Salt Forged Stories

Late September, The Year After Everything Happened

Teresa Paraiso knew they had the address right. She'd checked it three times and driven past it the day before just to make sure. At this point they probably thought she was casing the joint rather than coming to fight for the first time. But no amount of mindfulness and deep breathing could abate the anxiety in her chest.

“You get quiet and sweaty when you're nervous. Just stop it.” Jennifer Schwiezer deadpanned, leaning forward from the backseat of Nisha' busted little sedan to and face Teresa. Teresa's longtime roommate and training partner had agreed to accompany her alongside Teresa's longtime friend, Nisha Patel, who'd agreed to drive only on the condition that someone else be the designated driver on the way back. Teresa's tall, pale roommate maintained a mild enmity with most of her friends, including Nisha. The feeling was largely mutual: she and Jennifer might be thick as thieves but neither one had ever gelled with her roommate's friends.

”'Lucky Shot' is such a shit name for a bar.” Jennifer grumbled.

“What? Nah it's hilarious. It's a pun. It's cute.” Nisha protested. “It's a bar, and they host fights. Lucky shot? Get it?”

“I get it. It's stupid. Someone was trying too hard.” Jennifer shot back, and Theresa welcomed her friends' arguments sas a quick reprieve from her thoughts of her own fight. This wasn't the first time she'd had an organized fight: she'd appeared on Kelsey Drama's Beat, Prey, Love series a dozen times over her college career so far.

Beyond that training with her professional fighter friends had provided crucial insight into what she did well and what she struggled with. Her stocky, light brown 5'3 frame was soft, and voluptuous, but far sturdier and stronger than it looked. Her plump thighs and squishy arms hid real, devastating power. She just had to believe in herself.

Nisha parked her cramped little sedan in the asphalt parking lot and stepped into the night air, running a hand through the short undercut she'd recently dyed silver again. “Less worrying, more fucking shit up, 'Pound Cake.'”

Hearing her ring name made this more real somehow. Teresa Paraiso was a college student. Pound Cake was an underground fighter.

The anxious 21 year old Filipina and her two friends flashed their IDs as they moved past the bouncer and into the bar. The Lucky Shot was bigger on the inside than it looked, and when Teresa turned around to ask the bouncer for direction, her voice failed her. Instead Jennifer pulled her hand so hard that Teresa clutched her glasses to keep them from falling off her round face.

“Hey, my friend signed up to fight tonight. Where do we go?” The tall Seattlite explained to the nearest server over the low din of the bar.

“Which one?” Asked the server, a reedy brown man with stubble and tired eyes. When Jennifer and Nisha pointed back towards their shorter friend, Teresa fought the urge to flee. “Here...” The server explained, wrapping a blue disposable bracelet around her wrist before pointing towards the far wall. “Head to the back. Ask for Acacia.”

Theresa nodded wordlessly, gripping her wrist as if she'd been marked for death.

They passed through the spacious bar, eyeing the boxing ring that dominated its center and the two women brawling inside it. Both were topless, and the bawdy crowd cheered each time one struck the other. It looked so barbaric from outside, but Teresa couldn't deny how much she enjoyed competing. She’d never even thrown a punch before college, but her life had changed dramatically since the last few weeks of her freshman year. The thought buoyed her a little.

The trio reached the far wall of the establishment where a tall woman blocked a door marked “Staff Only.” When Teresa flashed her new wristband and stammered the names of the two women who'd recommended this place to her, the muscled woman's countenance changed considerably. “Oh so you're here to fight fight. You shoulda said that from jump.” She nodded. “Locker room's two doors down on the right. Rock, go let Acacia know. ” She motioned for the buxom brawler to walk down the hall and then motioned for another man to head to a different door.

“We're her team.” Nisha explained, following closely behind their fighter.

“Mhm. I bet. Just don't do anything stupid and you'll be fine. Keep the fights in the ring ladies.”

Jennifer and Nisha both resented the implication that they might cause trouble, but neither could contest that they both attracted scuffles and brawls— often with each other's friends—like metal attracted magnets. Pound Cake might be the one fighting tonight but Meanstreak and Raya Riot wouldn’t let their friend have all the fun, not for long.

