Dan Boxer's blog

(Time for a new story ... this one's been on one of my galleries for a while, but still one of my favorite series ... part one of three parts.)

ALIA AND ANNA
PART ONE

The local oldies station was playing the Peter, Paul & Mary classic, "Leaving on a Jet Plane," and Anna took that as a sign.
Things were as good as they could possibly get.
She was young, people kept telling her she was beautiful, she had a long-time boyfriend who worshipped her and could fill her from his cum sac as often as she desired (and, more importantly, a boyfriend that she could totally control), and she was on her way to becoming famous. She was headed to Las Vegas, the jewel of the desert, the place where fame and riches awaited the fortunate.
Thinking about her future prospects was making Anna very wet, and she instinctively reached for her crotch and began caressing her throbbing pussy through her tight white shorts. Her hardened nipples looked like wine corks as they strained against her tight halter and soon began leaking milk (Arlen hadn't been suckling enough recently, she thought ... we'll take care of that soon).
The thoughts of her future and the increasing rhythm of her strokes quickly brought her to a thunderous orgasm, one that shook her small apartment bed (after all, she was a big woman) and soaked her probing fingers that had long since bypassed the restraining shorts. She sucked her fingers clean with great delight, and not long after fell sound asleep, the bright lights of Vegas dancing through her head.
Yes, things could not get any better for a fighter or a lover, and in Anna's mind she was the best at both. She could out-fight and out-fuck any woman alive, and it was almost time to prove that to the world.
+++++
All her life, Anna had been special. When she was a child, her late parents had her on the beauty pageant circuit, and it didn't matter that she was already a little pudgy. She had the long blonde hair that was a symbol of status in her hometown of Midland, Texas, and it was obvious even at an early age that her features would be the type that would melt hearts before she was through.
But like many young girls in out-of-the-way towns, Anna was a tomboy. When she and her boy and girl friends would play games, she always loved the physical ones more than anything. She loved football – the national sport of Texas – but she was even more enamored with the individual sports, and boxing and wrestling quickly became her favorites. Her involvement, and that of the other children, wasn't discouraged by their parents, who mostly felt good that Anna and her friends were learning to take care of themselves.
Since Anna was a large child – and, in those pre-teen years, girls naturally developed physically quicker than boys – she was one of the strongest kids in her circle of friends. She quickly learned that she could take advantage of that.
Not too long later, when puberty hit and her body began taking womanly shape, those fights became more foreplay than child's play, and her excitement of fighting with her friends reached new heights. At the time, she was still fighting both boys and girls, but slowly her bouts with boyfriends became more and more the norm. And there was no shortage of competition … in backyards that became unofficial arenas all over her neighborhood, pubescent boys with raging hormones would do anything to lock up with the evolving buxom beauty.
Many of those boys' first sexual experience, in fact, came when they were either locked up with Anna in a wrestling match or trading punches. Rubbing their still-youthful cocks against Anna's already-developing body often caused that first pre-cum to emerge and put that tell-tale wet spot in the crotch of their jeans … and more than once, the boys abruptly orgasmed while being pinned by Anna, their cum flooding their jeans.
Of course, Anna was usually soaked herself by the time she put those boys on their backs, straddling them and pinning them under her already-large breasts while pinning their legs with a grapevine … pushing her damp pussy against their crotches in the process.
Even though it was great fun grappling with the boys and having them grapple with her, Anna began favoring boxing over wrestling. She liked the way the gloves felt on her hands … and it didn't hurt that her first masturbation experience came years earlier when she once rubbed a laced glove between her legs to clean it off, and felt the first of what would be many tingles of excitement.
She was also excited about Arlen, one of her neighborhood friends who was evolving into something more. Arlen, like Anna, developed physically before many of his classmates, and he discovered early that fighting with Anna – or just watching her fight – heated his loins to their breaking point. And his loins … Arlen was monstrously endowed, and his cock usually hit its peak whenever he laced up the gloves with Anna.
By the time both turned 15, they had bypassed the petting stage and were taking advantage of every opportunity to find private locations and stoke their passion. Often it began with boxing, and Arlen discovered that Anna was at her most passionate when she was punching him, sending blows deep into his maturing body, standing over him when he was on his back, a victim of the onslaught of her fists. In those instances, he watched her huge breasts rise and fall and his cock would expand to those monstrous proportions.
More often than not, Anna would take advantage, not even bothering to take off her sparring gloves before lowering herself on Arlen's talented pole. The fighting itself always made her hot and wet, but fighting – and dominating – Arlen was even more a turn-on, especially when his cock was consistently able to fill her with a seemingly endless supply of ball juice and waste no time in preparing more.
Anna would constantly beat him down, ride him unmercifully to make him orgasm many times inside her, leave her gushing his cum from her cavernous hole, and then finger his ass to get his cock back to its monstrous best. She would then put that finger down Arlen's throat, forcing him to lick off the poo, while she lapped his cum off his stomach and fist-fucked him at the same time … preparing him for a hummer that would leave him at the same time exhausted and praying for more. And more was never a problem where Anna was concerned.
Sometimes, she would bring the 20-ounce training gloves to bed with them, plant her voluptuous backside on Arlen's head and use the pillow-like gloves to lightly jab his monster cock back and forth, like one of those old blowup punching dolls. The punches would drive Arlen crazy with lust, and he would tongue Anna's volcano-hot pussy as deep as he could while Anna went down on his throbbing organ.
When Anna wasn't boxing her boyfriend around – it made her incredibly hot, knowing that she could control him with only her fists – and then riding Alren's member to thunderous orgasms, the two still spent most of their free hours in their circle of long-time friends in the continuation of that long-standing small-town tradition. They all couldn't wait to turn 18 when they could join Midland's bar scene (Anna, of course, never had a problem getting into those places … bouncers took one look and ushered her inside, Arlen in tow).
Their little group was headed to a celebration of one of those 18th birthdays one night at an area country-western honky-tonk, and when they arrived they saw an advertisement for a "ToughWoman" competition on the bar marquee. More than anything, they spotted the "$500 Cash Prize to the Winner" line at the bottom.
