Celeste and her uncle, Josh, didn’t get on. She was staying with him because he lived near the College of Dance, where she was studying. But she was counting the days to when she would be moving out. So was he.

In many ways, they fitted the stereotypes of their activities: Josh was a boxer, and he came across as domineering and boorish. On the other hand, he found her "arty" and snobby. He was convinced that when she played classical music in her room, it was done to annoy him. (It wasn’t – she did it so she could practice her dance moves.) Then he would retaliate by playing popular music very loudly, and the crossfire between the two types of music was unbearable.

At first, Celeste had tried to respect Josh because he was her father’s brother, and she had no wish to cause friction. But she came to resent his attitudes. There was, for example, his assertion that the young men at the dance school were all gay. This she found especially annoying, because it was largely true – much to the disappointment of her and her friends.

This very morning, he had treated her to a lecture on why women couldn’t fight. Celeste had pointed out that dance taught a woman to anticipate the moves of her partner, which could be turned to advantage if that person happened to be an opponent, as well. Josh actually understood this, but he wasn’t going to admit it to her. Instead he had bored her with a diatribe about endurance, pain thresholds, and the need for an aggressive nature. Then he went to have a shower, leaving her smouldering with irritation.

With a sigh, she went to go to her room, tutting when she came across Josh’s clothes strewn any old how over the floor while he had his shower. Then a slow smile spread across her face. She gathered his clothes up (holding them distastefully at arm’s length), hid them, and waited for his response. It didn’t take long.

"Where are my fucking clothes?" he shouted up the stairs.

"I hid them," she replied down the stairs in her best schoolteacher style.

"Bloody give them back, you bitch!"

"Fight me for them," she challenged him.

"WHAT? You cheeky young … Right outside, in the ring, NOW!"

"Give me a few moments. You mustn’t hurry a lady when she’s deciding what to wear."

In fact she had made her decision, and she chose her daring dance leotard. It was black and gauze, which made a striking contrast with her long, flowing, blonde hair. She completed the picture with smart black, MMA gloves, thinking, "This will surprise him." She was right.

"Hey, where d’you get those?" Josh asked when she joined him in the ring.

"Mrs Jameson, my dance tutor, also runs the MMA club, after college hours, and she encourages her students to join it. She says the two activities complement each other. The gay men are useless fighters, though. We women are much tougher."

"Yes, well you’re not about to fight a gay man," Josh told her, pointing and towering over her by a good six inches. "You’re going to be fighting me, and I’m going to spank that pretty arse of yours for being such a superior bitch, hiding my clothes, and insulting me by challenging me. Now put your fists up!"

Celeste did just that, and after a few moments’ circling, Josh fired a right at her, which she ducked under. Frustrated, he lashed out with his left, but the flexible dancer leant back out of danger.

"Stand still, you bitch!" he growled, missing her a third time with an uppercut, and furious at her smile.

Then she gave him something to think about with an uppercut of her own. There was nothing wrong with it, Josh had to admit to himself. It wasn’t as powerful as many that he’d received in the ring against males of similar build and weight to himself. All the same, he wouldn’t want to receive too many like that one …

She got him with a jab on the jaw, rather more tentative than the uppercut. Josh sensed a certain restraint with the strike; moreover she seemed too satisfied with her progress so far, and appeared to be relaxing prematurely. Very well, he thought, sending his left fist crashing into her stomach.

Josh was a big, powerful man, and that blow really hurt Celeste. He also seemed to have a sadistic streak, and he grabbed a handful of her hair, while he glowered at her. Then he struck again, catching her on the jaw and chin with his left. She tumbled down, unconscious, to the canvas.

"Sadist" is one word to describe Josh as he walked around the lovely young woman, gloating at the pain he had inflicted on her, but a better one is "bastard". He picked up Celeste, who was beginning to stir, and placed her over his shoulder, fireman-style. Lowering her to be level with his waist, he raised his right hand, and proceeded to spank what he had called her "pretty arse". (He was right about that, if nothing else.)

"This is what happens to a naughty girl when she challenges a real man!" Smack. "This is for being a superior little snob!" Smack. "This is for punching ME in the face!" Smack. His spite increased with each blow, until he became drunk on bullying. Celeste instinctively tried to keep quiet, because she sensed any reaction from her would only spur him to greater effort. As it was, he tired of that, raised her up, then threw her down on the mat.

