Christmas Present.
By Smac.
Two young women decide to try boxing.

Corrected 4/07/2001

 Thursday, 25th. November 1993 - Thanksgiving Day.


  There was no turkey and no cranberry sauce.
  The two attractive young women sipped a light hock and crunched a crispy green 
salad.
  Why a Thanksgiving dinner at all in the middle of the chic London docklands 
development?
  Marcia, the stunning, handsome brunette was a citizen of the United States of 
America.  
Indeed her father, a wealthy property man in his own right, was a member of the 
Senate.  
She, more as a hobby than for gainful employment, researched the upper end of 
the housing market for a syndicate of the largest of the London estate agents.
  Hence, in part, the huge, rambling apartment which would require a king's 
ransom to sustain it in normal circumstances.
  She glanced across the vast, sparsely laid table.
  
  Becky was in the research business too.  She worked in the House of Commons 
gathering such information required by the current leadership of the Liberal 
Democratic party.  Her shortish light brown hair was fashionably styled with 
blonde highlights.
  "You know, I fancy a bit of a workout," drawled Marcia.
  Becky's eyebrows shot up, "you mean a scrap?"
  "Yeah........"
  Becky pushed herself back from the great table enthusiastically, then she 
slowly subsided, back into the big high backed chair.
  She was strangely quiet for a minute or so, as if composing what it was she 
wished to say.
  Finally she grabbed the thick table edge with both hands, "look, I want a 
scrap just as much as you, but look at the facts.  Twice we've put the gloves on 
now.  First that try out when I bloodied your nose, then that proper fight when 
we both had our faces bashed in.  We've both got to go to work on Monday and we 
were in dark glasses for a week after that."
  Marcia nodded slowly, she could not but agree, a weak smile crossed her 
handsome face, "yeah, I hear what you're saying, so what's the answer?"
  Becky thought for a while.
  "Well, we could plan ahead a bit, set a date to box, not just do it
off the cuff.  It would give us something to look forward to as well,
you know."
  She smiled.
  "What about Christmas Eve?" said Marcia, "we'd have all the time in the world 
to get over it then."
  After a few moments thought Becky said, "great idea, that gives us a month to 
get ourselves and everything else ready."
  Marcia caught the mood, "we could buy some new shorts."
  "And gloves," piped Becky.
  "Yes, and clean up the ring area."
  Becky frowned.
  Marcia put her arm round her shoulders, "it's not that much of an imposition.  
You up for this?"
  "Oh course," she smiled, "it's a date, a fight to a finish, with the gloves on 
Christmas eve, I can't wait."

  Wednesday, 13th. May 1993 - Beer and Boxing.

  Marcia was sure that, apart from the scruffy waitresses, she and 
Becky were the only two females in the tatty hotel.  She'd long since forgotten 
how it was they came to be invited in the first place.  She could dimly remember 
a night out in the East End and a succession of grimy pubs.  In one of the later 
ones a couple of dog eared tickets had been thrust into her hands and she'd 
stuffed them into the pocket of her number three leather jacket.
  It wasn't till a few weeks later she came to wear the jacket again and 
stumbled on the tickets.
  They bore the subtle legend, 'Beer and Boxing do.' and the place and date.
  Becky was all for it too and here they were.
  
  Through a haze of beer fumes and cigarette smoke they watched a succession of 
brutal, clubbing boxing matches between, what seemed to be, men seemingly too 
old to take part in proper, licensed boxing.  None of the fights went the 
distance, whatever that was and, by the end of the spectacle the ring floor was 
wet with blood.  Indeed, as both of the boxers in the final bout went to the 
canvas time and again, they became covered from head to foot in gore.
  As the final, muffled count was intoned over the last loser the two young 
women's' eyes met and both smiled a weak smile.
  The flame was lit.
  All Thursday and Friday evening they talked about the boxing they'd seen and, 
almost by tacit agreement, they agreed to have a go themselves.  A trip to the 
nearby department store with a massive sports section was pencilled in for 
Saturday morning.
   
