Milk Round
By Smac
A brave young woman decides to make a boxing comeback after childbirth	

Corrected 28/06/2001

"I'm boxing on Saturday."
The words took a few seconds to sink in. 
"Oh yeah."
A further, longer pause.
"Hang on a minute, you're still breast feeding Lawrence."
"Don't worry about it, I've been eighteen months without a fight 
now and besides we need the money."
That at least was true. 
With him on the dole and Helen having to make do with a part time 
job at the hospital so that she had time to nurse their son their, 
once paper thin, resources had finally tended to zero.
He, Ralph, made to argue further, but pulled himself up and thought 
quietly for a minute or two.
Then he got up and stood behind her, dropping his large hands down 
over her great milk laden melons.
She purred.
Her bust measurement was normally 38D but since a few weeks before 
the birth her breasts had blossomed out to 40DD.
He tweaked her right nipple and instantly felt the thin material of 
her white t shirt moistening.
"You messy sod," she grinned, looking down at the growing stain, 
"it will dribble for ages now,"
"I'll get Laurie, it's a shame to waste it."
"How about you?" she smiled.
Coming round to face her he yanked the hem of her t shirt up under 
her chin and greedily began to draw the sweet, warm milk out of her 
bloated tit, his forearms across the thighs of her black leather 
trousers.
After a few minutes she pushed him gently away.
"Don't be greedy, leave some for our son."
He grabbed the other breast, her left, more forcefully this time 
and squeezed the whole tit quite cruelly hard.
She hardly flinched, she knew what he was up to, trying to get her 
to admit to him that her breasts were still far too tender for 
boxing.
Their eyes met.
"Still going ahead with it then?"
"Yes, I need a fight and we need the money."
"You've already spoken to them?"
She nodded.
"Didn't they mention motherhood?"
"No, not really they just asked me if I was fit and I said yes."
"Hmmm, we'll go down this evening if Debbie can baby sit and I'll 
have a word with Maggie about it."
Maggie was the arbiter of any fitness and match making questions at 
the Ring Club, as a struck off GP she was the best qualified person 
in the club circle of organisers and participants.
Helen nodded resignedly.
She knew that Maggie would agree to anything provided a decent 
scrap was the bottom line. 
Ralph could go on as much as he liked but one telling look from her 
to the quack would do the trick.
"Oh yes, who's the other girl?"
"Trish," muttered Helen.
Ralph blew out his cheeks.
"You're crazier than I thought, she put you in hospital last time 
and that was without having just had a baby."
"Look, I won't be able to make the big money for ever you know I've 
only got about another eight years for club boxing if I'm lucky."
"Not if you go in against the likes of Trish many times," he 
thought grimly. 
"Let's wait till tonight, why don't you go up the workies for an hour, 
here's a fiver."
She knew that the last of her blueys would buy her a couple of 
hours of peace. 
"I may as well see just how much I can take."
She pulled the damp t shirt off completely and headed for the 
exercise room then, armed with an old pair of six ounce boxing 
gloves she stood in front of the large mirror in the spacious 
bathroom.
Slowly she pulled the dull red gloves over her fists.
She parted her leather clad legs, closed her blue eyes and hit 
herself smartly in the right breast with her right fist.
"My God," she gasped.
In the mirror the already taut breast reddened before her eyes.
"I'll have to watch myself," she shuddered.
Summoning all her courage she tested the left tit, even harder this 
time and the breast was even more bloated with milk, Ralph had only 
suckled the right.  She went to her knees, sobbing with the 
excruciating pain.
"He's right," she gasped, "I must be mad."
Flinging the unlaced gloves off, she pulled herself up by the wash 
basin and cupped her aching tits. 
There was a drop of milk at each big, brown teat and both breasts 
flared scarlet.
She dabbed at the nipples with a damp flannel and sighed with 
relief, then off to her dressing table to find a clean bra.
With the mammaries held firmly in the nursing bra she felt 
instantly better, almost, but not quite, forgetting the terrible 
pain of a few minutes ago.
Was she beginning to have second thoughts herself? 
"Let's see what Maggie has to say," she decided. 
The door bell rang dead on six thirty.
The bubbly Debbie danced into the room.
Both her eyes were darkly blackened and her nose looked hard 
swollen.
"Good scrap?" joked Ralph.
"You should see the other girl," came the stock reply.
"Here, you two picked the right night to go off down the club 
didn't you?" 
Ralph's eyebrows arched inquisitively.
"You know old Hinge and Bracket?"
Ralph and Helen nodded patiently.
"They're going for it again tonight."
Hinge and Bracket were nick names at the club for two mystery 
women. They were both in their late thirties.
Unlike the other girl boxers at the club, they would only fight one 
another. Though both took the purses offered for their fights it 
was patently obvious that neither of them needed it.
So it was that about every six months the club secretary would 
receive a phone call from them saying that they would like to box 
at the club on such and such a date.
On the chosen day just the two of them would turn up.	They'd change 
on their own, choose a couple of the women club boxers as seconds then get 
on with the fight, disappearing again just as soon as one of them 
had recovered sufficiently for her to drive.
Then nothing again for another six months.
"Hm, they're a strange pair," thought Ralph.
"Are you two going or what?" grinned the babysitter.
