Girl with the Golden Gloves

I never intended to join a Boxing Club while I was at University. The only boxer’s name I had heard of was Mike Tyson, and if someone had asked me what he did, I would have had little clue. My guess would have been he played Rugby!

Fifteen years ago, very few women boxed, and I had as much interest in the sport as I did in the technical working of the inside of a ping pong ball! It was not my scene.

It was a chance meeting with Dennis that changed everything.

‘Did you enjoy the group session you engaged in last weekend?’ he enquired genially as we walked between lecture rooms one Thursday afternoon.

‘Yes, thank you,’ I replied honestly, ‘but I felt the guys slapped my face a bit too hard. It’s still tender now.’

‘How come?’ He questioned.

‘I gave them a few too many liberties,’ I responded, ‘I should have stopped them slapping my face when it first started to sting.’

‘You should have rolled with the slaps,’ Dennis countered.

‘I couldn’t roll,’ I explained. I was tied to a chair.

Dennis laughed at my stupidity. ‘I didn’t mean rolling along the ground, Rachel.’

‘Oh?’

‘No. I meant moving your head in time to the slap. Like boxers.’

‘Do they slap each other,’ I asked naively.

‘No, of course not; they punch each other, but they roll when the punches hit.’

As I reached my lecture room, I was still none the wiser to what Dennis was trying to tell me.

‘I’ll speak to Alistair for you, Rachel. He’s a member of a local Boxing Club near here.’

With that, he disappeared along the corridor, leaving me wondering who Alistair was and what boxing had to do with anything.

A few days later, answering a knock on the door of my halls of residence, I found Denis standing there with another young man about my height.

‘This is Alistair,’ Dennis beamed as I allowed them into my little room.

‘Hello,’ Alistair said, introducing himself, ‘Dennis has told me you’d like to come to the boxing club?’

‘Has he?’ I responded in surprise, looking at Dennis. ‘It’s the first I know about it.’

‘Oh,’ was all Alistair was able to reply, obviously a little crestfallen.

‘I think I told you that Rachel wants to learn how to roll herself when she’s playing naughty games with the guys.’

‘Do I?’ I answered still none the wiser as to what Dennis was talking about.

It took both guys about thirty minutes before I started to understand what it was to ‘roll’ when boxing and why Dennis thought learning the technique could be helpful during some of my ‘fun’ times.

Two days later, I accompanied Alistair to the local boxing club he had joined.

My head was in a state of total brain drain as we entered the building together. Alistair had hardly drawn breath in his car as he tried to educate this raw recruit about Bantumweights, Featherweights, Welterweights, Cruiserweights and Heavyweights, only the latter of which I could envisage. Then he tried to explain Undercuts, Uppercuts, Southpaw’s, One-twos, Kissing the canvas (Which I took literally) and Bobbing and Weaving. To this twenty-year-old from the hills outside Edinburgh, he may as well have been talking in Martian.

We walked into the run-down looking converted chapel. Inside were two ‘rings’ where young men wearing giant mittens were trying to hit each other. To the side, another man in his mid-twenties was pummeling a large red elongated tube hanging from the roof as others looked on.

Almost as soon as I walked through the door, the place went silent as eyes turned in my direction.

‘Hi Alistair,’ someone called out, ‘Brining your girlfriend for a bit of knockabout?’

A couple of others greeted my appearance with wolf whistles.

‘She going to take up boxing?’ another enquired, ‘I’ll bet she looks good in shorts and crop top.’

I smiled rather coyly at the various questions and inferences cast in my direction.

‘This is Rachel,’ Alistair said, introducing me to the man who was obviously in charge. ‘She wants to learn how to roll?’

‘Really? In the ring or in her bed?’

‘Ha, ha,’ Alistair laughed in an embarrassed manner. ‘She wants us to teach her how to roll with the punches.’

‘Why?’

That was a good question that left Alistair at a loss for words. I quickly came to his aid.

‘I just thought it would be fun to learn a few tips that boxers use to avoid getting knocked down,’ I explained. ‘A girl wants to be safe about town. If I get on well here, I might do a few weeks at a judo club too, just for the fun and experience of it.’

Now it was the ‘boss’s’ turn to be silent for a few moments.

‘R-i-g-h-t,’ he answered slowly and deliberately. ‘You do realise that you will be the only girl… er… sorry woman here. Are you happy to spar with men?’