They weren't even inside before Arlen and the other guys started egging Anna to enter. One of Arlen's fantasies was to watch Anna box and dominate another woman, and then have passionate sex with the victor.
"You were doing this when those other women were still playing with themselves," said Arlen, who found it hard to hide his growing erection. "You'll kick their asses easy."
Anna was never one to back away from a fight – and besides, she and Arlen hadn't had sex for almost three days. She was horny, and figured there was no better way to work up a good lather than to punch out some strangers, make those women submit to her and make some cash at the same time.
When Anna left the sign-up table, the bar proprietor had a huge grin on his face and a huge bulge in his pants. He knew that his alcohol sales were going through the roof tonight.
Seven other women signed up for the contest, but it became obvious that none had Anna's fighting background. In her first "bout", Anna hit her opponent one time square in the stomach and she quit on the spot, doubled over in the middle of the ring with her arms crossed in front of her pudgy abdomen.
Her second bout was almost as one-sided … it took Anna about 15 seconds to force her foe into a corner and rain lefts and rights to her head. Eventually her opponent turned her back and exited through the ropes, leaving Anna in the finals.
The final bout came against a stocky Hispanic woman who appeared to have some martial-arts training, and at least looked the part as she took a classic boxing stance. But she was still no match for a sexually turned-on Anna, whose crazed lust after a couple of bouts – and an excruciating few hours without Arlen's hot cum inside her – created an unexpected bonus for the bar patrons' enjoyment.
It only took Anna a few body punches to send her opponent reeling in her corner, where Anna draped her over the ropes and quickly stripped her down to gloves and boots. A roundhouse right fractured the Hispanic fighter's nose and caused blood to gush down her naked chest, and Anna began raining uppercuts into that chest that caused little blood droplets to go flying into the air at every bounce of the rapidly-swelling boobs.
When Anna's gloves were suitably covered with blood, she used one glove to form a bloody letter "A" on the Hispanic's forehead. "That means you're mine," Anna whispered into her ear. "You bear the scarlet letter (remembering a story she once read in childhood), and now you must be punished for what it represents."
That's when Anna moved her attack south, at first lightly punching her opponent's bushy mound and gradually stepping up the attack until her foe screamed for mercy. The screams made Anna even more hot and she launched a big swinging uppercut that seemed to go halfway into the pussy canal.
Anna stopped punching but didn't stop abusing, taking one of her gloved thumbs and ramming it into the Hispanic's clit, causing both women to flow pussy juice heavily. Anna leaned against her now-shuddering foe and squeezed, seemingly trying to steal the last of the Hispanic's juices, as contest organizers finally entered the ring and separated the two.
Anna quickly grabbed the $500 check and Arlen, heading for the door (and figuring they may not make it past the car seat before her pussy enveloped his cock and consumed his orgasm that she knew wasn't far off). But a leisure-suited man stopped them on the way outside.
Eddie Hopkins had been watching all the action, scouting for "hotties" to book on foxy boxing cards that he was promoting at area strip clubs. He wasn't expecting anything unusual, before he saw Anna head to the ring for her first bout. He started paying close attention (Anna had that effect on most of the male species), and when he saw that she could fight, dollar signs rolled up in his eyes.
"My lady, I want to make you a business proposition," he said.
Even though naïve in many ways of the world, Anna knew enough to be cautious with such a proposition. But Eddie was persistent, and eventually had both Anna and Arlen hanging on every word. He promised her he'd make her a famous boxer, and would take her to a world championship and all the glory that went along with that.
And they would do all that in Las Vegas.
Anna jumped at the idea – the chance to leave Midland in the rear-view mirror and go to one of the world's most glamorous cities, to actually make money while fighting and perpetuating her prurient desires, and to have Arlen in tow to dominate after all her bouts. The thought was enough to give Anna's insides a shiver.
The next few days went by quickly. When Anna and Arlen weren't making preparations to blow town, she was doing a lot of blowing of her own. Maybe it was the excitement of the upcoming journey, but the lust between the two reached even higher levels. Anna proceeded to dominate Arlen like never before, sucking his cock regularly to the point of orgasm and then demanding he ram his straining member into her ass over and over until she could hold no more of his cum.
She would then reverse roles, strapping on a dildo and ruthlessly attacking Arlen's ass while at the same time reaching around and giving Arlen a violent hand job. Arlen came over and over, spewing hot white cum all over Anna's hands, and Anna would gleefully lick it off like a popsicle while continuing to rear-bang Arlen with her own rubber cock, Arlen's poop running dirty brown rivers down his thighs.
Exhausted from their week but buoyed by thoughts of the future, Anna and Arlen pulled out of Midland in Arlen's pick-up two days later and headed west. So long, small town. Hello, Sin City. The thought of what lay ahead was too much for both of them, and they had to slow down for a couple of minutes until Anna was able to straddle Arlen, mounting him and pounding his cock almost through the driver's seat. Fortunately, the road didn't have much traffic, and their intertwined bodies rode off into the sunset.

As far back as she could remember, Alia always remembered being angry at something.
Maybe that's a trait common to world boxing champions, but Alia's anger was different. Where most fighters point their anger at an opponent, Alia's anger was focused on many areas as she walked the streets of her Boston hometown.
The world never gave me a break, Alia thought. Why shouldn't I be pissed off?
Boxing had actually saved her from a life of self-destruction, a downward spiral that started in college when a long-time relationship ended badly – her former lover ditched her for a big-chested blond bimbo working in one of the local college hangout bars.
The breakup affected her much more than she would admit. For much of her New England college days, she was a simmering cauldron who would often explode in physical confrontations with people who approached her.
And they would approach her, especially the males. Her medium-length dark hair framed a chiseled and attractive face, and her eyes were the kind of dark orbs that men could get lost in. Her olive skin was a hereditary gift from her parents, who emigrated from Thailand. It didn't hurt that her body was toned, the result of regular appearances at the gym's weight area where she would attempt to work out her frustrations – always with little success.
