Mixed fighting freestyle, 230 pictures 1920x1080 (FullHD), partially CFNM, no blood.

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Everyone in the ballet company liked Chantelle. The chorus girls did because she spent more time in their dressing room than hers, gossiping, and she liked to go out on shopping trips with them. The stage hands, technical crew and musicians admired her, because she would go out drinking with them, and behaved like "one of the lads", at the same time looking like a glamour model.

But no one was sure about her new dancing partner, Alfonso, who had been with the company a few weeks. True, he was a fine dancer, and popular with audiences. But he seemed to be one of those dancers who was arrogant, haughty and egocentric. Everyone agreed that he was handsome, and some of the chorus girls had tried their best to attract him. But he was a ballet snob, and thought of them as living scenery, to accompany his dancing. Anyway, he was used to getting any woman he wanted, and it showed.

Today they were having a technical rehearsal with the lighting crew, Greg and Joe. Joe was new to the company as well, and he was nervous about working the spotlight. He would be doing it for some of the performances, and the idea of this rehearsal was to get him used to following the dancing. The director, Vivien, wanted a spotlight effect on the movement, but he didn’t want it to be always directly on the dancers, explaining that he wanted "the play of light and shade, and a flickering effect on the characters". ("You don’t want much, do you?" thought Joe to himself.)

"I think you’ll be all right if you more or less follow us," Chantelle tried to reassure him. "By the nature of a spotlight following dancing, it’s going to be a little irregular, and that’s what Vivien says he wants anyway. So long as you don’t listen to Greg," she winked at him and Greg, "you won’t go far wrong."

"She’s a great girl!" Greg told Joe admiringly, as they walked into the lighting box. "Do you know, she got us barred from a pub once?"

"You’re joking!" Joe protested.

"No, I’m not. We were in this pub where there were also a lot of football supporters, who’d been watching their team play earlier. Somehow they found out we worked in a ballet company, and they started taking the piss. Chantelle walked up to the one with the biggest mouth, hit him so hard he fell backwards over a table, and a free-for-all fight started. The police arrived just as she was banging two of their heads together.

"But she’s so…feminine!"

"She is – but she fights like a man. Ok, when she gives us a thumbs up sign, that means they’ve turned the recorded music on, and it’s time to start. That’s it. Come on, do your stuff!"

*****

Chantelle didn’t like Alfonso, but she realised he was a fine dancer, and he made an excellent partner. So long as they both kept it professional, she could tolerate his company. 

But what about Alfonso? He considered Chantelle an inferior partner for him, but admitted to himself that she made up for it with her fabulous looks. He had never worshipped any woman, but even he sometimes gulped at the fullness of her breasts, her trim waist, her long, tapering legs, and her round, pliant bottom. He couldn’t get her figure out of his mind. He found himself wondering what she would be like in bed. (Most of the men did, for that matter, but they weren’t holding and lifting her.)

But he had work to do, and he must concentrate. When the music rose, he must lift her above his head, and hold her there for five bars. There you go! One hand held her by her hip, the other by her waist. Now the music was falling, and he must lower her, upside down. But there was that naughty bottom again. God, imagine that bouncing away in fun! It seemed to say, "Come on, have a squeeze!" Perhaps just one wouldn’t do any harm…

"You don’t want to do that, my son," Greg murmured in the lighting box, "she’ll murder you!"

Chantelle somersaulted onto her feet, twirled - and punched him full, hard and straight in the face with her left.

"Shouldn’t we go down and stop them?" demanded Joe.

"No, stay with them. It’s the best practice you’ll ever get. Anyway I want to see it."

The force of her punch had sent Alfonso crashing backwards into the scenery. She was on him instantly, plunging her right fist into his stomach. Joe and Greg could see him coughing and gasping at her blow, and Greg sensed what was coming next, with Alfonso’s chin jutting forward prominently. It was indeed a gift for Chantelle, and she blasted it with a left uppercut, causing the dancer to lose his balance, and to bang into the scenery once more.

"I love watching her fight," Greg said quietly, almost to himself.

"She’s wonderful!" agreed Joe, rather shakily operating the spotlight. "God, that was vicious!" he commented as Chantelle kicked Alfonso in the balls. They could see him howl, even though they couldn’t hear it.