Inside the locker room, Jennifer and Nisha combined to do their best impression of a boxing coach, helping their chubby friend wrap her hands, get her boxing gloves on, and keep from melting down in the process. “Listen T, you've been topless on camera with both of us. Hell, you've beat both our asses at least once.” Nisha smiled. “Just keep your hands up, keep coming forward, use your angles, like Simone always says. Tag this bitch once, she'll start running and then you can trap her.”

“Wait, what if she's bigger than me?” Teresa countered, adjusting her glasses.

“Didn't they tell you who you were fighting?” Jennifer asked. Teresa shook her head and a new wave of dread fell over her: What if they paired her with someone far better, far more experienced? She suddenly felt small and inexperienced and like every other woman in the room was sizing her up like a hungry predator might. Simone had joked for years about her, Nisha, and Teresa being 'snacks' in the sexual sense, but right now Teresa felt like dessert for some veteran fighter. Her nerves frayed by the minute.

---

“Alright, which one of you is 'Pound Cake?' A feminine voice asked as if its owner expected a prompt answer.

“Th-th-that's me!” Teresa turned around so quickly she almost fell. The voice's owner was a fair complexioned woman with violet hair that transitioned to a bright pink at its tips and matched her hot pink blazer.

'Don't hurt yourself.” The woman laughed, folding her arms and looking down at her newest competitor. “That's what the other girls are for.” One of the woman's assistants laughed nervously until this pink haired woman put her hand up. “I'm Acacia. I'm in charge here. First timers get $500 and $500 to win.” Teresa balked at the pay. Beat Prey Love certainly paid better, but she hadn't come here strictly for the money. She wanted to know what it felt like, what her scary dangerous friends meant when they said they felt free inside a ring fighting for real. Beat Prey Love was run by an e-girl video game streamer and martial artist, and the online series stressed the performance rather than the result: Kathy Liu's audience didn't care much which girl won or lost so long as they fought hard and someone got finished in dramatic (sexual) fashion. But by all accounts Teresa wouldn't have to worry about some overly handsy coed trying to finger her on camera. Tonight she could just box.

“You call yourself Pound Cake and... “The woman continued, looking Teresa's chubby, voluptuous frame up and down. “Your name fits at least. The crowd's gonna loooove you.” Acacia grinned, patting Teresa's massive bust and her thick ass and thighs. Teresa was glad she didn’t touch the chubby tummy she’d struggled to accept as part of her body.

Acacia turned to call for someone behind her and smiled. “Finesse, your girlfriend's here.” Teresa Paraiso watched a tall, fit, pale, blonde woman grimace and then approach, dripping disdain for everyone in the room.

“Yeah? What's this one call herself? Besides ‘overweight and out of shape.’”

“This is Pound Cake.” Acacia explained before pointing at the tall blonde. “She's Finesse. You two are dance partners.”

Unseen by the nerdy infighter, the friends who'd accompanied her shared excited glances. They’d both personally felt how dangerous Teresa could be once supplied with a little extra motivation. Their shortstack friend was much stronger than she looked and had put both of them down on the canvas multiple times. If this snotty blonde wanted Teresa angry instead of anxious, who were they to intervene?

“Wait... Finesse?” Nisha asked. “Oh! I remember you. You've been to Beat Prey Love a few times.”

“Get lost, twerp. You're not on the menu tonight and I don't talk to NPCs” the woman called 'Finesse,'” dismissed the Indian woman with a wave.

“So you two know each other? Even better.” The pink haired woman reasserted herself. “Rules are simple: Foxy Boxing, Strip Boxing, whatever you wanna call it: Lose your top if you get knocked down. Lose your shorts if you get knocked out. Winner gets her shit back and the loser's gear as a trophy. The crowd loves that shit.” She chuckled.

Teresa observed that Acacia didn't look much older than she was. There was a story here that she wanted to unravel, but the first chapter entailed leaving here with cash and clothing. “Speaking of, how many sets of green bras and black shorts have you had to buy, Finesse? I hope you're buying in bulk.” Acacia cackled.

“Very few. Fuck you very much. Those are collector's items.” The pale white woman retorted without missing a beat, though Teresa swore she saw the fair blonde's face redden.