She had partners during that time, many of them, in fact. But all were nothing but sex objects, pseudo-boyfriends to be used and abused and cast aside. Her pussy inferno would too quickly drain their hot cum, leaving them flaccid (few men could stay with Alia in a fuck contest, and even fewer could string enough orgasms and spurt enough cum to satiate her thirst for hot, physical, nasty sex). Their inability to return to rock-hard – even with a sexual dynamo like Alia – would arouse her anger all over again … sometimes, she would hit her lovers, beating them senseless with hands that she already knew were fast and powerful, such was her frustration with them not satisfying her.
Her inability to sustain a relationship added more to her anger at life.
One day at the gym, Alia was resting after a particularly hard workout, and was confronted by one of the gym's lesbian members who was upset at Alia's callous use of her brother. "I need to teach you a lesson on how to treat people," the lesbian said, "and I think I'll do it in the boxing ring where I can beat on you to my heart's desire and have some fun doing it."
Alia had never really boxed. She'd punched the heavy bag some as a stress relief, but that was the extent of her fighting background. She barely knew how to put on the gloves and attach the Velcro fasteners, but when she did a strange feeling came over her … a feeling of confidence, a feeling of power. The gloves, warm white leather ones with the big cuffs that went halfway down the forearms, felt sexy on her hands. A tingling sensation started deep in the pit of her stomach when she climbed through the ring ropes for the very first time and faced the lesbian tormenter who was painfully unaware of the beast she was about to unleash.
All those months and years of anger, resentment, rage and frustrated emotions welled up inside her and were released through Alia's flying fists, as she shocked even herself with her unexpected ferocity. It took her only minutes to pound her opponent into oblivion … blackening both her eyes, turning her nose into a flattened mess and bloodying both lips, and using her tits as targets for wildly-swinging punches.
But what really excited Alia was when she'd hit the bigger woman in her soft belly, watching her big white gloves disappear deep into her opponent's abdomen and standing back to watch her foe clutch her stomach and retch in the middle of the ring.
Her last volley of punches left her beaten opponent spread-eagled in the middle of the canvas, and in a fit of ecstasy she ripped off her workout gear and rammed her already-flowing pussy into her vanquished foe's mouth.
The feeling was incredible … her cunt juices mixing with the lesbian's watering mouth and her tongue which soon began probing deeply into her well-muscled cavity. Her thrusts ripped the sides of her foe's mouth, and the warm blood mixed with her juices and made her even warmer … and wetter.
She looked down at eyes that were filled with terror, real fear that drowning or suffocation might be coming quickly, and that look excited Alia even more. She had no idea that she could dominate someone else so completely, so thoroughly, and the thought turned on an even more powerful torrent of love juice and made her thrust even harder.
Without missing a beat, Alia turned around. She kept her now-sloppy clit firmly on the lesbian's face and mouth, but could now dominate her foe's body. She tore off what remained of her opponent's workout gear, and over and over she pounded her fists deep into that exposed abdomen, causing screams that echoed through the wetness of her crotch and caused her to come all over again. The deep pain made her now-useless foe piss herself, and Alia grabbed the lesbian's crotch and rubbed the combination of pussy juice and piss over her foe's body.
Alia then went to work on her knocked-out foe's hairy pussy, at first beating it with her still-gloved hands and then furiously rubbing with a gloved thumb until she showed signs of regaining consciousness. The beatings caused juice to fly from her mound and poop to gush wetly from her ass and pool below her on the canvas, from where Alia almost appeared to be beating it back into each of her body cavities.
All that time, Alia continued to ride her face and pound her cock until neither could take much more, their joint screams accompanying a final stream that ran from both of their white-hot boxes.
Gym workers had to haul the lesbian out of the ring, a beaten mess physically and a smelly, soaked wreck on top and at the bottom. Alia stood and watched, her chest heaving, feeling short of breath … and also feeling her nipples stay rock-hard. Her juices continued to flow down both legs as she continued her uncontrollable orgasms.
Stripping her gloves quickly and not even bothering to shower, Alia threw on fresh sweats (her others were still dripping), left quickly, went to the nearest college bar that she knew, grabbed the least-ugly male in the place and dragged him into the men's room. She jerked off his pants, stripped her gym gear in one motion (even her new sweats were already soaked with the sweet aromas of sweat and pussy juice) and vigorously mounted her shocked but willing male partner.
The sex was mind-blowing, and not just because her plaything was orgasming over and over during their rough play. Alia had never experienced anything like it, and she knew her excitement stemmed from the beating she had just administered. And she wanted more of that feeling – later. Right now she wanted more of this man's warm ball juice shooting up into her like a Water Pik, hitting every one of her taut vaginal muscles and sending ripples of pleasure through every nerve in her body.
She then dragged him into a toilet stall, seated herself and wrapped her strong legs around his upper thighs, drawing him into her and putting her in a position to control the thrusts. She began alternately clinching and relaxing her legs, forcing him to go in and out and pound her wet box whether he wanted to or not, and at the same time put those vaginal muscles to work on his engorged cock.
Her rippling vagina left her male partner with the odd sensation of incredible arousal and total helplessness, and he became little more than Alia's rag doll/sex toy as she reached a feverish pumping pace. Finally he passed out after one last thunderous shot of cum – one that Alia thought was probably the young man's greatest ever – and as his now limp body slid to the floor, Alia sat and watched his steaming juice pour from her hole and down the toilet.
Alia hurried home and thought about the last few hours. What was it that sent her passion through the roof? She'd had plenty of guys, but none that felt like that. And it wasn't that this guy was anything special … far from it. He was a total stranger.
It was the boxing.
The feeling of dominating someone with fists alone, beating someone so badly that they would either cower at her feet begging her to stop, or lie unconscious from nothing more than her gloved hands. The feeling was indescribable, and all of her dreams that night – all of them exceedingly wet ones – revolved around the ring, the ropes and everything that happened between them.
She began taking boxing lessons from a trainer at one of the local gyms, and it didn't take long before she turned pro and started covering her college costs through her passion. She didn't make much money in those early preliminary bouts, but she was smart enough to have people place heavy bets on her when she felt she could win – which was most of the time.
She didn't mind putting in the work … in fact, she lived for the hours she could spend in the gym, constantly finding ways to improve. Her workout routine was the envy of the rest of the gym fighters, both male and female, and she had no shortage of male sparring partners who thought they were man enough to control this wildcat while getting in some cheap feel-ups in the clinches.
