Ring Pull IV
By Smac
Claire challenges Anne to a final ringed boxing match

Corrected 3/07/2001

Long before her ripped clitoris could possibly have been properly healed the big 
woman boxer, Claire was already badgering the veteran Anne.
She kept up a tirade during training and taunted her mercilessly, even in the 
changing room before and after sparring.
'You may have torn that little ring out of me, but I'm still too good for you.' 
Anne nodded patiently.
"Come on then, do something about it," goaded the morose blonde.
"Look," began Anne resignedly, "I can beat you with one hand tied behind my 
back, so what's the point?"
She knew only too well what the point was, Claire was turned on by the ring and
the gloves and, for all she knew, by the pain.
She'd thought about Claire often lately, about all the thumpings she'd had in 
the few years she'd been coming to the boxing club. 
She wasn't a bad boxer, and she certainly had the build to put most, if not 
all of the other women away.	She must just like being beaten. She was too thick 
skinned to worry about the humiliation, she must just want the pain. Her looks 
were irretrievable now anyway, she'd been no oil painting when she'd joined the 
group, but she looked almost like a male pug about the face now.
Still she kept on.
"If you're too scared to fight me again I'll understand," she whined.
'Ok,' sighed Anne, "how do you want it?"
She was too used to the blonde to imagine that a straight fight with the gloves 
on would satisfy her.
Claire smiled her crooked smile.
"Chains again?"
"Chains?"
"Yeah, tit to tit this time, two chains not one."
Anne looked down at her own heaving bosom, "wouldn't they cross over?" she 
asked, perplexed.
"Nah, your left to my right and vice versa, two parallel lines." Anne nodded 
slowly as her numbed mind envisaged the possibility.
It was cruel, they'd be awfully close to one another, there'd be four rings to 
rip out.....
"Look Claire, if I agree to this fight, will you stop pestering me, some of the
other girls don't mind fighting you any time, you know that."
Claire blushed, the first time Anne had ever seen anything like it.
"Yyyes," she stammered, "do this and it will be our swan song."
"Not up to her usual standard for abuse," thought Anne, "perhaps I've touched a
raw nerve."
Seeing's how she'd come off so lightly in their last scrap Anne decided	to
bargain for her husband's attendance again.
Claire agreed without demurring.
"When?" she asked.
"Friday night?" suggested the blonde.
Anne's stomach tightened, it was such short notice, but it would be good to get
it over with.
The crowd were waiting for the two big women just like the last time. 
Claire put in an appearance first.
As soon as she was in the ring she yanked her thin white gown off and thrust her 
big, ringed breasts out provocatively. All she wore were the tight little white 
boxing trunks they'd boxed in before, there were a few mementos of that fight, 
crimson brown splashes and stains down over the front of the shiny, white satin. 
Anne was preceded to her corner by her husband, another first for the club. He 
reluctantly helped her off with her gown. 
She too wore the little white shorts, but she'd washed her's carefully since 
she'd last worn them. Her massive, brown teats sported large, steel rings 
through them.
Claire picked up the chains from her corner.
"Gloves first," hissed her second.
She plonked herself down on her stool and held out her right fist. 
"Hurry up then."
Anne's husband grabbed his wife's hands and forced her onto her stool. He tutted 
when he weighed the tiny black leather boxing gloves in his hands. 
"Four ouncers are lethal for women with your punching power."
Anne nodded resignedly.
He took the hint.
Soon the tight little leathers were on, laced firmly and taped over securely 
with at least a yard of surgical tape on each strong wrist.
She pounded her fists into her palms, further packing her powerful hands into 
the tiny gloves.
Her man began to flap when Claire's second motioned his wife over to the ring 
centre, but one glance from her sent him scuttling back to her corner and out of 
the ring.
The second too tried to start telling the women something but they both thrust 
their massive chests out, ready for the chains and the ordeal in store.
She took one of the chains from round her neck, hefting it in her hands as 
Anne's husband, Paul, had her gloves.
She sucked in her breath and then clipped one end to her boxer's left nipple. 
Anne turned slightly, offering her right teat ready to receive the other end of 
the steel chain.
The boxers parted slightly and the chain straightened. They were barely more 
than an arm's length apart.