"Hang on a minute luv, I'll grab some extra money we may as well 
watch the fight seeing's we're going anyway."
She tutted and tossed her head.
"I thought you didn't have any money left!" she shouted.
"Men," she grinned at Debbie.
"Who did that?" her eyes indicating the girl's face.
"Oh, that new kid, Marilyn, she started bloody well but I had to 
finish it, she was burnt out by the eighth."
"Knockout?"
"Yeah, you know me, I don't mess about."
They sailed off into the evening, shouting last minute instructions 
for the care and welfare of the boys.
"Shall we have a pint on the way," urged Ralph.
"No, I want to get to the club and get things sorted out for 
Saturday, if there's time we'll call in on the way home."
"That's even better," he grinned to himself, "it'll be livelier by 
then."
The club was quite an imposing building, during the fitness era of 
the late eighties it had been a very upmarket health and fitness 
centre. Now it could do with a lick of paint here and there but the 
structure was sound, and commodious. 
The doorman nodded them through.
"You pay later if you want to see the scrap," he growled. 
"We know," snapped Ralph.
Dark eyes at first menaced him then recognition set in.
"Oh, Ralph. Yeah right." 
Ralph shook his head wearily.
"I wonder where Maggie is likely to be?" asked Helen.
"Well she's not likely to be with the two on the card so I should 
think that trying her office would be a logical step," he replied 
ingratiatingly.
Saying nothing she turned down the side corridor.
Ralph noticed two well heeled women carrying shoulder bags and 
heading for the changing rooms.
"That's them," he nodded to Helen.
"Oh yeah."
He knocked gently and held the door open for his lady.
"Hi Maggie, busy?"
"No, what's up?"
"It's about my fight on Saturday," she began.


So you're still lactating heavily?" the doctor summed up. 
"Yes I'll say."
Both women frowned at Ralph.
"Hmmm I'll need to give you the once over, is it too inconvenient 
to wait until after tonight's fight?"
"Not at all," grinned Ralph.
Two more swingeing looks.
"Come back here about fifteen minutes after and we'll sort it out. 
You needn't bring him," she glared at Ralph.
By the time they reached the main arena door it was nearly seven 
thirty. 
"Just in time," grinned Ralph.
"You're cruising for a bruising," sighed Helen. She stood aside so 
that he could pay.
He shoved a much depleted fold of notes back into his jeans.
"Still they're always value for money."
He'd seen three or four of their fights and they'd all been good, 
bloody good. 
"Literally," he smiled to himself.
No sooner had they found seats than the door to the changing rooms 
opened and two women marched up to the ring. They each wore Chinese 
style silk dressing gowns. Their chosen seconds materialised from 
within the general melee around the ring to join them.
Soon the little, black four ounce gloves were tightly tied, the 
gowns were off and then the bell.
They began, as in all their previous fights, to knock the shit out 
of each other. They wore the proper gear, all their own presumably, 
ring boots, well worn by the look of them and tight, white satin 
shorts.
Both were well endowed in the tit department but neither had an 
appreciable spare tyre. For all their offishness they were 
attractive women.
What drove them to fight each other twice a year was, and looked 
set to remain, a mystery.
But for the rumblings their special treatment occasioned from 
amongst some of the girl fighters, particularly the older ones, 
their appearances were largely looked forward to. They certainly 
turned in consistently good fights and, by the look of it tonight's 
was to be no exception.
At the bell to end the second both were already bloodied about the 
nose and mouth.
Two more rounds, with virtually no attention from the seconds 
during the intervals, saw them well spattered with gore.
By the tenth Maggie was called into the ring.
After a cursory check of each woman and much nodding of bloody 
heads, she climbed back out and the carnage continued.
The womens' blood flew everywhere, in their hair but especially 
down over their big, bruised breasts.
"There haven't been many punches to the tits," mused Ralph, but he 
wasn't disappointed it was turning out to be one of the most brutal 
womens' boxing matches he had ever seen, and he'd seen a few.
The bloody fight lasted for three more rounds. By the thirteenth 
one of the women gained the ascendancy, though she was in a parless 
state herself, she managed to subdue the other and, with her 
trapped in her own corner, pulped her already damaged face.
The towel flew in as she dropped to her knees.
The woman referee strode over to toss the towel back out of the 
ring, frowning her disapproval at the fallen woman's seconds.
She began a late count over the kneeling, bleeding boxer.
"9, 10 OUT."
The victor turned slowly and shuffled over to her corner, holding 
her aching hands out, sobbing for the vicious little black gloves 
to be removed.
Opposite the two frightened seconds climbed in to try to get the 
loser onto her stool. There was a veritable puddle of blood between 
her shaking knees.
"Well that's that for another six months," sighed Helen.
"Enjoy it?" asked Ralph.
"Yeah, brilliant."
But in truth, watching it had reminded her of her defeat by Trish a 
couple of years before. She too had ended up defenceless and, under 
the club's brutal rules had been hammered to the canvas four times 
in a single round before she could rise no more.
She'd come to in the casualty department of the local hospital. 
Maggie had been out of town that weekend.
Trish, though badly marked herself, had been able to turn up for 
training after a couple of days.
"It was a good month before I was back in harness," she thought. 
Ralph glanced at his watch.
