Of course, they didn’t like her. They glanced at her toned assets as she showered, and then skittered back all wet and clean and smelling of perfumed soap, to the ladies’ bathroom to dress, with a mixture of irritation and barely controlled lust.
Looking back, it was only a matter of time before she ran into someone like Robbie Carlton. He was a champion in decline, but a champion nonetheless. She vaguely remembered some fight she had seen him in on television when she was a girl, during the upward swing of his career, where he’d beaten some poor skinny rival within an inch of his life. All by the rules, of course; if they don’t quit, they have to be hit until they fall down. She had never followed his career, as such, but she remembered him well enough to recognise his face when she entered the new gym she was promoted to when she left the amateurs and moved to London. He had a streak of grey in his sideburns that gave the impression a flame had singed his tight curls, and there were faint bags under his eyes, but his body was as firm and muscled as it had been when he was twenty, and she recognised the look in his eyes immediately.
They were the weary eyes of someone who has killed people in the ring.
She saw him when she was sauntering through the gym in her vest and shorts for the first time. He looked up from lacing his boots when an uncanny silence fell over the large room as nearly all the men fighting and exercising stopped what they were doing to watch her. She nodded at him, and he said in a loud voice, ‘What will they let in here next, bloody boxing cats?’
There was a roar of derisive male laughter, and she bit her lip.
Later, in the shower, she took her time washing her hair, and no one bothered her. For once she didn’t have to hit anyone to secure her privacy. On her way to the ladies’ room wrapped in her towel, she saw that most of the men were still out on the floor, including Robbie Carlton, who was busy taping up his hands. She paused for a moment, a few feet away from him where he stood at his locker, and then she slowly walked right by him.
Water dripped from her bare thighs, and her breasts were swelling dangerously out of the towel she had wrapped tightly around herself, so that only her hands holding it up covered the rosy half-moons of her nipples. ‘At least the cat can still bite,’ she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. ‘At least the cat can still move.’
There was a shocked intake of breath all around as Carlton looked up from taping his hand at her lovely and determined face. His copper-coloured eyes stared right through her and sent a hot thrill down her spine that sparked a debilitating warmth in her pussy, which tightened deliciously as his mouth hardened angrily. Then it was war.
Two days later she found a note in her letterbox from the gym membership board. Her request for guest membership was denied. Her fee would be returned to her by cheque under separate cover the following week. Other members have complained, the letter said. Significant and important voices in the club raised fierce objections to your presence.
When she walked back out into the gym that afternoon, Robbie was there, standing amongst a group of men, and this time he was in the process of pulling off his shirt. He was some six feet tall and built of steel. She walked right up to him in her short skirt, high-heels and low-cut blouse, and she felt strangely naked when he looked her straight in the eye. She thrust the note towards him. ‘Are you the significant voice?’ she demanded.
He folded his shirt very neatly before he looked at her again. ‘Girls can’t box very well,’ he replied. ‘In fact, they’re no good at it.’
‘Oh, really, what are we good at?’ she snapped, balling her hands into fists and crumpling the offending note in the process.
‘Fucking, sometimes,’ he replied in a husky, insulting voice, ‘although in your case I might make an exception.’
‘You...!’ but she couldn’t think of a scathing enough insult to hurl at him. She wanted to beat her fists against his rock-hard chest and smash his arrogant nose. ‘You couldn’t beat a girl!’ she said finally. ‘You couldn’t hit your way through the little silver handbag I take dancing!’
‘Why should I? I don’t need a fist to put you down, love. You need another part of me altogether.’
The men gathered around him laughed.
Sarah blushed red as she furiously raised a fist.
‘Be careful with that,’ he said, smiling, ‘you might hit something.’
‘I’ll beat you!’ she challenged. ‘Five rounds. Any purse you like!’ She didn’t have the money, but she didn’t care.
