The Bad Girl

Mixed fighting freestyle, 320 pictures 1920x1080 (Full HD), partially CFNM, no blood.

Stacy had a reputation of being a bit of a “bad girl”. She enjoyed upsetting the status quo, and she loved watching her friend, Lucy, beat up the young man in the boxing ring (Gallery 840), then joining in the fun at his expense afterwards. She and Lucy had joined the gym at the same time. They brought the number of women members to 5, and it was known that the gym manager, Mike, disliked women even being there. He claimed they were a distraction to the men (which was true enough) who should focus on their boxing.

From the outset, Stacy set out to irritate Mike. She chose to wear a leotard with a skirt attachment, and fooled around, giggling, when she was meant to be sparring. Having been brought up in a very rough neighbourhood, there was very little about fighting that she hadn’t learnt, but of course Mike wasn’t to know that. He wasn’t to know, either, that she had seen him box, and didn’t think much of his ability. All he saw was a flirtatious bit of stuff, making a mockery of his boxing gym.

True, even he had to admit she looked lovely in her navy-blue leotard, obviously carefully chosen to show off her striking dark hair, her large breasts, and her shapely figure. But, for heaven’s sake, this was a boxing gym, and not the place for would-be glamour models.

Mike “did his rounds” of the gym every day at the same time, and on this particular day (a quiet Wednesday) he stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw. That annoying little tart, Stacy, was standing beside the ring, painting her nails. This was too much, and generally known as “taking the piss”. He went over to her and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Excuse me,” he began.

“Oh, hello,” Stacy smiled sweetly at him, before lightly blowing on her nails, “how are you?”

“Fine. Look, can you not do that in here, please?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it’s a boxing gym, not a beauty parlour!” he blurted out indignantly.

Stacy sighed, looking at her nails. “They look good, though, don’t you think?”

“I -”

“- They look even better with a hard cock in my grip!”

“Okay, that’s it, you can leave right now,” he told her, working hard to contain his anger. “I’m not having that sort of talk in here.”

“But I’m not going to leave,” Stacy answered, calmly. “You’ll have to make me. In the ring. Now.”

“WHAT?” Mike demanded, unable to disguise his fury any longer. “Are you challenging me?”

“You’re not very bright, are you? Yes, I am. Come on!”

“You’re an annoying little bitch, and it’s about time someone put you in your place,” Mike told her as they squared up.

“And I’ve wanted to get into a fight with you ever since I joined, so come on, what are you waiting for?” Stacy answered him, insolently.

Mike thrust his left fist at her chin, but she batted it away with her right elbow. Was that a fluke, or was she quite skilled in defence, he wondered. He’d only ever seen her playing the fool, and it never occurred to him that she might be a good boxer.

Never mind, he thought, she might be a little faster with her right arm than he was with his left, but she couldn’t cope with his right arm. But she did. She tilted her body backwards, out of the way of one that was coming for her eye.

The next one, and she just looked enquiringly at him as his left fist swept past her. Now everything was obvious to Mike: just as a pool hustler will play a few poor shots to tempt his opponent into betting, she had pretended to be there just for girly giggling, when in fact she was an accomplished pugilist. He could see the concentration in her face, as she evaded another of his efforts, which went harmlessly over her shoulder.

He was beginning to tire. Whatever he tried, she either blocked or escaped. Also, he was getting angry and frustrated. Just once, she threatened him with what she was capable of, by flashing a high kick, broadside on, at his face. Other than that, she let him flail away with his fists at nothing.

At last, she struck. Her solid right uppercut gave Mike a nasty surprise, not to mention a painful jaw. It was the second time that day that she had stopped him in his tracks. Following up, Stacy plunged her left fist low into his stomach. God, that hurt!

Mike retreated, playing for time, but she was on him, exploiting the advantage she had gained. She knew judo too, he thought bitterly, when he landed painfully on his back after she’d thrown him up and over. Once again she was on him, literally this time, sitting on his middle and laying about his face with her fists.

Her left fist thudded into his jaw; her right punished his left eye, leaving its mark with a comical black bruise. Also, she had moved lower on his middle, so she was sitting on his manhood, inadequately protected by the thin material of his shorts. Was it deliberate? Of course it was! Playing her “bad girl” image for all it was worth, she tormented him by rubbing her nether regions against it with every punch. Not only that, her wonderful breasts swung violently as she punched him, as well.

Having decorated his face, she knocked him out. What would a “bad girl” do now? Yes, she pulled his shorts off. Then she stood over him, with her foot on his cock, irritating it some more.

Whether it was that or not, Mike started to come round. Stacy moved away to give him room to get up, mocking his black eye. Then, just for the hell of it, she pushed him back down with her knee and locked his right arm in the crook of her left arm. She proceeded to haul it behind her, making him cry out in pain, before heaving him upright and pushing him onto the ropes.

“It’s target practice time!” she called out cheerfully, knocking his head between the top and the middle rope with a left to his chin. Gone was the look of concentration – Stacy was enjoying herself too much, smiling broadly as she rocked his head with a second right uppercut.

