"Hi, you’re listening to Radio Sympathy, and I’m Sympathetic Sue, your host for the next hour. This is a new programme for ladies who think they have a problem in their lives. I’m here to listen and hopefully find a solution. So why not make a cup of tea, put your feet up, and give me a call? We have a caller on the line now! It’s Shirelle, from Downhearted Market. Shirelle, what can I do for you?"

"Hi Sue, well it’s my boyfriend …"

"It usually is!"

"[Hollow laughter.] You see, he goes out with his mates every Friday night …"

"And what do you do?"

"[Impatient sigh] I might go out with the girls, see my parents or whatever. The point is, he nearly always gets into a fight and I don’t like it. I’m worried about it. I …"

"Don’t cry, I’m here to help. Now, have a sip of tea, or something stronger if that’s what you like. That’s better, isn’t it? Okay, does he get any injuries?"

"Oh, yes! Eye, sometimes both, ear, nose, you get the picture."

"And what a charming one you’ve painted. Tell me, does he always say the other man came off worse?"

"Every time. How did you know?"

"He’s a man. Okay, well I may have a solution for you. It’s quite clear that you need to rid him of his male aggression. Now, I bet he wears his black eye or whatever like a badge to be proud of, yes?"

"Oh, yes!"

"How do you think he’d feel if it had been a woman who gave him that black eye?"

"[Laughter.] I think he’d go into hiding."

"Exactly. He’d be meek and subservient. I advise you to send him to the femdom gym."

"Oh yes, I’ve heard of them."

"Give them a ring, tell them your problem, and they’ll do the rest. Let me know how you get on."

*****

The Femdom Gym did indeed "do the rest". They provided Shelly, a young woman who liked nothing better than to tame a man like Zack, Shirelle’s boyfriend. 

"Ah, so you’re the creep with the ego problem," she greeted Zack when he entered the ring, naked according to the rules of the gym. "You’re the big macho man, aren’t you?"

"And what – or who – are you?"

"I’m the lady who’s going to cure you of your arrogant male swagger."

"You’re rather self-assured yourself."

"It’s my job to be, whereas you’re just a selfish yob, who never gives a thought about your girlfriend who worries about you."

"She’s all right."

"Not with you as her boyfriend."

"Bitch!" Zack exclaimed, running at Shelly in a fit of uncontrollable temper.

"Ooh!" she laughed mockingly, darting nimbly out of the way, before clocking him hard on the chin with a left cross. She loved the look of shock on his face!

She gave him no time to recover, but tore into him with a right hook. His head rocked to the side, while her large breasts swung with the movement of her fist.

This was appalling. Zack had allowed himself to be hit twice by a girl. He fired a straight left at her, but infuriatingly she zipped out of the way, and it went harmlessly past her left side. He stumbled, following through, so she helped herself to his jaw close by, banging it hard with her right over his shoulder. 

He made a similar attempt; she elbowed it out of the way while swinging her right fist up at his chin. The panicky realisation was dawning on him that he was a back-of-the-pub brawler up against a professional boxer. The fact that she was a pretty woman with a figure like Venus made it ten times worse. 

She came in at him with a sharp, swift left to his side. The pain in his kidney was indeed sharp, before turning into a dull ache, made worse every time he made a movement. He had cause to remember that punch, in particular, days afterwards. As he retreated a step, she got him on the jaw with a full-on right cross. Everything about it was immaculate: balance, poise, execution.

The fact is she was at work. A punch, to her, was what a paragraph was to a journalist, or a bookshelf to a carpenter. It explains the look of calm concentration on her face, which contrasted with Zack’s increasingly wild look. When he threw a wayward right that she scarcely had to avoid, you could see her weighing up how his aim and stance had deteriorated in a fairly short space of time.

In response, she clipped him across the face with a sweeping right that was half uppercut and half hook. He winced as her powerful fist thrust his face to the side for a second time. With more than a hint of desperation, he swept his right fist round in an arc. It was simple to avoid, and Shelly crouched slightly while drumming his chest with her left fist. 

She saw how much that hurt, so she immediately struck the same place with her right. Leaning right into the punch, it was even harder than before, and she could sense him starting to suffer seriously. 

Yes, this was the best way to wear him down. She intended every breath he took to hurt. Every punch he swung must cause him pain. Even every step back in retreat should be painful. So when he flung his right at her, she warded it off with her right arm and bent down (presenting some lovely camera angles in the footage) and uppercut him viciously in his soft underbelly.

It was the cruellest blow of the three. Her fist made an obscene sound as it landed, going deep into his vulnerable abdomen. He doubled up, folding over it, vainly trying to absorb the pain. 