A sober silence descended on the amused crowd. Betting on a fight was illegal, and cross-gender boxing was not permitted, even privately, in a federation gym.
‘I’d have to have something other than money,’ Carlton said quietly.
‘If you want me to leave, you have to box me,’ she insisted, ‘and I’ll give you any prize you want if you win.’
A few men laughed appreciatively at her promise as Robbie Carlton put down his shirt and reached out to caress one of her cheeks with a large hand.
She flinched away from him automatically, and then her blush deepened as she heard him accepting her challenge. Even more furious now, she dashed out of the gym to the ladies’ room to change followed by the men’s humiliating laughter.
The purse, it was decided, would be five-thousand pounds; a figure arrived at when each of the men present pledged a hundred pounds to fill the pot. Sarah said she would cover it when she stood in her vest and shorts, her breasts hanging free inside the baggy top, not taped up as they would be if she had come prepared for a match with another woman. She had thrown shadow-punches at the wall and done knee bends in the loo, glancing at herself in the mirror. The shorts hugged her bottom as she bent and straightened, bent and straightened, and despite herself, she found herself admiring how good she looked in her skimpy fighting outfit. Then she entered the gym determined to knock this guy down. He would lust after her when he saw her, he would long to be inside her shorts, and it made her happy knowing he wanted to fuck her. It would make putting him away even more of a pleasure.
She stood in the ring with men all around her. They had locked the front door of the gym to keep anyone from entering during the illegal contest. She felt all their eyes on her body, on her breasts, round and firm inside her vest but jiggling softly as she stepped this way and that to warm up. She felt the deepening waves of lust flowing through the ropes protecting her. Then Rob walked into the gym, his chest gleaming with sweat, indicating he had warmed up in the changing room.
It pleased her to see that he at least took her seriously, and a cry went up from the men as he climbed into the ring with her.
He was looking at her breasts as the first bell sounded, and he came slowly towards her in the classic stance, arms bent, fists held up in front of his face. His eyes, cold and appraising, lingered on her bosom before finally settling on her face. Then he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, ‘Why don’t you take that vest off, girl?’
She hit a right and he wasn’t expecting it; her glove connected with the left side of his jaw like a brick. He flinched slightly, but then shook her blow off as easily as a cold drop of rain and came back at her with a left. She ducked and dodged him, which led her smack into the upper-cut of his powerful right.
His first punch stunned her; she had never been hit with such force before. Women simply did not have the weight of a six-foot tall, middle-weight man of forty. She found her vision swimming, and half her face went numb for a few seconds.
‘Kiss that away?’ he offered, dancing around her as she tried backing away from him. She took care not to stay still long enough for him to hit her again.
They danced for what felt like hours. It was merely minutes, but the music of the groaning canvas, of the men murmuring amongst themselves, the hiss of leather just missing as he swung and she ducked, the smack as she got him in the side, the stomach, the ears and the head, made it all seem to last for da
ys. She kept hitting him in the stomach when his guard was up, and finally she landed a good one on his chin. She got him good right beneath the jaw, and he went down like a ten-ton sack of potatoes.
There was a collective gasp as he lay there at her feet like a beached whale. She stood her ground, one of his gloves resting near her ankles. There was no referee, no one to stop the fight. She would hit him until he stopped getting up!
He whispered something and she lowered her head, trying to make out what he was saying. Finally, she sank down on one knee beside him.
‘I can see up your shorts,’ he said. ‘I like a natural blonde.’
Despite everything she felt herself smiling deep inside, and she realised she liked him looking at her pussy. She sprang to her feet again as if a snake had bitten her. ‘Get him on his feet!’ she demanded. ‘If he can’t fight, he doesn’t belong in here!’
Robbie pushed himself up onto one knee, and then rose slowly, smiling at her a little groggily, but he was steady on his feet. The bastard had been fooling her.