Mike felt as if he was fighting for survival. This devil with the pretty face and curvy figure was tearing into him with such speed that he had no chance of counterattack. In she came again, with a burning left to the chest, dismissing his woeful attempt at defence. Her right fist homed into his ear, and his hearing went all foggy.

Then came a surprise. While Mike was still absorbing the pain and straining to hear properly, Stacy swivelled on her right foot and high kicked him on the chin with her left. The crushing effect of it proved that her earlier one had just been a feint, to keep him guessing, and his chin now swelled up and turned a grotesque colour.

He was in a corner, just where she wanted him. She came in at him with her fists again, her right to his jaw, her left – an uppercut – worsening the bruise under his chin. A right hook half-spun him along the ropes, before she tormented his chin again. Squatting down slightly, she hit him with a rising left that was straight on target (though it has to be said, the bruise was now so big it would have been difficult to miss it).

While Mike cowered in his corner, Stacy launched her right fist into his kidney. Molten steel seemed to course through his body from it. He struck out blindly, wildly, with his right, but she glanced it away with her right arm while plunging her left into his stomach. Mike groaned despairingly.

“Mustn’t neglect your chin after the nice job I’ve done with it!” Stacy announced, cracking her right fist underneath it. Then she got him, jaw and chin, with a brutal left cross. After that, it was one in the ear again, before hurling her right fist into his kidney, again from behind. Chin, ear, kidney: she was skilfully exploiting the injuries she had already created.

“How can a giggling girl be so strong and fight like that?” Mike asked himself, unaware for the moment that she had temporarily broken off the action. Despite himself, the idea of a very attractive young woman not just being able to defend herself, but to take the fight to the man, excited him. She had outfought him, no question, and was on her way to knocking him out …

Stacy was laughing at him and pointing. With horror, he realised she was pointing at a massive erection. Yes, he definitely found it exciting! He hated and loved the idea at the same time.

“Dear me!” Stacy exclaimed, humorously. “You naughty boy! Well, we can’t let that go unpunished, can we?” She proceeded to slap his face, left and right, several times.

The slapping re-energised Mike. Furious at being mocked, he fired a left cross. But in a repeat of the start of the fight, it hit nothing, because the evasive girl had slipped it once more. Then a right one was blocked by her. Flashing a further left at her, she both warded it off, and kicked him in the balls, inviting him to “have a bit more punishment where it counts”.

He crouched, moaning with the pain, and clutching his balls. But as if that wasn’t enough, he got a sharp womanly elbow in the right temple. The now sorry sight of a man stumbled back a pace, allowing his nubile opponent a tempting shot at his stomach with her right foot, broadside-on.

If Mike had been temporarily re-energised, Stacy seemed to have changed up a gear. She punched him, bullet-straight, plumb on the cheekbone with her left fist. The girl from the poor back streets, who had learnt to fight from an early age, was now the glamorous young woman who, about 10 minutes earlier, had been so carefully painting her nails. But she had forgotten nothing about fighting, and she hammered her opponent’s chin with a beauty of a right cross.

Mike, dazed by now, was unaware of her moving to his side afterwards; but he noticed soon enough when she bludgeoned that cheekbone again with her left. Then, knowing every vital weak spot, she swiftly kicked him on the inside of his right knee.

Sensing victory, Stacy fired a combination of body punches, kidney and stomach. In fact, the punishment she had meted out to his body – knee, stomach, kidney, chest, and, most notably, balls – was worse for Mike than the more obvious facial bruising and discolouring. On the other hand, she wanted to “make her mark” a bit more, so she banged a right uppercut at his jaw. She followed up with a left hook, catching his other jaw.

“Go down, you bastard,” she hissed, ramming her right knee into his balls while simultaneously uppercutting his chin with her left. Needless to say, he went down!

Stacy was the victor, and she now relaxed. She had worked hard and, as she saw it, deserved a bit of pleasure at Mike’s expense. Being Stacy, with her “bad girl” image, there was only one thing to do – well, two actually, as will be seen. Mike landed on his backside, and she followed him down, to kneel either side of his face.

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” she purred, stretching her body and linking her arms behind her head. “You may have trouble speaking a simple, articulate sentence, but you certainly know how to use your tongue in other ways!”

Stacy wallowed in this so much, she lay back fully, supporting herself on her hands. Then she put him in a head scissor (which was really more of a “face-scissor”), keeping him in place until she was shouting in pleasure. Allowing this to subside a little, she shifted position until she lay over him in the “69” position and took his cock in her hand.

Stacy chuckled, feeling his whole body arch, as she twined her fingers around his cock. She teased, fiddled and probed for a little while, before moving her hand up and down in the approved style, slowly at first.

“Aren’t my nails pretty?” she asked, pouting. “Don’t they look good, clutching your cock?” she continued.

She increased the tempo, gradually, then roughly, until she was working away as vigorously as she had fought.

“See, you like them!” she exclaimed, when Mike cried out and his body convulsed with his orgasm.

Stacy waited for each spasm to subside. Then she stood with one foot on him in a traditional victory pose. Being Stacy, this foot was on his cock. And being Stacy, she wiped the subsequent mess from her boot all over his face.