For some years I had participated in rules catfights in real life. I always took time to evaluate potential opponents, not only for my own safety and to avoid the fakes that seem to inhabit the fem fight universe, but also to ensure that any match would be truly competitive.
I enjoyed all my matches and had an enviable record, but as time went by I wanted something more. I had from time to time skirted with the idea of boxing, but with no experience I kept shelving the idea.
Then one day I came across a profile on FCF, belonging to a black woman who was interested in boxing matches in real life. Her profile pic showed a slightly older woman with an impressive, powerful body and large, firm breasts. Her profile made it clear that she enjoyed brutal fights and had a significant level of experience.
I did not respond immediately, but her picture stayed in my mind. There was no question that I always reacted aggressively to potential opponents with well-proportioned breasts. Hers were clearly both large and firm – perhaps DD – and I found it difficult to avoid going back to her profile page. The clincher for me was a phrase in her profile – erotic violence – and eventually I decided to make contact, still unsure as to whether I would have the guts to go up against this woman.
There were several conversations over a period of months. She made it clear that any fight would have to be brutal and competitive for her to be interested, and that with her experience and weight advantage she was confident that I would suffer badly at her hands. There was no sense that this was mere trash talking but a realistic appraisal of how she saw any fight developing.
Very much to my surprise however trash talking did become a feature of our conversations and the attacks became increasingly venomous, with a clear racial undertone.
We finally agreed for the fight to take place at my parents farm in Cambridgeshire. It was early June and they were on holiday in France and the workers would not be onsite at the weekend, so I could set out an improvised ‘ring’ in one of the barns, made up of stacked hay bales, around 6 feet high, covered with tarpaulins, which also covered the earth floor.
We had discussed the mechanics of the fight, and in the absence of a referee agreed to fight uninterrupted with no rounds and with no limit. There would be no count if one of us was floored, simply on the assumption that if one of us was down but able to get up they would do so.
Knowing I hadn’t fought before, she recommended that I purchase 8oz gloves, similar to hers. We were both bi and openly found each other attractive, so there was no argument against us fighting topless and in simple briefs, but neither of us had any illusions that would in any way lessen our willingness to savage each other.
She arrived just after lunch on the Saturday and we spent the afternoon talking about almost anything apart from the pending battle. That said, it was clear that we were taking the measure of each other and I was aware that I drifted off during some conversations as I thought of us in a clinch or battering each other’s bellies. I also knew that my erect nipples would be clearly visible poking against my tee shirt, giving ample evidence of what was going through my mind.
There had been a week or so of very settled sunny weather and being in England, the house had no AC. I was pleased to see that the temperature was as uncomfortable for her as it was for me, and that there was a damp glow on each of our bodies.
Finally, six o’clock arrived and we stood collecting our gloves and water bottles and headed out towards the barn.
As we entered the barn it felt like a furnace, the warm air having been trapped with no breeze. I led in and then stood aside, nodding towards the fight area, my throat suddenly too dry to speak and betray my nerves. On one side I had left a small gap in the bales so that we could enter comfortably and I followed her through, watching her as she moved to the far end where a small bale was situated in one corner.
I emptied my bag of the water bottles and gloves, while my mind ranged wildly over what was going to happen. It was with a supreme effort of will that I tried to bring my thoughts to order, as I began a series of stretches. There was no question that she was stockier, more powerful and had the benefit of real fight experience. If she gained the ascendancy then I risked a severe beating. BUT I was younger, probably quicker, determined, knew I had good stamina and that I had a reasonably high pain threshold. I also suspected that she would be inclined to under-estimate me.
There was already a dampness between and to the underside of my tits as the humidity drew sweat from our bodies - stamina was going to be at a premium in these sweatbox conditions.
I silently congratulated myself for having the foresight to make the arena bigger than I had originally intended – I was going to have to be able to move out of close contact as long as possible, fighting at long distance while she struggled to cope with the heat and humidity in the barn, hopefully becoming an easier target as those factors took their toll.
I turned towards her and straightened up, to find her looking directly at me. As if on cue, she began to pull her tee shirt off. Her magnificent breasts rippled and then settled, the nipples already clearly hard on her firm breasts. It was all I could do not to gasp but I silently returned her stare.
I grinned, pulling off my own top. While smaller, my breasts were every bit as firm and my nipples stood proud like bullets. Determined to take control of matters, I pulled off my shorts, leaving me in a pair of white, cotton briefs. Making sure I kept our eyes connected, I reached over for a water bottle, taking a small mouthful before tilting the bottle so the water ran slowly down across my belly, knowing that the briefs would immediately become semi-transparent and show my shaven camel toe clearly.
She smiled in response, stepping out of her own shorts to face me, showing off a pair of white athletic briefs, clinging to her in a perfect form-fitting shape. She also reached round to pull out her gloves, which she began to slip on and fasten. They were dark tan and looked well used.
I continued to watch her as she stripped off. The reality of her large firm breasts coming into view had superseded even the profile pic and I pondered again how my desire to fight was paradoxically directly proportional to my opponents attractiveness. Once again the phrase she had used – ‘erotic violence’ – resonated so powerfully. I had dreamed of meeting her, of flattening her tits against her spine, competing brutally to a soundtrack of leather on skin and moans and groans as we sought to destroy each other.
I reached for my own gloves, blue with a yellow face. They were brand new and as suggested I had purchased a 8 oz pair. At the time I hadn’t fully appreciated just how much more damaging such light gloves can be. Reading up after the purchase I realised that gave her a significant advantage.
