Beat, Prey, Love 3.3: Disappearing Shark
NSFW: Contains topless women, detailed violence, and detailed sex. -You know. The fun stuff you come here for-
“Can I just say how impressed I am? You're improving really quickly and I can see you getting better each time we fight.” The woman explained with a smile, white glove pointing at her opponent. The crowd knew her only as “Belladonna,” and the compact Swiss woman once again seemed as dangerous as her namesake.
Belladonna's stockings, black and white leotard, and detached collar and bowtie gave her the distinct aesthetic of a stage magician, or a playboy bunny. The cut of the leotard emphasized her prominent hips, thighs, and ass enough to support both interpretations. However, the detached black sleeves starting just above her bicep and terminating beneath the cuffs of her stark white boxing gloves made clear her intent to present as the former, a magician performing slights of hand and feats of mystery onstage for an enraptured crowd. The effect was only slightly diminished by the red stains on her gloves courtesy of giving yet another free boxing lesson to her bigger, stronger opponent.
A former gymnast, Belladonna had traded balance beams and high bars for daring slips and counterpunches once the ravages of puberty left her too curvy to maintain her balance while soaring through the air. Now, the curvy Swiss woman relished her role as a performer and entertainer. Tonight she'd once again turned a boxing ring into the stage upon which she performed feats of astonishment.
“Keep practicing and you're gonna knock me out in no time. And then once you prove you can actually beat me, I'll take the training gloves off and we can have some real fun... “
“F-first off, thanks?” Her opponent managed, struggling to her feet. The 5' 9” block of hard muscle enjoyed meaningful advantages in height, weight, reach, and especially strength. But it was hard to say she enjoyed anything at all in her bout tonight with this abusive performer. “Secondly? F-fuck you.” She stammered.
Belladonna's frequent and patronizing advice made it increasingly difficult for Smashley to actually enjoy their fights. The advice might be sound, but if Ashley was gonna get her ass kicked, she'd rather it not come disguised as a boxing lesson.
The bigger fighter pulled herself together, slapping her blue boxing gloves together and lifting them back into a fighting stance. The college junior liked the feeling of trading blows, sweating, and turning gym practice into reality. She could trace a dotted line from wandering into that wrestling gym for the first time to getting scouted for a small MMA promotion. But “Smashley” had picked up martial arts later in life and felt the distinct pressure to make up for lost time. Boxing, submission wrestling, kickboxing: whatever it was, she wanted to participate.
Superhot Fights and promotions like it depended on cheering crowds hungry for cheap, bawdy violence. Mer impressive shape, easy going personality, and aggressive in ring demeanor meant most fight promotions were all too willing to schedule the Korean American slugger as often as possible against a wide range of competition. For instance, Belladonna might only stand 5' 5” but she'd had no problem dominating and embarrassing Smashley in their prior bout, toying with her before leaving the college junior drooling and leaking on the canvas.
Compared to traditional, ‘dry’ boxing matches, ‘wet’ ones like this offered different rules and experiences: a steamy match punctuated by a sizzling KO was more important than pitting the very best boxers against each other. Weight classes were looser, the competitors fought in revealing outfits, —often topless— and did far more than just punch each other. The same was true for the wet/dry dichotomy in MMA and submission wrestling.
Talented pugilists like Belladonna, ones with real, undeniable talent, could earn a living fighting in either type of boxing match. Sharks swam in both oceans. But the pay and the notoriety at these levels was admittedly higher for women willing to shed their tops and give the fans a clearer view of themselves. Though overmatched so far in the boxing ring, Smashley enjoyed much more success in MMA matches of both varieties.
The 5' 9 brawler adjusted her red and white shorts, the sides slit high enough to reveal her hips, and walked towards the ref. She wasn't gonna let this pale little wannabe magician embarrass her.
Not again.
The ref waved for the two women to continue and the shorter, thinner woman dashed like lightning, leaning away from Smashley's stiff jab to deliver her own stinging right hand, digging yet another punch into her opponent's hard abs before slipping away again.
Smashley grunted and wiped her short, blue streaked hair out of her eyes and approached again. “Do you ever shut up? If I wanted a fucking lesson I'd get one from the gym.” She snarled. Fighting came easy to the brawny Korean woman but the nuances of boxing still eluded her. Mixed Martial Arts offered more paths to victory and required less technical depth and that fit her just fine. Boxing was focused, narrow, and this stupid chick's stupid fucking gimmick hurt the Bay Area native's head almost as much as her rock hard gloves did.
“Really? Cause with the way you charge forward, I was gonna ask if you'd ever seen the inside of a gym.” The former gymnast teased. “Blame your coaches, Sharkey, not me.”