  Marcia in a mohair sweater, tight jeans and calf length boots, Becky in her 
cheeky, short black leather skirt, tee shirt and teetering high heels, they rode 
the escalator to the sports floor.
  "We're looking for some boxing equipment for our nephews," lied Becky to the 
young man on the sales staff.
  "What age are they?"
  They looked at one another and shrugged, "ok, it's for us," Becky blurted.
  The young man blushed and began to stammer.
  Turning, he waved one of the young women assistants over.
  "These two young ladies wish to purchase some boxing equipment," he whispered, 
before beating a hasty retreat.
  The girl smiled, "you're not the first we've had, come on I'll show you some 
shorts and stuff first, twelve's are you?"
  They nodded and left the male assistant to his hand wringing over by the 
trainers section.
  "These are quite popular with the ladies."
  She held up a tiny pair of silk athletic shorts, there was very little of 
them, very short and cut away at the sides.      
  "Would you like to try them on?"
  Marcia thought, "yes, at home as soon as possible," but said, "no thanks, 
they'll be just fine."
  "What else do you need?"
  "Just two pairs of boxing gloves," grinned Becky.
  "Let's see how big your hands are."
  Both held out their hands.
  "You may get into our boys' four ounce gloves, come over to the counter."
  She lifted the box up and took out two polythene packets.
  "You should be using six ouncers really, but try these on anyway, they're so 
much cheaper."
  The two women eagerly tore open the packets and wriggled their hands into the 
confining leather.
  "Ok?"
  "You're right, they're damn tight," drawled Marcia, "but we'll take them.  
Let's have a look at the six ounce one's in any case."
  The assistant smiled at the prospect of a good sale and dipped below the 
counter again.
  The six ouncers had a cardboard box to each pair, they were carefully wrapped 
in tissue, the tangy smell of the brand new leather assailed their nostrils as 
she opened the boxes.
  "They're so beautiful," crooned Becky as she lifted the soft, pliant leather 
to her flushed cheek.
  "They're professional quality boxing gloves, the men up to middle weight, 
that's about ten stone seven, use them," she explained.
  Marcia looked confused.
  "A hundred forty seven pounds," whispered Becky.
  "Just right for us," grinned Marcia, tossing her charge card onto the counter, 
"we'll take them, the four ouncers and four pairs of those beautiful little 
shorts."
  As soon as they hit the pavement Marcia was hailing a cab.
  "It's only a little way," protested Becky.
  "I know, only I can't wait," giggled Marcia.
  