"Ten minutes she said didn't she?"
"Yeah, what time is it now?"
"Twenty five to nine," he grinned.
"You can stay here till the girls have cleared the ring, then come 
over and wait for me OUTSIDE Maggie's room."
"Ok," he sulked.
She stood, looking magnificent in a short black leather skirt and 
high heels, and began to head between the rows of seats, for the 
exit.
Ralph was left to watch the fighters having the soggy gloves 
removed and the worst of their blood swabbed off of them prior to 
their removal to the recovery room.
All four seconds were spattered with blood from their charges.
Ralph was sure that above the smell of leather and sweat he could 
detect the warm, sweet smell of the womens' blood as their 
sweating, bruised bodies slowly began to cool, as did their lust 
for violence.
"Let's have a look," sighed Maggie.
"Just the top?"
"No strip off completely and I'll check you over."
Whilst the blonde undressed she washed her bloodstained hands at 
her tiny sink. It was a sultry evening and all Helen wore was the 
leather skirt, white blouse, bra and panties.
"Here we are then."
Maggie smiled at her. 
She was familiar with the physique of all the fighters and Helen's 
was one of the most striking of bodies. She was a heavyweight. At 
five eight her eleven stone gave her a sturdy appearance.
Her breasts, usually very large and firm, seemed huge, the aureoles 
saucer sized and pimply.
"Everything ok?"
"Yes, I feel better than before the baby."
"That's quite normal, it's a fact that women athletes improve in 
all respects after childbirth."
Helen brightened visibly.
"How do they feel?"
It was obvious to what she was referring. 
Her breasts dominated the room.
"Well I'd be lying if I said they weren't still a bit tender, and 
of course they leak a fair bit too."
Maggie grinned despite herself.
She thought quietly for several moments.
You must know that, at certain times during the menstrual cycle the 
breasts become naturally sore, is it like that?"
"Yes a bit, I hadn't thought about it like that but that's 
something like the feeling."
Again her spirits picked up.
She'd fought several times before with sore tits.
"Do you mind?" Maggie reached out for the taut, white breasts. 
"No, of course not."
She palpitated each one, having to use both hands for each. 
"Mmmmmm...... , when did you last give a feed?"
Helen thought, then responded.
"I think you'll be alright for Saturday but I'll have to insist on 
a couple of things."
Helen nodded. 
"Firstly, of course, you will need to sign the waiver for the club 
records." 
She nodded again, "and I will want to be one of your seconds." 
"Ok," replied the blonde enthusiastically. 
"Lastly I strongly advise you to come in as 'empty' as you can, 
feed baby,  express it if he's satisfied before you're dry."
Helen nodded smiling, "I'll get rid of it."
"You're fighting Trish aren't you?" 
"Yeah."
Maggie shook her head slowly as she watched the hefty blonde 
dressing.
"Ok?" asked Ralph.
"Yes, she says there'll be no problem. Do you know that childbirth 
is good for women athletes?" she asked proudly.
"For women boxers?" he thought darkly.
He decided swiftly to change the subject.
"Anything you need for Saturday?"
She thought for a moment.
"No, well nothing you can help me with, except some sparring 
maybe." 
"What about Debbie?"
"Don't talk stupid, you saw the state of her face."
"Oh yeah ok, after work tomorrow alright?"
"That's probably all I'll be able to stand," she thought grimly. 
She knew she'd need to take it steady on the Thursday and Friday to 
avoid any soreness on Saturday evening.
They left the club for home, their son and bed. He stretched and 
looked at the bedside clock. 
"5.35," he grunted.
Even before he groped out with his right arm, he knew she was not 
in the bed. There was only one place in the small, cramped flat 
where she could be.. 
"It'll keep," he turned onto his well-upholstered stomach.
At seven she came in with a mug of tea. The Jack Russell dog at the 
end of the ragged bed let out a long, low growl as she passed him 
by.
"Shut up," she threatened in return.
Ralph rolled face up.
"Been exercising?"
"Yeah, big day tomorrow.
His fogged brain struggled with days of the week.
"Saturday tomorrow," he concluded.
She disengaged herself from his clumsy embrace.
"Lawrence will be needing me." 
Just as she reached the door of the tiny bedroom he began to crint. 
Ralph was left with his own thoughts on the following day's fight.
"She's keen, she's hungry but Trish, well no other girl at the club 
stood a chance against her."
She was mean when she'd first started fighting there and she'd got 
tougher and cleverer as the years had passed.
That she was a very attractive woman added to her usefulness as far 
as the club was concerned.
Every time she fought, and she boxed several times a year against 
visiting girls, the place was a sell out.  Even the women members 
flocked to see her.
She fought as well as she looked.
Her fights weren't always walk overs, she'd taken her fair share of 
leather in the face.
His mind flicked back to his wife
She was game, she was a scrapper.  She wasn't artless, but she'd 
never win any prizes for elegance or technique in the ring.
When she hit someone it was for keeps, only the brunette Trish 
COULD stay in the ring with her so undoubtedly many of the regulars 
at the club were looking forward to the ensuing fight.
She called from the kitchen.
Eggs .
"Eggs," he mumbled.
"Eggs, eggs...."
He'd promised to take his giro to the corner shop, cash it and get 
some bits first thing.