The men who gave her the best sparring competition in the ring usually wound up in her bed, and her dominance there also carried over. She liked nothing better than to pound a man's body at the gym, bruising and beating him with a savage attack, and shortly afterward sucking him limp, giving a hand job to bring his cock back to life and milking him again with her rippling pussy muscles. Her partners would be so drained that they wouldn't make an appearance at the gym the next day, but not Alia. She was always ready for more … more boxing, more beatings, more dominant lovemaking.
Soon, most of the women boxers in New England were no match for her, and she sent a steady stream of lesser fighters to the hospital with an assortment of injuries – cracked ribs, ruptured spleens and bruised kidneys. Her body assaults were vicious, cruel and violent … and she liked them more and more. Often, when an opponent was caught in a corner with her head fully exposed, Alia disdained that attack and chose instead to brutally beat her foe's body … she loved the feeling when an uppercut sliced through an opponent's defenses and crushed her body cavity. And when that opponent was headed to the canvas, Alia would often catch her, hang her on the ropes by her now-useless arms and continue assaulting her softening belly. It made her incredibly hot and wet … and frightened other fighters.
Many of the region's better fighters avoided her as long as possible. Such was her growing reputation as a fighter … and a white-hot sexual dynamo that thought nothing of stealing other fighters' boyfriends for her pleasure – just because she could. After her bouts, when she would make her unwitting foes pay in blood for her own sexual excitement, she needed a man badly, and never struggled to find takers.
"Nothing like shattering a woman's teeth to get me in the mood afterwards," she would tell herself.
As her fighting paychecks increased, and her side bets became more and more profitable, she was able to pay a trainer to provide personal attention. More importantly, she enlisted the services of a manager who could get her into "real" fights … main events on smaller cards, and featured undercard bouts on some of New England's major boxing events. There, the best fighters couldn't avoid her, and she began to realize she was VERY good at this.
The boxing public was also starting to take notice of the now-nationally-ranked welterweight sensation, one who didn't hesitate to take fights against bigger fighters. It reached the point that size differential didn't matter … in fact, Alia almost preferred it that way, since bigger boxers gave her a bigger target for her deadly body assault.
One of those bigger fighters, and one that could no longer ignore Alia's rise to prominence, was current East Coast champion Ludmilla Drago. Part of the famed Drago fighting family, Ludmilla was an enigma … no one knew much about her background except that she was from Eastern Europe, and no one knew her real age – rumors were she was much older than her listed 35. Those who followed her did know that she never changed much from the typical third-world European woman … never shaving her pussy or under her arms, infrequent bathing, bad teeth, an overall unkempt, nasty appearance.
But she had reigned supreme for over a decade, and what challengers she had were dispatched as Ludmilla used her experience and size advantage to overwhelm most competitors.
But Ludmilla hadn't fought much in the past couple of years, and was badly out of shape – a fact that would become apparent, since she insisted that all challenges be nude fights, only boots and 8-ounce gloves, and her soft body would become an almost-obsessed focus for Alia.
A public outcry finally forced Ludmilla into agreeing to a bout with her younger, healthier and unquestionably hotter adversary, but in her closed-in world Ludmilla was still supremely confident that she would add Alia to her list of vanquished foes. Her picture of Alia was barely above that of a session boxer or "foxy boxer," all tits and ass and powder-puff punches.
"How can this little, pretty girl defeat me?" Ludmilla said in her heavy accent at a press conference. "She is just a little cunt. You all like her because she is attractive, but she cannot fight like me. I will break her, who what I like with her and stand over her victorious, and you will all again honor the great Ludmilla!"
Alia wasn't one for the trash-talking. She preferred to let her actions speak for her … not that there wasn't plenty of trash in those actions.
She wasn't above illegal tactics both before a fight and during a fight … after all, that pent-up anger still seethes below the surface. Knees to the crotch, the odd elbow across the eye brow to rip her opponents' skin open, raking glove laces across the nipples, punches below the waist, head butts, hooking her opponent on the ropes and pounding away … all were fair game once between the ropes. She would not use such tactics against a "clean" opponent – she had too much respect for the sport. But if a foe berated her, or Alia felt one was unworthy of her time and talents – the "loud-mouth model" syndrome –, she would deliver a lesson in pain in the most nasty and unfair ways once they got between the ropes.
But Alia also took every opportunity to swing things her way before fights. Her favorite ploy was sneaking in weighted gloves, which would allow her to do terrible damage to her foes. But she was also not above using sex to reach her goals – offering her favors to promoters to curry their favor and get better fights and bigger paychecks, and bedding and boffing referees to sway them should she need an extra advantage in a close fight. Alia's talented pussy was just as much a weapon as her talented fists.
But such outside measures wouldn't be necessary this time, since she knew that Ludmilla's soft body would be no match for her terrible assaults. Not that she wasn't going to brutalize Ludmilla – far from it, she planned to make an example of her, the only question was to what extent – but she didn't need the added advantage.
When fight night came, Alia was a bundle of nerves despite knowing that she would win easily. That was just part of her make-up, and as she sat in the dressing room wearing only her crimson gloves and white boots, she pictured the fight in her mind's eye. The thought of the horrific, dominant beating she was about to deliver to Ludmilla made her hot, and she began rubbing the thumb of her glove across her now-throbbing mound. Her almost-instant eruption poured juices down her legs – just before the knock at the door indicating fight time – and she decided no clean-up was necessary. She wanted Ludmilla to smell her excitement as much as possible when the two met at mid-ring.
+++++++
The accounts of the one-sided fight in the next day's newspapers and television reports failed to adequately describe the cruelty, the pain and the dominance that Alia dispensed on the now-former champion. Suffice to say that ringside doctors resorted to CPR to get Ludmilla's heart restarted and to get air into lungs surrounded by at least a dozen broken ribs. Her internal organs were all damaged and bruised, and the coma in which she lay at a local hospital was expected to last indefinitely.
Ringside onlookers had never seen such savagery.
