Mixed fighting freestyle, 210 pictures 1920x1080 (FullHD), no nudity, no blood.

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Jane couldn’t be said to like her job, but it was well paid for that type of work. She ran a busy, popular bar, and she ran it well. It was fairly sleazy, and the owner insisted on all the staff being attractive women (though he couldn’t advertise jobs specifying those things), and that they wear swim wear or leotards while serving customers. As it was in a coastal resort, that was considered fair, and even a bit of an advertisement for the town’s tourism.
 

There was a lot of respect for Jane, both from the customers and the staff. She was 25, and she ran the place efficiently and pleasantly, but dealt with any problems instantly. If there was any trouble, out went the troublemakers, and it was Jane who saw to it. If a staff member was dishonest, she soon found out, and got rid of them. The owner was pleased; the place earned a fortune in summer, and did reasonably well as a town pub in the winter.
 

But there was one major downside, and he was sitting at one of the tables after closing time, with a last drink. He was Ryan, the owner’s son. It had been a dance night, and the bar had been largely cleared for dancing. But at this time of night it was always the same: the other staff would go home, and she would be left to cash up. She didn’t mind that – what she minded was Ryan sitting there watching her all the time. 
 

The worst of it was that when he did any work behind the bar, he was lazy and drank more than her served. This was what happened when Jane had a day off. When she was on duty he would just sit there, observing and no doubt taking notes. All the staff knew he talked about them to his father.
 

Tonight Jane was especially angry with him, because he had got his father to fire the best member of staff she had, Laura. All the girls knew why – he had groped her in the store room downstairs, and she had hit him after giving him a warning, which he ignored. To his father he said he had seen her giving drinks away. This had been when Jane had a week off, and she came back to find the money all wrong, the stock short, and the fastest, most reliable member of staff gone. 
 

The girls had a problem with his "wandering hands" and tried not to go anywhere singly when he was around, though that wasn’t always possible. Jane was about the only member of staff he hadn’t groped, in fact. He wouldn’t dare! He’d seen the way she dealt with anyone causing a fight, and he didn’t fancy any of it for himself. She was brutal!
 

On the other hand, he’d had a lot to drink this particular night, and she was very attractive. It’s odd how they were both thinking that same thing. Ryan began to wonder why he hadn’t really noticed Jane’s charms before: her full breasts, her trim waist, long shapely legs, and splendid round arse. For her part, Jane thought she’d love to get into a fight with the creep who had got Laura fired. Now if she could just get him to grope her …
 

My word that stain was difficult to remove on the bar top, right next to where he was sitting! Try as she might, Jane couldn’t shift it. She rubbed the area vigorously, pointing her delectable, bottom at Ryan, who sat inches away. How that bottom swung to and fro to the rhythm of her actions! How desirable it was! Actually no, it was irresistible. Ryan had never seen a rear that so demanded to be grabbed. He reached out and sighed as his hand made contact … and swore as her sudden punch knocked him out of his chair, and had him running a few steps, just to avoid falling. The instant loss of dignity enraged him and amused Jane.
 

Ryan steadied himself, furious, and holding the jaw which had just been struck by Jane’s fist. For her part, she stood calmly with her fists raised, waiting for his move.
 

"You fucking bitch!" he shouted. "I’ll get you fired for that!"
 

"Ah yes," she answered disdainfully, "that old ruse. You get hit by a girl, and you go running to Daddy to get her fired. It may have worked with Laura, but –"
 

"That’s a lie! I saw her giving drinks away! How do you know anyway? You weren’t even here!"
 

"Haven’t you heard of texting? Don’t you think the girls ever send me a message? Oh, they were full of it! I’ve seen pictures of you wearing dark glasses to hide your black eye!"
 

"I had a stye!"
 

"Of course you did. I wish I’d seen what happened. Laura said she only hit you once, and you burst into tears."
 

"That’s another lie!" (It was too, but she was trying to provoke him.)
 

"Well it’s what the girls all say as well, and the regulars. How must it feel? You spend so much of your time here, either drinking or, er, ‘managing’ when I’m not here. How must it feel, knowing the staff and a lot of the customers are laughing at you behind your back, because Laura gave you a black eye and made you cry?" She laughed.
 

"I’ll kill you, you bitch!" 
 

That was all Jane needed, and she struck first with a left cross. It sent him tottering backwards into the bar, which saved him from falling.
 

"That’s the bit I just cleaned!" she reprimanded him, before burying her left fist in his stomach. Ryan gasped with pain, clutching his stomach. It left his chin dangerously exposed, so she crouched slightly before belting it with a right uppercut. Again, he staggered backwards; but this time it was Jane, reaching out and grabbing his right arm which prevented him from falling. How ominous both her smile and her clenched right fist looked!
 

She plunged it into Ryan’s stomach. It followed the same pattern as the previous punch to his stomach, with him stooping forward. So it was time for her speciality – a left uppercut. On this occasion there was no furniture in the way, and his feet left the floor.  For a moment he was in mid-air, before sprawling in a painful heap on the floor. 
 

He rolled over, stood back up, and seized a nearby chair, threatening Jane with it and feinting moves. She tensed, and waited. Now came the blow, it was obvious: he swung it to his right, to score a huge hit on the return; Jane darted in and thundered her right fist into his exposed left ribcage.
 

Ryan yelled in pain, dropped the chair, and turned towards Jane – whose right fist arrived full, hard, and straight in his face. It was a superb punch! There she stood, the epitome of glorious womanhood, while the man fell away before her outstretched fist, and slammed into the bar for a second time.
 

Panic forced him to ignore the pain in his back and shoulders. He looked desperately for some means of escape or a weapon; and there, within easy reach, was a bottle on the bar. He grabbed it, and made zig zag moves towards Jane with it, both to intimidate her, and to play for time while he planned his strike. She retreated a step, and he smiled, brandishing it and advancing. He drew the bottle back, preparing the blow – and she dropped to one knee, half-turned away, and slammed her elbow into his groin.
 

Ryan roared in pain. But he still clutched the bottle; and Jane, crouching, parried the blow that was coming with her left hand, while clenching her right fist. Then she sprang, and her fist angled into his eye. He dropped the bottle (which didn’t break) and lurched towards his right, so she restored the equilibrium with a left hook.
The bar! The idea came to him as he staggered from her blow. If he could get behind it,  there were all sorts of things to hand – bottles, knives and glasses – so he made to jump up and over it. But Jane saw what he was up to and grabbed his shoulder, turning him round to face her, and pushed his back against the bar with her right hand, meanwhile clenching her left fist.
 

It was another uppercut, and it would have had him down without question, had not the bar yet again supported him. His face was such a target, still leaning back over the bar, that she crunched another right cross into it, every bit as good as the first. She admired her handiwork for a few moments. He was in a bad way, swaying like the drunks at closing time, she thought. Smiling, she grabbed his collar and led him away from the bar, to give herself plenty of room. She stood for a moment longer, left hand holding his shirt, right fist clenched.
 

Then came a final uppercut. Once again, Ryan was in the air for some moments before hitting the floor. But, dammit, he wasn’t unconscious. Jane took hold of his collar again, pulled him up to a sitting position, and punched. But he still wasn’t unconscious! It would have to be the traditional sitting on him and belting him, left and right, there was nothing else for it.
 

Ryan’s head fell away from her final punch, and he gave a slight snore to confirm that she had knocked him out. Jane instantly made herself the most expensive cocktail on the drinks menu, charged it to Ryan’s account, drew up a chair, and sipped it daintily through a straw, resting her crossed feet on his groin.