‘Spar?’ I queried.

‘Yes. Sort of play fighting that helps you learn the basics.’

‘I guess so. That’s why Alistair brought me here.’

Slowly everyone in the room resumed their various pursuits as the ‘boss’ called Peter but who prefered the title ‘Buster Pete’ gave me a quick introduction to the club.

After trying on at least six pairs, we finally obtained some boxing gloves that fitted me; they were gold! After removing my coat, the gloves were laced onto my wrists to leave me in just my T-shirt, jeans, and trainers.

‘Right you two, out,’ Buster told two men chasing each other around a ring, ‘make way for a lady!’ He then paused, adding, ‘The Girl with the Golden Gloves!’ The title stuck.

I followed him as he climbed in between the ropes and stood up inside the boxing ring.

‘Raise it a bit,’ he called out and suddenly, the whole ring on which we were standing started to lift off the floor. ‘That’s enough,’ he called when it had raised about a foot high.

I realised that the place was silent again and that every young man in the room had positioned themselves around the ring and were watching proceedings intently. Never had someone with a body so unmatched to the sport entered a boxing ring before.

‘Right Rachel try to hit me hard.’

I could hardly miss. I am five feet ten inches tall, and Buster was at least six feet three with a chest area to match.

‘As hard as you can.’

‘Hit you?’ I questioned unbelievingly.

‘Yes. Aim for my head or chest and as hard as you like.’

I was going to enjoy this. I pulled my right hand back and swung it around for all I was worth in the direction of his head. Suddenly he wasn’t there anymore, and my arm swung round in thin air as my body followed in an ungainly pirouette.

‘Hey,’ I blurted out as chuckles of laughter filled the room, ‘That’s not fair.’

‘You didn’t expect me to stand still and be walloped by you, did you?’ he enquired. ‘The whole point of the sport is to avoid being hit and then land punches of your own.’

‘Oh,’ I replied, feeling rather foolish in front of around twelve animated young men, half of them topless.

‘And don’t swing your arm from your back like that,’ Buster chided. Anyone can see it coming a mile away. Punch from your shoulders in front of your body like this.’

He proceeded to punch the air with both fists in quick succession. ‘You try it.’

I tried to copy his moves but knew my efforts were very amateurish despite a ripple of applause from a few onlookers.

My first lesson lasted all of five minutes.

‘If you want to learn the basics, Rachel, I think you need to get the proper gear. You cannot dance around a boxing ring in jeans.

‘I didn’t come to dance,’ I corrected him in all seriousness, ‘I wanted to learn how to avoid getting struck.’

There was a moment of silence before more laughter as those listening realised I was serious about not wanting to learn dance moves.

‘We call moving around the canvas dancing,’ Alistair explained as I looked around, wondering what I had said that was so funny.

‘What’s the canvas?’ I asked to more laughter.

The young men looking and laughing at me were going to enjoy a lot more than just a laugh at my expense before I had left the club at the end of the second year of my degree course.

Two days later, Alistair accompanied me to a sports shop in town to purchase shorts and a sports top for my next visit to the boxing club.

‘Hello,’ He said to the assistant as if he had known him all his life,’ Can you provide boxing shorts and a top for this young lady, please?’

The assistant, who I guessed was in his late thirties, seemed to eye me rather suspiciously.

‘Size eight?’ He enquired.

‘Spot on,’ I replied.

‘Not many girls go in for boxing,’ He commented as he led us to the required section. ‘I’m guessing that you are an A size breast?’ He added correctly. Some women go a size smaller to hold their assets firmly in place. Would you like to try that?’

‘Good idea,’ Alistair replied before I had a chance. ‘You’ll look great in a stretchy sports tank top and shorts.’

I got the feeling I was being a little hassled.

Between the advice of the assistant and the encouragement of Alistair, I ended up with high cut, tight, figure-hugging lycra shorts and a matching tight-fitting crop top with two pieces of elastic that crossed over my back to hold the front in place. Both the items were a size six, one below what I would typically wear. I had a strange feeling that my attire might cause a cuffuffle in the club on my next visit.

Due to a mountain of coursework and an important ten thousand word assessment that required completion, it was not until two weeks later that Alistair and I revisited the boxing club.

Buster had agreed to give me some basic boxing lessons on this occasion and was enthusiastically waiting for me when we entered the building. Once again, all eyes moved in my direction.