The woman quickly snapped the other chain on and ducked out of the way of the 
black leather.
The bare, bright overhead lamp highlighted the parallel chains running from 
woman to woman, breast to breast, teat to teat, ring to ring.
They began to punch one another.
The blows were, of necessity, haymakers over the chains and short, cruel 
uppercuts under it.
Anne squealed as she took two or three of then between the legs. Her guts turned 
to water as she recalled her foolhardy decision to leave her other badge of 
courage, her clitoris ring, in for the fight. With the shorts on Claire couldn't 
know for sure whether she wore it or not, perhaps the thought had never even 
occurred to her or, she swallowed, maybe it had.
"It shouldn't cause any problem though," she thought, whistling in the dark. 
The ring, whilst quite large, was well up inside her at that moment and, 
although the punches to her vulva had hurt her, there was no pain from her 
ringed clitoris.
Yet.
As in all their previous scraps Anne stuck with Claire's face, there was 
something about the big woman that made her want to disfigure her even more. 
There was no question of rounds until they were separated, however that 
happened. At least two rings needed to go, two breast tips to be ripped 
before they could go to their respective corners, if then.
Claire dug into her belly and cunt, Anne stayed with the face. After five 
minutes or so Anne was ashen, Claire already bleeding badly from her thick nose.
She shook her head contemptuously, blood daubing her cheeks and Anna's as yet 
untouched chest.
The brunette was fairly happy about her ability to take the heavy, thudding 
punches in her belly but she was already beginning to feel queasy and very 
tender about the groin area.
If only she could back off and get her left lead going. 
But this wasn't boxing, this was mindless brutality.
She swung her left and right fists harder at the bloody face, the blonde's 
punches seemed to begin to bounce harmlessly off her muscle ribbed abdomen.
She thought, 'if I can't move much round the ring, then I may as well keep my 
legs together.'
It was, like most strokes of genius, simple, but effective.
She could put up with Claire's belly punches all night, and the big women could 
now only catch her between the legs occasionally.
Claire herself realised what was happening eventually and began to punch Anne in 
the face after several minutes of the futile body punching.
So it was that for ages it seemed they stood, toe to toe, smacking one another 
in the face with the cruelly small four ounce gloves.
Soon the skin over the top slopes of their massive breasts, tautened as it was 
by the unremitting pull of the nipple rings, was spattered and daubed with their 
face blood.
Luckily for both of them the blows weren't straight punches, the chains 
prevented that, but with their powerful shoulders and the light gloves, the 
damage was being done nonetheless. 
Claire's nose was running freely and her lips were like pieces of raw liver. 
Anne's nose only spurted when it got hit and her mouth, though bloody, was more 
or less intact.
Paul winced as he watched them taking the heavy, undefended blow. It was like 
watching a German film he'd once seen of a women's face-slapping contest only 
these two weren't slapping each other. 
Being in Anne's corner and so near to the ring he could smell the sweat 
of fear on them but, because they were almost at ring centre most of the drops 
of blood that flew from them, especially from the big blonde, never reached him, 
instead they marred the crisp white canvas upon which the boxers shuffled their 
danse macabre.
Claire staggered from a right haymaker to the hook of her jaw and both women's 
mouths opened wide as did their nipple piercings. By the time she'd righted 
herself blood was seeping from all four teats.
"Pretty equanimous," sighed Paul, in fact he was swallowing hard, fighting back 
the bile.
The women were already in so much pain and anguish, now the added agony from 
their long suffering nipples.
'Something's going to give in a minute,' he groaned.
All eyes in the room were fixed on the four ringed nipples. 
The two boxers themselves seemed past caring now, Anne even leant back slightly 
forcing the big blonde to edge forwards to relieve some of the strain on her 
blood smudged areolas and their piercings. 
Anne continued to taunt her, smacking her right fist first down onto the top of 
her left breast then, cruelly into the side of the suffering mound. 
Fortunately for Claire none of the heavy blows impinged on her teats or either 
chain. Her left tit swelled before Anne's eyes though and she felt, despite the 
work that the blonde had put in on her own face meanwhile, that she should keep 
punching Claire's breasts, especially the taut-swollen left one.
