Gavin avoided Stacy after she beat him at wrestling (Gallery 904). They had previously agreed to box the next day, and she had already booked the ring for it, but she could find some other mug to do that with now, he decided. He’d done his share. Without telling her he had changed his mind, he simply didn’t turn up. He spent the next few days relaxing on the beach (well clear of the tennis court), playing a bit of golf, lounging in the bar and – yes – doing a little womanising. 

This was what holidays were about – not getting up painfully early and wrestling with some bird who got turned on by it. Keep out of her way, boy. She’s obviously one of those hearty types who likes to plunge into ice-cold water at dawn, or climb a mountain, or some other nonsense.

"Got you!" exclaimed that same hearty type while he was leaning on the bar, grinning after he had told a dirty story to a group of lads there. "Well?" she continued, "Have you been avoiding me after I …"

"No, of course not!" Gavin boomed, laughing falsely at such an idea, desperate for her not to embarrass him in front of the lads. "Have a drink!"

"Thank you, I’ll have a mineral water, please."

"Okay, one decaffeinated, eco-friendly, carbon neutral mineral water coming up!" The lads guffawed at such wit, while a nervous Gavin wondered how he could keep the subject off the fact that she had defeated him.

"Well," she continued after he handed her the drink, "I thought we’d agreed to …"

"So we had, so we had! But you know how it is. You get led into bad ways by people like these" - he waved a hand at the others standing at the bar – "and before you know it, you’ve lost a day or two!"

"Hmm, well it doesn’t matter, because I’ve booked it again."

"Well, that’s great! When for?"

"Now. I saw you in here."

"Couldn’t be better!" he said joyfully, while feeling like a man about to undergo surgery. "See you later, lads!" (They made sly "under the thumb" gestures at him when she wasn’t looking.)

*****

"I don’t see why I have to be naked," he grumbled, once in the ring.

"Because you lost at wrestling," Stacy answered, gently persuading him. "We agreed, the loser would be naked next time."

"Did we?"

"Yes," (she lied).

Still, even Gavin had to admit to himself that she looked desirable in her "fighting leotard" – and dangerous. She may be slight of figure, but that slim body with its gentle curves was surprisingly strong, he knew. She also had the speed and agility of a lynx. He copied her fighting stance, and was taken aback when she suddenly burst out laughing. 

"What’s so funny?" he asked

"You. Your cock looks miserable!"

"Now just a minute … ow!" he yelped as she jabbed at his face. "What the fuck! I wasn’t ready!"

"Well, you should have been! Come ON! Fight back!"

"You’re not my coach!" he snarled, punching and missing.

"Well, you could do with one!" she retorted, avoiding another effort from him. "Mind you, paying for a coach would probably bankrupt you by the time you learnt to fight properly," she concluded, zipping to the side of a third attempt.

She was trying (and succeeding) to make him angry, laughing as she deflected a left cross with her arm. She had noticed how tired he got after some energetic dancing, and calculated that a few angry misses would do the same to him. She was right. 

After leaning out of the way of a right hook, she mockingly ducked under a follow up left cross. Gavin heard her murmur, "I wonder…" then jumped, as she sent sexual volts coursing through his body by touching his cock then his balls with the tip of her finger. 

"It worked!" Stacy laughed, gazing at the erection she had caused. I love the power a woman has over a man!"

That was too much for Gavin. Fifteen minutes earlier he’d been in his favourite environment, telling dirty jokes, and now this flirtatious bitch had humiliated and tormented the last shred of self-respect out of him. He charged at her, roaring vengeance, threw a massive right that went over her shoulder … and got a black eye for his trouble. 

"Now it’s my turn!" cried Stacy, sweeping him half round with a left hook. She was enjoying herself. It gave her a "buzz" to punch him and see him swing round with it. It was the same sort of satisfaction that you get when you see all the skittles go over when you’ve taken your shot. 

She landed a full-on right into Gavin’s chest. He certainly wasn’t enjoying himself! Why did he have to get mixed up with this sort of girl in the first place? Ah yes, her looks. But why couldn’t she be the sort of girl who spent hours in shopping centres with the other women, before joining him in the bar and then – who knows? Instead, he’d got himself involved with a tigress!