Zack was still bent over, feeling sick from the raging pain in his gut. If only he had thought about it – or been able to think about it – he would have realised it was a shocking position to be in. He was offering himself as a target to the lady whose fists had already caused him considerable damage. 

She caught him on his exposed jaw. Aiming downwards because of his stoop, her right fist rushed at its target. To Zack, it felt as if the impact was an explosion. Shelly smiled slightly when her fist struck home, as if to say, "I love my job!" 

Zack learnt his lesson – well, that one, anyway - and stood up straight. But where was his defence? To say nothing of any attempt to counterattack. Perhaps she had already partially dazed him, so he wasn’t thinking straight. Whatever, you don’t stand up unguarded in front of someone like Shelly when she’s in work mode, and she punished his folly with a glorious left uppercut. 

They don’t call it the femdom gym for nothing! If you want to see a woman besting a man, just look at that uppercut. Her fist had him in disarray. His head shot up and he comically ran backwards to the ropes, which pushed him back. Back, that is, into the path of Shelly’s right fist. It caught him splendidly on the temple beside his left eye, and he dropped to his knees, bewildered, and still clutching his stomach from when she had earlier hit him there so effectively.

Shelly watched him intently, satisfied with her work so far, and waiting for the moment when he should try to get up. When he did try, her left fist stormed into his jaw from above and he collapsed onto his back.

Shelly walked, fists still clenched, around the male opponent that she had just put on his back. She knew exactly how to goad him into a response. She didn’t say anything, there was no gloating. She just ensured that his eyes followed the proud female walking around him. Then she stopped with her back to him. She put her hands on her hips and looked over her shoulder, as if to say, "Well, I knocked you down. What are you going to do about it?"

Zack got up threatening revenge, as she knew he would. He roared insults at her, but what were they worth? She had just inflicted a far worse insult on him. She knew that his male pride demanded retaliation. But she sensed that he was also scared to make a move, despite all his bluster.

She turned to face him, and he fired a furious right cross. She crouched out of the way. Her measured, careful defence enraged him more than any jibes would have done. Apoplectic with rage, he hit out with his left. Still crouching, she nudged it off course with her left arm and, with a slicing motion, caught him on the jaw with her right fist.

Not again! Zack roared in pain and frustration as the wily woman once again outsmarted him. He lunged with his right, but she dropped down low and it went over her left shoulder. When he fired with his left, Shelly side stepped it, looking thoughtfully at him as he went past as if to say, "You’ll have to do better than that." 

To illustrate the point, she punched him full on the jaw. Her right fist might just as well have said, "That’s how it’s done." Zack’s left jaw had taken a lot of punishment by this time, and he swore foully at this latest blow. 

He was on the wane, she could tell. She had knocked him about so much that he couldn’t take a lot more.  It was easy from now on, and she was able to pick her targets. Her first one was his left eye. After all, if his girlfriend had paid good money for him to be tamed in the femdom gym, she needed to be able to see some results, and what better one was there than a nice big, fat black eye? 

His eye closed over and he crouched, raising his fists too far apart for a proper defensive stance. So Shelly banged one down over his left arm and got him on the jaw AGAIN. Oh, that was too much. She was close to bullying him now.

Aiming for where he was most vulnerable, she got him low in the stomach again. It was so low, in fact, that it was only just above his manhood. He had been clutching his stomach when she knocked him to his knees, and the earlier pain now flared up worse than before. 

Possibly looking to clinch, Zack approached her; she sent him back again with a rising right cross to his "good" jaw. His head jerked sideways and he took a few involuntary steps back. Shelly followed and, forsaking all the decorum of the boxing ring (what was left of it), grabbed his balls. She held him by his left wrist as she did it, but she didn’t really need to, because the intensity of the pain temporarily paralysed him.

Zack held his balls, wailing in agony and self-pity. Shelly steered him back to the ropes by his head, where she forced him to stand upright. Holding him by the throat with her left hand, she brought her right fist back ominously, for what they both knew must be the ultimate, match-winning punch. The only question was, where would it land?

His balls. He let out one last despairing, agonised howl, and slid down the ropes, once again clutching his balls. He had lost, that was obvious to both of them. Shelly had destroyed his male pride, and he shed tears of shame as much as pain. The worst of it was, she seemed to feel sympathy for him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He had never asked for a woman’s sympathy before, only admiration, but who would admire him now?

On the other hand, thought Shelly after a few moments, she had done a good job, which she would be handsomely paid for. She had beaten up a male bastard and yes, it felt good. Time to celebrate!