“Yeah yeah. So matches go six 3-minute rounds, if you last that long. After six rounds it's sudden death. No bells, no timers, no judges. Just boxing. Either way the fight's over when one girl can't make a 10 count. No Standing 8 counts, no referee stoppages, no TKOs. But you can be saved by the bell. I should warn you though that if the crowd really enjoys watching the other girl smack the paint off you, you can expect a slow count. Lucky Shot patrons like KOs.” She explained, and the buxom Filipina brawler wondered if this woman owned the entire bar or merely coordinated the entertainment.

“Someone will let you know when the last fight has finished. Come on out to the ring and then come out swinging.” She looked from one woman to the other. “Oh, and the ref is just there for legal purposes. Don't make her get involved please. She’s a spaz and I don’t pay her enough.” The pink haired organizer muttered, halfway covering her mouth with her hand.

“Hope you like pain, fatass.” Finesse sneered. “I'm about to make you regret every slice of cake you've ever eaten.”

“Y-yeah? Well you're ugly, and you're stupid, and at least my boobs are real you fucking fake plastic Barbie bitch!” She'd started talking and ended yelling loud enough that a few heads turned towards her. Teresa's vitriol surprised even her, and she felt her blood pounding in her ears after she finished yelling. Her massive bust rose and fell slowly as she tried to regain her composure. She hadn't meant to yell that loudly, but this stupid blonde kept turning everything into the same corny fat joke she'd heard since high school and Teresa wanted only to shut her up.

Acacia's team separated the two fighters and now satisfied, the pink haired twenty-something left the competitors to their own devices. “Don’t kill each other before the bell rings. It’s bad for business!” She called out with a wave as she left.

The rest of the time spent waiting passed by without incident but Teresa felt as if time passed too slowly and too quickly at the same time. Her friends teased that for all the skill's she'd gained, trash talking still wasn't one of them. She felt that familiar relief and dread when a staff member came by and told her to get ready. Whatever else she'd done today, she'd be fighting tonight.

She caught sight of the last match's apparent loser: a thin, pale, teary eyed young redhead wearing nothing but a floral blue thong, boxing shoes, and a miserable frown. She carried her blue boxing gloves in front of her, shielding her breasts, but she couldn’t hide the ugly blue bruises marring her face and stomach. A broader woman walked behind her, trying to offer some solace that the poor girl clearly didn't want to hear.

Teresa decided that her only goal was to end the night with her clothes in her possession. And there was only one way to do that: a knockout victory.

The walk out to the ring was muted and underwhelming: the bar played generic club rap as she walked to the ring and the DJ called out her ring name with the same enthusiasm she imagined he'd introduce a 5pm stripper. The crowd was more appreciative, and she caught more than one person staring intently at her jiggling bust as it struggled against her purple, white, and black sports bra.

Her friends had helped her come up with the nickname “Poundcake” two years ago. She’d fought Jennifer, her roommate and best friend, topless on camera for Beat, Prey, Love, the video series started by Kelsey Drama to sell videos of hot coeds fight and fucking each other. It'd been a week none of them would ever forget. Since then she’d clashed with Jennifer and Nisha and a dozen other girls, some of whom didn’t even go to her college. Teresa couldn’t deny that ‘semi-pro fighter’ was as much a part of her personality as ‘gamer’ was.

Finesse, who Nisha had remembered answering to 'Britney' during her Beat, Prey, Love appearances, was already waiting for her in the blue corner, wearing a racy green sports bra and black boy shorts that barely reached past her hips.

“Ready to lose, nerd?” She called out from behind the ref.

“N-No! This gamer geek is about to put you to sleep!” Teresa menaced, already cringing about how lame she sounded. Everything sounded better, cooler, in her head before she said it.

The rest of the formalities passed quickly: the referee called them together, checked their gloves, and repeated most of the information they'd received backstage. The striped official sent them back to their separate corners and each woman waited for the bell to signal the start of their bout.

The bell came as a relief for Teresa; at least she could do something about all this pent up energy.

