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Update: 18.12.2020

F-655 "The battered boyfriend"

Gallery size: 200 Full HD pictures

Mixed fighting freestyle, 200 pictures 1920x1080 (FullHD), no nudity, no blood.

James was shocked. A boxer himself, he had secretly never liked the fact that his girlfriend, Mylin, boxed as well. He could hardly tell her this, because they had met in a boxing club. But there it was, and he couldn’t help it. Yes, it was hypocritical, which was why he kept quiet about it. Until now.

Yes, he was certainly shocked. Mylin had been knocked out in her first professional fight by a woman called Ming Zhu, who was also in her first professional match. True, Mylin had fought a respectable match, and had managed to knock her opponent down early on. But the fact remained that it had ended with her being knocked out, and James was deeply unhappy about it.

What made it worse for him was that she took it so well. She spoke admiringly of her opponent, declaring her desire for a rematch, and took to training three times a week instead of twice as before. Now here she was again, packing her gloves and about to leave for the gym. James held up a restraining hand, and asked her to wait a moment.

"What’s the matter?" Mylin asked.

"It’s just that … well … ever since your match I’ve been uneasy about you boxing."

"Oh, have you?" she responded indignantly. "But I suppose it’s fine for you to box."

"I didn’t like seeing you get knocked out."

"Of course you didn’t. But you should be glad I’ve rebounded and that I’m determined to train harder."

"That’s just it," he replied glumly, "I’m not. I was hoping you’d take up another sport like – oh I don’t know – badminton or something."

"Ooh, listen to him! He wants to see me skipping around in a short pleated skirt."

"Well yes, what’s wrong with that?"

"Nothing, except that boxing is my sport and my passion, and I’m not going to give it up for you or anyone else. Although …"


"I’ll tell you what," she began, smiling slyly, "If you can beat me in a match, I’ll give up boxing for you. But if I win, I’ll dump as for my boyfriend, and continue boxing."

"I don’t know about that …"

"I do, and it’s a formal challenge from me."


"Here, listen to this," Suzie said to her boyfriend, Mark, reading about upcoming events in their town, "’Girl challenges boyfriend to boxing match. If he wins, she will give up boxing for him; if she wins, she’ll dump him and continue boxing.’ Wow!" She licked her lips. "Let’s go! It should be great! I hope she punches him all over the shop!"

This was a fairly typical woman’s reaction to the event. Men’s reactions were more muted. Many of them were uneasy about the whole idea. One or two had a sadistic fascination with it; some even a detached boxer’s interest, weighing up the possibilities of the match for those who knew the contestants. For the most part though, men agreed to go rather unwillingly, to please their wives and girlfriends. On the other hand, various parties of women booked whole rows of seats.

When the day of the match arrived it was sold out, and for miles around no one talked about anything else: men mostly shook their heads and muttered, while women said things like "Go on girl, get stuck in!"

That evening, the arena was fizzing with excitement. There’d been a fair amount of drinking beforehand, and the crowd wanted their money’s worth. Mylin arrived first, resplendent in a yellow leotard, with matching gloves and hair ribbons. She was greeted with roars of approval and encouragement. She declared her intention straight away: "I’m going to beat up James and knock him out in front of this packed gym." The cheering increased. Then poor James arrived, greeted with sporadic applause and a few cat calls.

"She looks sexy, doesn’t she?" Suzie said to Mark. He nodded. But she certainly did. Her leotard was cut high over the hips, revealing her glorious, proud, womanly curves. Her breasts were full and shapely, with the leotard hinting at nipples excited at the prospect of the combat to come. For there was no doubt about it: there was definitely a sexual allure to the idea of a male-female fight. The crowd felt it.

Mark and Suzie sat at the end of a row of seats, with the aisle steps to Mark’s side. In front of them was a row of girls who had obviously been in the pub beforehand, making ribald comments about James, and what they believed (and hoped) to be his dismal prospects at the hands of his girlfriend. Straight ahead of Mark sat a girl who looked like a secretary, the way she was dressed, in a smart skirt and shirt. She had seemingly gone straight from work to the pub with her friends, and now here. She was calling out to a few young man in seats across the aisle from her, who had also been drinking.

"Whoa, boys! Come to see the fun, then? That girl’s going to knock hell out of him!"