  No sooner were they inside the front door than they headed for the room where 
they had all their exercise equipment set up.  Marcia tugged off her large 
mohair sweater and shimmied out of her tight denims.
  Becky watched for a few moments, the rushed out of the room, to return minutes 
later with her Polaroid.
  Marcia nodded enthusiastically and continued her strip.
  She popped the straining catch of her white silky bra and her big, brown 
breasts bobbed beautifully, then hung vertically as she bent to drop her warm 
brassiere onto her little pile of clothes.  Not taking her big brown eyes off 
Becky, she dug her thumbs into the thin side strings of her tiny, white silk 
panties and pulled them down her solid, brown thighs, thrusting her clean shaven 
pubis provocatively out towards Becky as she did so.
  Becky smiled and handed her a pair of the tiny white silk shorts.
  She got into them, with difficulty.  The waist band was way below her belly 
button, if she didn't shave between her legs, then her pubic hair would have 
shown over the top of the shorts.  She did a quick twirl and the best part of 
her bottom was bare too.
  Becky took a photo of the rear view whilst Marcia bent to tidy her clothes 
away.
  "Do you want to try some gloves?" asked Becky.
  "Are you crazy?  Here let me see them."
  Marcia was rather chary of the new six ounce boxing gloves, especially as 
she'd seen the bill from the store.
  "I'll try on a pair of the little ones," she mewed
  Becky took a pair out of their polythene bags.
  Marcia held out a shaky hand and, after loosening the bright white laces, 
contrasting as they did so sharply with the shiny black leather, pushed one onto 
her friend's trembling fist.
  Inexpertly she tightened the laces and tied them off.
  Without hesitation Marcia made a fist and banged herself in the belly.
  She grinned, "feels good.  Do the other one Becky."
  Becky got the other boxing glove on her and stood back with the camera.
  After several, what passed for, boxing poses Marcia said, "let me have the 
camera."
  Clumsily she made sure she could aim it and press the large red button.
  "Ok, now it's your turn."
  Becky grinned hugely and kicked off her heels.
  She spun her little black leather skirt round, unzipped it and dragged it, 
with difficulty, down her hard, pink thighs.  She tugged off her thin tee shirt, 
no bra for her, she was left in a tiny, white cotton g string.  It was clear 
that she too kept herself clean shaven between her legs.   She smiled again at 
Marcia and whipped off the tiny string, grabbing for the shorts from the floor.
  With her pert tits and boyish bum she looked good enough to eat in the tiny, 
shiny white silk shorts.
  Unpacking the four ounce boxing gloves she reluctantly took the laces out and 
awkwardly got them onto her fists.
  Marcia fired away with the camera, trying for shots where the unlaced gloves 
were not too apparent.
  She bent and carefully placed the camera on the carpet next to the veritable 
pile of photos they'd taken
  "Well?" she smiled weakly.
  Becky knew instinctively what she meant.  She crossed to her friend and hit 
her sharply in the belly, the boxing glove made a satisfactory thudding sound.
  Marcia gasped, "hit me in the face."
  Becky hesitated just a second, then whacked with a straight right in the eye.
  Marcia shook her head, "ouch, that hurts."
  She raised her gloves up to her chin, like she'd seen male boxers do.
  "Come on, let's try it," she urged Becky.
  Becky shrugged and raised her leathers too.
  She poked out her straight right again, hard into Marcia's nose.
  Marcia was instantly blinded with involuntary tears.
  Becky dropped her boxing gloves and held her friend's gloved hand. 
  Dribbles of blood began from both Marcia's nostrils, her nose felt and looked 
swollen already.
  "That's it," she groaned, "I've got to work on Monday morning.... get the 
camera Becky."
  Becky shook off her boxing gloves with difficulty and stood taking pictures of 
her friend still wearing her shorts and boxing gloves with blood dripping 
steadily into her cleavage from her bleeding nose.
  "Quick, get these shorts off me, before they get messed up," pleaded Marcia, 
pawing at them uselessly with her boxing gloved hands.
  Becky smiled hugely and continued to take another photograph before kneeling 
before her distressed friend to drag the little silks down her trembling brown 
thighs.  She stood back and picked up the polaroid again.
  Marcia raised her, to date unused, right boxing glove to her face and popped 
the leather thumb between her bloody lips.  Having ensured the leather was 
liberally smeared with blood and saliva, she parted her thighs and jammed the 
thumb up into her streaming cunt.  
She stood with the glove thrust up inside her, panting and snorting droplets of 
blood down over the upper slopes of her bare juddering breasts.
  Becky took another series of photos.
  At last Marcia shuddered deeply, pulled the boxing glove out of herself with a 
plop and walked, stiff legged over to the full length wall mirror.  She squirmed 
visibly and her right glove strayed back between her sweaty thighs.
  "How long before we can have a proper fight?" she sighed.
  "Well, we've both got a week off in June," grinned Becky.
  "Oh yes, so we'll box on the Friday evening."
  Becky nodded slowly.
  "I know it will seem like ages in coming," groaned Marcia.
  "Not like you," thought Becky.
  She put the camera down carefully, picking up a clean towel instead she went 
to Marcia's side.  She grabbed Marcia's right boxing glove away from her wet, 
swollen cunt.
  "Look at all this mess you've made," she grinned.
  She raised the towel, but then had second thoughts.  She brought the soggy 
boxing glove up to her own mouth and, poking out her pink tongue, began to lick 
off the frothy mixture of Marcia's blood and pussy goo from the glove's leather 
thumb.  Licking her lips she now folded the towel into a pad and got Marcia to 
hold it to her bloody face whilst she unlaced her friend's boxing gloves, 
changing hands as she did so.
  Free of her boxing gloves, Marcia bent to retrieve her little silk shorts.  
She moaned as she used them to wipe herself between the legs.
  "Clean up time," grinned Becky.
  After bathing together in the huge tub they lounged on the sofa, their 
dressing gowns loose about their flushed shoulders.
  Becky overtly stared at Marcia's face.
  "I can't see any damage," she smiled.
  Marcia smiled weakly, "our breasts won't be on show at work on Monday will 
they?"
  Becky raised her eyebrows questioningly.
  Marcia reached over and tweaked her friend's nipples until they stood out like 
dark brown thimbles.  She jumped up, returning minutes later with a large needle 
and thick nylon thread on a spool.  She worried Becky's left teat again until it 
stood proudly erect.  
Threading the big needle, she drove it hard, right through the very centre of 
Becky's left teat.
  Becky never took her eyes off her friend's face, but she did whimper as Marcia 
drew the thick thread on through her freshly immolated teat.
  "Now me," panted Marcia huskily.
  Becky snatched the needle and thread from Marcia's trembling hand and slowly 
and deliberately pushed it through her big, soft right nipple.
  They sat for a long time after tying the two ends of the thick thread, joined 
symbolically, all the time talking of the boxing match they were to have and 
looking through all the 'photos they'd taken earlier, especially the ones 
showing Marcia's sticky end.
   Becky began to stroke her friend's cheek, she picked up some scissors, "I'll 
put the 'photos away somewhere safe," she smiled, "you might like to tidy the 
exercise room."
  Becky snipped the heavy thread joining them together at the breast and both 
women tied the remaining ends into neat bows on the ends of their swollen teats.  
A token of their unity.
  
