Mixed boxing, 180 pictures 1920x1080 (FullHD), partially CFNM, bloody action.

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The Women’s Boxing Association called a crisis meeting. For some time, behind the scenes, they had rightly sensed that the men were trying to get rid of them from boxing altogether. The women shared the gyms and rings with the men, but in practice if the men wanted to use them exclusively they usually got their way. Men’s boxing was the main event, with women’s an afterthought.

Nor was that all. Women’s training was frequently interrupted by men, jeering and laughing; women’s lectures were disrupted by men’s phones going off, and the subsequent conversations; and even women’s formal matches sometimes had to be stopped because of men creating various sideshows, such as mock-fights among themselves.

All this had been going on for months. What turned the issue into a crisis was when one of the women boxers had accepted an invitation for a bit of friendly sparring with one of the men. 

Pamela - "Punching Pamela" as her friends called her - was popular among the women boxers, known for her fierce defensive skills when cornered. She often managed to punch her way out of what seemed a hopeless situation, hence her nickname. She had entered the ring in good faith with "Stinger" Stan, for a strictly moves-based practice. Neither of them had bothered with gloves, but Stan dispensed with their agreement right from the start, and had ended up hurting her quite badly. She left the gym in tears, resigned her membership, and hadn’t been back since. The meeting was called to decide what to do about it.

"Ladies," began the chairwoman, "We all know why we’re here. For a long time we have suffered intimidation and ridicule at the hands of the men, and now our good friend Pamela has left as a result of what I can only describe as bullying. We feel there is a concerted effort to drive us out of boxing altogether, and I now appeal to you for ideas to safeguard our status. Thank you."

There was a buzz of private conversations, and various women putting their hands up with suggestions that got nowhere, until Tanya put her hand up. Everyone respected Tanya, and with good reason: "The Blonde Fist" had had 24 fights with 24 wins, all of which had been knockouts. A hush fell for her to speak.

"The men resent us, I think we all agree. They pretend to laugh at us, but I think they actually fear us. They’re scared that we might just be as good as they are, and they can’t cope with that. The only way for us to secure women’s boxing is for one of us to take on a man and beat him. Then they will have to take us seriously. I now offer to challenge Mark Anderson."

This caused a commotion. Tanya was the women’s world champion, and Mark the men’s champion. There was much anxious "soul-searching" and some discussion among the committee as to whether to allow it. The only way to decide it was to put it to a general vote, which decided to let Tanya go ahead. Even so, there was a great deal of unease, and the women vowed to attend the match to give her as much support as they could.

As for the men, this threw them into disarray. Many of them favoured refusing the contest. Others argued that they would be mocked and scorned forever by the women, and that view eventually prevailed. After discussions between both women’s and men’s committees, it was decided to go ahead with a formal match for the Inaugural Mixed Boxing World Championship.

They had to hire the largest arena because interest, not to say fascination, in the match was so widespread. The women booked seats for themselves in one of the front rows and, much to their displeasure, found that the men had booked the front rows (there were more of them) immediately next to them, with an aisle in between. The women arrived early, and it was obvious they were apprehensive. While they were fiddling with coats, handbags and things, and all talking at once (as they always do), one of them noticed a woman looking nervously about her.

"Pammy!" The woman cried, "We’re over here!"

They all embraced and sat down. Then the men began to file in. They had obviously been drinking; some singing songs supportive of their champion, others making lewd remarks about individual women. Pamela noticed "Stinger" among them. He grinned and winked at her. She hastily turned her glance elsewhere, and was relieved that a sudden hush signalled the arrival of the fighters. Pamela realised that she was shaking slightly.

Mark entered the ring first and the speakers announced him, to male cheers: "The ‘Hitman’, age 24, fights 29, wins 29, knockouts 29."

Now it announced Pamela, predictably to female cheers: "The ‘Blonde Fist’, age 22, fights 24, wins 24, knockouts 24."

When the cheering died down, the crowd could see the contestants speaking, but couldn’t hear it. But it didn’t look as if they were saying "May the best one win." In fact, Mark remarked on Tanya’s luxuriant blonde hair, telling her, "I can’t believe I have to share a ring with a boxing Barbie!" Her reply was defiant: "Looks like you need a lesson in manners as well as boxing!"