She now sunk her left fist into the great man’s stomach. Cue more coughs and gasps. With him more or less pinned in position, she scorched his face with a left hook. As he lurched to his side, she made her mind up that he would go down with her next punch. She pulled him off the scenery, swung him into position, and blasted his face with a perfect right cross. Any pugilist from the days of bare-knuckle fighting would have been proud of that punch. It had the arrogant, proud, male dancer off his feet and flying for a few seconds, before landing in an unconscious heap.

"She can’t do that!" protested Joe, as Chantelle ripped Alfonso’s tights off him.

"I dare you to go down and tell her," Greg mocked him. "Here, he seems to be coming round.

He certainly was stirring. He seemed to be dreaming, but then things began to fall into focus. He’d lifted Chantelle, and held her as rehearsed; he had then lowered her … yes, his urges had got the better of him, hadn’t they? But she had dared to hit him! Not once, but several times! She had insulted his male pride by knocking him down and out too. And where were his tights?

"Come on Alfie," Chantelle stood over him smiling, with her fists clenched. "You can’t stay on your back all day! I’ve got a fight to win!"

"You took my tights off!" he got up in a fury.

"Yes, I did. If you grope a woman, you get everything you deserve."

"Whore! Agghh! Her right fist landed on his mouth. For some reason that he couldn’t understand, he discovered that this crazy fighting woman had given him an erection. Ignoring it, she informed him that she was going to show him how to treat a lady.

So saying, she got him in the eye with a left cross. He could feel his eye lid swelling up and throbbing (just as he was curiously elsewhere). The bitch had given him a black eye! He had to do something … ah, Christ! The ballerina’s right knee smacked up into his balls, at the same time as her right fist hammered his face.

"I don’t know about him," mused Joe, but I don’t think I can take much more of this."

"We’ll go for a beer afterwards, eh?" suggested Greg. "Cor dear, look at her tearing into him!"

A right uppercut had Alfonso in disarray. He was panicking. Wherever he retreated to, there was that damn’ spotlight on him, and that devil-woman at him again. He looked for somewhere to escape to, but everywhere around them was in darkness. Meanwhile her left fist had found him. It was a second, soaring, left uppercut.

It had him on the floor once more, but no sooner was he down, than she was hauling him back up again, intent on having another go at him. She got him where she wanted, and powered a second right cross into his discoloured, battle-scarred face.

"She’s got a lovely arse," mused Greg. "That pose could be made for our appreciation. Perhaps it is – she knows we’re up here, following the action." 

Certainly they had a remarkable view. The all-conquering woman was at full stretch, with the man falling away beyond her extended right fist, the spotlight catching a reflection from her painted thumbnail that was folded against the devastating weapon.

The punch would have had him over again, no question, had Alfonso not crashed into the props cupboard at the side of the stage. The props cupboard! Beside it was a passage leading backstage. If he could reach that, he might be able to blunder his way to escape in this bloody darkness.

Too late! He felt his wrist being grabbed, and he was swung centre stage again, with that fucking spotlight never letting up. Through his good eye, he could see his assailant. She held him by his right wrist, while she had her right fist clenched.

"Now, Alfie," Chantelle asked him quietly and calmly, while looking fixedly into his eye(s), "Have you learnt your lesson? You see what happens to you if you betray a woman’s trust, and treat her badly?"

"Fuck you!" he answered defiantly.

Defiance is all very well, but Chantelle’s blistering right uppercut had him sailing through the air again, before crashing down to earth moments later, once again on his back, but this time still conscious.

It would have been better for him if he hadn’t been conscious, because she dragged him up to his knees, held him steady by the wrist, and punched him yet again. He fell back, and this time she followed him down, practically lying above him. She seized his erect penis in her left hand, making him yelp, while clenching her right fist.

"You’ll never grope a woman again, will you?" Smack went her fist into his face.

"No."

"I didn’t hear that." Her fist banged into his face again.

"No!"

"Just to make sure, then …" As she delivered her last punch, even she was surprised at the result. At the moment of impact, she knocked him out and his penis erupted, still locked in her hand.

Well, a ballerina must conclude with a little dance, mustn’t she? So for the appreciation of the rather relieved spectators in the lighting box, she performed a short, dainty victory dance around the vanquished male.