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black leotard femdom mixed boxing karate ballbusting fetish free story

Update: 19.11.2021

F-703 "Underground fight club"
Gallery size: 220 Full HD pictures

Mixed fighting freestyle, 220 pictures 1920x1080 (FullHD), partially CFNM, no blood.

Following the completion of her training at Glenlivet Castle (gallery 638), Julie was transferred to a secret unit. It specialised in covert operations, investigating the murky world of organised crime, which helped to finance terrorism. Its operators would infiltrate criminal gangs to gain information that, the military and police hoped, would lead to "swoops" and arrests. Julie was selected because of her courage, and her skills in unarmed combat. (Plus because of her looks, although no one dared admit that in these politically-correct times.)

The authorities knew of an underground fight club in the suburbs of London. Normally they would just "swoop" and close it down. But they also knew that it had links to other criminal organisations which generated a lot of money, some of which found its way to terrorist groups.  Intelligence told them that one Alec Riggins, known as "Bruiser", ran the fight club. He was a nasty criminal, with a number of convictions for assault; but what the military really wanted was information on the owner of the club. All they knew was that he owned other criminal concerns, and that he was responsible for the money laundering.

Agents had already managed to become members of the club, but what they really needed was a participant; someone who would deal directly with Riggins. An opportunity came when an agent reported that he was putting on "special nights" once a month, featuring women. The same agent had approached Riggins and told him that he knew of a woman who would be willing to take part. So it was arranged that Julie (to be known as Liz by Riggins) would visit the club to see him the next day.

What a dump it was! She preferred Glenlivet. Julie went down the steps to the basement, as instructed, and found a man in shorts having a go at a punch bag. When he saw her, he left off and "greeted" her.


"That’s right. And you are Mr - "

"I’m known as ‘Bruiser’."

"I see. Well I’ve come for my … interview."

Riggins laughed. "Love, the only ‘interview’ will be over there," he indicated an amateur, makeshift ring.

"That’s fine with me," she told him

First, just a couple of questions. You know what we do?


"Ok. Well I want women who aren’t afraid of a fight to put on a performance. Some men will pay a lot of money to watch a catfight. We pay well, and the longer you stay in the ring, the more money you get. We will also" – he lowered his voice, even though they were the only ones there – "pay 3 times the amount if you take part in our extra special nights."

"’Extra special nights’?" she hadn’t heard about them.

"You fight naked. You interested? We haven’t put any on yet, but we’re keen to start them."

Julie laughed. "Why don’t you see if I can fight first?"

"You’re right," he answered. "Let’s go."

She put her handbag down on a table, slipped off her shoes, and took her coat off.

"Phew," whistled Riggins, as he beheld her in her black leotard and tights. "You sure you won’t fight naked? With that figure, we’d pay you 4 times the rate."

"I’d like to try one thing at a time, please."

"Ok. Hang on," he said as his phone told him he had a text. (No "Sorry" or "Excuse me", Julie thought, but then there wouldn’t be with a man like him.  He spent some minutes sniggering and exchanging texts, keeping her waiting.

"Tell me," Julie began as they approached the ring. "Do you fight here?"

"Are you taking the piss?" he asked angrily.  "I’m the champion. I’m also in charge of security for the special and extra special nights. It can get a bit rough outside the ring, and the club needs men who can handle themselves to sort it out.

They climbed into the ring, and Riggins stood facing Julie. He placed his hands behind his head, and braced his stomach muscles.

"Now, don’t be shy, hit me."

"With pleasure," thought Julie. She smashed a perfect right cross into his face, and had the satisfaction of seeing him go down like a skittle.

"What the fuck - ?" demanded Riggins, sprawling on the canvas.

"Alec Riggins, you’re under arrest," she told him, bending down and grabbing him to make him get up. "But first, I want to ask you some questions. We’ll go and sit at that table."

"All right, all right," he told her, gruffly. "I’ll co-operate."

Julie let go of him, but he reacted by swinging a huge haymaker at her. She ducked under it and punched him hard in the kidney from her crouching position. That hurt him, she could tell. She stood back up, still giving him the option to leave the ring and answer her questions. But she could see fury in his face, and sure enough he fired a second punch at her. She leant back out of its path, watching as it took him to her right in his follow through, and helped him on his way, courtesy of her left fist on his jaw.

It almost had him over. He tottered, regained his balance – and crumpled around her right fist which had just plunged into his stomach. She had caught him unprepared, with no muscle bracing this time, and he stooped dangerously forward. It was a gift. Julie accepted it majestically, with a superb right uppercut. The ropes seemed to complain as Riggins fell backwards against them. They absorbed him though, and pushed him back again, into the path of her left fist which had been waiting. An uppercut landed on his chin, forced him to stretch the ropes again, and seemed to soar upwards in triumphant follow through.

