[MikeHales67]

Beanpole.

 "Fucking kill her!"

I heard the shout coming from the kitchen. It sounded like a fight. Intrigued, I went to investigate.

I turned the corner to see my friend Bailey getting dismantled by some short, dark-haired little runt, with three or four of my fellow students cheering them on. When I say 'friend,' I mean I'd spoken to her a couple of times; she seemed nice enough. She didn't laugh when I told her I was studying contemporary dance and came from a little village in Wales. But this is the first week of University. We’re all Freshers, just getting to know the people we’ll spend the next three years of our life with. So, nobody's a friend yet.

Bailey looked fucked. She was a pretty girl with sandy hair and a nice figure. She didn’t look so pretty now. Torn clothes, two black eyes, cut lip and bloody nose. Stumpy, I didn't know her name, despite being smaller than Bailey, just had some bruises and a cut lip. They looked like they'd been at it, good style. But the dwarf definitely looked like she was winning. She had her hands on the back of Bailey's head as she slammed it into the kitchen table.

Once...

For a moment, Bailey's head trembled as she tried to stiffen her neck, to resist. But Stumpy was stronger.

...twice...

Bailey's eyes were glazed, glassy, as Stumpy drew her hand back for another blow. I grabbed her hand and stopped her.

 "She's done!" I told her.

Stumpy glared at me.

 “Let go my hand, bitch”

 “No, she’s finished, you won. Leave her be!”.

 "Fine"

She dropped Bailey's head, and she flopped unconscious to the floor.

 "Bailey!" I cried out. Stumpy shot me an evil look, then stood up, hands in the air.

 "And the fresher's week champion is Sharon Sparswith...me. Anyone else want to have a go?"

She turned to look at me.

 "What about you, Beanpole?".

Shit. I had two thoughts.

One, that name. I hoped to leave that name behind. That's what they used to call me at school, just after my mega growth spurt. Unfortunately, my boobs didn't grow with the rest of my body, so I don’t exactly have a curvy figure. My real name is Melody, but everyone called me Beanpole. I was a skinny, awkward, lanky kid; I only ever ?felt real when I danced. I had hoped that by coming to university, I’d leave that name and the awkwardness behind. No, Its followed me here, like a smelly fart.

Two. Is she challenging me to a fight? Don't be stupid.

I looked at her blankly.

 "You disrespected me, you fucking scrawny sack of shit...".

Oh God, she was. Frightened, I shook my head.

 "No...I...", I stammered. She just continued.

 "...Friday, 12 O'clock..."

 "...down by the playing fields. We'll discuss it further. We'll dance then".

With that, she walked off.

Bailey was starting to come around. I helped her up.

 "What was that all about?" I asked.

 "It's fresher week". She said as though that was an answer.

 "Yeah, I know. That's no reason to fight".

 "Yes, it is". Bailey wiped her bloody nose.
 
 "It's the custom. All us freshers get together and decide who's the toughest. It decides the pecking order for the year. These events are normally more organised down on the playing fields. This one was a lot more…spontaneous. Unfortunately for you, you interfered. Thanks for that. But as far as that cow’s concerned, you disrespected her. And she won’t let it go. She's challenged you. You'll have to fight. If you don't show up on Friday, she'll come after you.

 "But I've never fought anyone, ever". I protested.

 "She doesn’t care. If you refuse to fight, she'll beat you up anyway”.

She saw the look on my face. Her expression softened. I think that she realised that, unlike her, I had never asked for this.

“Look, I can give you some pointers. You're fit. You've got reach. Maybe I can save you from a wholesale slaughter".

 "But...but...".

She stared straight at me.

 "Look, you're going to have to fight. The question is, do you do it Friday or spend the rest of the next three years always looking behind your back? Are you going to meekly accept your beating or fight back?".

Fuck what have I gotten myself into?

Friday, twelve-hundred hours, noon, high noon.

As I walked with Bailey to the playing field, in the background, I swore I could hear "Do not forsake me oh my darling". I felt like Sheriff Will Kane about to confront Frank Miller the Outlaw. You know from that movie "High Noon". I'm not sayin' I used to spend too much time alone in my room watching old imovies like 'High Noon' or 'Casablanca' but...

I chose Friday and fight. Friday to get it over with and fight because I had no choice. I won't give up. I never give up. Even when my parents insisted I get a 'proper' job, 'there's always a call for hairdressers' l held on to my dreams of dancing. And what would Gary Cooper do? I won't win, I know that, but I'm gonna make her work for it. Bailey's coached me, shown me how to throw a punch, suggested a few moves. She said I was a fast learner, but it was just like dance training.

A crowd had gathered. Stumpy stood at one end of the circle the crowd had made, waiting for me. She was wearing a spaghetti-strapped black tank top and denim shorts. Like me, she was barefoot, no jewelry. As for me, I was in just a yellow T-shirt and yellow shorts, which went with my long blonde hair. I didn't wear a bra. Let's face it: I'm so flat-chested I don't need to. Her friends, lackeys, were all there, adjusting her hair, giving advice, encouragement. I just had Bailey.

Stumpy looked over at me.

 “Oh, look, it’s the beanpole come for her lesson in respect”.

Bailey put her hand on my shoulder and shouted back.

 “Slag. My friend is gonna fuck you over real good!”

I am?

 "The fuck she is...". Stumpy turned to look at me, a puzzled look on her face..

 “...What the fuck is it you do? Contemporary fucking dance?”. She grabbed some man from the crowd, twirling him around the cleared circle, imitating a waltz, at least I think it was a waltz, her technique was bloody awful.

 “I hope you fight better than you dance”. I blurted out.

Actually, I hoped she fought worse than she danced. But I knew she didn’t.

 “You’re fucking fancy dancing isn’t going to do you any good when I’m beating the shit out of you, barbie”. She sneered.

 "Good luck", Bailey whispered as I walked into the circle. Our arena. Our field of battle. Fuck.

"Good luck", Mrs. Wiltshire, my dance teacher, whispered to me as I walked onto the stage to do my first public performance. I was fourteen and so scared. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would burst. What if I fuck up? This is in front of my classmates, my family. If I couldn't impress them, convince them I had talent then I promised I'd read those hairdressing school brochures they kept laying around. I tried to fight down the fear. Why did I agree to this? No going back now. This is it. I turned to face the audience.

I’m eighteen now, but my heart is beating so fast I think it will burst. This is it. I turn to face my opponent. I’m fucking fourteen again.

A male student stood in the centre. I think he fancied himself as the Greatest Showman.

 "Ladies and gentlemen. In today's fresher's championship fight, we have..."

He pointed at Stumpy.

 "...Sharon Sparswith".

Loud cheering, stumpy pranced and preened in front of the audience. All that growth had gone to her arse and tits instead of on her height and she obviously liked to show them off. Then he pointed at me.

 "And the challenger, Melody Anderson..."

A few scattered cheers, not exactly overwhelming. I guess I’m not the favourite. I raised my hands. Although I had not eaten anything all day, I still felt sick to my stomach.

 "This fight is a no holds barred...".

Shit!

 "...Fight to the finish. KO or submission".

Fuck!

I started doing my breathing exercises. Sharon had a dismissive sneer on her face.

 “I’ve got this”. She told her lackeys, assured of her victory.

 “Fight!”

Hugh Jackman announced as he moved out of the way. Leaving Sharon and me alone in the centre of our arena.

I’d heard his words, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I held my hands up, defensively. I remembered what Bailey told me: “This is gonna hurt, and the only way to make it stop is to hurt her more”. I was so scared. Sharon could smell my fear, she was grinning from ear to ear. She was sure about what she wanted to do.

She charged, arms around my waist, she drove me to the ground. Then she started punching and slapping. The slaps rocked my face, I could feel the red burning on my cheeks. Having softened me up, she started punching. The first punch hit my mouth. I could feel my lips bleeding. Her left hook hit my eye. I could feel it swelling.

Shit. I was getting pulverised, and I hadn’t done anything yet.

More out of panic than design, the palm of my right hand shot forward, hitting her under the chin. Her head shot back, and I felt her teeth snap shut. Her head was bent back so she was looking at the sky as I clawed at her lips, trying to pull them off. She was stunned. Scrambling, my left hand grabbed her hair behind her head, and I yanked with all my might. She yelled as I pulled her off me, landing on the ground.

As she fell to the side. I realised she was lying on my left leg, and the right one was free.

Improvising, I threw my right leg around her and squeezed. She moaned. I pulsed my hard dancer's legs again, the muscles in my legs standing out like cords as I put all my energy into squeezing the shit out of that bitch. She was shocked at the turnaround, she hadn’t expected this. I maintained the pressure; I used my arms to raise my upper body, gaining more leverage. She screamed some more. Good.