I was shown to the changing room, where I took off my coat and, after hanging it up, went out into the main room that contained the two boxing rings. Once there, Buster met me with the pair of boxing gloves I had tried previously. These were put onto my hands and laced up before I was helped into the ring.

By the time Buster and I were in the ring, it was surrounded by every other person in the club.

‘I must be popular all of a sudden,’ Buster joked. ‘Okay, if you all watch Rachel and me, you might learn a thing or two.

In front of the others, Buster attempted to teach me to jab and defend, duck and weave, and how to move my feet. I had never realised that boxing was such a complicated sport. I had always thought the idea was to hit the other person as hard as you could. Buster certainly knew how to work someone hard as soon I was moving across the ring as he chased me, threatening to punch my body and head. I was wet with perspiration, and my hair was sticking to my face.

I think I was a pretty poor pupil until it came to learning how to roll with a punch.

‘Will you allow me to hit your face?’ Buster asked me.

I looked at him in a somewhat bemused way. ‘Why?’ I questioned.

‘I want to teach you what we mean by ‘rolling with a punch,’ but I can only do so if you allow me to hit you. It won’t be hard, I promise.’

I smiled and nodded my approval.

‘Take up a fighting stance,’ I was told. ‘Arms bent, body forward, bum out, legs bent and feet apart.’

It took a while until he had me exactly how he wanted me.

‘Now watch,’ Buster suddenly fired his right hand in my direction that caught me totally unawares, hitting my left cheek with quite a force. I spun around and ended up sitting on the canvass on my bum.

‘Sorry, Sorry,’ Buster announced through the ripple of laughter that burst out when I fell. ‘I didn’t intend to hit you that hard. Are you alright?’

I was but wondered if his protestations were earnest or not.

‘Now, if you had rolled as I punched, you would not have ended on the deck,’ Buster tried to explain. He attempted to replay his punch and showed me how I should have moved my head to allow his punch to brush past withing making direct contact. I saw at one what ‘Rolling’ meant. It was so simple when shown like this. I also realised how effective discovering this technique could be in a bondage situation.

‘Try that punch again,’ I requested.

This time I watched and rolled my head to my right as the glove again brushed my left jaw. Just for fun, I threw my right hand in Buster’s direction and actually hit his right temple as he passed in front of me. My unexpected response brought whoops of approval from those watching.

‘Very good,’ Buster offered, ‘Very good indeed. Any more of that young lady, and I’ll have you sparing with the lads in just your shorts next visit.’

I have always been a bit too quick at speaking my mind. It brought me many a spank from my parents and got me several pages of lines from exasperated teachers while at school. I never intended to be so blunt; I just didn’t think.

‘Any time you like,’ I responded to Buster’s warning.

‘Pardon,’ he questioned, looking at me blankly as a hush of total unbelief descended on the building.

I was on a high, and the adrenalin was flowing twenty to the dozen. I knew the young men standing around were not there to learn anything about boxing. I had watched as eyes pondered my long legs while others ogled my back with just the elastic cross as covering.

I was also aware that the too-tight top exposed my midriff and clearly displayed my nipples through the stretched fabric.

‘Any time you want me to spar with any of the guys in just my shorts, I will!’ I stated blatantly.

After another few seconds of stunned silence, Buster spoke up. ‘Well, guys, who want’s to spar with young Rachel next time she visits. Both of you just wearing shorts?’

I think every hand around the ring rose sky-high. It was only then that I realised just how brazen I had been. This was not the usual crowd of guys at University who knew the things I often did. These were young men, most of whom I had never spoken to and all of whom I did not know. It was a stupid thing to offer.

‘She’ll never go through with it?’ One of those who had been watching my efforts in the ring observed.

‘I bet she won’t even turn up,’ another sarcastically added.

These comments set my mind. I would ensure they received what they wanted as I always attempted to keep my promises.

‘I think she should not be allowed to wear her shorts, neither,’ another voice interjected from the crowd. ‘No top and no shorts sparing with us lads!’

‘I don’t think so, Ian,’ Buster replied. ‘If Rachel is man enough to go topless, I don’t think we can expect any more from her.’

‘No top and no shorts,’ the young man called Ian answered back. ‘What does everyone else think?’

‘Naked!’ Some of his boxing friends chorused back.

I could see Buster becoming somewhat flustered at this new demand.