The black-haired Swiss boxer won their exchanges with a blend of speed, timing, and aggression, overwhelming her competition with high volume and excellent body control, taking what the buxom brawler gave her, including the occasional thudding blow, with a smile. Her messy bangs stuck to her forehead and her bun had loosened, though she could not be certain is her movement or Smashley’s fists were responsible.
Halfway through the round she mistimed Smashley’s range and timing and instead walked directly a rocket of a right hand that nearly put her on her ass. True to her motif, Ashley smelled blood in the water and pounced, unloading heavy artillery on the smaller woman while the crowd cheered the reversal in fortune. Belladonna retreated, guard tight, shifting and swaying like a sheet in a storm, weathering the worst of the torment until the big girl’s stamina waned.
Unfortunately, Smashley couldn’t maintain her own success, and the jolting uppercut she ate while hunting her first knockdown ever against this Swiss magician nearly put her on the canvas instead. Only a tight clinch and the bell spared her what would have been her third knockdown in 2 rounds.
Belladonna admitted that Smashley was landing more tonight, a combination of her rapid improvement and Belladonna's own carelessness. The twentysomething Swiss vixen refused to respect anyone until they put her on the canvas, but the welt forming under Belladonna’s eye was an encouraging sign of her progress.
Ashley 'Smashley' Jeong walked back to her corner biting on her mouthguard enough to put a hole in the plastic. She instead spat it into her hand and looked anywhere but at her opponent, unwilling to acknowledge the truth staring her down:
She was losing.
Badly.
Again. To some smiling vicious pixie who offered actual tips while painting Ashley's pale skin ugly, berry-colored tones with each flurry of punches.
She should have put Belladonna down. She was soooo close. But she’d failed somehow. Again.
When she finally did make eye contact, Belladonna’s wink and smile only further infuriated her. But there was something else in the woman’s countenance that reminded Ashley of a deeper truth.
Ashley was the underdog here. She was the one stepping out of her comfort zone, trading the MMA cage for a boxing ring. Fighting for a different promotion under different rules against an opponent with an impressive record and far more boxing experience.
Size and strength and endurance were the only things she had going for her. Her impressive frame, broad shoulders, and thick thighs had all been earned in the gym. The bust was genetic. But she was here to fight, not model, and she faced a distinct experience disadvantage there.
The thought comforted her somewhat; it was much easier to keep her cool when she had no expectations to live up to. But there was still the issue of getting beaten up, topless, in front of a live crowd of a couple thousand, not to mention the fans watching online. She might not be the favorite, but the question of how to pull off the upset lingered in her mind.
Across the ring, her opponent had more jubilant sentiments to express.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to my show!” Belladonna grinned, taking a moment to work the crowd instead of her opponent. “You've been a lovely audience and I'm enjoying performing for you.” The short swarmer-style boxer took a bow and blew a kiss to the crowd, feigning modesty when one breast flopped free of her leotard. “For my next act, I'll be taking suggestions! Yell out a punch or a combination and I'll bring it to life.”
The bell rang to begin the 3rd round and Belladonna turned from the crowd at ringside to regard her frustrated opponent, the one wiping her short, blue-streaked hair away from her smiling. Smashley was cute, in a rough, predator kind of way. But as far as Belladonna was concerned, Smashley had already thought herself out of this fight. The brawler’s frustration would only slow her further and turn her from a promising, if not incredibly raw slugger, into a charging bull ready to be stabbed to death, and finally an oversized, exceptionally curvy punching bag ready to bleed, whimper, and finally sleep on command.
“Punch where I'm going to be, not where I am.” Her tormentor chided with a vicious smile.
Smashley just clenched her fists hard and punched harder. As strong, as sturdy, as big as she was, she only needed one punch to change this fight. One good shot to clip this curvy hummingbird's wings. But the harder she threw, the more impossible her task seemed, until a vicious flurry of hooks and uppercuts broke her concentration and reminded her of the skill gap between them.
Belladonna had herded her into the corner without the big bull even noticing. Smashley preferred shark motifs inside the ring and out but right now the ocean felt very small. Her slip to the left was checked by a razor sharp flurry of white leather. Hooks and uppercuts into her side and jaw that left her in a cold panic.
When she finally acquiesced, the padded corner post awaited her as a rocket right hand detonated on her jaw. Her guard tightened, her knees faltered, and she finally crumpled, collapsing forward and trying her best to contain the problem between her broad arms. Belladonna relented, letting the big boulder rest her bruised chin on Belladonna's shoulder and catch her breath. She was heavy, tense, and clearly struggling, wobbling on unsteady legs.