By the time he was vertical, washed and dressed it was seven. 
Marge even held the social security cheque up to the light.
"You've go 7.07 on the slate luv, and this lot's 6.28 so I owe 
you 48.27, sorry I haven't got any ten pound notes."
He held out his hands to cup the mess of crumpled notes and heavy 
coins.
"Take the electric out and Helen's fares and we're bloody skint 
again," he sighed.
She did her best to cheer him up as they ate their poached egg on 
toast. 
The dog turned his nose up at a corner piece of her toast.
"Anything on today?" she asked as part of her routine. 
"I'll try down the site again at eight, you never know." 
She smiled at him.
"And you?"
"If you give me a hand to get it fixed up I'll do some bag work." 
He jumped up, glad of the excuse, "right I'll do it before I go."
She pulled on the bag gloves as he left to see if he could get a 
start. 
It was ironic.
She would earn more for her fight than he would for a year on 
Maggie's Army.
Her guts tightened.
Against Trish she'd earn it right enough.
She began to hit the bag, gently at first then ever more solidly. 
"The extra weight will be useful," she concluded.
Her bloated breasts got in the way somewhat but she would have to 
get used to that. She only had a small pair of cotton panties on 
under her baggy track suit so the tits sloshed around alarmingly as 
she slammed the heavy bag.
Ralph came back at one, smelling of drink and still unemployed. 
She was stretched out on the setee, still with the gloves on.
He snuggled up next to her and it was evening before they awoke to 
Lawrence's loud demands for food.
She took her time getting ready to go to the club. 
They were to drop the kid off at her mother's on the way and she 
mustn't suspect that she was to box later. She strongly disapproved 
at the best of times. True, her mother had always been a scrapper 
herself but seemed put off by the lack of spontaneity and all the 
attendant formality of a professional boxing match. 
For Helen it was different. She relished the preliminaries. Even 
now, despite the fact that she may well get badly beaten up later, 
she looked forward to the fight and especially the time in the ring 
prior to the bell for round one. She squeezed her hefty thighs 
together under the thick black leather mini skirt. She stood before 
the wardrobe mirror. 
"You look good."
She looked over her right shoulder at the sleepy Ralph and grinned 
contentedly. "I feel like a million dollars, if I can't beat that 
Trish tonight then I never will."
Ralph's demeanour darkened somewhat, but he was determined not to 
dishearten her as she was so obviously well keyed up for the fight.
"You think this will do?" she asked looking back at the mirror.
"You'll knock 'em dead."
She turned to face him.
Her long, blonde hair was caught up in a soft bun behind her head, 
her make-up free face glowed with enthusiasm and natural beauty. It 
was obvious that her huge, milky breasts were bare beneath the 
thin, white silk blouse. The black leather mini was very short, 
finishing way up her meaty, white thighs. She slipped her gaily 
painted toes into the highest pair of black stilettos she had, and 
they were high. Now she looked taller than Ralph as they began the 
journey to the club and her first fight for nearly two years.
In the shopping tray under the pram was her little vanity case, if 
anyone had troubled to look inside they would have had a surprise. 
Instead of cosmetics and other womanly impedimenta they would have 
found cotton bandage, surgical tape, cotton buds, vaseline grease, 
a pair of black leather four-ounce boxing gloves and, one 
concession to femininity, a tiny, white silk g string.
They were silent, each with their own thoughts, until just before 
they reached her mother's.
"Don't forget, big mouth, if she asks and I'm sure she will, we're 
going to a party and if we leave too late, you'll come round first 
thing in the morning to get Lawrence, right?"
"Yeah."
His stomach tightened at the thought of what the euphemism 'if we 
leave too late' really meant, 'if I can't hide my injuries 
sufficiently well.'
That there'd be injuries he was sure. He'd seen several of Trish's 
fights, including the ones against Helen, and she didn't take 
prisoners.
There was, as expected, a third degree session at her mother's. 
They weathered the storm and, still making promises Helen knew 
wouldn't be kept, headed for the club.
The doorman recognised them this time. 
"I'll just pop and see Maggie," Helen whispered. 
Ralph headed for the bar.
"You look great," smiled the doctor.
"I feel good too," grinned Helen, "I haven't done too much training 
for this one, but somehow I feel that I'll do ok."
Maggie thought of all the bloody wrecks she'd had to stitch back 
together after Trish had finished with them, and grimaced.
No one had managed to beat Trish yet, she was getting a reputation 
such that the club promoters were having to go farther and farther 
afield to find opponents for her, to places where she hadn't been 
heard of , if the truth were known. 
"Still someone will come along one day, they always do," she 
sighed.
"Did you...... ," she nodded towards the blonde's chest.
"Yeah, I gave him a feed twenty minutes ago and I'll see if I can 
get any more out when I've changed."
"Ok, you're on at seven thirty, the only fight tonight by the way, 
I'll see you on the bench."
Helen smiled thinly and headed for her changing room.
She rescued Ralph from the bar on the way, wrenching his half-full 
pint from his fist.
"Come on, I may need you."
He pushed open the door.
"Maggie said ...ah there it is."
She picked up a paper bag from the dressing table. Ripping it open 
she tipped out the contents eagerly.
"Nice," she grinned.