"What are you?" a rather morose man who sat opposite her over the aisle retorted. "A fortune-telling gypsy, or something?"

"No, but I’ve a feeling I could tell you yours, if you carry on."

"Yeah, yeah."

"This could get interesting," Suzie sniggered, nudging Mark.

The referee introduced the contestants, though she didn’t really need to, so famous had these two become. She retired, and left them facing each other. 

"I’m going to teach you a lesson," James murmured, so only Mylin could hear. "And when we get home, I’m going to put you over my knee and spank your peachy arse for daring to challenge me!"

"Can we just get on and start?" Mylin countered, "I’m not interested in empty talk."

"Suits me."

They touched gloves, and assumed a fighting stance. Silence fell, even among those who had been drinking, as the boxers circled. Each made a tentative feint, which the other ignored, on their guard for what was meant to follow. A glove was raised here, a head was jerked out of harm’s way there. For those who appreciated boxing, this was clever, subtle, probing and evasion. For those who wanted to see a good old-fashioned punch up, it got a bit boring. As those made up the majority of the crowd, it grew restive, and muttering started.

"Come on," someone urged them. "Get on with it," another one echoed. "Hit him," called out a woman. "She just has!" another one crowed, signalling the end of the phoney war.

No doubt about it, Mylin had just scored a good hit. Her left jab landed solidly on James’s chin. For a jab, it was a strong blow, and it disconcerted him. He had no idea she was that strong. His head jerked back, and his body followed, absorbing the blow. He needed to counter attack, as much to restore his pride as anything else. He searched for an opening - and a yellow glove nipped nastily in at his side. Mylin’s right fist found his kidney.

Those in the nearest seats noticed a look that was close to panic on James’s face, while Mylin’s was a study in concentration. He drew his body away, and tried to discount the burning feeling in his side. She, for her part, threw a merciless left hook. It cracked into James’s jaw, stunning him. Women in the crowd began to call out, willing Mylin to greater offence. She obliged. The girl planted a splendid right cross on her boyfriend’s jaw. Its effect was devastating.

James was knocked over like a skittle by his girlfriend’s punch. Her body followed his movement, more for the benefit of those taking pictures than for any gain to her cause. Because she knew she looked good. Those sitting behind were treated to the sight of her stretching away from them, her right fist having obviously despatched her male opponent,  while her round, strong and seductive bottom pointed provocatively at them. Those sitting facing her beheld her triumphant outstretched right fist, and their gaze followed the length of her arm back to her gently swinging breasts, with her nipples notably stimulated by the action.

Suzie glanced at Mark, and was astonished at his demeanour. He was pale, and seemed to be shaking slightly. She looked furtively around, and everyone else had their eyes on the ring, so she sneakily snaked her hand over Mark’s leg and probed the front of his trousers. Just as she thought, he was aroused.

"You never told me you had a fetish fo this sort of thing!" she whispered.

"I tried to keep it quiet," he replied."I felt embarrassed."

"Nonsense!" she declared. "We can have loads of kinky fun with it!"

In front of them the girl on the end of the row was taunting the young man across the aisle from her, inviting him to look at Mylin counting over James, laughing when she announced that he was getting beaten up by a girl, and claiming that he was crying.

"He’s not crying, he’s just wiping the sweat off his forehead."

"I didn’t know you could sweat from your eyes."

"This bird’s seriously pissing me off," he muttered to his friend next to him.

"Get up and fight bitch," Mylin jeered at James, still lying on the canvas. It stirred him to some movement, and he forced himself up before she finished counting to 10 (but not before she had done a lot of posing over him, for the benefit of the crowd).

Nevertheless James was beginning to feel better. "Come on," he told himself, "You’ve fought before, and you’ve been knocked down before. Sometimes you’ve gone on to win." He put his fists up and began to circle his smiling opponent. He saw an opportunity after Mylin feinted a left jab. Her face was exposed, and set up nicely for one of James’s favourite left hooks. He swung into the stroke. She leant back out of the way, and kicked him in the balls in response.

"Ref, ref, that’s not right!" shouted the young man who had been taunted by the girl opposite him.

"Nah," she responded, "It’s the only way of knocking sense into a man … blimey look at that!"