“Seeee,” She chided, patting the bigger gal on the ass as their sweaty bodies mashed together. “Look what happens when you lose your cool. You lose your head shortly after.” Belladonna said. “Catch your breath, calm down, and then try again ok?” Smashley recognized from her clear instructions that her opponent was no longer wearing a mouthguard, but her arms were too heavy to take advantage.
“Remember what we talked about: Move your feet, use your jab, and fight bigger, not faster, ok? Put it all together for me and then put me facedown on the mat, Sharkey.”
The college junior wanted to comply. She wanted to succeed. But for once in her life she couldn't muster the strength. Instead Belladonna squeezed her ass one more time and shoved her back into the corner, stifling her protest with a small flurry of punches.
Smashley dropped her hands and didn't protest what came next: not their bodies pressed against each other, stiff nipples digging into soft skin as the 5 '5 menace pushed her back into the corner. Not the way Belladonna grabbed her hips like she owned her and nibbled on her lip like she enjoyed the taste. Not when her, slender, curvaceious, Swiss opponent’s hot, wet tongue traced a sensual curve down her neck, leaving a trail of sticky saliva before latching onto the bigger girl's pink nipple and caressing the professional MMA fighter's other breast with the palm of her white glove. Belladonna was glad the big buff girl was so well endowed: Burying her face in Smashley’s heavy tits, sucking, nibbling, squishing, in the middle of beating this overmatched cinderblock into cute pebbles was the exact kind of thing that sent the crowd into lewd fervor.
Belladonna was exactly where she needed to be: performing onstage.
The younger boxer couldn’t squelch her moan, gasping at the increasingly irresistible abuse. The crowd wanted a show: Belladonna groping, punching and toying with her struggling opponent drove the crowd wild and let Smashley regain her bearings and keep fighting.
Attractive women grinding, kissing, beating on each other always sold tickets. The professional MMA fighter didn’t mind the affection, though she would have preferred the action to be a little more back and forth; getting alternatively smacked and fondled made her feel like a toy rather than an opponent. Her growing arousal didn’t help matters at all.
She was probably going to lose this, Smashley decided. She wasn't quite up to beating this tiny terror yet. At least not in a straight up boxing match. In an MMA match? Sure. Fuck her. But tonight she was getting shellacked by some slut more suited for balance beams than wrestling mat. Admitting defeat was one thing, but admitting defeat during a fight was a different kind of mental gymnastic routine. She had to pull something worthwhile from this match, something more useful than simply getting her bell rung and her ribs bruised by some wannabe Houdini.
Belladonna's aggression was the only consistent thing about her. No matter if the black-haired Swiss was evading Smashley's fists or taking it to her, she was always looking to score, always moving with the intent to cause harm. And that was a useful thing to brace against. Smashley's own offense dwindled as she shifted her focus: effective defense, using her size, strength and reach advantage. Leaning, pushing, holding, blocking. The defense of a bully, not a slick technician. It felt nice to be able to apply an MMA concept to the squared circle: even as a Mixed Martial Artist she was a far cry from a virtuoso in any of the disciplines she practiced. Instead, her coach had long explained that her strength was her strength; use her natural gifts to frustrate and stifle her opponents' offense instead of getting drawn into contests of speed, technique, and accuracy that she would never win.
Tonight she'd done the exact opposite and gotten embarrassed over 3 rounds. But her opponent wasn’t unblemished either: she’d left Belladonna with a half-swollen eye and a small collection of bruises and welts to remember her by. And her tormentor offered genuine praise as the round ended, recognizing the way the pro MMA fighter had recovered after her latest knockdown. Her condescension still bugged Ashley Jeong but the college junior was determined to fight her fight, her way. Even a loss could be a useful experience.
In the other corner, Belladonna was again taking requests from the crowd and playing to her adoring audience. Smashley might not be a worthy opponent, but experience had taught her that women the size and build of this blue haired whale shark were as sturdy as they were harmless; she'd have plenty of time to turn her into a canvas without fear of early knockout.
Smashley carried a new outlook into round 4, but perspective only allowed her to maintain her fierce positivity and defiance in the face of another 3 minute beating. Their new dynamic made it harder for Belladonna to slip the college titan's misplaced shots and counter with devastating force, but Smashley's newfound defensive focus left Belladonna to fill the gaps in their pugilistic conversation. The more experienced striker hunted her relentlessly, punishing each gap that Smashley left in her guard, willing to absorb more punches now that the big titan was no longer looking to put her down with each punch.