‘No!’ He replied firmly, ‘I run this club, and it is a boxing club, not some nudist colony. I’m happy for a bit of fun and a few thrills if Rachel is prepared to fight topless but nothing else.’

‘Why not? Ian countered brashly. ‘Why not ask her if she will fight nude. Let her speak. You’re always telling us what to do in here. Let Rachel decide.’

I stepped forward without waiting for Buster to find a reply.

‘Okay, Ian, here’s my offer,’ I bravely replied, ‘I’m prepared to spar with some of you on equal terms in just my shorts but not my next visit. I need a couple more lessons before I take some of you on. If you’re all happy, that’s a deal, not that I’ve got much up top to show, as you can clearly see.’

I paused, noticing the reaction that seemed to surge through the lads like an electric current.

‘Ian,’ I said, somewhat nervously addressing the protagonist directly. ‘If Buster agrees, I’ll fight you wearing nothing but my trainers a couple of weeks after my topless bouts. Is that a deal?

Ian was wearing the broadest grin on his face that looked like it would have to be surgically removed.

‘Done deal.’ He answered with some degree of excitement.

Then I added my killer punch.

‘My only condition is that you have to be totally naked as well!’

Ian’s smile froze on his face and became a mask of horror.

‘Now wait a minute…’ He stuttered. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘Why not?’ Buster questioned, clearly enjoying Ian’s sudden embarrassment.

‘You can’t ask us guys to fight with nothing on. It’s, it’s just not right.’

‘Then why should Rachel do it,’ Alistair interjected from close to where Ian was standing.

‘Because she’s a woman.’ Ian replied weakly.

‘That’s a very sexist reason. You just want a thrill from her but won’t give anything in return,’ Alistair observed. ‘Let her see your equipment, Ian; You never know she might fancy it. After all, you boast about it often enough!’

Ian was beaten and knew it. He stood for what seemed ages, looking at his feet and enduring a real ribbing from some of his friends before looking up.

‘Okay,’ He finally replied. ‘You’re on Rachel.’

On the way back to the Campus, Alistair scolded me for my stupidity. He was right, and I knew it. However, I had no intention of backing down now. I was in for the count.

Buster and Alistair both agreed to open the facilities just for me on nights it was usually closed. As I knew nothing about boxing, I had to learn the ropes pretty quickly, and for some reason, these two men kindly took an interest in me.

‘We need to build up your muscles, Rachel,’ Alistair told me as we headed out on our first training session. ‘I think Buster will put you on some weights tonight.’

‘I don’t want to look like some muscular version of Wonder Woman or Super Woman,’ I laughed. ‘As far as I’m concerned, this is all a bit of fun. If it gives the guys a thrill seeing my boobs all well and good. I have no plans, however, to try and become the woman’s version of Mohammed Ali.’

‘I thought you didn’t know anything about boxing?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Then how did you know about Mohamad Ali?’

‘I looked him up,’ I replied as Alistair pulled his rather battered Citroen up outside the club.

Over the next two weeks, Buster and Alistair enjoyed putting me through my paces, getting me to lift weights, performing sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, as well as skipping, using the punch bag and various other exercises. I had never been made to work so hard physically in my life. On top of this, I learnt how to jab, cut and defend. I considered these night frolics nothing but fun, but it was evident that my two companions wanted me to put on as good a show as possible and not just by making a clean breast of things!

I heard through the grapevine that word had spread about my night of topless sparing with the young male boxers. Quite a crowd had sought permission to attend to the point that Buster was having second thoughts about the whole escapade. The ‘Girl with the Golden Gloves and Tiny Tits’ was pulling a bit of a punch.

Eventually, he sensibly restricted the numbers allowing only members plus one friend to attend. He strangely told me, ‘The club has never been so popular before.’

When the night for my ‘show’ to take place arrived, I was not quite so confident. I felt a real nervousness all day and a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach. What a total fool I had been to make such a statement. I knew, though, that there was no going back. I would have to bare my boobs and box for my life, all for the gratification of others. I knew I was stupid as I never even liked boxing.

That night I walked through about sixty men, all under thirty, who all wanted to see me box. Looking back, I do wonder if they may have wanted to see something else a little more titivating. I guess that I will never know.

Once in the ring, I removed my dressing gown and enjoyed the whistles and general hullabaloo that my appearance brought.

Buster introduced me as ‘Rachel, the Girl with the Golden Gloves!’ Looking back, I wonder if I should not have been called, The Beauty with the Bare Breasts,’ or even better, ‘The Terror with the Tiny Tits.’