In that moment the enormity and proximity of what would undoubtedly be a truly primal battle threatened to overwhelm me. I watched as she put in a clear gumshield and moved forward to the centre of the ‘ring’, rolling her shoulders and slapping her fists together, then beginning to bounce on her toes, grinning.
I had finished fastening my gloves and as I put my own gumshield in, I heard you say ‘You sure you wanna do this?’ grinning widely as she watched for any reaction to the implied taunt.
I had spent several days a week in the gym over the last month or so, concentrating on developing effective body punches to assist in the process of exhausting her. Hearing her speak I slid in a clear gumshield and moved towards her, probably appearing more confident than I actually felt. 'Oh yes' I responded 'though I do feel a little guilty about the damage I’m going to inflict on a senior citizen'. Still moving forward I noted the slight flicker of irritation and then almost as one we began to throw wild punches at each other. My fight plan seemed to go out of the window for the next minute. This was primal - no defence just an intent to hit each other as hard and as often as we could. Almost as suddenly as it started the exchange stopped and we both took a step back. Even this early in the fight we were both breathing heavily. I had taken some hard punches to the head but knew I had hurt her on a couple of occasions with body shots to her ribs. 'Is that all you've got Mother' I hissed.
After the initial furious exchange a calmness descended on me and I reverted to my original fight plan, staying a little way off and making quick darting attacks before retreating out of reach. To a degree the tactic worked, my punches largely successful, but falling short of the real damage that a series of punches could generate. Her efforts to respond were largely ineffective and she was forced to keep chasing me.
After several minutes it became clear that the humidity was getting to both of us and that close quarter fighting was almost inevitable. I deliberately began to put together a series of punches when I attacked, but remained unwilling to fully commit, so the damage done was limited, but I sensed – hoped – that the toll would be heavier for her than me.
Both our bodies were now running slick with sweat, and the pace of the fight began to drop appreciably. As I tired I found it increasingly difficult to maintain concentration and finally found myself trapped in a corner as she began to pummel my belly. I was forced to grab and pull her against me to restrict her scope to unload, and our tits crushed against the others. Our breathing was ragged and as our bodies twisted and turned against the other, taunts – particularly racial ones – were exchanged.
I finally managed to turn myself out of the corner and as we disengaged I threw my right hand up into the underside of her left tit. I heard her muffled scream as her tit flesh was forced up towards her shoulder but even as I began to congratulate myself she responded with a right cross that caught me flush on the jaw, and I found myself falling backwards and hitting the floor.
My mouthguard spiralled away from me and I experienced the coppery taste of blood. I was dazed and while my first thought was to get back up as soon as possible, somewhere in the back of my mind a voice was telling me that there was no count to beat so take your time.
She stood over me, a smirk on her face ‘Get up child, this senior citizen can’t wait to show you what damage is’.
I sat looking up at her silently. Then, maintaining eye contact, I began to undo my gloves. Once they were off, I pulled off my briefs. Without making any further comment I pulled my gloves back on and climbed to my feet ‘It will save time when I ride your bloodied, fucked up face later, you black skank’.
You looked back at me stunned, before stepping away, bending down and mirroring my actions. As you got to your feet you spat out ‘You have just guaranteed that you are gonna be hurt real good you shitty little whore’.
This little pantomime had allowed my head to clear. Watching her carefully I reached down to pick up and replace my mouthguard. ‘Lets do it Mother’
Almost immediately she was on me and the start of our fight was replicated as we stood toe to toe, swinging punches wildly. There was no question that she had slowed, and while several punches hurt me, I was also getting through, especially to her head. After one particularly brutal combination she was forced to grab me in a clinch ‘You’re tougher than I expected slut’ she whispered ‘but its going to make it all the sweeter when I destroy your white ass’.
I pushed her away and followed up with a right cross that whipped her head round, blood spraying in an arc. I had no time to enjoy the spectacle as she drove me back against the side of the ring and began to drive punches into my ribs. I managed to use my elbows to deflect most of the blows, but I was having trouble keeping my abs taut and some vicious rib shots began to take their toll.
Finally she fell against me, exhausted by the effort, and our bodies slammed together. I was conscious that blood had been dripping from my split lip onto my tits, and our boobs and bellies now carried a sheen of our mixed sweat and blood. I wrapped my arms around her to stop her launching another attack at close quarters, as we both gasped for air.
I waited…and waited…until I felt a slight relaxation in her body, before dragging her round so that her back against the side and then began to pummel her belly and ribs. I was now approaching total exhaustion, and with dismay realised that my final effort was not enough. She drove back at me, throwing punches from both hands. I could not stop the onslaught, and she finally nailed me with a right cross. I didn’t even remember hitting the floor.
I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but I was aware that she was on her knees beside me, forcing my mouthguard out of my mouth.
As I came round she stood up, looking down at me, a nasty sneer on her face. She squatted down and lowered her cxnt onto my face and began to ride me. I was aware of the muskiness of her wet pussy and imagined my blood and sweat mixing with her juices. I could sense her approaching her orgasm, but also reaching one hand behind her, a finger stroking between my cxnt lips and flicking across my clit. It was almost a sensory overload, and as she began to tremble it triggered me and I began to slip over into oblivion, barely able to breathe as she drove her cxnt onto my mouth as she stiffened.
Eventually she raised her cxnt and began to climb to her feet, both silent now apart from the ragged sound of our breathing. ‘Thank you’ I said, and meant it.
She looked down, grinned and squatted, directing a stream of piss onto my face. ‘That’s for being a losing cxnt Barbie’ she said and walked out of the barn.