Given his pain and bewilderment, Riggins thought it odd that he should notice the expression on her face. It was one of professional concentration. She was at work. She might be a librarian, carefully placing books on a shelf in alphabetical order. Or a lawyer drafting a letter. Or a doctor storing blood samples. He wished he hadn’t thought that. He always was a bit squeamish … 

Something was badly wrong. Why was he lying on the canvas? Who was that woman standing over and watching him? Why was he naked? WHAT?

"Where are my shorts?" Riggins demanded.

"I took them off you after I knocked you out," Julie explained. "Well you like to exploit women and get them to fight naked, so I thought I’d turn the tables on you. By the way, that’s a mighty erection you’re sporting! Are you one of those macho, brutish men, who has a secret fetish about a woman beating them up?

Julie was too professional to be taunting him for its own sake (although it was tempting). She was trying to "break" him psychologically so he would co-operate.

"Wouldn’t it be unfortunate if it became known among the criminal community that the great Bruiser got knocked out by a woman?"

"You’re trying to blackmail me!" he shouted, starting to get up.

"Did you say you were known as ‘Bruiser’, or ‘Loser’?" jeered Julie, realising he wouldn’t "break" just yet.

"Come on, you bitch!" shouted Riggins, putting his fists up – but too late, because she caught him with a lightning left cross, immediately followed by a right uppercut. She noticed his erection again, and it gave her an idea. She banged her right knee up hard under his balls, at the same time hook-punching him with her right fist. It was so effective – how could it fail to be? – that she did the same with her left knee and left fist, punching straight this time.

Once again, despite the searing pain, Riggins noticed her face. She was smiling now. She was relaxed and having fun, he realised in horror. From the corner of his eye, he saw her left fist approach. It was another uppercut, and it had him back on the ropes. First a right cross, then a left one had him "punch drunk" and swaying on the ropes, held up by his arms wound round the top one. 

Julie stroked him under the chin and admired her handiwork for a moment. "Well, you ARE in a state! But you’re still conscious, which is a nuisance. I want you unconscious because I need to look at those phone messages you exchanged earlier."

Riggins muttered a reply that Julie couldn’t make out. What with his swollen mouth, and his aching stomach and kidney it was difficult for him to speak.

"Sorry?" Julie laughed. "I didn’t hear any of that!"

With an effort, he managed to blurt out, "Please! Go read them!"

"Aw, that’s so sweet of you!" exclaimed Julie, as if he’d just given her a bunch of flowers. "But I’d prefer you to be unconscious, all the same."

"Oh, fuck," muttered Riggins to himself.

"Besides," she added briskly, hauling him into a police-style double arm twist, and moving him to the centre of the ring, "before today, I hadn’t knocked a man out for months. I so enjoyed knocking you out, that I want to do it again. Just to prove it was no fluke, and I haven’t lost my touch."

Once in the centre, she banged him down on the canvas, head first. Still maintaining the hold on his arms with her right hand, she punched him on the jaw with her left. Next, she let go of the double hold, and wrenched his left arm behind him, locking it in the crook of her left elbow and wedging it (deliberately?) against the pliant flesh of her breast. Then she punched the same place as before with her right first.

"Still conscious!" she observed afterwards. "OK, let’s see how long you can hold your breath."

Standing just behind and astride him, she seized his wrists and heaved him up into what could be called a "face stand". It had the same effect as face sitting (for both of them), and soon Riggins was struggling to breathe, while Julie indulged herself with the compulsory attention he was paying to her sex.

But he still didn’t pass out. Julie now twisted his right arm behind his back. Calling, "Come on boy, walkies!" she "walked" him on his knees to a corner of the ring. Once there, she pulled him upright and rammed his head into the corner post. That almost did it. He was on his knees in the corner, held up by her. She balled her right fist, and despatched him to oblivion in grand style. At last she could look at those text messages.

This was gold dust! It was a conversation with the man they wanted to track down. He was impatient to have the "extra special nights" up and running, she read. He asked what Julie was like, and she was amused to read Riggins’s reply: "She’s a scorcher!" Even better was the mystery man’s final text: "Keep her there. I’ll be with you in half an hour." That had been over 20 minutes ago.

From her handbag, Julie retrieved a small make-up kit and hurried back into the ring. Riggins was still snoring loudly, his erection as full as ever, she was gratified to see. She stood with her foot on it, posing while she repaired her make-up. A girl must look her best, she reasoned. After all, it’s not every day she becomes champion of an underground fight club!

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