a good three quarters of an inch beyond.
She grimaced when her sister in law jammed the awkward plastic
gum shield into her reluctant mouth. She swallowed hard several
times, her handsome face distorted by her bulging, prominent lips.
Max came to the centre of the shabby boxing ring and the crowd 
hushed, unbidden.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, he scanned the disreputable looking 
audience tongue in cheek, "this is a no limit boxing match 
between, on my left, he indicated Dave. "Dave Charnley, twenty six 
years old and ten stone eight pounds, and on my right, Marilyn 
Moore, thirty four years old and ten stone seven pounds. 
May the best boxer win," he said, shaking his head almost 
imperceptibly. 
He clambered out of the boxing ring leaving the near naked boxers 
and Josie, who was to referee.
She brought them out to ring centre and they grudgingly touched 
gloves, before dancing back to their respective corners. Dave's 
great shoulders bunched, his black boxing gloves hugged tight 
fisted over his coarsely haired chest. Marilyn, her round bum and 
heavy breasts juddering at every bare foot step.
The bell clanged and they turned to face one another before 
marching out to begin the punch up.
Dave knocked her left elbow away from her chest and whacked her in 
the tits with a straight right.
All in the room could see what kind of fight it was going to be.
Her face went white.
While she stood there, transfixed, he hit her several times in the 
face.
She'd taken plenty of breast punches in her career but nothing 
like this. It felt as if her left breast had been literally torn 
off. The punches to her face hadn't helped either, blood began 
from her already swollen nose.
She tried to keep him away from her but he had her in the ring and 
he was going to make the most of it.
Indeed several of the crowd shouted for him to give her a chance 
but he ignored them and kept on punching her in the face and tits.
At the bell she turned, half not knowing where she was, for her 
corner.
Josie said, "if he carries on like this, you'll end up in hospital."
Marilyn smiled up at her with puffy, swollen lips, "I'm alright," 
she lied.
She rose and walked straight into a hail of accurate, heavy blows 
mostly to the breasts and face.
Indeed Dave broke her nose in the second and she sat down on her 
stool with blood running down between her taut bruised breasts to 
form a little lake in her bellybutton. 
Josie just next to her, sponge in hand, looking way out of her 
depth. The bell rang for the third and Marilyn got doggedly to her 
gaily painted feet.
Dave knocked her guard to one side and leathered her hugely 
swollen breasts.
Through her mist of pain she heard Tony shouting.
"In the nuts love."
She shook her head and tried to focus on the man who was punching 
her breasts to the point where they'd burst at any second. His 
feet were wide apart, for purchase, his thighs splayed open. He 
didn't notice her right fist dropping down to knee level.
She bunched her fist tightly, pulled it back as far as it would go 
and, mustering all the strength in her wide shoulders, sent the 
six ounces of unforgiving leather up into Dave's bollocks.
He hung for a second, black boxing gloves down at his thighs, then 
he pitched forwards onto, the blood spotted canvas, his head in a 
puddle of his own vomit. After a minute or so, long after Marilyn 
had returned to her corner and Tony and Josie. 
Dave curled up into the foetal position, both his boxing gloves 
thrust down between his legs.
"Fucking men," spat Marilyn as Josie packed cotton wool into her 
broken nose.