She held up the little white g-string up for Ralph to see.
"It's even smaller than the one I brought with me," she giggled.
"What about the gloves," grunted Ralph, trying to bring her back 
down to earth.
"Same as usual," she shrugged, "black, four-ounce, good make." 
She picked one up and kneaded it.
"We may as well fight bare fisted," she thought to herself. 
He glanced at his watch.
"It's nearly seven, you'd better get into your dressing gown." 
She nodded.
She carefully kicked off the black stilettos while fiddling with 
the catch on the side of her leather skirt. 
Suddenly the zip was down and the heavy garment slid to the 
carpeted floor.
Ralph ogled her barely covered bum. The panties she had on 
underneath were themselves very small, just two white vees of silky 
material really, one over her mound and one over the crease of her bottom.
The straining blouse buttons were next, once they were all undone 
she peeled the gossamer fabric from her melon breasts.
Ralph swallowed hard.
It was a mixture of sexual desire and fear for his gorgeous wife 
that he was feeling.
"Why does she have to box," he'd seen her pulped enough times, 
especially that last fight of hers against the very same girl she 
was to box shortly.
While he thought these thoughts she rolled the tiny panties down 
her thighs, discarding the last of her own clothes, the last of her 
defences.
Her big, fleshy mound of Venus humped provocatively between her 
hefty thighs. She was smooth-shaven there, further emphasising her 
vulnerability.
Ralph, suddenly aware of her very nakedness, held the thin gown 
over her shoulders whilst she shrugged her powerful arms into the 
sleeves.
He was going to remind her about putting on the little white 
string, but brought himself up, after all she was unlikely to 
forget.
She sat in front of the well-lit mirror, slowly picking the soft, 
plastic hair pins out of her frayed bun.
She always tied her long, yellow hair at the nape of her neck for 
her fights, it was a kind of trademark for her, always, first with 
strong surgical tape then a feminine little white bow of ribbon to 
hide it.
She rummaged in her bag and came up with a scruffy pair of flip 
flops and wriggled her bright red adorned toes into them.
Seven fifteen.
"Right," she said, pulling apart the soft lapels of her gown, 
"let's see if you can drink as well at this milk bar as you can 
with your cronies next door."
He fell to his task with a will.
"I think that's all there is," he gasped, warm milk trickling down 
his stubbly chin.
Helen sighed, "it certainly feels better, pass me a tissue."
She gently wiped her puckered teats and the wide saucer of 
surrounding brown aureole.
"There, that should do the trick."
She gently eased her massive breasts back inside the thin dressing 
gown. 
"Just in time," she sighed, "I'll get my string on while you tidy 
up in here and don't forget to bring the gloves, leave mine in my 
bag, I'll use their's tonight, then there'll be no cause for any 
dispute."
The big blonde seemed quite discrete about putting on the g-string, 
she accomplished the task without taking off her gown, which was 
rather illogical as she would be as good as naked in a few minutes, 
with many more than just her own husband as voyeurs.
He reluctantly grabbed the absurdly small, black leather gloves and 
followed her into the hall.
She padded along to the bench at the ringside upon which already 
sat her frightening opponent, Trish.
The trouble was she was so beautiful, you couldn't imagine her half 
killing anyone, but all the crowd in that hall had seen her do it 
before and most were hoping that they'd see a blood bath again 
tonight.
Even the insensitive Ralph could detect the air of blood lust in 
the audience. He dropped the little gloves into her lap and glanced 
up at the ring, then patted his wife on the shoulder before finding 
himself a seat.
Four other women approached the bench, one of them Maggie.
"Right girls, let's get started shall we?"
Helen glanced over her shoulder to where Ralph found himself, fear 
rampant in her eyes.
Grabbing her gloves, she followed the others through the coarse 
ropes into her beloved squared circle.
"This is supposed to be the best part for me," she reminded 
herself.
But her mouth was dry, her knees shook perceptibly and she was 
afraid to make eye contact with the big brunette.
She watched the opposite corner though, her eyes at lap level. 
Trish's gloves looked exactly he same as her's black, hard and 
very small. She always used the same seconds and they had her 
gloved up and ready to fight in next to no time. 
Maggie let the other second do both gloves, almost seeming to want 
to distance herself from what she might see as the inevitable 
carnage to follow.
Once the laces had been taped down firmly Helen tested the cruel 
leathers one against the other between her bare knees. She 
shuddered involuntarily.
She flushed as she thought of her two previous fights against the 
brunette. She'd lasted ten rounds in the first and sixteen in the 
second and last. Both fights had seen her looking very messy in the 
recovery room afterwards. To add to her not inconsiderable injuries 
she'd felt she'd been humiliated and taken to the point of utter 
exhaustion in both bouts.
"So why am I here again?" she sighed to herself.
There was the money of course, even if she lost, it would keep the 
house and home	together for another six months, if she won they 
might even manage a little holiday, after she'd recovered of 
course.
She was that philosophical about the implications of getting into 
the ring with 	Trish.	But something in the back of her mind 
forewarned her that Ralph may be sensitive about spending the 
money she had earned by putting her face and tits on the line, 
especially as he'd been out of work for most of their married life. 
She tried to put the thought behind her.
Her spirits picked up again anyway as the MC ducked through the 
ropes.