Unfortunately the first thing she did was walk face first into Finesse's green and black glove. The rangy blonde met her in the center of the boxing ring and rebuffed the shorter woman's attempts to draw within arm's reach. Finesse poked and prodded with her left hand, firing her jab at any perceived gap in Teresa's guard until the Filipina nerd backed away.

“You're too short, meatball!” Finesse jeered, circling away.

Chastened but not convinced, Teresa bit down on her mouth guard and advanced again, brown eyes firmly fixed on her target. She just needed to get a littl- psh psh ... psh

The athletic blonde's jab knifed through Teresa's guard again, stinging the shorter girl's cheek before she slammed a right straight into Teresa's nose. Finesse circled away to the center of the ring again, content to stick her glove in Teresa's face and then move away.

Pound Cake lunged at her and caught a looping left hook for her trouble that knocked her off balance and nearly onto the canvas before she righted herself. Finesse kept laughing, kept punching, kept moving, and Theresa couldn't get a bead on her. Nearly every punch she threw landed where the cackling white woman had been a moment ago, and she could pin Finesse down for more than a second, more than a single errant jab of her own.

The logic of the fight pounded in her brain so loud she could almost hear it: keep her guard up, minimize damage on the way in. Move, and retaliate as soon as she felt Finesse's jab on her glove. Approach slowly, save her energy for the dash from the outside of the other fighter's to the inside of hers.

Her brain knew. But her body refused to comply.

Instead Finesse taunted and smacked her, growing increasingly confident over the first two minutes of the first round that this buxom nerd didn't belong in the same ring as her. Finesse might not be a star on the Beat, Prey, Love shows, but here in a boxing ring with no fear of being wrestled to sleep she felt much better about her abilities. This dork had more breasts than brains and she relished the idea of sending this sloppy fatass home in just her underwear, sporting a few new bruises.

The first two minutes of the round ticked by in familiar, agonizing fashion. Finesse controlled the action, initiating each engagement with her rapier of a left jab. It was her radar antenna and her opening salvo, forcing the shorter woman to stop and contend with it while Finesse repositioned. She could circle to her left to line up her right straight down the middle of Pound Cake's guard or fire a left hook meant to sneak around her opponent's guard or smack her for an ill-timed approach.

Pound Cake walked into several of those punches, grunting with each impact. But getting smacked just made her push harder, certain she could get to Finesse this time if she just wanted it a little more. But that cycle screeched to a halt when Finesse faded to her left again and Pound Cake turned to find a rocket of a right hand waiting for her.

The overhand right walloped her, leaving Teresa blinking and dazed for the first time tonight. Instinct begged her to tighten her guard and back away, but her failing defenses couldn't keep Finesse at bay. Her own punches were answered with stinging retorts that buffeted her like winter winds. Finesse pursued her now, hitting her, landing that damn jab at will and any other punch she seemed to want. Finesse’s jab landed again and again on Teresa’s cheek, her eye, her jaw, stinging her before the inevitable right that left her seeing stars and wishing for an escape.

Teresa backed away from the torrent of green leather and felt the ropes dig into her back before Finesse sunk a right hand deep into her stomach, then scored with two more punches to her eye. The grinning blonde finished her with a screaming left hook that spun Pound Cake partially around before she staggreed like a baby gazelle and sat heavily on the canvas.

The referee shooed her blonde tormentor away, only turning back to Filipina slugger after Finesse backed into a corner and began preening for the rowdy crowd. “There's gonna be a lot more where that came from. I'm gonna turn Pound Cake here back into Cookie Dough!”

Teresa sighed. She was more angry than hurt, more frustrated than beaten. The ref counted slowly and the pudgy pugilist rose to her feet before the referee said “5.” The woman in stripes held her wrists, checking to see that Pound Cake still wanted to fight, before reaching for the chubby woman's purple sports bra.

“Top comes off after a knockdown.” She reminded the fighter.

“There's a zipper in the front.” Teresa pouted, looking away. “Don't rip it though. I'm gonna put it back on after I knock this chick out.”

The referee smiled and helped her out of her top. “Of course you are sweetie.” Teresa's heaving breasts flopped out of her unzipped bra and the announcer and audience both cheered the raunchy new development. Teresa wondered how often the ref had heard some variant of what she’d just said, and how often those girls made good on their promise of revenge.