Ludmilla had attempted to intimidate Alia by spiking her blonde hair high on her head, making her look even larger than the 30 pound-advantage she already held. In a way, though, that only added to the visually-striking contrast between the fighters … one an over-the-hill, out-of-shape hanger-on … the other a youthful, healthy, toned, nubile and hot vixen, an embodiment of forged steel and sex appeal.
It was a contrast obvious to all … except to Ludmilla's corner crew.
"She is just a little girly girl," her corner screamed in Ludmilla's ear. "She cannot hurt you … she is weak. Look at her … she cannot stand up to one such as you." Ludmilla nodded and pounded her gloves together with a loud thwwappp, a noise that intimidated opponents many years ago … but now only looked like a last desperate act to build her own confidence.
It turned out that hitting her gloves together was one of the few times her fists made clean contact against anything all night. Alia pounded Ludmilla unmercifully right from the opening bell, alternating her attack from lefts and rights to the European's spiked head and then going down low to her flabby abdomen – and occasionally lower to Ludmilla's unkempt bush.
Alia could have knocked Ludmilla out in the first round, but that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to punish Ludmilla, dominate her, hurt her badly, show the world what a REAL champion can do. So she made the bout last the full 10 brutal rounds, to the point that Ludmilla was unresponsive and even Alia couldn't pick her up as she had several times, draping her on the ropes and firing uppercuts almost from canvas level deep into her belly, hurting her terribly. Three times at the end of rounds, instead of sitting on her stool, Ludmilla laid her sore stomach on the stool while she vomited up bile and blood from the intense pain.
Ludmilla tried to unload punches in the first round, but Alia was far too fast and was able to block or dodge every one while keeping herself in range to do damage. It didn't take long for Ludmilla's blows, the ones she had used to dispatch previous opponents, to lose all of their force, and Alia was free to continue her onslaught unabated.
At one point in the third round, Alia stood in the middle of the ring with gloves on her hips, displaying her naked and wide-open body and daring Ludmilla to hit her. Most of the fading champ's strength was gone, but she summoned up all her will and hit Alia in the abdomen with a left-right combination. Alia never flinched, barely felt the punch. Ludmilla then began hitting Alia's crotch over and over with her own uppercuts, and Alia's only reactions – other than watching her pussy juices fly with each punch – was to at first smile at Ludmilla's inability to hurt her, and then to moan as the punches brought her to another orgasm.
"She is like a piece of iron," Ludmilla told her confused corner when she flopped back on her stool after the third round. "I don't understand … by this time, my opponents are devastated, cowering in a corner and begging for mercy. This one, this little brunette … "
The onslaught continued over rounds four and five, with all of Ludmilla's punches either sailing over a ducking Alia and leaving her open for untold body abuse, or bouncing harmlessly off Alia's supple body. Either way, Alia was counter-punching Ludmilla at will, but each time it appeared that Ludmilla was about to go down – or give up – Alia would clinch her into the ropes, keeping her upright and not allowing her to end the fight before the soon-to-be new champion was ready.
When Alia left her corner for the sixth round – after hotly rubbing her between-the-legs volcano on the stool for the entire break between rounds – she walked across the ring and stood in front of Ludmilla, who was leaning on her corner ropes unable to focus, let alone defend herself. She looked like death standing.
"Still think I'm a cunt," Alia said as she pounded Ludmilla's guts yet again. "Still think I'm just a pretty thing that can't fight," she said as her left hook bounced off the side of Ludmilla's blood-covered head. "You're too old, slow and fat, bitch," she said as her straight right hand crushed Ludmilla's jaw, splitting her brutally-swollen lips once again and knocking what few teeth she still had flying out of the ring.
The entire sixth round was conducted in Ludmilla's corner as Alia continued to drill the European with hard lefts and rights, alternating between her disfigured face and a body that was past red and bruised and was showing obvious signs of severe internal bleeding. Such was the damage that Anna's fists were doing.
When the bell rang to end the seventh, all Ludmilla's corner needed to do was place the stool on the canvas … since Ludmilla had never moved after standing to start the round. For a few seconds, Alia stood over Ludmilla, and now things were totally reversed from the fight's beginning. Now it was Alia who appeared bigger and stronger, as her gloves hung at her sides, inches away from inflicting more damage and framing her white-hot pussy that was roaring with the thrill of cruelly dominating an opponent.
As she walked away, showing her perfect backside to Ludmilla's corner, the European began to weep. "I'm quitting," she told her corner. "I cannot take any more … I have never felt such pain. She is too good, too strong, too fast, too … young … I don't know what she will do to me if I don't stop now."
"You CANNOT quit," her corner yelled. "It would be an embarrassment to your country, to all of us, to quit against this little American girl. All you have to do is land one punch and she will fold up. Just look at her."
Her corner was obviously looking through hope-colored glasses. Alia was still as fresh as when she started … maybe even more so. Hurting badly and dominating an opponent was her biggest thrill, and always gave her an adrenaline rush. That's why her punches were just as brutal later in fights as the first ones she threw, and had more effect as her foes wore down.
Somehow, Ludmilla's corner got her up for the eighth round, and what followed were two more rounds of torture courtesy of Alia's fists. At one point she was a monotone, banging Ludmilla's badly-injured abdomen with alternating lefts and rights that almost appeared set to music … one, two, BANG, one, two, BANG, one, two, BANG, as her hands buried deep into Ludmilla's gut.
When Ludmilla tried to go down, Alia grabbed her and hung her arms over the corner ropes, making a human turnbuckle. Alia would hit her a few times, and then dance back, waving her arms over her head to show the crowd how much she was in control. Ludmilla would just hang there, not able to even untangle her useless arms from the ropes, and wait for the beating to resume.
"Who's the champ," Alia screamed as she jabbed a visionless face, Ludmilla's eyes long since swollen shut. "You have never even imagined anyone as good as me! I'm going to make sure you never waste my time again, you fat cunt!"
While Ludmilla hung on the ropes, Alia stripped off her left glove and rammed her fist up the European's wet and stinky pussy, fisting her cruelly while continuing to punch Ludmilla's red gut with her right hand. It almost felt like her two fists were meeting and Ludmilla's insides just happened to be in the way, and Alia felt the mixture of blood and cunt juice coating her hand as she twisted it around inside Ludmilla's mound.