"Besides I want to beat the shit out of her," she spat.
He picked up the shiny, black microphone, his gold sovereign rings 
flashing dull and pretentious beneath the glaring overhead lights.
"Ladies and Gentlemen..   
Helen's clear eyes surveyed the audience.
Once, a few years ago, it had been an almost exclusively male 
preserve, watching this most brutal of womens' sports, but now a 
good third of the spectators were themselves women.
"Perhaps, if I don't beat her," she glanced to the opposite corner, 
"one of them will take up the challenge."
She warmed to the idea while the MC droned on.
....  house heavy-weight championship will be over unlimited rounds 
duration using four ounce boxing gloves. There will be no referee 
and no count will take place in the event of a knockdown."
This was normal practice for championship fights between women at 
the club, if any of the audience were surprised, none showed it.
"As usual it will be up to the corner to decide whether their girl 
has lost the fight."
The introduction was purposefully long. It helped to titillate the 
crowd and bring them to the boil, especially if there was only the 
one fight on the card.
Helen's hands began to sweat slightly inside the tiny, confining 
gloves. She suffered pangs of doubt that almost bordered on having 
second thoughts throughout the MC's long introduction.

"So introducing on my left at, 150 lbs, five foot nine and 29 years 
old, Trish Patton, the current undisputed champion at heavyweight.
And, on my right at 145 lbs, also five foot nine and 28 years old, 
Helen Irwin the third-time challenger. 
Helen has been out of action for a while after having had a baby 
and I'm sure you're all pleased to welcome her come-back tonight."
There was a torrent of applause, much more than Trish had received.
She stood as her name was called and her second reached round her 
middle so as to undo the thin belt around her waist.
Trish's corner saw what was afoot and the brunette turned quickly 
to face her seconds for her own blood-red gown to be removed.
There was a clearly audible gasp of approval when to two g-stringed 
women stood stripped for action.
Helen's nerves were fully pushed to the back of her mind.
She stood, like her awesome opponent, gloved fists on hips, staring 
defiantly into her dark eyes.
Just in time she remembered to step out of her battered flip-flops, 
Maggie bent to retrieve them from the canvas.
The doctor shuddered at the state of the ring floor, it was stained 
brown virtually all over, especially around the two corner areas.
She recalled some of the blood baths she had been a party to there, 
and shuddered again when she found herself thinking of the last 
fight between these two girls. She glanced at both corners, trying 
to imagine what each boxer might look like by the end of the bout.
There was a brief pause whilst Trish made one of her doting seconds 
re-tie her thick, brown hair. Her's too was in a tail at the nape 
of her strong neck. The MC got the nod and the bell to start the 
fight rang as he ducked through the sagging ropes.
Trish marched out of her corner, straight up to the blonde, and 
smashed her right glove into her unprepared face.
The blow took her between the eyes and she dropped where she stood.
She lay half sitting up on her crumpled legs, eyes blinking, great 
breasts heaving.
Ralph sighed, "that's a bloody good start."
Though still shaky, she was up again at seven, Trish grinned 
ominously.
Smack, smack she hit the blonde hard in the belly twice with her 
cruel right hand.
It was as if she was testing the girl's stomach muscles to see if 
childbirth had robbed her of any of her noted ability to take 
punishment in the belly.
It was too early to tell yet.
Ralph opened his eyes again, "she's still standing."
Her pretty mouth opened and closed like a goldfish's, three punches 
into the fight and she felt sick.  A fairly mild left lead from the 
brunette to her right breast brought the number of blows to four 
and bile to the blonde's throat.
She mustn't give any indication of the jarring pain the tit punch 
had caused but Trish wasn't stupid, she and her cronies at the club 
had talked of little else but the blonde's likely weak spots for 
the last few days and breasts had come top of the list.
It was common knowledge that she was still breast feeding her baby, 
that and the inevitable pain and strains of childbirth, made it a 
racing certainty that her breasts and belly, especially lower down 
in the pelvic area would be the targets to go for and if her face 
got messed up in the process, so much the better, who cared, she 
was too attractive for Trish's liking anyway. The last thing she 
wanted was Helen back at the club regularly, SHE had to be the 
centre of attention not the big blonde.
But all eyes were on Helen at the moment, she hadn't yet moved from 
the position she'd assumed when she got up from the dirty ring 
floor. Her lower lip quivered and she swept an imaginary wisp of 
hair out of her eyes with the little four ounce glove so carefully 
tied to her right fist.
She began to feel as vulnerable as she had back in the changing 
room, the tiny little white g-string did nothing but barely cover 
her genitalia, her big bum was completely bare. Turning slightly 
around the brunette, she flicked out her left rather ineffectually.
Trish never even bothered to parry or block it.
The glove landed lightly and harmlessly on her right shoulder. The 
counter was not light though.
A right cross to the Jaw.
Helen staggered again.
"Come on love," willed Ralph.
The crowd around him were on their feet. He was sure they wouldn't 
like having paid good money to see a one rounder, but they were 
obviously excited by the spectacle of the distressed girl boxer in 
the ring.
"Do something," he moaned out loud.
Several of the spectators near him glanced in his direction. He 
shook his head and returned his gaze to the squalid ring.