She wound her fist up for a bigger punch, and when he caught her instead it came as a total shock. A brush to the left with his low right, which she had easily dodged, turned out to be a set-up for his left hook. He caught her square on the jaw and sent her sprawling onto her back. When she opened her eyes a moment later she saw him looming over her as she struggled to clear her head. She could see up his shorts now. His cock was huge, and more than just a little hard. She could see its head reddening as it stared down at her, and thought he wants to fuck me! He wants to fuck me after he beats me! And she was glad. Then she felt her eyes closing again...
A splash of cold water immediately brought her round. All the men were still there; she couldn’t have been out more than a minute or two. She felt her nipples sticking up like pine cones against her wet T-shirt and felt as good as naked. Robbie was still standing over her, and his prick was noticeably harder. He also didn’t seem to mind that she was peering up at it.
‘You said any prize,’ he reminded her. ‘Take off your vest.’
She let the full implication of his request sink in before she asked, ‘Here?’
‘Any prize,’ he repeated, ‘means any place. Take it off.’
Sarah began to sit up with the intention of making a run for it, but he put one boot gently against her shoulder and pushed her back down. ‘Don’t bother getting up off your back,’ he said, ‘just raise your arms.’
Blushing as fiercely as she ever had in her life, Sarah lifted her arms so Robbie Carlton could pull her vest off and expose her breasts to all the men gathered around the ring just inches from her bared flesh.
‘And now the shorts,’ he said.
‘Do I have to?’ she asked, but she knew the answer as he slapped his gloves together impatiently. She didn’t even try getting up again. Instead she rolled over, rose to her knees, and quickly shoved her shorts down as her head spun from the sudden movement and forced her to lean forward on her arms. To her horror, this position thrust her bare bottom up towards her opponent as she knelt on all fours between his feet. And there she stayed, with her shorts around her knees in a gym full of men in the middle of a boxing ring, her forehead down on the deck waiting for Robbie Carlton to do whatever he wanted to her.
There was a murmur of anticipation from the men. ‘Come on, Robbie,’ one of them urged, ‘get stuck in and fuck her brains out!’
‘Don’t you boys know anything about preparation?’ his deep voice growled, and then she heard the hiss of laces as he untied his boxing gloves and pulled them off. Then he rested one of his bare hands on her bottom. ‘Do you admit you were wrong?’ he asked her evenly.
‘I’m sorry,’ she breathed, aching to be fully conquered by him.
‘What will you give to make it up to me?’
‘I... I’m showing you everything now,’ she whispered. ‘What more do you want?’
‘Pull your cheeks apart for me,’ he said harshly.
‘What?!’
‘Pull your cheeks apart.’
She had expected him to shame her, but not like this; this was too humiliating by far. Biting her lip, she reached behind her with gloved hands, and struggled to pull open the cheeks of her bottom. She could almost literally feel the eyes of all the men standing around the ring on her intimate little rosebud, and also on the soft, wet lips of her pussy, puffed and hungry for Robbie, visible through the gap between her slim thighs.
‘That’s nice,’ Robbie said, ‘now beg me to fuck your arse.’
‘I’m sorry?!’ she gasped.
‘Beg me to fuck your arse. You said I could have anything.’
‘No, I’m sorry I challenged you!’ she sobbed. ‘I’m sorry!’
‘Beg,’ he insisted.
‘Go on then - fuck my arse,’ she cried. ‘Fuck me!’
‘What do you think, lads?’ Robbie asked, his hands casually caressing and squeezing her firm yet yieldingly soft buttocks.
‘You should oblige the little one,’ one of the men answered.
‘Well, maybe I will,’ Robbie agreed, ‘but I don’t think she deserves that yet. She wants it too much. Maybe a little smack or two on her other cheeks will make her see some sense.’ And to the great delight of the assembled fighters, and to Sarah’s disbelief and mortification, Robbie Carlton began spanking her with resounding smacks. A murmur of appreciation rose up from the men as his great palm made contact with her bottom, making her cheeks quiver and burn with a pain that sent sweet hot flashes of desire through her pussy. She wriggled her bottom provocatively, not caring any more who saw it. She didn’t care how he fucked her now, she just wanted him to fuck her, and fuck her hard.