Something had taken me over. Bailey had said I'd feel different once the adrenaline kicked in. But this was something, something basic, something primal. I had never been in a fight before in my life. Through dancing, I used my body to express my emotions. But now, I was using my body to express my desire to destroy another human being. I had unleashed something...it scared me, but it also excited me.

Her hands tried to pull my legs apart, there was no way I was releasing that grip. Realising she was getting nowhere, her hands went from my legs to my nipples through my T-shirt. Pressing with her thumbs, trying to drive them into my ribs.

I shrieked at the white-hot pain screaming from my breasts. I wasn’t what you would call sexually active; okay, I’m still a virgin; I’ve never had a boyfriend. Nobody’s touched my breasts except me. And the first time they get touched by another human, they’re being forced through my ribs. Fuck! I pulsed my legs tighter, but she wouldn't stop pressing on my nipples.

With a cry of pain, I released my scissors and kicked her away. My kick flattened those juicy udders of hers, she screamed as she flew through the air. But she'd held onto my T-shirt, and it tore down the middle. I shrieked in embarrassment.

We both stood up at the same time. She looked at my ripped T-shirt as I tried to cover myself up.

 "Nothing to see there", she grinned, pleased with herself.

 "At least I haven't got saggy sacks like you". I snapped back.

 "At least I've got sacks, you've just got man-boobs...". The crowd laughed, and I blushed.

 "...Fuck I've never seen in growing tits before!". She giggled.

Quickly, while I tried vainly to cover up, she came towards me, grabbing my hair with both hands, and my head felt like it was on fire as I pulled hers. We both staggered in circles. Yanking hard, trying to topple the other over. All that could be heard were grunts and cries of pain.

Suddenly, she jumped and pulled my hair with all her body weight, the fat slag, twisting my neck. I was looking up now. I didn't see her lean forward at the target in front of her, mouth open. She chomped down.

"My fucking tit!" I screamed.

I tried to pull her head back, my tit stretched out like taffy, the bitch just held on to her bite. I screamed louder. I started hitting the side of her head with my fists, left, right, left, right. But the bitch started chewing my nipple, like it was a tough bit of meat. On the verge of hysteria, I wrenched her head, so she was facing up, her teeth still in my tit. Then I brought my fist down with a crash on her face.

 "I'm gonna pound that pretty face into hamburger", I growled as my fist smashed down a second time. I thought about Bailey's words. Hurt her more.

I felt her hands release my hair as they scrambled at my body, pushing me away, but before I could examine my breast for damage,  her uppercut impaled my stomach. I gasped.

I swung for her head, and she ducked. Slamming another fist into my belly. Shit. Bending, I staggered back. She came after me, she dodged my left hook, but she didn't see the right hook, which crunched her face.

She came back in, crowding me, her fists slamming into my torso. I slammed a left into her tit, it flew out of her tank top. Her right hook slammed into my face. Moaning, I stepped back, trying to get some distance. Then I kicked out a straight right foot into her belly. She gasped, stepping back, clutching her stomach.

She came towards me swinging. Fuck that. My hands went to her head, stopping her in her tracks. She swung at me, but the little shit couldn't reach me. She was cursing, telling me what she’d do if she got hold of me.

Big if, bitch. It looked comical; I started giggling, and some in the crowd joined in. Then, I went on offense. I pushed her head down, straight into my raised knee. I heard a wet crunch and a moan.

I kicked up into her belly. I heard the whoosh as the air left her lungs.

I released a hand and started punching up into her face. She tried to block, but a few got through. Then, I started varying it with the odd knee. I could see blood on my hand, and it wasn’t mine. I felt a thrill, reveling in the damage I was causing to another human being.

Suddenly, she moved back, my hand was still trying to push on a head that was no longer there. Fuck. I lurched forward, overbalanced, I fell, kissing the ground with my face.

The next I knew, her foot was stomping on my back. I cried out.

 "Fucking..."

Stomp.

 "...skinny..."

Another stomp, this time grinding in her heels.

 "...slag"

She kicked hard at my ribs. I felt she was going to break my back. The crowd cheered her on as I screamed.

 "Time to end this", she muttered as she jumped on my back. Then my head was on fire as it was yanked back by the hair in a two-handed grip. I screamed. Then I felt her arm around my throat, it jerked tight. I gasped as she cut me off from life-giving air. My hands fruitlessly pulled at her arm. I was beginning to panic. The hand she was not using to strangle me snaked its way down my ripped shirt. Her thumb and forefinger squeezed my nipple, turning it clockwise. I had too little breath left to scream; I just sobbed.

She pulsed her grip, pulling my neck back harder. I was starting to blub. I was getting desperate. My vision was going blurry. She was winning, she was choking me. I could feel her hot breath on my neck as she was fucking cackling. She was that close.

Hysterically, my hands flew behind me. I jabbed my fingers into her eye. When I found them, I pushed them in as far as I could. She screamed. Her chokehold loosened. I twisted round, I smashed my hands together with her head in the middle. She shrieked. I nailed her with a left hook, right hook combo just like Bailey showed me. She fell onto her back. I was on my knees, too fucked to follow up. Breathe. Use your diaphragm, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

 "You..."

Keep breathing.

  "...got..."

Another breath.

 "...this, really?"

Getting the words out between breaths. I reminded her of her earlier boasting statement. She lay on her back, rocking, holding her eyes. Moaning "You bitch...you bitch". That big, bruised hooter  I liberated was wobbling all over the place as she rocked, like a jelly in an earthquake. Her face was a mess, bruises and blood dripped from her nose and lips.

I just sat there on my knees. Breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. My T-shirt looked more like a jacket, my boobs were out for all to see. My body was covered in sweat, diluting all the blood leaking from my face. My silky hair, not so silky anymore, plastered to my face.

The crowd was cheering us both on, urging us to fuck the other up. A part of my brain registered that I had started this fight with just Bailey cheering for me; now, half the crowd wanted me to win. I'd gained fans.

We both stood, glaring at each other.

 "Not the push-over you thought I'd be? Eh, you big-titted freak!"

 "Oh, you'll be eating through a straw very soon". She warned.

She moved towards me, and I jabbed, using my superior reach, just like Bailey showed me. Her nose exploded in blood. I smiled. Furious, she came in again. This time, I nailed her eye. It felt all squidgy against my knuckles. I was remembering my lessons: only punch the soft bits, the rest, slap. I lined up her for the other eye. She bent, grabbing my legs, and she heaved. I fell on my back. With a whoop, she dove on top of me.

She slapped at my face. I saw stars. My legs came up. I  hooked them under her shoulders and slammed her to the ground. I kicked out, my foot clocking her chin. While she lay there stunned, I crossed my legs, trapping her neck with my lower legs. Can't reach my tits now can you bitch? Her eyes bulged, and her face started turning red.

 "Grrrk!" She whimpered. Sitting up, I grabbed at her hair with both hands and leaning back, I pulled as hard as I could. Her face was crimson now, trapped between my lower legs. She reached out to grab any part of me she could. She was too much of a short-arse; her hands couldn't reach anything. Ha! Pulling at her hair, I slammed her face into the ground.

I saw her straightening her fingers on her right hand. And then...

FUCK!!

The bitch jabbed her fingers into my crotch. I spasmed like I'd been electrocuted, releasing my hold on her throat. Free from my stranglehold, she lay on the ground coughing while I rocked on the ground, clutching at my injured crotch, whimpering.

The crowd were cheering us on.

 "Finish her off, Sharon"

 "You can do it, Mel"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her getting up and realised I had to as well. We faced each other. She was still coughing, and I was clutching my poor pussy.

 "Dirty fucking whore!" I snapped.

 "No holds barred, Barbie", she mocked.

 "Fuck you"

My sudden kick shot out, the rising foot smashed into her crotch with a dull thud. Her eyes bugged out like they were on stalks. She staggered, clutching her wounded pussy.

 "No holds barred, stumpy". I mocked back. Her face went crimson with anger.

My kick had been spontaneous. I hadn't put enough planning behind it. It hadn’t ended her, it had just made her angry. But still...we had been fighting for fifteen minutes? An hour? An eternity? And still the bitch hadn't managed to put me down. I was still standing. I felt this was a victory in itself.

And she knew it. You could see it in her face. She’d thought I was a delicate, air-headed Barbie doll, a beanpole. She thought she'd have me on the ground, crying for my mummy, sobbing for mercy. But I wasn't. She knew half the crowd had changed their allegiance to me. Her authority was slipping away. Even if she did beat me now, she would be forever known as the girl who almost had her arse handed to her by a beanpole. You could see it in the anger written on her face.