Trish had all the stops out. She was clubbing Helen, who had both 
gloves cupped over her face, about the head, and occasionally the 
breasts whenever they escaped the confines of her elbows.
"The bell's the only thing that'll save her," groaned Ralph.
It was a long time coming and she was keening with pain by the time 
she flopped onto her stool.
Maggie eased her hunched shoulders with her bare hands. Nothing was 
said in the corner.
The doctor cast an experienced eye over the boxer.
After the first four punches she'd managed to avoid any more direct 
blows except for a couple of hard digs in the breasts.
"She can expect plenty more of that," she shuddered.
Out of interest she'd got one of the youngsters at the club to hit 
her in the tits a few times when she'd first become interested in 
the club's boxing activities so she'd SOME idea of how breast 
punches felt for their recipient. 
She pulled herself together.
There was no question of the blonde retiring, her purse and her 
courage were on the line.
Maggie had to come to terms with the fact that her object in being 
there was to keep Helen coming out of her corner for as many rounds 
as she could. If she did face defeat, and at the moment if looked 
inevitable, then it could be a long, painful and bloody business.
If she was to pull something out of the bag it would have to be 
soon, Trish wasn't going to wait around while she sorted herself 
out.
"I'm not helping at all," she thought suddenly.
Stopping the slow, absent-minded massage she grabbed a large towel 
and began vigorously to fan the blonde.
Their eyes met, was there a hint of defiance?
Had the fear which Ralph had seen in them transformed now into 
stoicism?  Remembering the blonde's offhand, philosophical approach 
to the fight earlier in her office she concluded that the fight 
might not be quite over yet.
The bell for the second startled her.
The other second pushed Helen bodily from the stool to stand, 
gloves tucked under her chin, to square up to the brunette.
She strode over, her own gloves at the hip, ready to lash out.
Maggie cringed when the first big right caught Helen on the 
ribcage, fortunately just below her massive left breast.
She gagged for air.
Trish grinned callously.
"I wouldn't have liked to have taken that," groaned Ralph.
His wife's gloves dropped away from her chin and she collected a 
brisk left, right combination in the face.
"This looks like it's going to be worse than last time," groaned 
Ralph. At least she'd looked reasonably confident for a few rounds 
in their previous two fights.
She was down again.
On her haunches, slack gloves spread palm-down on the squalid canvas 
by her hips. 
Her breath came in great sobs as she struggled to recover from the 
right uppercut to the solar plexus.
He'd known all along she wasn't ready for this fight.    
Now Trish knew as well.
Helen glanced to her corner before rising slowly. 
Trish sidled over and uppercut her again. This time in the left 
tit.
She nearly fell again.
Instead she slumped against her adversary and let her hit her 
repeatedly in the stomach, and lower down.
Trish walked her into a neutral corner as she did so, switching her 
attack to Helen's bulbous breasts for a few seconds before the bell 
saved her. 
"Bloody slaughter," sighed Maggie, watching Helen move slowly 
towards her after her beating in the adjacent corner.
Her bare feet shuffled across the canvas, the little black gloves 
dangled at mid thigh.
As soon as she was on her stool the other second got on with the 
job of sponging her down, whilst Maggie stood in front of her 
fanning her with a towel. Helen looked up and their eyes met, 
Maggie's misty with concern, hers soft and cow-like.
Nothing was said.
Then the doctor noticed the girl's brown knees shaking, and her 
gloved hands too. At the back of her mind she hoped that the fight 
wouldn't last much longer. She liked Helen but knew of the lure of 
the purse and the club's brutal boxing rules. The girl boxers often 
had to endure severe punishment and, all too frequently, quite serious 
injuries.
The other second was offering the blonde advice, but all she could 
do was shake her head. 
With the little black gloves clamped round her thighs, she stared 
up into the overhead lights.
She didn't look capable of standing for long, let alone taking 
Trish's best at the same time.
"Guts," thought Maggie, "and stoicism. That's what this is all 
about. But it's legalised slaughter all the same."
The bell startled her again.
Helen merely rose slowly and headed for the ring centre.
A few steps into the trip she met Trish head on.
The other girl's right fist thudded into her blank face crushing 
her nose. Blood began down over her pouting lips.
Ralph winced.
Her guard came up slowly, giving the brunette plenty of time to 
belt her in the mouth.
She switched to the lower belly as the gloves rose. Her thinly 
covered knuckles dug into Helen's guts, even grinding into her 
pubic mound once or twice.
IF there had been a referee she MAY have been given a standing 
count BUT as it was, everyone could see the knockdown coming.
It wasn't a single punch, just the cumulative effect of so many.
She didn't crash down dramatically either, crumple was more the 
word.
Trish stood back, wearing a satisfied expression and tapping her 
little black four ouncers together in front of her flat, untouched 
belly.
Again, with no referee, the downed boxer was left to try to rise 
from the smelly canvas.
She could rise to face the brunette again, that was obvious, but 
was it worth it? The blood that had spread from her nose showed 
darkly on her ashen face.
She knelt near the middle of the ring, her tummy looked red raw.
Trish, tired of waiting, had gone to her own corner for a spot of 
illegal towelling down.
Helen meekly waited for her after she'd finally got to her feet. 
She danced over, like a boxer giving an exhibition bout.
Smack, smack the four ouncers rocked the big blonde.