As the busty slugger slowed down, her Swiss tormenter's attention turned increasingly erotic: groping and grinding each time Smashley stumbled against the ropes or tried to clinch. The blush spreading across her victim’s face and her half lidded eyes suggested her reaction to Belladonna’s attention wasn’t uniformly negative.
“Alright! That's hook, upper, hook, upper!” Belladonna took a bow, pretending not to notice that her heavy breasts had again slipped free of her impractical attire. The magician in the leotard and bowtie couldn't satisfy every request, but she happily pulled a few tricks from her black, detached sleeves. Violet Haas took special care preventing their one sided bout from ever feeling cruel or mean-spirited, sometimes eating an unnecessary punch or overselling an impact.
“Here's another pointer, Blue.” Belladonna teased, spitting her mouthguard into her glove before cupping her victim's chin. The big punching bag muttered some unintelligible response but her eyes suggested she was still in there somewhere.
“Go down earlier next time. No point in letting me take free shots at you. Take a knee. Who cares? It's not like there are any decisions or judges here in Superhot. We go to a KO. That’s why the 7th round is untimed” Belladonna said.
She felt a little better about the beating she was administering when the younger woman nodded and began fading back into the padded post, sinking like a torpedoed ship. When Belladonna pushed her away, Smashley didn't bother lifting her gloves. They wouldn't have saved her from the 3 punches that snapped her head back and rattled her jaw anyways.
Instead, Belladonna poured on the pressure and the leather until the Asian woman's legs finally buckled and her unresponsive body folded in on itself. She sat awkwardly in the corner, one leg stretched, the other pushing her knee into her chest, nearly smothering herself as her weary head tilted down far enough to rest on her own oversized breasts. Blue-streaked hair covered her eyes and she took ragged, uneven breaths, clutching her head in the palm of her glove.
The referee reached the count of “3” before Smashley even attempted to stand, blinking away the daze and pulling on the ropes on each side of her for leverage. She barely beat the 10-count but there was still fire in her eyes. She'd changed their dynamic, if not her odds of victory. She wasn't a plaything, or a punching bag. She was a puzzle.
The 4th round came and went, and so did the 5th. In each, the Korean-American MMA fighter gal offered enough offense to demand Belladonna's focus and enough defense to demand her creativity, but when Belladonna floored her at the end of the 5th, and then again early in the 6th, it was clear their pattern could only continue for so long: There weren't many places the gymnast-turned-boxer hadn't struck, painting the bigger woman's impressive physique in ugly blues and purples. Smashley might have the physical and spiritual fortitude of a brick, but even bricks broke eventually.
Instead, the blue-haired block of granite was the one to disrupt their dynamic. The round’s first knockdown had sapped Smashley of her signature aggressive joy; the brawny 21-year-old was ready to conclude a rough night at the office. Her only movement after standing up was to lean back into the corner, mouth open, generous chest heaving with each ragged breath. Belladonna recognized the gesture for what it was: a surrender in all but name. There was no need for further leather negotiations with a woman who’d already conceded. The look in her eyes gave it away even more than her tired lean did.
“Alright, so I think we've had juuuust enough teaching time tonight. Ready to call it a night?” Belladonna asked, leaning close to hear the teetering titan’s reply. Tired and no longer able to find the familiar fun that accompanied a fight, Smashley moaned a soft reply, arms clinched loosely around Belladonna's shoulders.
“Y-yeah I’m done. This isn’t fun any more. Wrap me up and put a bow on me, yeah?”
“That's a girl.” Belladonna grinned, enjoying the way Ashley stood up straight when she squeezed her ass. “You did great. Just keep your hands up, and I'll do the rest. I can't wait till they pair us again so you can finally take my head off. I've definitely earned an ass kicking after the way I've treated you like a big, sexy punching bag everytime we share the ring.” The confident pressure fighter punctuated every sentence with a kiss or a punch, hiding the stage direction and compliments she fed her finally willing assistant.
Smashley raised her arms in a futile facsimile of a boxing guard, waiting for Belladonna to finish disassembling her. The Swiss performer happily complied, smiling at how pretty Smashley remained, even bruised and battered. Belladonna looked forward to a future where the tall Korean woman's looks and talents weren't so compromised by her shortcomings.
Belladonna always considered her audience, but she was particularly attentive in matches where her opponent didn't demand her full attention. Tonight, in this moment, the crowd wanted sex, not violence.
The college junior wasn't quite finished, so neither was Belladonna. She backed away, just a half step, and rattled the taller loser with a chorus of hooks to her jaw, snapping her head right and left until a nasty left detonated on her jaw and turned the professional MMA fighter's shark-teeth patterned mouthguard into a souvenir, a comet hurtling into the crowd, following by a tail of spit. Belladonna knew then that her work was complete. She leaned into her victim with one shoulder while she threw half strength body shots, further reducing their intensity until she was clearly tapping her victim rather than clubbing her.