She growled, charging towards me. Her face full of murderous intent. If she got her hands on me, she’d rip me to shreds. I did not have much left.
7" For a moment, the fear overwhelmed me. I fought it down, like when I used to get nervous before a performance. I cleared my mind. I remembered my dance training. The world went into super-slow motion.

I breathed in, deeply, through the nose, using the diaphragm. I stepped into pointe, pivoting. I leapt into the air. My high kick, the grand battement, straight leg and pointed foot swung into her face. The impact sounded like a gunshot. Her head twisted at an unnatural angle. Her mouth deformed as I saw blood and spittle shoot from it. I saw her eyes go glassy. I saw her jaw drop. It’s called a pique turn, bitch. It’s that dance training you said wouldn’t do me any good. Mrs. Wiltshire would have been so proud.

I pivoted. Stepped into pointe with my other foot, and then I kicked again. Another thundercrack and Sharon's head snapped the other way, spraying more blood and spit, maybe a tooth. She staggered like she was blind drunk. Then she stopped, dead still. Gently swaying like a tree in the wind. Her eyes were blank. Her mouth open, blood gently trickled down her face. The lights were on, but no one was home. Then someone turned the lights off, her legs gave out. She sank to her knees. She tried to get up, but she couldn’t; nothing was working. I saw a damp patch on the crotch of her shorts.

And then, like a clockwork toy running out of power, she stopped. She fell on her face, her mouth open, drooling onto the grass.

I stood there dumbstruck by what I had done. The crowd was silent.

And then it hit me.

IFuckingWon! IFuckingWon! IFuckingWon! YouHeardMe IFuckingWon!!

The crowd erupted, cheering. People were surrounding me, patting me on my back, shaking my hand, wanting to be my new best friend. I heard Hugh Jackman announce me the winner. I didn’t pay attention. My brain, my entire body was buzzing on an adrenaline high I’d never known before. It was like after I’d done a great performance, but this was even more intense.

I searched in the crowd for Bailey. I caught her eye. I mouthed the words,

 "Thank you".

She smiled and gave me the thumbs up.

Did I ever tell you, that first public performance when I was fourteen? I smashed it. My parents were so impressed that they actually supported my 'crazy' career decision. No more talk of hairdressing school.

After the crowd had started to disperse, Bailey came over to me.

 "Want a drink to celebrate?" she asked.

 "Yes!" I said,  "That would be cool. A nice glass of wine. But not Vichy water..."

'"I hate Vichy water" Too nerdy? I was giddy with victory,  just making stupid jokes.

Instead of asking 'what the fuck are you talking about?' She smiled, amused.

She put her arm in mine.

"Y'know beanpole, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship"

“Yes Louie”, I smiled, she got it! “I think it is”.

[sinclairfan]

Cool tradition.....

(Once the pecking order is established, how fluid is it going forward?  Just curious.  How does one 'move up' in the pecking order?)

[MikeHales67]

I have absolutely no idea!

Just had the idea that Beanpole would step in the help out a friend and then get challenged. The idea that the Freshers would have fights to set up a pecking order just seemed a conveinient plot device.

[tommyfighter]

Now i am wondering if Bailey will get revenge for her loss.

[Dan Zone43]

Loved the story.  Skinny girls usually get beat up.   Glad Beanpole did.  What is next for Melody? 

[Pinnerdown]

Hey Mike,
Great job as usual. This was another very enjoyable read and it looks like you have endless possibilities for future stories here.
Can't wait to see where this one goes.

[MikeHales67]

To paraphrase someone (no I can’t remember who) :

Stories are like shits. Sometimes you strain and strain and nothing comes out. Other times it just has to come out, shooting out and you don’t even have to wipe.

This story was definitely in the latter category.

I am now going to have to go away and think of a sequel.

[Pinnerdown]

Well if you can just blow that out of your arse, then I am really looking forward to what you can do after thinking about it.
Love the pic, thanks.

[MikeHales67]

Beanpole 2 -  Clubbing

After the shellacking I gave Sharon, I became the Catfight Queen of the University. After what I had done to her, nobody wanted to challenge me for the crown. Suited me fine. I'm a dancer, not a fighter.

I did become a celebrity, which was a new experience for me. Knowing how much I liked “High Noon”, they’d given me a Sheriff badge with ‘Champ’ written on it. I was told I would have to defend the honour of the University. I figured I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.

Bet you thought you were going to hear about how I won my first fight and then how I rose through the ranks to become a champion Cat fighter or some other shitty story. No, it’s not gonna happen. I came here to get a degree, not participate in some underground fight league.

Look, sometimes you have to fight, I know that. But it should be something important. It shouldn't be for poxy bragging rights. Who gives a flying fuck about that?

Well...

Word got round that some slag from Shitville university was visiting at the weekend, looking for a fight. She was a big shot at her university and came here looking for someone who could give her a challenge. As champ I was expected to defend the honour of our University.

I wasn’t a great fan of fighting, see above. I’d fought Sharon ‘cos there was no way out of it. This slag would be going back to Shitville University or wherever in a couple of days; she couldn’t come after me. I was asked, of course. I got a nice little posse turn up to ask.

I said “No”.
Actually,  I said, ‘Fuck it’,
However, 'cos I'm a nice person, I did what Gary Cooper would do, I deputised Sharon. I presented her with my Badge and told her it was up to her to defend the honour of our university. She actually seemed honoured. I fucked her up pretty bad, she'd had to spend a couple of days in A and E (Accident and Emergency, it’s what we call the ER in English). She thought this would be a great way of getting back into the saddle, so to speak. Problem solved, everybody happy.

'Cept my offer to get Sharon back in the saddle turned into another hospital pass for her.

Bailey told me all about it at a local nightclub a week later. We were there for Nigel’s birthday. No, I didn’t know who Nigel was, but since I’d become a celebrity, I got invited to all these things, and since I never got invited to any parties, I was determined to make up for lost time. I went with Bailey and her new fella. She was telling me how Sharon got beaten up by Victoria.

"Sharon was in her black tank top and denim shorts. Victoria...". That's the girl from Shitsville University. "…She just wore a black bikini, which really showed off her assets. Christ, she’d even oiled up her body for the fight. But I guess if you’ve got a body like that, you’d show it off too”. She said wistfully. I stayed silent, I just stared down at my non-existent breasts and thought 'yeah'.

 Apparently, fighting made her feel horny, I heard that after the fight, she took one of the boys who'd cheered for her and fucked his brains out”.

"Slut!" I tutted. No, not jealous, no, not at all. I never had the thought that after I beat Sharon, nobody offered to give me a victory fuck. I never had the thought that it would have been so cool, winning your first fight and getting your first fuck. The thought never entered my mind. And no, I didn’t imagine my glistening, moist, sweat-covered body riding some massive rock-hard cock into a thunderous orgasm. No, not at all.

 "Yeah, anyway, where was I?" Bailey broke the reverie, which I wasn't having.

 "The fight", I reminded her, see, I wasn't daydreaming.

 "Oh yeah, it was all going pretty evenly. Until they went for the tits. Sharon always used to boast she had the toughest tits on campus. She forgot Victoria's not from around her. At first, they furiously worked each other's breasts over, then Sharon started crying, she looked in trouble, then she whimpered. Then not much else when Vicki kneed her in the crotch".

 "Sharon was on the floor, Vicki jumped on top of her, and then Vicki worked her over, good. After beating her senseless, as the finishing touch, she jugged Sharon out".

 "Jugged?" I asked.

 "Yeah you smoother someone to unconsciousness with your boobies. You gotta be built for it. But let's face it, Vicki's stacked"

 "Aw, probably plastic", I muttered. Not jealous at all.

 "After she celebrated her victory with the jugging, she said how disappointed she was ‘cos she didn’t get the Beanpole, whom she’d heard so much about".

 "Yeah, shame that". I smirked. “Yeah, she's back at Shitsville University or whatever it's called”.

Bailey leaned in, looking concerned.

 "The thing is, she's like Sharon; she won't let it go. I know what these people are like, I’m one of them…” She smiled weakly. “… Any refusal to fight is a sign of weakness and disrespect. She’s not gonna let this lie. It wouldn’t surprise me…”

"Hey, Beanpole!"

I turned. It was a dark-haired girl in a hoodie and yoga pants. Suddenly, the crowd moved out of the way. There was now nothing standing between me and this woman.

Shit, shit, shit.

Everybody in the crowd turns to look at me. There was no hiding in a corner. I stood up.

 "The name's Melody, actually"

 "I'm Victoria, the girl you sent your minion to deal with. She was such a shit fighter I came back especially to fuck you up. You little chicken shit!".

Victoria shimmied out of her hoodie and yoga pants to reveal she was just wearing a black bikini. The same bikini she wore when she fought Sharon. Her body was oiled. She’d come dressed up for a show, hadn’t she?

Slut.