The plan was to have twelve rounds comprised of one round of three minutes with each guy. If either of us knocked the other down, that round was considered complete. I smiled as I thought of that requirement. Who were they kidding in thinking I might knock someone down.

My first sparing partner climbed into the ring and took up a fighting stance which I mirrored. It was apparent within a few seconds that he was aiming to land his punches on just two targets.

I hopped, skipped and danced around the ring all the time, trying to land at least one decent punch anywhere on my opponent’s body or head. On the very few occasions I did manage to get close enough to land a punch, a small cheer went up from some of those watching. Whenever my opposite number caught one of my tits with a right hook or southpaw, there was a collective ‘Ooooh,’ followed by shouts of ‘Yes,’ ‘Good Punch,’ and ‘Get her again.’ It was clear on whose side the crowd were on.

The three minutes flew by, and after taking three direct punches to my chest and managing to land a glancing blow to my opponents head, I went to my ‘corner’ to wait for my next partner.

As I sat down, Alistair came up to me saying, ‘Let me rub this on you, Rachel.’ He then commenced to squirt and rub copious amounts of Baby Oil over the front and back of my upper body. ‘That will help defect anything that gets through your defences,’ he told me, ‘Just keep your hands together and protect these little assets.’

The second man to enter the ring was well over six feet tall, and as we stood up, he came and stood right in front of me to emphasise his height advantage. As I looked up at him, all I could think to say was, ‘Hello, big man!’

This seemed to throw him a little as he backed away, and the ringside crowd burst into laughter.

As we commenced this new ’bout.’ I realised what a great advantage his longer arms gave him. When I did throw some sort of a punch, it was usually through the air. On the other hand, my opponent kept tapping me lightly on either side of my head as I attempted to defend my chest and face. Finally, he got me pinned against the ropes, where despite my best endeavours, he managed to land a few light blows in my ribs and over my chest. We were so close I could feel that he had a substantial erection beneath his shorts. I guessed he might have prefered doing other things to me rather than boxing!

I was glad to be given a breather at halftime after facing six of the guys. I knew that they were all just boxing for the fun of it and had no desire to lay me on the canvass. I can imagine them all in thirty years telling grandchildren about the time they fought with a topless woman boxer — some story.

Number seven up was the shortest of all the men that day. He must have only been five feet six, but he had the physique of a mini bodybuilder. I imagined he would be very hot in bed.

As I had never imagined facing someone so small, I had no idea how to go about either defending or attacking. He was so short and agile that he continually got under and defence I gave, providing some rather stinging blows to my sides and ever-popular breasts.

As I crouched to try and offer myself more protection, I felt a hefty blow to the side of my face and found myself spinning around, losing my balance and landing with a thud on the canvass. The biggest cheer of the night went up while I sat dazed on the deck.

‘I’m sorry,’ the young man announced, helping me to my feet. ‘That wasn’t meant to happen. We all promised not to do any headshots on you. I guess you just got too low.’

‘Thanks,’ I replied with a coy smile. ‘And I thought it was my boxing technique that was stopping anyone from hitting my head.’

By the time I had fought, all twelve hand-picked sparring partners, I confess that my legs felt like lead, and my body was glowing red from my shoulders to my shorts where leather gloves had made contact with my naked form.

I was cheered wildly as, after donning my dressing gown, I made my way out of the ring. Alistair and Buster both seemed pleased with their prodigy, and the fact that I had only been knocked down once, to my mind, was quite pleasing.

I had two weeks before the real test when I had promised to bear all and take on ‘Ian the Invincible,’ as he had called himself.

A few days later, I received a phone call from a number I did not recognise.

‘Hello Rachel, this is Ian.’

‘Ian, who?’ I enquired as I put my pen down from the notes I was writing up.

‘You know right well,’ he answered laughing.

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t,’ I replied, still trying to work out who ‘Ian’ was.

‘Ian the Invincible,’ he replied, ‘From the boxing club.’

‘Oh. Hello.’

‘Firstly, can I apologise for being a complete moron and asking you to box naked? I’m so stupid sometimes. I got carried away in the excitement of seeing a woman in the club.’

‘Forget it,’ I replied, ‘I should never have offered to box topless.’

‘Look, if you want to call that naked match off, I’m happy to forget it.’

‘Are you getting cold feet, Ian,’ I teased.