Maggie turned away.
This wasn't boxing.
Blood spurted down over the blonde's bloated breasts.
Her nose looked fit to split it was already that swollen.
For all her revulsion Maggie was surprised that Helen's breasts had 
got off so lightly so far.
She almost kicked herself for thought when Trish started on them 
almost immediately.
Somehow she'd managed to walk the blonde into a neutral corner 
again and the bleeding girl actually had hold of the ropes with 
both gloved hands whilst the brunette piled the punches in. 
Something else which shouldn't have happened had there been a 
referee.
She'd nowhere to go, her back against the corner pad.
It must have been like punching a side of beef against a wall. 
During a lull in the hitting she crumpled again.
This time it wasn't obvious that she would be able to make it up 
again. Her breasts now looked as red as her belly.
The once pale, pimply aereolas glowed bright, blood red. 
"It's only a matter of time," thought Maggie.
She'd seen teats split before.
Helen's particularly she remembered during her last challenge 
against Trish. Only this time it already looked worse.
"Yes, she could see a pearl of pink fluid hanging from the left 
nipple. 
"Elemental," she thought, blood and milk."
Trish smiled.
Helen sobbed quietly.
It must end soon.
The bell sounded to end the second round.
In any 'normal' boxing arena it WOULD HAVE been stopped as soon as 
she'd stopped trying to defend herself, if not before. Maggie now 
urged the other second to sponge away as much of the breast she 
could so that the cuts to her teats could be properly examined and 
wanted to see what the nose looked like under the welter of blood 
and gore.
"You'll have earned your purse tonight," she sighed as she patted 
the breasts and ran her fingers over the blonde's sore-swollen 
nose.
Helen, despite her utterly dazed state, squirmed with the pain.
The teats were still intact, just. As was her hard-swollen nose but 
it was only a question of time before she'd have to start trying to 
get the big blonde to call it a day.
"Ok, she may lose most of her purse and some face but if she stays 
in with Trish much longer she could regret it for the rest of her 
life."
Her mind conjured up the likely long term injuries.
If her nipples and aureole rupture then she'll have to stop breast 
feeding straightaway and I'll have to dry her milk up. Maybe she 
won't be able to breast feed ever again. And her face well, she's 
had her nose broken a few times yes, but never split and spread 
all over her face. The cartilage could be reset but the external 
scarring was another matter.
Suddenly the bell clanged for the third.
"The third?" Maggie couldn't believe it Helen already looked as if 
she'd done about twenty three rounds.
She didn't LOOK quite so distressed because most of the blood had 
been cleaned off her during the break. 
But it didn't take long for Trish to start her bleeding again, 
first her nose and then her left teat.
Another big right thudded into the centre of her soft face. 
Maggie strained to see how she'd taken it.
Not well.
There was a nasty cut across the bridge of her nose between her 
once bright blue eyes. As she watched a broad ribbon of blood began 
to pump from the gash. She couldn't help herself, "it could have 
been worse," she shuddered.
At least it wasn't affecting her vision, though she thought it 
would make little difference if it had because the blonde hadn't 
thrown a proper punch yet. 
Trish actually looked frustrated. She was hitting the girl as hard as she 
could yet she seemed just to stand and take it.
"Tits," she thought coldly.
Managing to get the blonde draped in a neutral corner again she 
began to hook lefts and rights into the bloated breasts.
After half a dozen the right nipple began to dribble the earthy 
pink mixture of blood and milk.
Helen's chin sagged onto her agonised chest. 
There was no one there to stop it.
For the second time in the short fight Maggie had to avert her 
eyes.
Ralph had long since closed his tightly, hearing only the wet thuds 
as Trish's four ounce gloves crushed and tore at his wife's once 
proud breasts.
The bell signalled a minute's respite for the blonde but if Trish 
heard it she showed no sign of stopping.
It was only the roar of the crowd and Helen's other second coming 
round to the corner which got her to drop her gloves and step back.
Maggie too came to the neutral corner. 
Helen had hold of the middle rope so tight that they couldn't shift 
her. 
Ralph could hear Maggie telling her to go down or call for the 
towel.
The blonde nodded slowly, very slowly.
There was nothing they could do for her. She stood in a veritable 
puddle of her own blood. It poured from her cut and now broken nose 
down her cleavage where it joined the steady stream from her 
pumping teats to run down her belly and on over her pubic mound and 
down the insides of her thighs.
The fourth sounded.
Trish marched over and began to slug her again as if the interval 
had never passed.
Some of the hard bitten crowd now were calling 'Stop It' but the 
brunette kept punching, mostly to the tits.
She did ring the changes by trying to further spread the blonde's 
nose but it was a uppercut to the mouth that ended it all.
When it came, it was special.
She pulled back her right fist, her forearm and wrist flexed, her 
not inconsiderable bicep bulging, and let go a classic uppercut to 
the blonde's hanging head.
The gloved fist smacked into her bloody mouth, her own gloves 
unfisted involuntarily and she doubled up before falling sideways 
into a heap in the corner.
Trish examined her gloves as she strode magnificently back to her 
corner and Ralph had to watch, horrified as one of her flashy 
seconds pulled first one and then the other of his wife's front 
teeth of the brunette's right boxing glove.