The neon light of the club made her oiled-up body look. Incredible. I felt overdressed in my modest yellow T-shirt and shorts. Well, I would do if I was a slut, but I'm not. Then I noticed on one of her bra cups a badge. It was the badge I'd given Sharon when I 'deputised' her. She saw me looking.

"This?...". She flirtatiously pointed at the badge.

 "...Oh, I always like to take a little souvenir from my victories. I'm just thinking what I'm gonna take from you..."

"...that yellow T-shirt...figures it would be yellow...ppp"

"...or perhaps those shorts..."

"...or maybe your virginity!". Shit. That's not the victory fuck I had in mind.

Then Hugh bloody Jackman, the Greatest Showman and would-be ringmaster, appeared.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, we have the University challenge..."

"…In this corner", he pointed at me," we have our reigning champion, Melody Anderson"

Cheers.

"And over here we have the challenger, Victoria McKensie".

A surprising number of cheers. She’d brought friends, hadn’t she? Or maybe it was all the men hoping for a free fuck if she won.

The big fitted freak lifted her bra and gave everybody a flash of her tits. For those of you who lived in a cave and didn't realise she had any.

"Usual rules...there aren't any..."

"...Victory by submission..." boos from the audience.

"...or KO." Cheers from the audience. Bloodthirsty lot aren't they?

"Ladies..."

"...Fight!"

 Was it even Nigel’s birthday? Did this Nigel even exist? I’d been set up, hadn’t I? I fumed as I removed my shoes.

 "You're gonna fight dressed like that?" the bikini-clad, big-titted freak enquired.

 "Yes", I answered. 'Cos I'm not a cheap slut.

 "Okay, suit yourself". She shrugged, "If I had a body like that, I'd keep it covered up, too"

Fuck off and die, bitch. It was hard to like her.

I thought about my predicament. I realised that if I didn't fight back, I'd just get beaten up. I'd get beaten up if I lost as well, but at least I'd get the chance to put some hurt on her. Maybe she'd be too sore to enjoy her victory fuck.

The crowd cleared away to make space as Victoria, plastic tits, moved towards me as I moved back. Looking around, I saw Bailey looking stunned, “I didn’t know, I swear”, she mouthed.

I felt my back hit the wall, I was trapped. Plastic tits grinned.

 "Nowhere to run to, senorita, nice lady". She mocked.

"Looks like you're gonna have to fight!"

Okay.

She swung her fist.

I ducked.

As her fist hit the wall, she screamed.

I kicked her in the stomach. She gasped, doubling over as she staggered back, clasping her belly. I followed her. Swinging my fist up, it smashed into her face. Her head swung up, it was bloody.

I was doing well. Last time, I had gotten pounded at the start of the fight. And I still won. This time...

I went to point and prepared myself for a kick. Goodnight plastic tits. I swung, and her grinning head moved back; my foot sailed harmlessly past her. As it sailed past, she grabbed it. Upending me, I fell on my back. From above, she pressed my leg back, trying to cripple me. Tough shit bitch, I do this for exercise! I cried out to make her think she had hurt me. But I’d had enough when the bitch tried to stuff my toes down my open mouth. I kicked with my other foot into the side of her head, which got her off me.

I rolled to go back into the attack, our bodies crashed together as we tumbled to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. Our bodies entwined, we rolled over and over, yanking on each other’s hair and striking each other in the face and head with punches while our legs battled for supremacy. The crowd offering helpful suggestions.

“In the face! In the face!”

“Elbows! Elbows!”

We were both lying on our sides, now, facing each other. She growled, swinging a loping left hook at my face. I felt my lips burst open. I swung a right into her torso. We lay on our sides, wailing away at each other, our fists slamming into flesh.

Changing my target, I swung up at her left tit. It flew out of her bra cup, almost hitting her face. She cried out. Then I noticed she was lying on her side, and the other tit was lying on the floor. I swung my body and brought my fist down on that blubbery tit. Those heavy hooters were squelched against the floor. Oh, how she screamed. So I continued my pounding, like I was hammering in a nail. She was going for my face, but I was tenderising that tits. I swung again. She screamed as my knuckles dug into that flabby udder, told ya I’m not jealous. I swung again. Splat! I was gonna pound them into pancakes.

She screamed. Her feet were scrambling on my legs. So, I twisted my legs around her left leg and squeezed. Trapping them. Then I twisted my body, stretching her legs with me. She screamed again.

She swung a punch into my stomach. I jack-knifed, clutching at my belly. I released her leg, and she rolled away. As I lay on my back, gasping. I saw her try to stand up, her legs gave out, and I congratulated myself on a job well done.

She finally got her legs working. So reluctantly, I got up. She circled me, limping. I made a point of skipping away from her. Her bra was hanging around her waist, those giant-sized fun-bags of hers had been released. That left one was black and blue and distinctly battered, but still...for a moment, I stood transfixed by those breasts jiggling free, like nature intended. I remembered a rhyme from a TV program when I was a kid.

Jelly on a plate, jelly on a plate, wibble wobble, wibble wobble, jelly on a plate

I snapped myself out of my trance.

“Nice tits”, I snarked, “But that left one looks a lot less perky”, I grinned, "Are they insured?"

“Fucking cow”, she snarled.

Her hands shot out. She swung me by the arm, pulling my belly into her raised knee. I gagged. She grabbed me by the hair, throwing me to the floor. I raised myself on my hands and knees. She stepped back and kicked me in the stomach. I was flipped onto my back. I wheezed, holding my poor bruised belly.

I rolled onto my front and raised myself onto hands and knees. The bitch jumped onto my back. She started pulling my head back by the hair and launching fists into my face.

“Not so fucking lippy are we now bitch…” as her fists collided with my face.

“…you’re going home in a fucking body bag”. Another fist rattled my teeth.

“Some of that Micro-plastic from you tits is affecting your brain” I croaked back.

"Fuck you, they're real. Flat chested freak!"

The weight of her body was pressing on my back as her fists swung for my face. I held out my hands to stop them, but it didn’t work.

“Fuck you’re fat!” I groaned defiantly. The bitch was hurting me bad. But I’d hurt her too. That bitch was gonna know she’d been in a fight.

My hands scrambled behind me. She didn't care. She did care when I got a fistful of tenderised tit and squeezed, digging my fingers into her sore flesh. She screamed. I pistoned my legs, flipping her back, with me on top. I fired my left elbow into her stomach, my right, into her tits.

She got her legs around my waist and squeezed. Shit. I had my back to her. I couldn't attack. Then I felt the bitch reaching for my T-Shirt and pulling it up over my head. I felt a cool breeze on my nipples and then the thud of her fist hitting my head. Then her other hand reached for my pokie, my nipple and squeezed. I screamed as the white-hot agony shot through me.

She started cackling as she slowly worked me over. She pulled at my poor pokies, seeing how far she could stretch them. I wiggled and writhed trying to free myself from the T-shirt the bitch had used against me.

Eventually, I got free. I shrieked, realising I was topless, my arms going to cover my breasts. Plastic tits started slapping me with my shirt. I flailed with my arms, trying to stop her. I couldn't see what she was doing behind me. She wrapped the T-shirt around my throat and pulled. I gasped.

"Little chickenshit, sending someone else to do what you were too scared to do!".

She pulled harder. I couldn't fucking breathe! I pulled at the material with my hands. Things were getting spacy. It was getting haaaarrrd to t h i n n k.

Through the haze, I reached for her big toe, pulled back with all my strength and twisted. She screamed. I planted my feet on the floor and pushed back. I fell on my back with plastic tits under me I slammed my head back. I felt something break, then I heard a scream.

"Biiiiiiitch!"

Her leg scissors loosened, and I pulled her feet apart. Before I rose I smashed my elbows into her tits, again. Left tit, right tit. Digging my elbows in.

I rose as quickly as I could, coughing all the way. I turned to face her. I set myself up for a spin kick, a Maia Luz de costas. But the bitch span on her arse, her legs swept into mine. I tripped, falling to the floor.

I rose onto my knees. The bitch was already on hers, she swung, hitting me in the ribs. I fell to my hands. I could hear her coming up behind me on her knees. Blindly, I punched behind me, hitting her in the jaw.

Her reply was a punch to my face, my mouth spewed spittle.

I joined my hands together and swung at her head. It smashed to the side as she sprayed spittle all over the floor.

“Slut!”. I muttered.

She turned to face me, baring her blood-soaked teeth. She looked like a feral animal, naked in just her bikini bottoms. The job I’d done on her tits, I guessed she wouldn’t be able to wear a bra for a couple of weeks.

Me? I was swaying on my knees, in nothing but my yellow shorts. My battered and bruised body positively glowed with all the sweat I was shedding, it mixed with the blood that was coming off my nose, lip and above my eyes.