‘No. Not at all. I just wondered…’

‘I’m happy to go ahead,’ I insisted.

‘Well, in that case, I think we need a prize to fight for, don’t you?’

‘Such as?’

‘I have been making a few discrete enquiries Rachel. You’re quite a woman.’

‘Thanks,’ I chuckled.

‘You’re a submissive?’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I have my ways of finding out.’

‘What’s that got to do with our fight?’

‘Just an idea I wanted to bounce off you. If you’re willing to listen?’

‘I’m listening.’

‘One or two of us, to be honest, perhaps most of us in the club have dominant traits. I guess that’s why we take up boxing. I know the guys would love to see a submissive woman well used.’

‘Really?’ I giggled, starting to feel that moist feeling between my legs. ‘So what are you suggesting?’

‘We box five rounds, then the winner gets to dominate the loser in front of everyone for an hour.’

‘Ha!’ I responded haughtily, ‘That’s not much fun for me, is it?’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m a total sub. If I win, I’d not enjoy in any way dominating you. It wouldn’t turn me on at all.’

‘You’re not expecting to win, are you,’ Ian laughed.

He had a point. The ‘Girl with the Golden Gloves’ didn’t have a hope against ‘Ian the Invincible.’ Still, I played him along.

‘But just supposing I did win,’ I countered, ‘I mean, with all these extra lessons Buster and Alistair are giving me. I’m improving my technique big time, and Buster is bringing in a professional trainer to help me further,’ I lied.

‘Really,’ Ian countered, his voice registering some degree of shock.

‘Yes. So I don’t think it’s a foregone conclusion. You might be the favourite but… You never know.’

‘No,’ I heard Ian breathe down the phone in a contemplative sort of tone.

‘Anyway. I’ll do my best, and if I do win, I will try and give a good show of my non-existent skills as a Dominatrix. Can I use Ball clamps on you?’

I was not sure how much of my story Ian believed. I hoped it would make him think; however, his idea excited me greatly. I had enjoyed my brief spell visiting the boxing club; however, I did enjoy the thought of having to submit to an exciting BDSM session in front of all those hunky young boxers.

As usual, before anything new, I was nervous as I made my way to the club with Alistair on the night that ‘The Girl with the Golden Gloves’ was to take on ‘Ian the Invincible.’

Even I was surprised when we walked inside at the number of people milling around. There must have been double the amount from my previous exploits.

‘Hey,’ I said to Alistair, ‘What’s the big attraction do you think, My arse, Ian’s bum, my cunt or his dick?’ I thought my alphabetical description was quite clever.

‘I’m pretty sure that all these guys here are come to see your body, not his,’ Alistair quickly replied. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Nervous,’ I answered truthfully.

Once I arrived, there were few preliminaries as I clambered into the ring and began to strip naked in front of the by now rather raucous crowd.

I had decided to strip in the ring instead of walking in dressed in my dressing gown and then suddenly revealing all. Ian had opted for the dressing gown option and stood in the opposite corner as I slowly removed all my clothes and then put on my trainers.

To ensure that the focus on me was not lost, I jumped around the ring, aiming some imaginary fresh air shots before doing some squat thrusts against the ropes on all four corners of the ring. These proved popular as the men clamoured to have a peak between my legs to such an extent that Buster encouraged me to continue warming up.

As I did so, I caught sight of Ian, who was clearly more than a little embarrassed by the whole thing and the number of guys that had turned up. He stood forlornly watching my enthusiastic antics and the reaction from the men looking on.

Finally, I was provided with a gumshield and head protection, both of which told me that this was a little more than the previous sparring matches in which I had partaken.

Finally, Ian disrobed to be met by a wall of silence so loud it could be heard. Then the insults started flying from every corner in both our directions.

‘You said you had good equipment, Ian. That look’s pretty ordinary to us.’

‘Rachel’s a man with a wig. We’ve been fooled.’

‘She’s got as much hair between her legs as Ian has above his ears!’

Buster called for quiet and brought Ian and me together to touch gloves. I was unfamiliar with this practice and had to be told what to do, which brought a ripple of laughter.

‘No punching below the belts please gentlemen,,, er I mean ladies and gentlemen, Buster commented.

‘Seeing as neither of us are wearing belts, does that rule apply?’ Ian questioned.

Buster thought for a moment before mumbling a quick, ‘Maybe not.’