Mylin was standing on her left leg with her foot at James’s groin. She now pivoted on the same leg, swung 180 degrees, and backward-kicked with her right foot, smashing James’s chin. He shot backwards, but remarkably stayed on his feet; whereupon Mylin swivelled to complete the circle, and forced her right knee into James’s jaw.

Cheers, mostly female, broke out in the crowd. Those who had begun the match restless, now sat spellbound. (Whereas those who had admired the opening moves from a purist point of view, frowned at the "degeneration" of the match to a "mere brawl".)

James faltered. He was dazed, and stumbled blindly, lurching forward. It was a gift to Mylin, who at last brought her left kick into play, helping herself to the target of his hitherto uninjured right jaw. He blundered to his side, and she punished his back with her same foot.

"Come on ref, he’s on his knees," complained the young man. "She shouldn’t be kicking anyway in a boxing match."

"He’s not on his knees now, he’s lying prone, and she’s got him in a sleeper," the girl countered. "Great move!"

Many in the crowd winced as Mylin punched the back of James’s head. Then she reapplied the sleeper, and he went limp in her hold. She leapt up in triumph, and the crowd roared its cheers. She strutted and paraded some more.

"Down for the second time!" crowed the girl in the crowd, looking ahead, but knowing the sullen man opposite would hear. "Once again we have proof that women excel when competing with men!"

"She changed the rules as she went along!" he shouted.

"Variation, that’s all. She showed she could beat him at boxing when she knocked him down the first time. I can’t bear bad losers."

"And I can’t bear cheats, and people who support them!" he roared, getting to his feet, swaying slightly, before advancing into the aisle.

The girl jumped up (not easy, given the heels she was wearing), stepped into the aisle herself, drew her right fist back, and swung. No doubt it was an amateur punch. It had no proper aim, and could probably loosely – and generously- be called a hook. But it struck the man’s jaw. He seemed to fall back in a dream, before sprawling noisily on the steps. Security men swooped on the scene, got the man to his feet, and escorted both of them out.

"Let’s hope she doesn’t take on the security men," one of the girl’s friends said to her neighbour.

"She’s been known to."

Behind them, Suzie surreptitiously moved her hand to where it had been previously. "Hmm, you enjoyed that, didn’t you?" she giggled.

In the ring, James painfully stood up, "welcomed" by the confident Mylin. Bang! She went straight in with a left jab at his chin. It was an echo, though louder, of the start of the match. James’s resistance and resilience were weakened now, and he tottered unsteadily with her blow. For herself, Mylin sensed she was on the home run now. She struck with the right, but at the same target. In the closest seats, the crowd could make out the distress on James’s face, in contrast to the enjoyment on Mylin’s.

Ratcheting up the pressure, she punched with a left uppercut into his stomach. James responded with a howl of pain, and a step back. She increased the tempo with a low right into his stomach. He took another step back, and his body crumpled forward, around her fist.

The crowd sensed she was moving in for the "kill". They shouted encouragement as she smashed his jaw with a left hook. James resembled a drunk, disorientated and close to collapse. Mylin, on the other hand, could take her time, choose her target, and decide on the best way to attack it. One more punch should do it. Steady now …

Uppercut! James’s feet left the canvas. He seemed to stand on an invisible platform, 6 inches above the canvas for a moment, before landing back down on his right foot. He was going over. As with the right cross that first knocked him out, the girl followed his demise with her punch for the spectators’ benefit. They cheered themselves hoarse as the punctured male deflated to an ungainly heap on the canvas, and the triumphant female displayed her winning fist above him. Relinquishing the pose, she stood arms aloft in triumph. Yes, she had certainly given the crowd its money’s worth!

She started to count, and the crowd joined in, their voices raising in crescendo: "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten and you’re out!" They heard it in the streets outside and in the buildings opposite.

When at last they calmed down, Mylin declared that she was now single, and looking for a man she couldn’t beat up. She sat on James, conscious once more, and pinned him, repeating her ambition. Some wondered if she really meant it – she had obviously derived a lot of pleasure from beating up her now ex-boyfriend. Whatever, most men in the crowd privately thought: 

"Fuck that, I’m not taking any chances there!"

"Definitely not," they added silently, after she forced James to stand up, hold her fist up, and announce that she had knocked him out, that he was a "weak, little man" and she a "powerful, beautiful woman!"

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