We were both exhausted. We couldn’t do anything too clever, even if we wanted to; it was just a test of endurance now.

She swung a fist up into my chin, my head shot up, and my teeth rattled. I staggered back on my knees. I tried hard to stay up. Just hurt her more, hurt her more, was all I could think.

"Tramp!"

I swung an upper cut into her belly. Something rather slimy oozed out of her mouth.

  "Dirty minger!"

She slapped my face, it sounded like a gunshot. My body twisted to the side. My cheeks burned red, raw.

We stared at each other, both struggling for breath. Everybody had gone silent, taken aback by the war of attrition we were engaged in.

 "Had enough yet, you skinny piece of shit?" She asked.

 "No fucking way!". This was how I would feel when I was halfway through my fifty push-ups. I was knackered but still determined to finish. And I always finished.

I joined my hands together, like I was swinging an axe. Right into the side of her head. Even though she was on her knees, she still struggled for balance.

"Skank!"

She punched straight out at my breast. Fuck it hurt. I moaned.

"Whore!"

I upper cutted her right hooter. It looked like it would fly off her body.

She grabbed my arm, twisted it and pulled me into two rapid-fire punches to my face.

"Whack!"

"Whack!"

I left-hooked her tit. It distorted around my fist. She cried out in pain, releasing my trapped limb. So, I right-hooked her face. It made a wet smacking sound. My fist was covered in blood, none of it was mine. I looked at her, giving a pleased look.

For a second, she looked at me, growled and then pulled me by the hair, pulling my head into hers. There was a crack like two billiard balls colliding. The white-hot pain shot through me. Reeling from the shock, I pulled my head back, stunned.

While I was still getting my brain together. She let out a whoop and threw her arms around my waist, trapping my arms and squeezing. I gasped, trying to move my arms.

 “Fucking got you, now. Tiny tits”. She gloated; she thought she had me.
 
She stood up, taking me up with her. I groaned. I felt like my ribs were breaking. Keeping on the pressure with one arm, she started clubbing my head with the other. The blows were hard, disorientating. I could feel my eyes glazing over. It couldn’t get any worse, could it?

Then she stuffed my head into those great honking melons of hers.

As she wiggled, looking for that perfect seal. My senses were overwhelmed by the musky, sweaty flesh, cutting me off from precious oxygen. I panicked, I couldn't fucking breathe! I'm suffocating! The bitch was chortling, her fans cheering her on. She loved this, but for me, it was incredibly humiliating. But I wasn't out of it yet. My brain scrambled for a way to freedom. Computing...computing...my brain gave me two solutions. I tried to decide between the two...computing...Then it occurred to me, why not take both?

As my knee crashed into her crotch, with the dull crack of bone on bone. My teeth chowed down on that left tenderised udder of hers. I chowed down on her aureole, trying to cram as much of it as I could into my mouth. The pain from her crotch made her sink to her knees. Unfortunately, I still had my teeth in her tits. Oops! She was being held up by my teeth on her breast. Those udders stretched, my, how she howled.

I eventually let go with my teeth, leaving a bloody bite mark on those tits she was so proud of. She collapsed to the floor, whimpering.

I'd fucked her good. Now to put her out of her misery.

I grabbed her by the hands, picked her up and swung her around, slamming her tits first, into the wall. As she bounced off the wall (those fucking tits!), I threw in a stomp to her back just for good measure. She staggered back from the wall on unsteady feet. While she tried to get her brain to work, I jumped up, wrapping my legs like steel cords around her waist and started squeezing. I pulsed my legs hard until she gasped. Then I pulled her head back hard by the hair, her neck bent at an unnatural angle. She groaned.

She was staggering, trying to bash me into the wall, but it's not too easy to move with a beanpole hanging off your back. I twisted my body. She stumbled and fell on her arse to the floor. Good.

She tried to pull my legs from around her waist, no fucking chance.

Did I ever tell you how my BMI said I was overweight at school? Yeah fat. I had to go see a doctor. He looked at me and said, Yeah, 'cos it was all muscle. I’m overweight for my height ‘cos muscle weighs more than fat. This is who you're dealing with, bitch. You mistook ‘don't want to fight’ for ‘can't fight’. And now you'll find out. This is going to end, and I’m the one who’s gonna end it.

I gave her tenderised tit a nice little squeeze, really getting my fingers in there, kneading them like dough. She tried to pull my hands away, I slapped her hands off. My fans are cheering me on, while her fans are desperately pleading with her to fight back. They were pleading in vain, her moans got louder. I’d had my fun, now for the finishing touch.

My arm went around her neck, and I squeezed, just like Bailey showed me, 'if you really, really want to put a bitch down' she said, and yes I bloody did! The bitch had tried to do this twice to me, with my T-Shirt and with her tits. No mercy for you, bitch. Her eyes widened in fear when she realised what I was going to do. Hysterically, her hands went for my arm, desperately trying to pull it away, to stop what was coming. She wined. I whispered into her ear.

"You've lost bitch..."

"...I beat you".

She wailed louder, and her hands scrambled even more uselessly at my arm. Her sweat and oil-covered body writhed and wiggled like her life depended on it. You ain't going nowhere, bitch.

I started singing, gently, ever so sweetly.

Rock-a-bye, baby, in the treetop

She was pulling at my arm, tears streaming down her face. She was finished, and she knew it. I felt a wet trickle run down my leg. Not so horny now, are we? She wasn’t that tough fighter anymore, just a frightened little girl.

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.

Her pulling at my arm was getting weaker now, the writhing not so much. The thought occurred to me that I could make her beg, I could end her, permanently. I was revelling, luxuriating in the power, the knowledge of what I had done to another human being. Me. ME! Later, I would ask myself if that was a person I wanted to be, but for now, that answer was yes. Oh God, yes.

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall

As I felt her fade, I felt the excitement. God, my nipples were rock-hard.

And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Her pulling stopped, and her eyes fluttered closed. All resistance wiped out, she slumped back, landing on top of me, like so much dead meat. I didn’t care. I lifted her hands from the floor. When they flopped uselessly down, I knew she was done. Slowly, her black and blue wobbling breasts. Jelly on a plate, jelly on a plate, wibble wobble, wibble wobble, jelly on a plate, came to rest. She was at peace.

I clambered out from under her, slowly and stood. Did I win? Shouldn't I feel...Last time, I remember being elated, full of adrenaline. This time I feel...God, I'm exhausted...I hurt in places I didn't even know I had places. I think the crowd is shouting my name, but they seem so far away. Did I win? Then I look down at the one person even more fucked up than me. Yeah, I won.

One more thing. I slowly bent down to her discarded bikini top and removed the badge.

I held it aloft for all to see.

“And this is for setting me up!” I announced.

"You guys set me up. You took away my choice. I will not have that. I WILL NOT HAVE THAT".

I threw the badge on the floor.

“I quit!”

I've got to. That's the whole thing. My long-anticipated victory fuck would just have to wait.

I woulda made a big speech but fuck it. Gary Cooper never had any last words in High Noon, either.

As I walked out, Bailey ran over to me.

 "Your jacket...",

"...And your T-shirt, you don't want to walk home dressed or not dressed, like that".

 She handed me the clothes. I put them on.

 "What they did was really shitty. I didn't know it was set-up. They shouldn't, you're not a pinner, they shouldn't have assumed...they should have made...".

 "What's a Pinner?" I asked.

 "I could tell ya, but then I'd have to kill ya..." She smiled.

 "...it's nothing".

 "Where's your beau gone?" I asked.

 "He's cool, I told him we needed some girl time...".

 "...how are you feeling?"

 "I'll live".

 "Well, I read a book once that said women always look their best in the peace and quiet that follows a storm of violence". She said with a straight face.

 "That's pretty good. Would've been much nicer if you'd thought of that yourself". I said.

 "Well, as a matter of fact, I did". She said. No, she didn't. She's repeating a scene from one of my favourite movies.

 "Don't quote Jimmy Stewart to ME!..." I glared at her.

 "...Fuck you" I snarled.

 "Fuck you, too" she replied.

 "Fuck you, to the moon and back". I told her.

 "Fuck you, to infinity and back", was her response.

 "Fuck you, to infinity and back, a quadrillion, zillion times!", there, beat that!

 "That's the same as infinity, stupid!". She thought she was being smart.

 "No, some infinities are bigger than others...".

 "...That's maths, stupid!", I declared.

 "That's stupid...stupid!" was her verdict.

 "Fuck you!". I said.

 "Fuck you, too!". She said.

 "I wish I was getting fucked too!", I shouted. That was enough to crack Bailey up.

We collapsed together, giggling. I looked at her. Tears of laughter were running down our cheeks.