The bell went, and I noticed that Ian’s balls bounced around as he chased me across the ring. I was sure he was much more uncomfortable than I was without any clothes.

I was surprised to duck one of his attempts at a headshop and then land a left jab in his stomach. I was chuffed to bits as I continued to dance and dodge around the ring.

Suddenly Ian made a lunge that I could not avoid, and I felt him pummeling my ribs as we hung onto each other against the ropes.

As we parted, I missed his right hook that hit my left shoulder and spun me around just as the bell went.

Amid much merriment, I had to be shown by Buster to ‘my’ corner, where Alistair was waiting with a stool, towel and a drink.

In no time, the bell tolled and up I jumped, ready for round two. This time I went on the attack, almost charging into Ian, who was not expecting me to appear like a springing lion from my corner.

I landed a half-decent right swing on his head and also a very naughty ‘below the belt’ jab that certainly took the wind out of his sails but brought me a reprimand from Buster.

The rest of round two comprised of us both throwing fresh air shots and doing a lot of hugging on the ropes as we both sought an upper hand. It was evident to anyone watching that he knew far more about boxing than his female opponent.

I was unsure what to do as round three commenced, although, in the first few seconds, he paid me back for my low punch with a couple of his own against my pussy that hurt. These, too, brought him a warning from Buster.

Halfway through, as I ducked to try and get a chest punch, I felt a hard blow to the side of my head, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the canvass.

‘One, two, three, four…’ I heard Buster counting. I had never seen a knockout but was told that I had a count of ten to get up. I was on my feet for eight and smiling at Ian as if to say ‘good punch.’

I decided for round four to once again spring will all guns blazing. When I had started visiting the club, I had looked up ‘Songs about Boxing,’ not expecting in the slightest ever to find one. I did, however, discover a song by Frankie Laine, who I had never heard of, called ‘The Kid’s Last Fight.’ It was a catchy little number telling the story of a bout between Tiger Wilson and Kid McCoy, which Kid won despite being the underdog only to die soon after from a fever.

As the bell commenced round four, I remembered one line of the song:-

Said the Kid, “For that, I’ll tear you limb from limb.”

And he sprang like an angry colt

He said a punch a-flyin at the Tiger’s chin

Knocked him out like a thunderbolt

I decided to go for the jugular and give it everything I had. I confess that winning would have been disappointing as I would have struggled to become a dominatrix; however, I did not want just to give in tamely.

I flew off my stool and pummeled Ian for all I was worth. As he sought to move away, I noticed he became distracted, and I let fly with a swinging punch that would have knocked me out had I missed.

It hit Ian right on his jaw as he tried to move away, having seen it coming in the last second. As he was already off-balance, he ended up in great embarrassment on the floor. The ribbing he took as Buster counted was unbelievable.

‘Fancy letting a woman lay you out, you big softy.’

‘Ian always falls for the women.’

‘Ian the Invincible falls for the Girl with the Golden Gloves — well, I never!’

Ian was annoyed at the put-down and was up on the count of seven. I had a strange feeling that the fight might not get to round five as he advanced towards me.

Ian let rip with several jabs and hooks that, with so little experience, I was unable to defend. Once again, I ended sitting on my posterior while Buster commenced another countdown.

As I stood up and Buster said, ‘Box on,’ Ian started coming at me again. I backed onto the ropes, using them to support me as he targeted my breasts and ribcage. As I dropped my guard to protect my body, he quickly caught me with a double to my head, and I went down again.

My gumshield went flying out of the ring, and I could taste blood in my mouth. As I lay panting, I suddenly heard Buster counting, ‘Eight, Nine, Ten, OUT!’

My naked boxing match was over, and there were no surprises about the outcome.

Buster and Alistair helped me to my stool, where Ian, now back in his dressing gown, came to thank me for putting up such a fight.

From my phone call with Ian, I knew what was going to happen next. We had carefully and purposefully agreed on it all. Of course, no one else knew about this; however, I was reasonably sure they would enjoy what they were about to see.

Buster pulled us both back into the centre of the ring to announce the winner and congratulate me on putting up a good show for a woman with virtually no boxing experience.

His following announcement was somewhat awkward. ‘Gentlemen, our two contestants have agreed to participate in some bondage and discipline play. Apparently, Rachel is a submissive, and Ian is a Dom. I have no idea what is planned, but I’m just pleased that I’m not Rachel!’