She removed her hand, but only momentarily before ramming it in again, and started rhythmically fist-fucking her adversarial pussy. The steady and audible "squish, squish, squish" made ringside fans blush and made Alia soak herself all over again. When she removed her fist for good, she rubbed it in Ludmilla's face and demanded that the European lick it clean, which she did as much as possible in her semi-conscious state.
After the ninth round, Ludmilla's corner crew had to drag her spread-eagled by the arms, and Alia had another twinge of excitement as she watched. With this being the final round, Alia knew it was time for one more moment of dominance.
When the two met at mid-ring – Ludmilla's corner had to shove her in the right direction since her vision and her will was gone – Alia grabbed her in a clinch and whispered in her ear.
"You only think you're in pain now," she said. "You may not survive these last three minutes … I may decide to kill you right here. If you do live, I want you to remember that if I ever see you around my ring again, or I ever hear that you had one unkind word about me, I will find you and kill you with my fists just for my pleasure."
Alia didn't know if Ludmilla understood what she said, but she got her message across with her fists, breaking the clinch and beginning a horrific last-round pounding of the meat bag that used to be a human being. Her laces ripped open big gashes on Ludmilla's face and body, and her follow-up punches splashed blood all over those watching in horror at ringside. A combination of piss, blood, used-up cum and pussy juice ran down Ludmilla's thighs and calves.
Ludmilla stumbled and fell over the ropes face-first, her head lolling outside the ring and pointing out to the crowd as blood flowed in rivers over the table next to the ring. Alia used the opportunity, with Ludmilla's back to her, to pound Ludmilla's sides with huge hooks, destroying her kidneys and making her cough up blood, and rubbing her snatch against Ludmilla's broad ass – one of the few body parts Alia hadn't abused.
Just before the final bell would have sounded – Alia had a highly-functional clock in her mind, and knew exactly when to make her final move – she swung Ludmilla's lifeless body around, yelled "good night, comrade," and unleashed a huge left hand, the impact of which caved in the right side of Ludmilla's face completely, causing her eyes to roll around as she slammed head-first into the canvas, not moving a muscle. That's when the ringside medical personnel came through the ropes, effectively ending the fight.
The pictures the next day showed Alia standing over Ludmilla's beaten body even as doctors tended to the beaten ex-champ, raising her gloves in complete victory and radiating a sensual heat that was palpable even in photos.
Alia hurriedly and angrily answered reporter's questions, having more pressing things (specifically, a fiery ache in her loins) to take care of. "How dare you people send such a weak opponent into a slaughter against me?" she said. "A champion like me deserves better competition than this old worn-out hag. I'm ready to fight anyone … anywhere … right now."
At that last statement, she spied Ludmilla's corner man – maybe her Latin lover, Alia thought – standing close by, grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out of the arena and into a waiting limousine. A fitting prize, she thought, for her labors, and the two spent the night's remaining hours in wildly passionate attacks on each other's body, with Alia not tired at all from 10 rounds of aerobic workout. Instead, she was invigorated, and anxious to dominate yet another part of Ludmilla by raping her corner man.
And again, just like the bout she'd just finished, Alia wanted this to last a long time, too. But she had to pace herself – she would have been waaaaayyyyyy too much for him if she hadn't – until she had her overnight lover's used-up body delivered back to Ludmilla's camp the next morning, his ball sac drained and flat.
She was now a champion, and she figured that she deserved this. Besides, she gave Ludmilla's corner man a night of passion for a lifetime, one of which he still tells stories to his comrades.
Word spread quickly through the boxing community that Alia's talents were even greater than her potential foes feared. Few hit harder than her, but what was worse is that opponents rarely saw her punches before they landed, such was the speed of her hard and fast hands … lethal weapons in every sense of the word.
She reigned undisputed on the East Coast, with only the unknowing and the overly-confident being foolish enough to enter the ring with her, and all coming out the same way – horizontal, on a stretcher, beaten and broken. Soon Alia had no competition daring enough to face her, and she began to look outside her East Coast sphere of operation.
There was a big, beautiful world out there just waiting for her to dominate, and she figured that heading west would be a good place to start. The thoughts of what may lie ahead, past where the sun was setting, were enough to make her wet all over again.

It was a great party (but, then again, aren't all parties in Las Vegas pretty great?) … until Anna showed her ass and Alia had to take matters into her own powerful hands.
It seemed like every member of the Vegas boxing world – and, by extension, the West Coast boxing community – was on hand at the Orleans Casino penthouse. There was nothing in particular to celebrate, except for the sport's continued success in bringing top-flight bouts to the "jewel of the desert."
Alia watched the party action closely. It was her first time at one of these gatherings, and she stayed on the periphery, picking up information here and there, determining who the power players were and who were only hangers-on. Occasionally, she'd strike up a conversation with one of the power brokers. Alia always made a great first impression, but tonight – dressed to kill in a slinky black dress – was a night to lay the groundwork for future fights.
She'd only been in Vegas for three weeks, having relocated from the Boston area when she ran out of East Coast opponents willing to step in the ring and be dominated by her. The New England-area fighters saw first-hand what she was capable of doing in her title fight against Ludmilla Drago – who remained in a coma for over three weeks and still hadn't left the hospital – and hid in the shadows when it came time for Alia's first title defense.
She didn't have any bouts set up out West yet, but her brief conversations with promoters and officials at the party produced some excellent prospects. It didn't hurt that Alia made sure to stand close enough to give those same promoters a good look at the package, and "accidentally" brushed against each with a hand or a thigh.
Even though she hadn't seen any ring action other than in the gym, she did get the opportunity to watch other fighters on the city's frequent professional cards. She attended most of them incognito, wearing a hooded shirt and attempting to blend into the background (as much as someone like Alia could). And she was less than impressed with what she saw in most of the bouts.
Alia also couldn't figure out all the fuss over one fighter, a big blonde named Anna something. She had seen the big-haired and big-bosomed Anna fight some tomato can with tits in one preliminary bout, and it didn't take much for Anna to hammer out a technical-knockout win.