 "Well, might as well go the whole hog or nothin'. How about you and me havin' a dance together, Frenchy?" I said Doing my best, Jimmy Stewart.

"Oh, I think I'll stick around. Y'know, I had a friend who used to collect postage stamps. He always said the one good thing about a postage stamp: it always sticks to one thing 'til it gets there, y'know? I'm sorta like that too". She said doing her best, Jimmy Stewart, too, which was better than mine.

 "I love that film". I declared. 'Destry Rides Again' in case you were wondering.

 "Well, you're a little Tom Destry, aren’t cha?..." she smiled, brushing my sweaty hair off my face.

 "...for someone who doesn't want to fight you sure kick some serious arse..."

"...Wanna get a drink?"

 "Aww, just one. I've got a visit to A and E tomorrow".

 "Want me to come with? We can do some retail therapy after. It's time you got some sexy threads. It’s my project to get you laid.".

 "Okay, Uber to the university?"

 "Yeah! Let's get away from these tossers".

As we walked to the taxi, she asked.

 "Well, were her tits real?"

 "Dunno", I replied.

 "Well, you punched them enough times"

 "I’d never punched a tit before, what it supposed to feel like?"

 "Ha, I fought this girl who ‘magically’ went from B-Cups to F-Cups over half-term holidays"

 "Didn't anybody say anything?"
 "I did, that's why we fought..."

 "...anyway, I uppercutted the boobies and they didn't move..."

 "...felt like I was punching a rubber tyre..."

 "...unfortunately, she had a glass jaw..."

 "...course that wasn't the worst. One time I was scrapping with this girl..."

 "...ripped her top off..."

 "...falsies".

 "Shit!"

 "Yeah, she was so mortified. I finished her off with a left hook, right hook combo"

 "Lorem ipsum" I said.

Fade to Black...The End...Roll credits.

[MikeHales67]

After much deliberation, I came up with a five-story arc for the character. This is stoy number

The ending conversation was meant to be one of those loping, never ending conversations that friends. When I wrote it in Word, I had the font gradulally reducing getting smaller and smaller. the typographial version of a fade-out. Turns out none of the boards support a font size that you can't read, so the last sentence is "Ipum Lorem" which is placeholder text, in case you wndered why it ends the way it does.

[Pinnerdown]

Thanks Mike for another fun read,
This poor girl didn't sign up for all this fighting but damn, she is good at it.

[MikeHales67]

Beanpole 3 The Foreign Exchange Student

 “Lustmolch"

 “Lustmulch?” Bailey looked at me quizzically.

 "No, it's not compost, Lustmolch, pleasure newt”

 “You mean slut? You?”

 “Yeah, that's what she called me. She didn't think I'd know it, but I do”.

 “My, we have been busy learning German, haven’t we?”

 "I wanted to make an effort for our guests". I explained.

 "Nothing to do with Carl?”

 “No, what are you talking about?”

 “I’ve seen the way you look at him…” Bailey smiled.

 “I don’t...I mean...I…”, I blushed, ”...anyway, he’s already got a girlfriend, Sour-kraut”.

“You mean Ilsa, she Wolf of the SS?” Bailey corrected. “I’m not sure she’s his girlfriend. Look at her, resting bitchface. That is not the face of someone who's getting serviced regularly by Carl. That's the look of someone who's not getting any. And I know why, I've seen the way Carl looks at you. Heh, I think you’re in there, Mel!”

"Me?" I stammered as I turned a bright shade of scarlet.

"Yeah...You. You put yourself down, Mel, but you're gorgeous!"

I looked at her, disbelieving.

"You've got a lovely face, nice flat stomach, and legs to die for".

"Yeah, but...", I gestured at the place where my tits should be.

"Pssh...you've got tits. And let me tell you, when I'm older and gravity takes effect, I'll be tripping over mine, yours will still be up there, still proud and perky..."

"...I'd trade these lard sacks for the package you have, any day...".

"...Any man would quite happily sink you with his love torpedo". She giggled.

"I thought it was  ‘hit me with his love truncheon’".

We both giggled.

 "Or is it the one-eyed trouser snake?". I asked.

 "No, it's the purple-headed yoghurt slinger", Bailey corrected, trying to keep a straight face.

She smiled. “You know as much as I like talking about dick. I'm gonna sort it out, it's not good that my friend isn't getting any. I’m gonna ask”. She walked towards Sour-kraut and Carl, who were talking in a group with friends.

“Bailey…” I called after her, but she didn’t turn round. Shit.

We were at a party in the ‘Hare and Hounds’, a student pub, welcoming the German Exchange students visiting for the final term of the year. There were only four of them; two years older than us, but since the Contemporary Dance department is quite small, we all mingled easily. Carl was friendly; he helped me with my posture exercises and partnered me in some of the dances. But for some reason, Sour-kraut was a complete bitch.

We had been doing some rehearsals. I was supposed to perform a brief solo tap dance number. My partner released me, and I spun back; then my foot hit something. I hit the deck, hard.

Next thing I know. I’m lying on the floor, looking up. Everybody’s laughing. Sour-kraut was looking down at me, a look of fake concern on her face.

“You okay, little Fräulein?”. She held out her hands to help me up. My hands went out to reach hers. Laughing, she moved her hands away.

“Just kidding”, she brought her hands back “Here we are”.

I reached out. She snatched them away.

“Ooops!” she laughed again.

Then she grabbed my hands and roughly pulled me up.

“There we are, all good!”

Apart from the sprained ankle, which took a couple of days to get better. And don’t think I don’t know who tripped me.

Fuckingbitch.

A few minutes later, Bailey came back with a big smile on her face.

“Problem sorted!” she boasted.

 "I pointed out to sour-kraut, Ilsa, that despite appearances, she wouldn't like you when you're angry. I told her how you’d already beaten up Sharon and that big-titted freak, so she’d be wise not to be so nasty to you in future. And…", she beamed. "…while we were talking, I found out... She’s not his girlfriend; she wants to be, but he doesn't want her. I may have dropped a hint, a teeny tiny one...", she heal her thumb and forefinger closely together, "...that I had a blonde friend who's available".

“Problem sorted…” She smacked her hands together. “…you can thank me later...”.

 "...All you have to do now is trip him over and be lying on the ground with your legs open when he lands...".

"...He wants to climb that beanpole, I know it!". She added unnecessarily.

Bailey went over to refill our drinks. She’s not in the Contemporary dance classes. But she's a friend and she's now my capoeira partner, we're going to classes. It's a Brazilian thing that combines dance with martial arts. I help her with the dance stuff, teaching her how to move with grace and rhythm, and she helps instruct me on the best way to use it to smash someone's head in.

She used it to beat the shit out of Sharon. After I resigned my position as the university’s numero uno cat fighter. Everybody decided to reapply for the top bitch position. It all came down to Sharon and Bailey. Sharon had already beaten some Indian girl called Zorro, I think. She'd spanked her bottom red raw and left her sobbing.

They met up in the playing field. My beating of Sharon hadn't taught her any humility; she was boasting about how she would beat Bailey worse than last time. Bailey just smiled and flipped her the V-sign.

Bailey moved in ginga, swinging triangular footwork, it looked like she was dancing. You did it 'cos one; you keep in a state of constant motion, so you're not still and not an easy target; and two; you use fakes and feints, to mislead, fool and trick your opponent, leaving them open to attack. It worked. Sharon tried to punch, but she missed. Bailey fired a left hook, then an uppercut into her stomach that had Sharon gasping in pain. Bailey crouched and did a crouching leg sweep, rasteira, that took her legs out, then launched a kick to Sharon's head. Sharon fell back on the grass, groaning, until Bailey's next swing kick put her away with the fairies.

She stood there punching the air in triumph. As I went to congratulate her, she said, 'Thank you, that capoeira class was worth every penny.'

It was actually her idea; she saw the advert in the university magazine. It seemed designed for both of us. I wanted to improve my combat skills. No, I don't want to fight for p eople's entertainment or for glory, like Bailey, but that doesn't mean I won't fight. It just has to be a cause I believe in.

Speaking of people whose faces I'd like to smash in. My fucking ankle bitch. Helga, or whatever her name was, came strolling over. Blonde hair to her shoulders, a spaghetti-strapped white tank top, and denim shorts. Oh, and her big tits looked ugly.

“Gooten arben”, she said. “I believe that you…” She opened her hand, and it held some jewellery, a silver brooch showing an angry cat. I looked at it blankly.

She seemed surprised by my blank look.

 “You do not…”

 "...I thought..."

 “…you are an amateur...”. She shrugged.

 "...No matter".

 “It is sad for you”, she put on a pouting face, brushing imaginary tears from her eyes. “As I am very good at it…”.

 “...I am five, fights unbeaten”.

 “Who did you fight? Ten-year-olds?” I snarked.