Now the referee joined them and allocated them their corners, after repeating and elaborating upon what had already been announced about them over the speakers. Then she retired, and signalled the match to begin. Even the men in the crowd were silent. 

Mark threw a tentative left jab, which Tanya ducked under. Next he tried with his right, and she deflected it, replying with a firm straight right, which Mark evaded by leaning out of its path. Pamela glanced at her neighbour, Ruth, who looked as uneasy as Pamela felt. Looking back towards the ring, she put her hand up to her mouth in dismay – Mark had scored a hit with a left hook. It was a good point to score, being the first, and it looked as if it had Tanya in trouble.

Worse was to come. A straight right shot Tanya’s head back. She tottered uncertainly for a few moments, and fell onto her back. The referee began her ominous count. But Tanya was up after 7 and the ref asked her if she wanted to continue fighting. She said yes.

"I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing," Ruth remarked to Pamela. Pamela just shook her head. 

A clearly shaken Tanya signalled that she was ready, and Mark came in at her again. A straight right met her gloves, and Pamela breathed out with relief. A left from Mark was absorbed in the same way by Tanya. "She’s recovering," murmured Ruth, as Tanya deflected a straight right from Mark. But another straight left was only partially blocked by Tanya. It still had enough power to hurt. Moreover it drove her back onto the ropes.

Mark had set her up. A punishing straight right caused the ropes to sag as she fell back into them. Pamela began to cry. Ruth reached over and held her hand. Pamela couldn’t look, but Ruth saw Tanya fall for a second time.

"One – two- three," began the ref. "Give up Tanya!" Pamela whispered, "It’s not worth it."

"Four- five." Tanya used the ropes to get up. Once again she said she wanted to continue. "I’m not looking," breathed Pamela, staring at her shoes. Ruth decided to provide a commentary. "Missed. She dodged that one. Oh shit. Oh, no. Don’t look. I don’t think I’ll be able to look much more … She’s hit him, she’s hit him! Yeah, take that! Lovely punch, right on the chin! She’s a blonde goddess! Oh shit. No, go on girl, that’s right, hit him back! Oh, the bastard! Oh, just as she was recovering … no, she’s got him again! Bang on the jaw! Look at him stagger! He’s down! She’s floored him!"

Pamela brought herself to look and, blinking, indeed saw Mark lying on his back with Tanya, now appearing to be full of fight, glaring at him. He began to struggle to his feet, and appeared to wiping his face, eliciting taunts from the girls.

"Ah, poor baby, he’s crying!" One declared. "Did de bad girl hit him and knock him down den? Hey boys," she called over to the next aisle, "Look at your champ now!" Needless to say, they were unimpressed.

While Mark struggled to his feet, using the ropes as Tanya had done a few minutes earlier, she acknowledged the girls’ cheers, while keeping an eye on her opponent. He let go of the ropes, and started to stand freely – then received a left fist smack on the jaw. He tottered to his left; but Tanya snapped him over to the right with a hook. You could tell she was enjoying herself now. The girls were shouting encouragement, and it stimulated her to greater effort.

Pamela sat up, with her fists clenched as Tanya belted Mark with a straight left aimed from the side. She could see the look of satisfaction on Tanya’s face as her punch struck home. As he was still recoiling, she struck with a right cross. Satisfaction gave way to determination as she consolidated her advantage. She could sense him wavering. Her left fist powered into his mouth, and had him floundering, his arms flailing uselessly at his sides.

Tanya was picking her targets with ease. On her seat, Pamela swung her right fist in imitation as Pamela’s roared into Mark’s stomach. Mark buckled with it, vainly trying to absorb it. Her blonde hair waving, her statuesque figure taut with controlled energy, Tanya had him bowing in anticipated defeat while her fist buried itself in his stomach. Mark wretched and coughed; his thinking became confused; and he landed in a foetal position on the canvas. That was two knockdowns each, and Tanya was in much the better form after them.

The ref started to count, while Mark struggled against nausea. He overcame it, and was back up after 6, indicating that he wanted to continue, but still clutching his stomach. When he finally stood to continue, Tanya moved straight in and forced her right fist into his stomach. She’d created a vulnerable point, and she set out brutally to exploit it. Mark gasped at the sharp pain; then it seemed from nowhere, he was attacked on his right ear. The slender, shapely girl, with the Barbie doll hair had made his mouth look as if it had been stung by a wasp, and now she gave him a "cauliflower ear" with her left fist. She stood, in full control of her punch, while he swayed precariously.