  In the interim, between trying out the boxing gloves and their first proper 
boxing match, much time and money was spent in preparation.
  Marcia had bought a Uher tape recorder and had spent many frustrating hours in 
getting it to sound a buzzer at three and one minute intervals in order to 
signify the rounds they were to box.  She'd also paid an arm and a leg for a 
small boxing ring, which was duly installed in the exercise room by two bemused 
looking youths.
  Marcia couldn't resist, in response to their guarded questions, showing them 
the polaroids of herself and Becky with the gloves on and, of course, her with 
blood all over her face and her big brown breasts.
  The lads looked impressed.
  
  One evening, as they both sprawled on the huge setee, Becky said, "there's one 
thing the bothers me about this boxing...."
  "Shoot," yawned Marcia.
  "How will we know when it's over, with no referee or anyone else to stop us?"
  "When one of us has had enough?" offered Marcia.
  "Oh yeah, but I only hit you once in the nose and you got pretty messed up."
  "Ok," conceded Marcia, "let's say if we get too bloody we stop."
  Becky thought grimly for a while.
  She rose slowly and stretched.
  She went to her workbox picking out a spool of white ribbon, "um, we could tie 
some of this ribbon round ourselves and use that as a marker."
  Marcia looked querulous.
  Becky whipped off her thin tee shirt, pulled off a couple of metres of ribbon 
and, having wrapped it round her chest, under her pert, thrusting breasts said, 
"as soon as the ribbon gets messed up, that's the end."
  Marcia's eyes lit up.
  "Could we tie the ribbon anywhere?"
  Becky smiled, "I don't see why not."
    

Wednesday, 9th. June 1993 - Marcia's flat.
           
  The door slammed, they came home from the swimming baths.
  Becky, in her little black leather skirt and white top, went immediately to 
put the their towels and bikinis away in the basement utility room.  Marcia, 
also in a black leather mini skirt, high black boots and white blouse, followed 
her to fetch a ready meal from the freezer.
  "Oh, we were going to check out our boxing gloves tonight weren't we?" blurted 
Marcia, as if she had hitherto forgotten.
  Becky smiled to herself.
  By the time she returned to the lounge Marcia was sitting on the sofa with one 
of the boxes containing the gloves at her side, the other on the taut leather of 
her lap.  She patted the space beside her.
  Becky eagerly kicked off her heels and sat down.
  "They seem to have made a good job of the velcro," she purred, tossing one of 
the gloves she now held, to her friend.
  The fastenings at the cuff indeed looked robust and durable.
  "They'll need to be," thought Becky.
  She stood briefly, as if to assert herself, "let's make sure we can get our 
gloves on and off ok?" she grinned, "but no funny business, Friday will be here 
soon enough."
  Marcia nodded thoughtfully.
  "I'll fetch some sticking plaster," Becky turned.
  She tossed the reel of plaster into Marcia's leather lap and, as her own top 
sported long sleeves, she tugged it from the waistband of her leather skirt and 
drew it over her head, her pert tits, nipples already puckered, bobbed into 
view.
  Marcia smiled and opened the other box.
  Inside were the black six ounce boxing gloves with still retained their 
pristine white laces.  
She hugged them to her flushed cheek.
  Becky held out her trembling hands.
  Marcia pushed one on, then the other.  She fell to tightening the laces, then 
wound them, tightly, round her friend's wrists, trapping her strong hands in the 
confining leathers.
  "Ok so far?"
  Becky smacked her fists together noisily, "Mmmmm, now for the tapes."
  Marcia made four strips, each about a metre long, sticking just the very ends 
to the edge of the low coffee table at her side.  Carefully she took one of the 
strips and wound it, ever tighter, round the cuff of Becky's right boxing glove, 
trapping the tightly bound laces beneath it, forming a neat, secure layer.
  "Stand back a minute," urged Marcia.
  Becky stood before her, her head erect, proud pink breasts thrust out, her 
fists in the shiny black boxing gloves, her hips too encased in thick, black 
leather, bulging thighs, neat feet apart.............
  "Hang on, don't move a muscle, I'll fetch the polaroid."
  By the time she returned though, Becky had backed further away from the 
furniture and had adopted a boxing pose, in the correct stance, as they had 
learnt over the past weeks, with the black boxing gloves up under her strong 
chin.
  Marcia snapped away contentedly for some minutes.  Suddenly she flung the 
camera into a corner of the vast sofa and retrieved the other pair of boxing 
gloves.
  They both knew that this was the tricky part, but if Marcia couldn't manage 
it, with all her enthusiasm and longing, then no one could.
  First though, she unbuttoned her flimsy, white blouse and, having carefully 
eased it out of the waistband of her beautiful little leather skirt, drew it 
slowly off her broad shoulders.  
Her strong fingers found the catch at the back of her straining white silky bra.  
At last the fastener yielded and she peeled the warm material away from her 
huge, brown breasts.  
The little ring she'd taken to wearing through her right nipple glinted under 
the house lights.
  Becky, her boxing gloves bunched on her leather clad hips, watched every move 
that Marcia made.
  Marcia picked up one glove, it went on to her fist easily and she kneaded the 
Velcro till the cuff was tight round her wrist.  It took several minutes to get 
the other glove onto her left hand, but Becky could only stand and watch her 
friend struggle.
  "Ok?"
  "Yeah, they both feel pretty secure."
  Now it was Becky's turn to try her hand.
  She bent and pawed at the lengths of sticking plaster with her gloved hands.  
After a while she had one piece reasonably well under control.  She patted an 
end onto the cuff of her friend's boxing glove and was surprised how easy the 
job proved to be.  Using her awkward gloved hands and her sharp, nimble teeth 
and lips, she managed to make a very good job of the taping, quite as good as 
Marcia had of hers in fact.  With both fists finished Marcia, naturally, wanted 
to pose herself and Becky complied using the camera as best she could.
  "Now for the difficult bit," grimaced Becky as she placed the overworked 
camera onto the coffee table.
  Getting the boxing gloves off again, without damaging them, bearing in mind 
that they would both probably be damaged themselves after Friday's punch up.
  "Ok," she waved Marcia over to the table.
  On it was a sellotape dispenser with a couple of razor blades forced into the 
slot normally occupied by the serrated blade.
  Marcia bent prettily whilst Becky steadied the dispenser as best she could.
  Marcia sawed her wrists to and fro over the blades, careful not to damage the 
beautiful, and very expensive, boxing gloves.  At last the tapes parted cleanly.  
The rest was all too easy.
  "I need seeing to," muttered Marcia as they packed the boxing gloves away, 
ready for Friday.  
  