When the announcer said after the fight that Anna's record had improved to 8-0, Alia was shocked. She couldn't imagine this overweight blond winning eight straight against anyone, but the fans in attendance were yelling like Anna had just won a world title.
"It doesn't take much to impress people out here," Alia said under her breath.
Anna was playing to her growing numbers of fans, teasing them by opening and closing her short-cut robe and showing her voluptuous chest encased in a way-too-small white bikini top. A layer of belly fat hung over her bikini bottom, and Alia was privately disgusted at the scene – she always looked down on people who didn't honor their own bodies … even if they couldn't match up to her toned hardness, they should at least have some pride, especially if you were a fighter and flaunting yourself in public.
The fans didn't care. All they saw was blond hair, big tits and big, swaying hips as Anna sashayed around the ring, gloves in the air after another easy win. Close behind was Eddie, whose pockets were steadily being lined as Anna's success and notoriety grew, and Arlen, whose jeans were stretched to the breaking point just from watching Anna dispatch another awful foe.
Arlen and Anna had gotten married at a Vegas quickie chapel right after Anna's first fight, with Eddie giving the bride away. It was part of Anna's plan … now married, she could dominate Arlen even more severely and could take his cock and his cum anytime she wanted. And, Anna thought, other women would think twice about seducing Arlen, lest they face her fists.
Eddie's mind during the wedding wasn't on the nuptials, or on the way-too-tight dress that Anna wore. Instead, it was on how he was going to "sell" Anna to the world. He solved that problem by hiring Dan Steele, a local sports writer who was once very well known in Vegas boxing circles – and now one that had a problem holding a regular job amid the booze, gambling and picking the wrong women.
Still, he knew that Dan had the contacts in the media to spread the word about Eddie's newest protégé, and had him kick the public relations machine into high gear.
The biggest key to generating publicity, besides the fact that Anna's physical appearance was ready-made for Vegas, was having some measure of success between the ropes. That became Eddie's department.
Anna eventually ran through seven more hand-picked opponents with little trouble. Occasionally, one of those foes would almost accidentally dig a punch deep into Anna's soft belly, but she was strong enough to wrap her opponent in a virtual bearhug – her tits effectively muffling a further body assault – until she could fully recover. It was one of the few things she had learned about defense … the rest of her skill level was confined to roundhouse punching.
Eddie knew this … knew that Anna was a "club" fighter only. Sure, she could more than hold her own in her neighborhood brawls back in Texas, and could handle herself well enough to win those "Toughwoman" contests. But she was far from skilled enough to be truly successful on the professional level. She had the killer combination of a glass jaw and a powder-puff punch – at least, as compared to the professional elite – despite her large build.
Eddie also knew that she was gaining weight … what used to be an hourglass figure was slowly expanding in all directions. And she and Arlen were becoming more ravenous all the time … Eddie could tell that the two had been banging each other hammer and tongs even on nights before a fight. But Anna was his meal-ticket.
That's why he lined her up with opponents barely worthy of a professional license, and on occasion would slip some side cash to their trainers to get them to slack off on their own fighters' preparations. Once, against an opponent who might have had a chance to snap Anna's streak, Eddie slipped the boxer herself a few hundred, and ironically she showed little defense as Anna pounded her to an early knockout.
Anna didn't know and didn't realize what was happening … in fact, she actually thought she was a prodigy, a chosen one, one destined for boxing greatness, and Dan's ability to get her name and photo in the papers only fueled her delusion. And that attitude came through big-time in her post-bout celebration on the night that Alia was in the audience.
Alia was almost sickened by the brazen display, but she quickly realized that, if this was among the best that the West Coast could offer, she could dominate here just like she had back home. Then the whole country would be hers … chances to impose her will from coast to coast, to humiliate her opponents and dominate their male partners unburdened by geography.
The most brutally dominant fighter as far as she could imagine … the thought alone was enough to make her soaking wet, and she was stroking her throbbing crotch all the way back to her hotel. When she arrived there – and before she used her heavy-duty vibrator to induce a thunderous orgasm – she found a party invitation slipped under her door. It was for the next night, and at the time Alia didn't realize that her attendance would change her life in a big way.
+++++++
The energy level at the Orleans Hotel and at the party were both at a high level before Anna showed up with Arlen, Eddie and Dan in tow. Eddie insisted that Anna wear something that would catch the eye of the Vegas boxing crowd, and Anna obliged with a white satin number that left nothing to the imagination – including her out-of-shape belly and her too-prominent hips. She looked more like a Vegas streetwalker than a fighter, but Eddie and Arlen didn't care because Anna's best two assets bounced around almost unencumbered every time she moved. Dan basically kept his distance and began working his many contacts in the room.
Anna and Arlen had obviously been partying before the party, both already half-drunk and their voices at a high volume level, and the party's open bar was their first and most frequent stop. After all, the hurricane drinks at the Orleans were legendary.
Alia was seated at a couch near the bar, talking to a local promoter who was intently interested in her words and her taut body. She couldn't help but notice Anna weaving her way back to the bar and tried to ignore her, but Anna spotted Alia, and a brief light of recognition swept across her face.
"Heyyyy, I know you," Anna screamed, stumbling over to the couch while spilling half of her drink. "I sawwww your pishhher in a magazeeeen. You're that fightuuur from … somewhere."
Alia, disgusted with everything about Anna at that moment, stood up but didn't say anything. She just stared daggers.
"You're suhhpooosed to be real guuuuud," Anna blurted out. "I'm purteee guuuuud, too … ain't got beat yet since I got heeeer."
That will soon change, Alia thought, but she only said, "I think you've had a little too much to drink … why don't you sit here?"
"I donnnn't need to sit … I'm a fighter, and I can hannnnle myself. And I can hannnnle you, cutie," Anna said, jabbing a finger into Alia's chest. Alia grabbed her hand firmly, and repeated, "You really should sit down and shut up."
Arlen and Eddie were standing close by and a drunken Arlen started to intervene, but Eddie held him back. He had an idea what was about to happen, and it would be golden for building public interest for a fight between Anna and whoever this new challenger was. The two stayed on the periphery, watching.
"You donnnn't tell me to shadddup," Anna said. "I'll fight yooouuu right heeeerrr." She gestured to the floor with her hand at that last statement, managing to spill the rest of her drink on Alia.