Stacy’s hard fist made an unpleasant hollow sound as it met the thin bones of his chest, sending flames of pain around his front. Leaning back from an ineffectual right hook of Gavin’s, she banged her left in at exactly the same spot. That just wasn’t fair, he thought. It felt as if she had just poured petrol on those flames. 

"Very well then," she seemed to communicate, "have one on the jaw instead." Her rising right cross whipped his head back, and he staggered a little with an effort to stay on his feet. 

"I’ve got to do something," thought Gavin, close to panic. He tried a body shot, but she skipped out of its path, as if she was on the dance floor again. And all the time she wore a smile that he found infuriating. 

"Oh dear, two black eyes won’t look very good in the bar!" she laughed, nipping in a short left hook at his erstwhile good eye.

"Bitch – ah, SHIT!" roared Gavin as she punished his jaw with a right uppercut, before making sure his recent black eye was a really good one, by hammering a left cross directly into it. 

Stacy plunged her right fist low into his stomach. He crumpled around it, vainly trying to absorb the new pain, then lunged desperately with his left. She saw it coming, slid to the side, and cracked his chin and jaw with another short left hook. Gavin’s eyes closed in fresh pain.

Evening things up, she smacked his opposite jaw with right cross, while nudging some sort of attempt with his right out of the way. It put him on the back foot, so she cracked him on the nose with a straight left, making his eyes water. This latest strike made him recall her words: "I’ll … bop him on the nose at the right moment." She wasn’t lying, was she?

In came her fist at his chest again. Sickened, Gavin found himself looking away, like a patient looking in the opposite direction when he’s having a blood test. But his open, silent mouth said it all. Desperate to counterattack, he threw his right at her; ducking, she shouldered it away while driving her left in with another low blow to the stomach. This time, a sound did accompany his wide-open mouth. It had as much despair to it as it had pain.   

A hostile right fist came storming into his jaw just below the ear, hurting as much through its distortion of sound as it did with the impact of Stacy’s fierce knuckles. He retreated, and she put him on the ropes with a masterly, imperious left uppercut. It would have sent him to the mat, no question, if the ropes hadn’t been behind him. Her fist soared gloriously into the air while he tumbled into the ropes, clutching the latest wound that she had inflicted. 

She had knocked him temporarily senseless, so by way of a change, she returned to her first love of wrestling and put him in a headlock.  With her arms locked around his neck and near arm, she had some fun dragging him around the corner of the ring that she had put him in. 

Always in favour of innovation, Stacy put her victim against the ropes and simultaneously pounded his chest with her knee while battering his face with her fist. Her free left hand pulled the back of his head into the path of her fist, to give it even greater power. 

Continuing the dual approach, she pushed her neat left boot into his balls while clawing his face. She seemed to be trying out new techniques on him now that her victory was certain. Gavin was there for her experimentation, like a rodent being observed by a scientist. 

But then came what surely must be the punch of the whole fight. Returning to the matter in hand, she sent him partly through the ropes with a beautiful straight left, bang on the chin. Again, it would have put him on his back if the ropes hadn’t been there. As it was, his head and shoulders shot between the top and middle ropes while his back was cushioned by the corner support. 

Gavin was punch drunk – indeed he had been known to get into a similar state that he was now in by drinking on Saturday nights. Just as then, if he fell over, he didn’t feel the pain as much as he would have done if he had been sober, so now, when Stacy right hooked him, he probably didn’t feel all that much. It just halted his "progress" to standing unaided by the ropes.

After that last punch of Stacy’s, it’s doubtful if he would have been able to stand freely anyway. But he did manage to get himself back up to the extent that he was able to hold onto the top rope with his right hand and the middle one with his left. Stacy gave him time to settle, then went over to him and placed one hand on his head and the other on his shoulder.

"I still haven’t forgiven you for jilting me the other day," she told him menacingly, before thrusting her knee up hard into his balls. 

He felt that all right! He let out a wail of agony after she delivered this last blow, that was as much insult as it was tactics, then sank to his knees, wallowing in self-pity. 

Stacy looked at him, hands on hips and a satisfied smile on her face, like a professional who was pleased with her work. Gavin dropped down to his front, unable to look at the pretty, dainty girl in the sugar-pink leotard who had brought him to the dismal, contemptible state that he was now in. 

Stacy couldn’t resist a little victory pose, placing her foot on his back, before walking off, delighted with her victory.