 “You think you are tough enough, Spargeltarzan?...". That's Asparagus Tarzan, a thin, reedy person who makes a noise like Tarzan. Told ya I knew some German.

 "You like Carl, yes?" She asked as she gently stroked my face with her hand.

 " I...I.." I stammered. I liked him, but he would never look twice at me. He's just a friend.

 "...Yes", I became surer.I pushedher hand away.

 "You will fight for him?"

 "Wha...?"

 "We will fight. When I win. You will fuck off and never see him again. Yes?"

 "And if I win, will you fuck off?" I asked.

 "I will not lose". She sneered. "I am undefeated!"

 "You sure? There's always a first time," I pushed her with my index finger. God, I really disliked this bitch.

 "Yes", she pushed me back with her hand.
She was challenging me to start something. I didn't want to fight for him; that's so Neanderthal. He's a human being; he can make his own decisions. I like him, but he would never... not with me...who am kidding? But, I really do hate this bitch. She sprained my fucking ankle. I stood facing her, thinking about what I was gonna do.

SLAP!

Her slap rocked my face. I angrily touched the red imprint she just left on my cheek, fuming. The whole bar fell silent, stopping to watch what we were doing; I think a few people started placing bets. I was about to reply when I felt a hand on my collar.

The management decided that if we wanted to settle our differences, we could do it outside, in the back alley. So that’s where we ended up. Anna impatiently walked out first. I walked out behind her, accompanied by Bailey.
 “I'm sorry, I didn't think she was a catpiner. She took it as a challenge. I looked up her fights on the site; she’s a tough, mean bitch…”

 “…but you’re tougher. Just be careful”

  “Good luck”, she said

I looked around as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. So yeah, it was a back alley, only ten feet wide. There was neon lightning. I think maybe it was a smoking area, and they started makibg it a beer garden, but they gave up because...English summers. There was no grass, only damp, wet concrete. Along one side of the alley ran a ten-foot wall; the other side was the back of the pub. There was a big window at the back of the pub. Dunno why, because all you had was a view of the graffiti covered brick wall. But a load of people were glued to the window, watching, waiting for the action to begin. The more dedicated spectators ignored the rain and gathered at either end of the alley. Sour-kraut was already outside, waiting for me at one end.

We faced each other. I clenched and unclenched my fists, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my body; there was that old feeling of fear and anticipation, but this time, there was another feeling; anger.

Her face was bright red as she angrily pushed her friends away from her.

"FOTZE!" She screamed.
I knew what she said. The first thing we learnt in languages was all the swear words. I snapped. Every time I’d fought, someone was always challenging me. This time, I wanted a piece of this bitch! If Inga wanted a Round Two, I was glad to oblige. I told Bailey to make sure no one interfered; this was between me and Heidi.

I marched up to Elsa, straight into her right hook. I gasped, staggering back, holding my nose, I felt the trickle of blood. I bared my teeth at Ilse's grinning face, I think I growled like a fucking animal and charged in. Straight into a left hook, sending me back into the middle of the alley, the crowd commiserated, some chuckled, which made me livid.

The stinking little shit was pissing herself, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

 "Ich werde dich fertig machen, kleine englische Hure!". ‘I'm going to finish you off, little English whore’, she said, as she cycled her fists in the air, threateningly.

“Ich werde dir den Kopf abreißen und in den Baumstumpf scheißen”,  ‘I am going to tear your head off and shit in the  stump’ or words to that effect is what I screamed back. I told you it’s the swear words you learn first.

I charged back again, and she swung a right hook. Expecting it, I raised my arm, blocking her, which left her vulnerable, and with my other hand, I pounded the bitch's stomach. Her eyes widened, and I heard the air rush from her lungs. Her back crashed against the wall of the alley. My forehand slap echoed through the alley, and her head snapped to the side, against the wet wall. It left a glowing, bright red handprint. My backhand crashed her head the other way; now she had matching red handprints. I stood back with a smile on my face, inviting her to come and get some more.

She lunged at me, grabbing me by the hair and pulling like she was trying to make me bald. Instinctively, I responded in kind. Yanking at the back of her hair, trying to pull her over. She yanked me to the left, trying to unbalance me. I stumbled and kicked in my canvas shoes at her shins. She grunted at the pain and kicked back. We were spinning wildly around in circles, yanking, slapping, and kicking.

She yanked again, and this time I stumbled and fell. I hit the wet concrete. She jumped on top of me. With her hands, she started tearing at my yellow t-shirt.

“Let everyone see what little tits you have!”. My shirt tore down the middle. She used what was left of the shirt to pull my head up into a slap. In return, I ripped at her tank top, trying to pull her off me. I broke a strap. But I couldn't move her off, and she started punching me in the face.

With a scream, I reared up and punched at her flabby udders straight on with both fists. They flattened immediately, like punching water. I thought at least they should make a honking sound. Still not getting my freedom, I bucked and writhed. Then, I haymakered her left tit; sending it flying. She screamed. I grabbed her by the hair and threw her off. But she held on to my hair, pulling me with her. We rolled along the alley. My hands scrambled for her face. She tried to hook my nostrils with her fingers. I gave her face a good slapping, and she slapped back. We hit the wall, and I was on top. I bounced on her stomach and launched punches into her face. Alternating fists.

I was getting a good rhythm going when she hooked her legs around my shoulders and slammed me into the floor. I hit the damp concrete hard.

She got behind me, getting a two-handed grip on my hair and flipped me onto my front. She moved quickly backwards, dragging me by the hair. My bare breasts scraped along the wet concrete. I howled in pain. Stopping, she pulled me up by the hair, and a low uppercut caught me square on my chin and knocked me face-first onto the wet floor.

Raising myself by the hands, I looked up, the rain falling on my blood-covered face. She looked down on me with contempt.
“The Americans aren't coming to save your bacon this time...“

“…English pig...“

“…Gruntz...Gruntz!“

The crowd began to count from one to ten. Bailey, who was standing next to Carl, was shouting at me to get up. I struggled to rise, getting to my feet on eight, and we squared off again. Bailey looked at my face, she smiled and said something to Carl. She could tell I was nowhere near finished and still determined to kill the bitch. The crowd cheered, happy to see the violence continue.

We wasted no time and strode into the fight again, battling in heated anger now, ploughing punches at each other with fire in our eyes and snarls on our faces. My right fist cut through the rain and cracked across her cheek. Her head snapped sideways, droplets of water and spittle flying. She stumbled but didn’t fall.

She came back swinging. Her left fist slammed into my ribs with a thump that left me breathless. I leaned against the wall, clutching my side with my hand. As she moved in, I returned fire with a vicious uppercut.

Bam!

The bitch’s jaw shot upward, and she reeled, arms flailing, feet splashing. I followed, but I slipped on the wet concrete. Panicking, I caught my balance in time to deliver a right hook that caught Elke on the temple.

The bitch's fist shot upward, catching me in the gut. I folded, choking on the fucking pain. She seized my hair, yanking me forward, to meet her raised knee. It hit my chest with a sickening thud. I gasped as white hot pain shot through my breasts.

I staggered back, and she came after me, sucker. I landed two quick punches to her mouth, splitting her lip. She answered with a savage haymaker that rocked my head sideways, spit and rain spraying out. I stumbled, blood mixing with the rain dripping off my chin, but I didn’t fall.

We met again, fists flying. Greta jabbed, her knuckles hitting my cheek, knocking my head to the side. Then she fired out a straight punch, right on the nose, my head fell back as I felt the blood leak out. I grunted, snarling, before landing a brutal body shot to the bitch’s side, followed by a left cross to the eye that sent her spinning.

I got behind her. My hands were tearing aside what was left of that tank top. Then went for the tender titflesh that was beneath her bra, but not for long. I grasped the flabby udders and squeezed. She cried out as I jerked those globes down as far as I could stretch them. My fingers gouging tracks in those heavy-hitters.

 "Ugly tits bitch!" I crowed as I deformed those hooters, the flesh oozing between my fingers. She just moaned.

She stamped on the floor, trying to drive her heels into my foot. I moved; I'm a dancer, remember. She stamped again. I moved. Giving up on that tactic, she bent forward, lifting me off the ground. She leaned back, my feet touched the floor again, then suddenly flipped forward, sending me somersaulting over her back. I landed on my back, but I managed to break my fall.

She stopped to pull her bra up, but it wouldn’t go, so angrily she undid the clasp and threw it away. There was some cheering, but not much, they were ugly tits. With a poisonous snarl, she stomped at my head. I rolled, her foot splashed in a puddle. She stomped again, and I rolled again. We moved about the alley in a determined fashion, stomping and rolling. I rolled on my side and spun in a semi-circle, my legs out. They tangled with hers, and she fell on her back. But she broke the fall, too.