Alia responded by pushing the big blond away and staring her down, and Anna came back the only way she knew, swinging a looping overhand right aimed at Alia's jaw. Alia's quick reactions would have been easily enough to make Anna miss under the best circumstances, but in Anna's inebriated state her punch looked to be in almost slow-motion to the crowd that had gathered around the two.
Alia easily ducked under the punch, and out of instinct lashed out with two uppercuts directly into Anna's soft belly. Anna crashed to the floor like a rag doll, losing control of body functions – and losing a river of Arlen's cum that she'd milked from his cock just before they left for the party. Arlen's seed quickly soaked through Anna's tight dress both front and back, and photographers jostled to get pictures of the big blond out cold on the floor.
Alia decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat, but in a moment of inspiration – and horniness, since she hadn't had a man to dominate and control for a few days – she grabbed Arlen's arm in a death-lock and headed toward the door.
Nobody stood in her way … in fact, most of the partygoers were only momentarily stunned by the two women's quick altercation, and were well on their way back to partying. The only person near the door was Dan, who only smiled broadly when he caught Alia's eye as she and Arlen swept by. Alia didn't know who he was, but she was struck by what she thought was a look of … understanding, maybe? … on Dan's face.
It took only minutes for a cab to zip Alia and Arlen back to her hotel, but Alia had already straddled Arlen in the back seat, had freed Arlen's impressive cock from his pants and underwear and was sucking it hungrily, taking the first of his many orgasms that night, almost stealing it as she drained his now-throbbing member.
The elevator ride to her room seemed to last an eternity, even though Alia had Arlen pushed against the wall and had his cock vise-gripped between her thighs. As soon as they reached the room, Alia stripped Arlen naked, leaped out of her own dress and literally threw Arlen onto the oversize bed.
The next few hours were intense beyond belief. Alia alternated between riding Arlen unmercifully, screaming in lust and ecstasy as Arlen's cock plunged deeper into her throbbing pussy than any partner she could remember … then bouncing off and roughly punching his stiff member with lefts and rights that slowly built in intensity … following up with a rugged hand job and going down on him once again just before another thunderous cum shot … and eventually grinding her on-fire pussy into Arlen's face and mouth and demanding that he tongue her until she shuddered with delight.
Eventually she dragged Arlen on top of her, grapevined his legs and did most of the pounding as her thrusts sent Arlen's cock deep inside her. As she spasmed with another juicy orgasm, she rammed a finger into Arlen's ass and instantly released another load of cum from Arlen.
She dominated Arlen with every ability she possessed, and Arlen's cock remained a stiff sword, giving Alia more and more opportunities to satisfy herself. She couldn't remember a man who could keep up with her at this level of excitement, and her pleasure reached new heights. But she also wanted to send Arlen back to Anna flaccid and limp, worn out from their thunderous tryst … and besides, her dominant side and her competitive nature made sure she wore out her partner before he wore her down.
That didn't happen for a long time. Every time it appeared Arlen was about to go soft, while Alia was licking a pool of cum from his belly, she would begin punching his guts again and Arlen would spring back to attention, his bouncing cock inviting Alia's mouth back aboard for another ride and another milk-white drenching of her rapidly-tiring throat. At the same time, though, her mound was wiping out Arlen's facial features, and his tongue was thrusting around inside Alia's pussy – reinvigorating her all over again.
Eventually, even Arlen's member began to lose its steam amid the sticky, white pool that once had filled his ball bag, and Arlen finally passed out after Alia rode him to one last orgasm, just as the sun was rising over the Vegas strip.
Alia summoned up all her energy, helped the worn-out Arlen to the elevator and through the lobby, and loaded him into a cab. She had checked his wallet and found his hotel room key, and gave the driver orders to get him to his hotel and make sure he went directly to his room. Even in her exhausted state, Alia knew the sight of Arlen would drive Anna insane … which is exactly what she wanted.
+++++
Eddie and Dan each had an arm swung around their shoulders, and they were walking the unconscious Anna back to her hotel room. The party had effectively ended for her when Alia drilled those two punches under her ribcage, forcing her to vomit up much of her imbibed alcohol and forcing the juices of Arlen's pre-party orgasm out of her pussy. Both bodily fluids fouled her dress, and she was an ugly sight as Eddie and Dan slowly got her inside.
The two literally dragged her to the bed, stripped her (both thinking simultaneously, damn, she's got some great tits, too bad the rest of her body doesn't measure up to those), covered her with a blanket and let her sleep off her drunken and painful state.
Dan wasn't sure of his next step, but Eddie certainly was. Right after all of the party's unexpected commotion, he asked around and found out Alia's identity … only then realizing that the East Coast's premier fighter had just laid out his protégé with only two punches. Instead of being upset, Eddie saw opportunity.
"We're going to stage the biggest women's fight in history," Eddie told Dan. "We get the two of them together … with the attention and the fans that Anna's built up, and what that other little bitch did back East … both of them being real lookers … and after what happened tonight? The people will eat it up."
"I'm not really sure that Anna's ready for this," Dan said. "She hasn't fought a lot of really good boxers yet, and this one's obviously really good … you heard what people were saying about her last East Coast fight before she came out here?"
"I'll take care of all that," Eddie said. "There are ways to even up those kind of odds."
Dan didn't like the sound of that.
A few hours later, Anna began stirring. She couldn't remember much after arriving at the party, but the throbbing pain in her belly told her something had happened. She was still trying to figure out exactly what when Arlen came staggering into the room, clothes barely on and looking like he'd been through his own championship bout – and, in actuality, he had.
Knowing better than to try to lie to Anna as she sat on her bed, Arlen fessed up as to his whereabouts over the last few hours, and Anna was speechless. Eddie shut the door between the bedroom and the rest of the suite before the shouting started, and picked up the phone to place one of the most important calls of his life.
A sleepy-sounding female voice answered on the other end.
"Is this Alia," Eddie asked.
"Yes … who is this," came her response.
"Alia, my name is Eddie Hopkins," he said, "and I am about to make you a very rich and famous woman."
END PART ONE