The kiss that followed was forced, deep, sloppy. More a show of dominance than a tender erotic moment. Smashley swooned anyways, her body fully enraptured by her curvy Swiss executioner. She couldn't help what she felt; it might have been their shared warmth or skin contact, or some uninterrogated masochist streak that gathered familiar warmth between her creamy thighs and sped up her heart rate. She neither knew nor cared for the specifics.
Belladonna prolonged the moment, moaning with feigned pleasure. In truth the magician was a consummate performer uninterested in actually feeding her carnal desires, especially in the ring. If the crowd wanted to watch her dress like a traditional boxer and knock some Olympic reject unconscious? Great. If they wanted to watch her squeeze into a leotard, dress like a magician and make some would-be boxer sleep or cum in the ring? All the better. But despite her feelings, her opponents’ were often all too real. The Swiss vixen slipped her glove between the bigger girl’s pale, swampy thighs, smiling broadly at the Smashley’s immodest moans and stopping only when the younger woman’s gasps did.
And now for the other climax.
The uppercut wasn’t thrown with her full bodyweight, but what delivered was still more than enough to finish Smashley, standing the younger woman straight up before she toppled forward and laid face down on the canvas, utterly spent. Sweat, saliva, arousal pooled beneath her while Belladonna took a second to admire her handiwork.
The referee began the count, prepared to wave off the now one sided beating before the blue-haired titan shuddered to life at the count of 4. Smashley pushed up to her hands and knees and managed to flop into a semi reclined seat against the ropes before the ref finished counting her out. She shrugged, pawing at the more swollen of her two eyes, and the referee responded with a knowing nod before finishing the 10 count. She could have gotten up, but what difference would another minute have made?
“Thank you very much! You've been a lovely audience. I'll be here again next week.” Belladonna said, returning to her corner to face the crowd, blow kisses and take bows while the referee counted behind her. There was no need to watch the count: Her big, hapless foe had all but begged her for a way out and the Swiss striker had long since stopped considering theirs a 'fight' in any meaningful sense. Their fight had ended the same way but she couldn't deny the fact that the smiling slugger was improving at an impressive rate, Smashley had pushed her, punched her far more than in their first match. Their first encounter had lasted nearly 4 and a half rounds but the last half of the fight had been spent hammering away at the boulder until she crumbled. This time the younger woman had almost lasted until the untimed 7th round, when the next bell to ring would come when one fighter could no longer answer the 10 count.
In any event the smattering of bruises and welts on Belladonna’s face and body were a testament to Smashley’s growth.
Ashley Jeong took a minute to join the victor and the referee in the middle of the ring, gloves already shed. She clenched and unclenched her still wrapped hands, waiting for the referee to lift the other girl's hand. She couldn't fully hide the frustration burning in her chest or the bruises and welts testifying to the asskicking she'd earned, but tonight certainly hadn't been all bad. She'd fought hard, showed growth, and left this little terror with some nice bruises. A loss would never fully sit right with her but her coach's words, that “your spirit must be the most durable, the most resilient part of you” hang in her head. She'd find a way to smile regardless. Fighting was still the most fun and excitement she'd ever had.
As Violet Haas saw it, tonight’s ending had been determined as soon as the match was booked. The Swiss gymnast eagerly awaited the day when this burly MMA fighter could actually enter the small circle of girls actually capable of putting her lights out on any given night. The referee raised Violet’s hand and the crowd cheered, but the best performances required a sense of genuine mystery and drama. She wanted something more.
From a seat in the middle of the area, another college student watched the action intently, wavy, dark brown tresses spilling out from beneath her beanie. She'd only ever seen this promotion online before, though they frequently held shows not too far from her California University at Los Angeles dorm room. But an associate she’d met through Kathy’s Beat, Prey, Love fights had told her that Superhot Fights was always looking for girls who could throw down, especially ones that could look good losing or winning.
Flor Ramirez didn't have much experience losing, but several fighters on tonight's card excited her in ways her girlfriend's nascent wet MMA league didn't. The latest, this... Belladonna, seemed like exactly the kind of problem she wanted to have. Kathy and her friends might mostly prefer MMA, but Flor wasn't ready to give up the squared circle yet. Not when girls like this wannabe magician were close enough to touch. Smiling like a predator, 'Rated R' was determined to discover how much magic Belladonna had in those gloves and how many tricks did she still have hiding up her sleeves?
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