Celeste’s whole body seemed to jar when she landed; but of immediate worry was her glowering uncle roaring curses above her. He stood over her and glared down at her. It wasn’t anger that she saw in his eyes, but raw fury. In that state he was capable of murder. She had one chance, and she must not fail. Shaking from both fear and her recent ordeal, she carefully waited until he had moved close enough to be a target – but also a danger. Then she kicked. Josh’s roar of pain was a testament to her aim, and she scored what could be called a "ballseye".

Seeing him unexpectedly flounder, she pivoted on her right hand and kicked him in the jaw. Then she leapt up and punched his other, left jaw. She had him in retreat. She went from last-ditch defence to assault, and got him square on the chin with a left cross. She leant right into the punch, so that her "pretty arse" pointed back as her fist surged onward. 

Turning away from her by now stunned opponent, Celeste swivelled on her left foot, and super kicked, catching Josh on the exact spot where she had just punched him. Her kick ought really to be called a "dancer’s kick", the elegant and seemingly effortless way that she executed it. But while it looked graceful, it was ferocious, and she caught with satisfaction the pain on Josh’s face just before he fell back and landed on the mat. 

"This is what happens to a real man when a naughty girl challenges him," she gloated, with her arms raised in celebration. "The superior little snob knocked the big man to the mat, didn’t she?" she continued, walking around him. "Ah, did the girl with the pretty arse beat her uncle up, den?" she mocked, as he recovered and got up.

Josh ignored her, but she could tell her needling had goaded him from his body language.  He raised his fists silently, but scowling, and she responded. They circled, Josh inadvertently showing her much more respect than hitherto. Then he kicked. It was a lumbering, grotesque parody of Celeste’s earlier super kick. If hers had been a dancer’s kick, his could be called a labourer’s kick, and she was able to ward it off easily with her arm.

"It’s all about keeping strict tempo, Uncle Josh," she told him, repeating her previous schoolteacher style. "Now with me, one, two, turn and KICK. You see? I’m giving you a free lesson!"

Josh reeled as she showed him how it should be done, and her foot crashed against his head. He staggered back a few steps, but she went after him and caught him on the jaw with a right cross. She seemed to alternate with ease between the dance studio and the MMA ring – which, of course, was how she spent five days a week, dancing during the day, then training and fighting in the evening.

Celeste focussed on Josh’s face and head, following up with a left cross to his other jaw. She had to duck slightly to avoid a laborious, unconvincing right hook from him, but planted her fist nicely on his exposed, unshaven face.

Her long blonde hair waved in the breeze as she punched her uncle on the chin again. Her attack was relentless, and she had him in retreat. Josh yelped in pain as his niece’s fist struck home. His head recoiled and his back arched with the blow. She was at full stretch with her work, and her leotard strained to hold in her pretty, medium-sized breasts.

Celeste surprised him with a sudden change of tactic. She kicked him just to the side of his right knee, catching the exact spot to make his leg "die". With another shout of pain, he fell, but managed to steady himself with his hand on the mat. On the other hand, he couldn’t defend himself in this position, and Celeste was in full flow, sensing victory. She punched downwards, banging her fist into his jaw.

Josh was down on one knee now, so she got him on his other, left, jaw. He still didn’t fully go down, and again she surprised him. She broke off her onslaught, and allowed him to get up again. He couldn’t understand it. She had got him where she wanted him, but now she was letting him get up? It made no sense. But then her left foot smacking into his mouth and nose gave him the reason. Rather than pounding him when he was on the mat, she decided that she could force a conclusion more quickly by letting him get up and resorting to kicks. A chilly feeling around his mouth and nose told him he was bleeding – and bleeding copiously.

Celeste was merciless. She had shocked and disorientated Josh with that kick, and there was no fight left in him. She had leisure to choose her target, and she chose the balls. Her right foot shot into them, drawing blood again, and he let out a howl of agony. He doubled over, clutching his wounded manhood. Once again, Celeste helped herself to his face with one of her fists. He left hook clanged loudly into his ear, and he dropped to the mat, receiving a bang on the shoulder from her knee on the way.

The stricken boxer was vaguely aware of flesh on either side of his neck. Then he felt himself being raised by that neck. His hands were barely on the mat, as Celeste’s standing head scissor extracted the remaining consciousness from him.  By her smile, she looked as if she was relaxing; but she wasn’t at all. She was on tiptoe to make it as painful as possible for Josh, while her strong dancer’s thighs did their work, gripping his neck.

It wasn’t long before she felt him go limp. She relaxed her hold, and he flopped down, oblivious to everything. Celeste briefly celebrated, with her foot on his bloody face, before leaving the ring, happy but resolute. She had a phone call to make, which would enable her to move out of the house there and then.