He spanked her for a full fifteen minutes as the men counted his blows in one great loud voice. ‘Twenty-seven! Twenty-eight...! Go on, make it the thirty, Rob!’ And then - Sarah wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed - he pulled her to her feet, lifted her out of the ring, and pushed her ahead of him into the relative privacy of the changing room.
‘A man’s got to have peace and quiet to do his best work, lads,’ he called out, and they groaned their disappointment but did not dare follow.
And in the quiet cool of the changing room, Sarah sank to her knees again before the powerful form of Robbie Carlton as he pulled his shorts down, and his erection sprang straight out into her eager mouth. She nearly choked on his cock it was so big, but he slowly fed it to her as she struggled to take it all the way down into her throat to accommodate him, to let him go as deep as he wanted to. Then she released it and turned around, and kneeling on all fours again, offered him the soft, taut cheeks of her buttocks.
‘Do you still want to?’ she asked throatily. ‘Do you still want to fuck my arse? I’ll let you do whatever you want! You can have me however you want me!’ And Robbie Carlton, champion of her youth and of her own making, promptly began pushing his long, thick dick into her bottom.
He fucked her and fucked her, thrusting and pumping his relentless erection into her tight rear passage, until she came with a scream that could easily be heard by the men ranked outside the changing room door chanting, ‘Champion! Champion! Champion!’
A Short Term Let
Vanessa was an estate agent’s assistant whose body was her chief asset. She had full breasts that made one want to throw her onto her back to watch them spread, and her buttocks were so delightful that heads turned all the way up and down the street whenever she went to show a property. And at the moment, those gorgeous breasts were swaying gently back and forth as she leaned over her boss’ face, estate agent Martin Croupe. His mouth was suckling her hard nipples and making her moan as she rode up and down on his cock, lodged deep inside her succulent sex.
‘Not bad,’ he said as she lifted herself off him, holding the cigarette he had lit and then passed from his lips to hers. She lay down on her back, and watched wit
h some interest as her large brown aureoles sank back down into the creamy round spheres of her breasts. He traced a finger beneath her high cheekbone, and gently wrapped her hair behind her ear. ‘You’re getting better as a lay,’ he went on, ‘but you’re still thick as shit when it comes to selling houses.’ He got out of bed and started pulling on his suit trousers.
She coughed, ‘What?’ choking on a mouthful of smoke. Suddenly she felt compelled to cover her breasts and pulled the sheet up over them.
‘I’m sorry, love.’ He reached down, plucked the cigarette out from between her fingers, and took a drag. ‘You’re just not working out. Nice little pussy and all, but frankly,’ he looked her up and down in a way that made her feel cheap as used oil, ‘the arse isn’t worth what we’re paying you.’ And with that, he turned away and slipped on his jacket.
‘But Martin,’ wrapping the sheet around herself, she leapt out of bed and ran after him as he headed for the door, ‘I’m just... I mean, I’m just...’
‘What?’ He turned back to face her, his hand on the doorknob.
‘I need the job,’ she said desperately, tears rising into her eyes; this was so horribly unexpected.
‘Yeah, well, we all need things,’ he said, and turned away again.
‘No, I really, really need this job, Martin!’ The air in the little apartment was almost cold - the heat hadn’t been turned on before he brought her here to fuck her - and despite her distress, she felt her nipples stiffening again beneath the sheet.
‘How badly do you need it?’ he asked, looking at her in a strange way.
She felt an anxious tightening in her tummy. ‘Very badly,’ she admitted, her mouth dry. She had known she shouldn’t go to bed with her boss, but she had been afraid he would sack her if she didn’t, and she was sure that after he fucked her, he would want to keep her around...
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