Now she returned with the right fist, and helped him to the same punishment on his other ear. Increasing the pressure, she assaulted his stomach again, with her left. It was a low uppercut, and added to the general area of severe pain that he was enduring. She repeated the punch with her right. Mark’s mouth opened in silent agony. 

Tanya saw where victory lay, and pummelled Mark’s stomach again with her left. He was close to breaking, unable to withstand much more of the barrage. He mustered every defensive reflex he had to protect his stomach … and she punched him in the face with her right. It was a glorious straight punch, classical in its appearance. The magnificent woman, all female glory in her black leotard, punched the hapless man within an ace of defeat. He was on the ropes, his head back over them after the force of her punch. His back bounced against the ropes, then a second time; he couldn’t think properly again, and he felt as if he were falling asleep. He landed in a heap, his head actually outside the lowest rope.

The referee counted to 8, and once again Mark managed to stand. Once again, too, he said he wanted to continue. Many of the men in the crowd started to look away, just as Pamela had done earlier. Those that chose to continue watching now saw Tanya tear into him. She attacked him with a stunning straight right. Some of the men in the crowd who weren’t members of the boxing team, and thus impartial, delighted in the sight of Tanya’s sexy bottom pointing towards them, while her fist crashed against Mark’s face. They were disappointed when she altered her stance to punch his stomach again with her left. 

But everyone who wasn’t a member of the men’s team was thrilled with her next punch. A match-winning right uppercut shot Mark into the air, before he landed, unconscious, on his back. The girls and the neutral men in the crowd whooped and cheered as Tanya, the victor, stood over her oblivious opponent. She exuded sexuality in her triumph. She transmitted feminine power. She held her arms aloft in triumph, enjoying the applause and cheers, while the referee counted her opponent out. The girls cheered with renewed vigour as the ref gave Tanya the champion’s belt, and announced her the world’s new mixed boxing champion.

Tanya strutted around the prostrate Mark, and posed with one foot on him. The boxing men complained that she was "overdoing it", only to receive taunts from the girls. As she rested her foot on his chest, he began to stir. She put a little more pressure on his chest to gain his attention, and spoke to him loudly enough for the front rows to hear.

"You lost the fight, your unbeaten record, and your belt. Now you can lose your trunks!"

"Ref, ref, that can’t be right," shouted one of the boxing men.

"Come on ref, this is out of order!" Another of them complained as Mark’s shorts were whipped off.

Tanya now made him put his belt on, declaring it to be a "Loser’s belt". Mark, knowing what was good for him, acquiesced, telling her she beat him "fair and square". He stood up, with the belt on him, trying to conceal an erection, to the boxing men’s disgust. Tanya sniggered, and declared, "Here he is ladies, the defeated men’s boxing world champion, Mark, the "Beaten Man" Anderson!" The women guffawed; the men groaned.

Tanya made him get on his knees, beg for mercy, and call her "Champ"; and beg he did. He had had enough of being humiliated. But she forced his head onto the canvas with her foot, and made him declare her the champion of the world (as if the world didn’t know it by this time). He sobbed as he did it.

Once again Mark was on his back. Tanya stood, hands on hips, resting her foot on his chest, and declared that she thought she needed a new name. "What about Man Tamer?" She suggested, and poor Mark concurred, before she made him kiss and lick her boots. Then, ominously, she commanded him, "On your feet!"

The girls had their phone cameras ready, sensing what was coming next. Mark got up uneasily, swaying slightly. Tanya had all the time she needed. She had removed her gloves, and now clenched her right fist, drew it back, and smashed it into Mark’s mouth and nose, instantly drawing blood. "Nighty night, Handsome!" she remarked, as Mark fell back onto canvas for the last time.

The girls were weary with cheering by the time Tanya sat on his face to complete her victory, having her new name confirmed by the ref. When the cheering died down, one very determined young woman stood up, staring ahead of her, and walked towards the boxing men.

"No, Pammy!" cried one of the women, but Pamela took no notice. It was no distance to the boxing men and she reached them in a few paces, then pointed.

"Oi, you! Stinking Stanley! You’re next, with me. Any time you like!"