She even squealed when Claire caught her a beauty. The thinly padded knuckles 
crunched her nose and she saw her blood squirting out over the blonde's hurting 
breasts.
'Better than the cut eye last time,' she croaked.
She was too seasoned a boxer to let her broken nose bother her, but Paul turned 
away at the sight of all the blood.
The only thing that did incapacitate her was the mist of involuntary tears in 
her eyes and Claire was savvy enough to capitalise on it.
She drove a fierce uppercut in Anne's left breast, the chain cut into her right 
glove, bodily lifting the heavy tit until the teat gave way and another fountain 
of blood erupted. 
Anne swayed for a second, stunned by the pain, then she fell heavily. The chain 
remaining attached to her right breast wasn't long enough to accommodate her 
trip to the canvas and, before she lay at Claire's dirty feet her other teat had 
given up it's steel ring too. She lay twitching and bleeding, crumpled in front 
of the big blonde.
Claire raised her blood soaked gloves above her ruined face, thrusting her 
bloody, but massively complete breasts out over the downed woman boxer, the 
crimson-smeared rings tantalisingly swinging over Anne's flushed belly.
Paul forced himself to act. He'd a bucket of water and a towel and sponge. All 
he could do was to apply the wet sponge to the back of his wife's neck. It 
seemed like using a elastoplast on an amputated leg but she did flutter her 
eyelids after a while, wincing with the excruciating pain which consciousness 
brought with it.
Claire was in her own corner by now, not smiling but still openly boasting to 
her second. Each time she lisped a fine spray of blood droplets fanned from her 
open lips. 
By the time Paul and another woman from the ringside had Anne on her stool, 
Claire had quietened down and even allowed her second to wipe her up a little. 
She stared at Anne, slumped on her stool, she too had been cleaned up but the 
blood remained on her thighs were it had fallen from her torn teats. Her second 
began to fiddle with the binding of her left glove.
'Hang on a minute,' Claire growled.
She marched over to the brunette's corner, chains dangling proudly but 
dangerously, 'is that it?' she asked.
"Have I said so?" breathed Anne.
Claire glanced at Paul, he shrugged.
"Ok, five minutes rounds from now on," she swaggered back to her corner.
"Come on,' pleaded Paul, "you're in a right mess.'
'Can't you see," she replied, sobbing, "I've got nothing to lose now, my nose is 
busted, both my rings have gone, what else can she do it me?"
"Give me a minute or so and I'll spread her tits all over her chest."
Paul could see now why she wanted to continue boxing, but not why Claire should. 
'What's in it for her then?" he asked, bemused.
"She wants me to crucify her now."

It was true the big blonde hardly put up a defence as Anne began, in their first 
round as separate entities, to punch her round the ring. It was Claire's own 
hardened second's turn to look away now as her fighter took Anne's vicious 
punches almost without retaliation. 
She put in some good work on the blonde's face, getting the blood flow and the 
mess down over her front back to it's former glory, before starting on her 
adversary's breasts and the attendant chains. 
Her very movement about the ring had started her own teats running again and, of 
course blood still seeped from her busted nose, but she looked good 
compared to Claire.
Once she'd begun on the big, bloated breasts they were easy meat, the trailing, 
whipping chains contributing to the orgy of tit pain she acted out to the 
blonde. She began to whimper, then as she started to go to the canvas Anne 
managed to catch her such a cutting right hander to the left tit that the ring 
and chain spun away onto the ring apron before she actually hit the floor.
She rolled over onto her back revealing the great gash in her tit.
As Paul watched a small volcano of bright red arterial blood jetted up to run 
over her belly and chest.
She was still conscious, soon she knelt on the spattered canvas back heaving, 
she was trying to rise, she wanted the full treatment. 
Before she was fully erect Anne grabbed the chain still fastened to Claire's 
breast, and pulling the blonde violently towards her whilst pistoning her right 
fist, managed to kill two birds with one stone. They were evens now, no rings 
and a busted nose apiece. She spun the chain round her left glove until it 
became like a knuckleduster and went for the blonde again before she had time to 
fall. 
The damage was bad, "she'll look like a patchwork quilt by the time she's 
stitched back together," thought Paul as he climbed into the ring were Claire 
was crumpled at his wife's blood spattered feet.