  Becky, herself stimulated by the wearing of the boxing gloves and very wet 
between the legs said, "Ok, I'll sew you up till Friday."
  Marcia nearly came again on the spot.
  She dashed to Becky's workbox for the needle and thread.
  No sooner back at her friend's side than she flung herself on her back on the 
carpet, wriggled her short leather skirt the little way it needed to go to ride 
on her hips and, knees apart, ripped off her sodden, white cotton panties.
  Becky strode over purposefully and picked up the needle and thread.  She knelt 
between Marcia's trembling thighs and teased out the wet, red inner lips of her 
vagina.  She pinched the slimy lobes of her friend's very womanhood between her 
left forefinger and thumb and pushed the big needle inexorably right through 
both Marcia's thick cunt lips.
  Marcia panted hard and mewed with pain as Becky snipped the thread and tied 
the ends in a neat bow in front of her friend's streaming opening.
  Becky patted her handy work, "there, that should keep you out of mischief till 
Friday."
  "What about you," half grinned Marcia, easing herself up onto her elbows.
  "I'm not a slut," she smiled cheekily.
  
  Neither achieved much in the way of work on Friday, not that it was ever 
expected of them in normal circumstances.  But all they could think about was 
what was to happen in the exercise room that evening.
  They each took the tube home as was customary on a Friday, Becky waited for 
Marcia at Docklands, then they walked home together like any other couple of 
young women about town.  No one seeing them bouncing along the pavement joking 
and laughing could have guessed what they had in mind for their coming evening 
together.
  Normally the first thing would be a scramble for the shower room, then they'd 
decide what to do for the evening.  Today a shower was a waste of time, both had 
decided that the night before, and they both already knew what it was they were 
going to do.
  They were going to put on the new boxing gloves and try to knock one another 
out, in the exercise room upstairs.
  They glanced at one another and, tacitly dropping their hand bags on the 
welcome mat, made for the broad staircase.
  They'd spent much of the previous evening preening one another for the fight.  
All body hair had been carefully, and sometimes indulgently removed.  They'd 
bobbed one another's hair to keep it out of their eyes.  Each lightly oiled 
they'd fallen asleep before the hearth.  
Becky had insisted that Marcia's cunt remained stitched up until the following 
day, so they had had to be content with petting and fondling one another's heavy 
breasts.
  

  Now was the hour.
  Marcia pushed open the gym door and inhaled deeply.   She could smell an 
unfamiliar smell tonight - fear.
  She turned and made deliberate eye contact with Becky.
  "Ok, let's do it," she smiled weakly.
        
To be continued.