Ian quickly pulled a canvas bag into the ring and from it produced some soft ropes that he used to quickly tie me with my arms outstretched along the top rope, in a squatting position, into a corner of the ring.

This arrangement left my pussy and breasts exposed for his pleasure. Onto these, to gasps of some in the room, he attached little electrical clips attached to wires. They bit into my nipples and cunt lips, causing me to gasp and moan in both pain and pleasure.

Ian then quickly twisted the four wires together and looped a much longer flex between them which he pulled halfway across the ring before it started to tighten. From where he stood, everyone could see that when he tugged at it, the clips on my body tightened, shooting shafts of pain through me that resulted in my screaming out in response.

As soon as Ian started to pull, I saw his dressing gown slip open to reveal his rock solid erection below. Bound as I was, I concentrated more on Ian and his electrical flex; however, a quick look past him into the men crowded at the far side of the ring told me that they too were enjoying the sight and sounds of what was taking place. Many seemed t have their hands down the inside of their trousers.

As Ian pulled, my breasts were stretched out like two small elongated Ice Cream cones, and my pussy lips looked like a pair of rabbits ears. I sensed that the crowd enjoyed my screams and moans of pain, so I ensured there were plenty of interesting sounds coming from my lips to keep them happy.

It seemed that suddenly Ian had become quite popular in the club as he placed more pressure on the cable attached to my body, causing me more pain.

‘Pull it harder, Ian.’

‘Make her scream like that again.’

‘This is so exciting.’

‘I have only read about this. It’s so much hotter watching it live.’

After ten minutes, I was released and moved out of the ring and placed where the punch bag usually hung. Here my hands were tied together in front of me where I had to hold a bar attached to ropes. My hands were then also bound to it and lifted high. I held tight as my feet were lifted off the ground, allowing me to swing freely.

Ian put on his boxing gloves, commenting, ‘I’m going to enjoy using my new punch bag.’

He then gave me a few gentle punches that got me swinging around before more powerfully targeting certain parts of my body. My bum received several hard punches while ensuring my breasts were not missed as I spun in front of him.

Occasionally he said ‘Roll,’ as he targeted my head with some more gentle hooks and cuts.

‘Hit her between the legs,’ someone shouted out.

‘Great idea,’ another added.

Ian stopped me from swinging and aimed for the thatched area between my legs, giving me five medium-hard thumps.

‘I prefered her bum,’ a voice cried out. ‘Concentrate on her bum,’

This idea seemed to gain great appeal as others held my legs while Ian let fly a volley of punches hitting both cheeks of my bum, ensuring that they became red and rather raw.

Despite it changing colour to beetroot and the rapidly increasing soreness, I was actually enjoying the new experience of being a punchbag. I know it would be different if someone were throwing full-bodied hooks in my direction, but this was getting me very moist, and it was beginning to show.

Finally, there was a clamour to use the clamps again while I was suspended. Ian agreed and replaced them on my nipples and, with the help of others holding my legs open, on my clit. This time they seemed much sorer, and the more intense pain brought not only howls of anguish but tears to my eyes.

The flex was once again attached to the wires on the clips. My free-swinging position meant that little had to be done to cause maximum discomfort. As I looked from my slightly elevated position, I could see that some of the men had given up any pretence of respectability as they held cocks in their hands, working them for all they were worth. It was apparent that my pain was undoubtedly their gain.

Seeing the majority of the guys turned on by my predicament finally unleashed the last band that had been restraining a pretty forceful orgasm for several minutes. I had been trying to control it, but now it burst forth like waters from a broken dam.

Firstly I started breathing quicker and shallower whilst beginning to sweat profusely.

‘Is she okay?’ Some thoughtful person enquired.

By now, I had closed my eyes and I guess I had some a little anxious.

‘She’s having a fit.’

‘I don’t think so,’ another interjected, ‘I think she’s having an orgasm.’

So I was! Big time. I shook and shivered, turned and quivered as the tidal wave of ecstatic pleasure commenced its unstoppable roll through my body.

The crowd watched in awe as I perspired freely, and fluid flowed down my legs as for two minutes, I lost all control of my body while I enjoyed the sensation of a full-on orgasm.

The comments from the guys watching were rude and crude; however, I knew that almost all of them would love to either get me in bondage or get me in bed. Those thoughts passing through my head of a large train of men making use of my body resulted in one of my best ever orgasms.