We lay on our backs, propped up on our elbows. Rain fell on our faces as we glared at each other. The rain, diluting the blood that covered our battered faces, made the tatters of my t-shirt stick to my skin. It ran like a river down her bared breasts, which were heaving mightily. Gasping, panting. We were both trying to fill our lungs with air.

 "I'm gonna fuck you up", she growled as she brushed the wet hair that was sticking to her face out of the way.

 "When I'm finished with you, they'll have to identify you with dental records", I snarled back, clearing my wet hair away. Slowly, we rose.

I moved Ginga style, dodging and weaving, she kicked out, but she couldn't predict my movement, and she missed.

I didn’t. I kicked her flabby stomach. As she bent over in pain, I slammed my fists down on her back. I slapped her face. She spun back against the wall of the alley.

I launched another kick. She caught my foot in midtravel, wrapping her hands around my leg. She twisted, slamming me into the wall.

Her hands went for my face, those claws going for my eyes. I screamed out in fear and clutched her wrists, trying to push her clawing fingers away.

She turned me, punching me in the back with her other hand, hunting for the kidneys. With her other hand, she tried to slam my face into the wall. I stiffened my neck; she pushed, and my head slowly moved towards the wall. My forehead hit the wall gently. I leaned against it, relieved she wasn't bashing my brains out against the wall. Then I heard her cursing something in German, then, with both hands on my head, she slowly scraped my forehead against the wall.

 "Fuuucccck!"

I screamed as my flesh was scraped along the wall. I could see drops of blood, flecks of skin smeared along the brick. I writhed, twisted, on the verge of hysteria. Finally, I turned and grabbed her hair, slamming her back into the wall, getting a nice slap on the back of her head. I twisted her arm behind her back and, with my other hand, scraped her cheeks along the wall, leaving a blood trail. Boy, did she scream about that! I thrust my knee into her back, between the shoulder blades. She arched in agony. I kept my knee up and put my hands around her chin and pulled, like I was gonna break her neck. Her screams were music to my ears.

She pulled at my hands as I tried to crack her bloody back. Her turn to writh. No luck, bitch. One of her hands started scrambling at my fingers. She grasped my middle finger and bent it back, then bit it. I yelled out, releasing my grip.

This is what the fight had become. We both teetered on the brink of collapse. There was no time for fancy moves. This was just a war of attrition. Hurt or be hurt. Constant, pain, pain, pain. The only way to make the pain stop was to hurt the bitch more.

My T-shirt hung in tatters from my body, displaying my scraped breasts. My breath coming in deep, gasping pants, I was finding it hard to breathe.  I wiped some blood from my forehead. But I wasn't done yet, I was gonna smash the bitch!

She turned, grabbing me by the head and slamming it into the wall. I had my hands out and pushed back. I turned to face her. Her right hook slammed my head to the side. Then, pivoting, she swung her left hand in a karate chop aimed at my throat. I blocked it. Fuck. That blow was aiming to crush my bloody throat! In response, my right leg shot up, targeting her crotch. It landed with a thud. She screamed hoarsely now. As she bent in pain, I uppercutted her stomach. Drool flowed from her mouth as she dry heaved in pain. Gasping, she staggered back on unsteady feet.

I swung her by the hair; her back hit the wall. As she came off the wall, I stomped her stomach. She gasped, floundering back, and she held her hands out against the wall to steady herself.

I watched her, my legs feeling like they would buckle any minute. I needed to finish this bitch fast.

She stared at me for a second, then she slicked back the wet hair from her face, grinning.

 "You're tiring, Lustmolch, I barely felt that kick".

She was bluffing. You could tell by the way she limped, I'd hurt her. She was only wearing bruised breasts and her shorts. The blood from her nose, forehead, and lips had stained her teeth red. The grin she was giving was not pretty; it was the grin of a savage animal. Suddenly, she moved quickly, yanking me by the hair, into a knee to the gut. Fuck. I gasped.

She was preparing for another strike as she pulled at my head, determined to drive it into her rising knee. No. I struggled to break her hold as her knee rose. Her hands slipped on my wet hair. I was free. I moved. Her knee hit the wall. She howled.

I gave her a two-handed shove, and she hobbled back into the alley, awkwardly.

I charged, diving into her belly. The bitch grabbed my waist. That's not my target, bitch, it's a Cabeçada. My head rose, smashing into her face. I felt the crunch, and then I heard the scream. When I moved back and looked, both her hands were on her badly leaking nose, which looked like it had exploded. She'd backed against the wall; it looked like she was in shock.

Now that I had the distance, I stomp-kicked Ursula in the stomach; her head banged on he wall. I thought I'd dazed the bitch, but stumbling, she came back for more, straight into my right hook. The blood and spittle flew from her mouth.

Then a left hook. I fucking had the bitch!

Then a right hook again. It smashed her back into the wall. Her eyes were glazed at this point, the blood from her nose painting her face, she just kept repeating "Nein, nein" as she slowly slipped down the wall like a balloon losing air until she was sitting on her arse, her legs splayed out, her arms hung limp at her side.

I kicked her in the crotch just for old times’ sake. But she was in so much pain, I don’t think she noticed it; she just babbled on incoherently. It might have been in German. The babbling got fainter, and then she stopped. A little stream of puke oozed out of her mouth.

I stomped her twat again, and a load of puke erupted from her mouth.

I raised my foot for another stomp, but I felt arms around me pulling me away from her. I cursed and struggled, angry that my goal of stomping the bitch into oblivion had been thwarted.

I heard a voice behind me. It was Bailey.

“She’s finished, Mel, it’s over, you won!”

Fuck it was such a rush standing there watching my sobbing, limping vanquished foe, Gertrude, being led away as I stood triumphant, taking in the cheers of the crowd. I was buzzing; I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my body.

 "I beat you. Now fuck off!" I shouted at her as she hobbled past. The sobs turned into howls.

I felt so alive. I was treated like a rock star. Everyone wanted to congratulate me on my victory. Of course, Bailey got to me first.

"You done good, kid, you fucked the bitch good..."

 "...I’d buy you a drink, but it looks like someone else wants to...", she turned to look at a rapidly approaching Carl.

 "...He's a good kid. I was speaking to him during the fight. He was really worried about you. If he wasn't already taken, I'd get a yoghurt squirt off him, myself".

 As she turned away, she whispered, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do".

 "That doesn't leave much", I whispered back.

 "I know", she winked at me.

Carl rushed over to me. To me. He came to me first, not Sour-kraut. He gently stroked my wet hair out of my face, asking if I was okay. He felt responsible because Helga had been jealous of me, and she’d savagely beaten up the last girl he liked. He dared not show affection to anyone, lest they get Sour-kraut's wrath. He told me he felt like a prince trapped by the wicked troll until a brave, beautiful princess rode in and defeated the wicked troll.

“A beautiful princess??!! Me?”

“Yes, you, you are so beautiful, meine Blume”.

He didn’t seem proud that he’d had two women fight over him. He was sorry I got hurt. Gertrude, not so much. I found out later she was an AfD supporter. So yeah, the idea that a man she regarded as hers preferred a foreigner to her…As he talked, his face turned red. Fuck he was serious. Me?

ME!!!!

Then it hit me. It wasn't 'cos of the sprained ankle, Elsa and I had gone at it cavewoman-style, like primaeval savages, for that most basic, primitive of reasons; to win a mate, a man, a lover. And I had won, my rival lay defeated, and he was my prize. A dark voice inside me murmured, “Well, you'd better claim your prize then”.

Bailey gave me some fresh clothes. She always carries a spare in case she gets into it with anybody.  Carl insisted I go to A&E to get checked up. Nothing too bad, a couple of butterfly stitches for my head. Some painkillers. We got a taxi back to my halls of residence. On the way back, Carl insisted on buying me a bottle of champagne to celebrate.

We got back to my room, and we opened the champagne and drank it out of coffee cups. What! I'm a student, I don't have champagne glasses lying about my room!

We talked; did I mention he was handsome? One drink turned into two.

One thing led to another...

I claimed my prize. More than once.

He'd done this thing before, he wore protection without being asked, and he knew what he was doing. It was an amazing night.

My first fuck! My victory fuck!

I watched him while he was sleeping. He was happy, and I had made him happy. My body had made him happy.

But it won't last, it can't last. He’s gonna leave me, I know it. He’s going to go back home at the end of term, and I’ll never see him again. But he had given me a gift I  would always treasure; I had spent all my life believing I was an awkward, gangly nobody. He had shown me I wasn’t, I was worthy of love, and he was mine. I remembered that old song.

Underneath your clothes
There's an endless story
There's the man I chose
There's my territory
And all the things I deserve
For being such a good girl, honey.
Shakira - Underneath Your Clothes.