“Now I know why you're so slow!” Finesse jeered from across the ring. “Those bowling balls have gotta be slowing you down!”

The referee backed away and commanded them to box, and Teresa came out hands up and newly angry. She couldn't wouldn't lose like this. Not to this blonde loudmouth fitspo reject.

Unfortunately her body had other ideas, and Teresa remained a step slow as Finesse resumed her assault. The tall athletic blonde tagged her again, splitting her attention between Teresa’s face and her bare breasts. A looping left hook knocked one tit into the other and Teresa recoiled, abandoning whatever punch she’d intended to throw.

Finesse stalked like a wildcat tormenting her prey, but the bell interrupted the hunt and marked the end of their first round. The women returned to their corners where seats and water and advice awaited.

“God I live for nights like tonight.” Britney crowed to the friend who'd accompanied her. Dominating shortstacks like Pound Cake—especially heavier girls who couldn't match her mobility— was one of her life's simple joys. A few rounds with Finesse would be enough to convince this would-be brawler to stick to ordering two desserts every and leave the fighting to the athletes. Her friend provided a tip or two that Britney left unheeded because she couldn't imagine needing any help putting this cow out to pasture. Pound Cake's tits were bigger than her head and Britney looked forward to knocking them around all night.

---

“You ok, T?” Priyanka asked her friend as her now topless friend sat down. “Stop rushing things. You're making it easy for her. Feel her jab on your guard and then push it.”

“Yeah, I'm alright. Just gotta... slow down and adapt.” Teresa sighed, sipping her water. Her giant two braided pigtails hung down on either side of her neck, almost covering her now exposed dark brown nipples. Her short side swept bangs lay against her forehead, adhered by sweat. Priyanka fixed Teresa's hair and offered advice while wiping down her chubby friend's sweaty chest.

This wasn't the first time the voluptuous brawler had dealt with a rangy outfighter who was too tall and too long to ever consider slugging it out up close. Her first ever opponent had fit that description to a tee. Jennifer, her roommate, had also put her down on the canvas in the very first round of that fight before Teresa gutted out a comeback victory. That was 2 years ago; she'd improved dramatically since.

Now she just had to prove it.

Finesse wouldn't brawl with her, no matter how many drunk fans cheered for more violence from outside the ring. Teresa would simply have to force the issue; not by trying harder but by putting her science degree to use and fighting smarter. It helped that Finesse didn't seem to be particularly strong; she'd needed more than a dozen unanswered punches to put Teresa on the canvas. Teresa simply had to pick her risks better and commit wholeheartedly to pushing this snotty blonde all the way into the corner.

“C'mon, if you can fight me you can take her out no problem.” Jennifer said. “Calm down, take your time. You got this. Put the ‘Pound’ in ‘Pound Cake’ and show her how us UCLA girls get down.”

“Seconds out!” Came the referee's warning, and Teresa nodded at her roommate.

“No sweat.”

“Also your girls looking fucking amazing Teresa. Worst case scenario you can always just distract her with your tits.” Jennifer laughed as she followed Priyanka out of the ring and left Pound Cake alone with her opponent.

The women came out for the second round but one of them looked decidedly worse for wear. Teresa's long black hair was frayed and disheveled, her two giant braids flopping against her back or her massive, sweat slicked chest with each step.

“Come on little piggy.” Finesse waved her in. “I wanna punch those two giant hams.”

Teresa smacked her purple gloves together and resolved to silence this stupid blonde.

Finesse fell into the same pattern that she'd used to dominate the first round: staying light on her feet with a persistent jab that froze her opponent in place and opened up the rest of her offense and defense. Teresa put her guard up, tight and sturdy like a giant metal shield, and prepared to rush into danger again. The alternative was letting the most annoying blonde in Los Angeles make more dated fat jokes while she beat her up.

Her choice was clear.

Instead of the one sided drubbing she'd received in Round 1, Round 2 brought Pound Cake her first taste of success. Fitness threw a careless right hand and the topless slugger followed it home to its sender, leading with a crisp combination of her own that dug into the blonde before Finesse backed away, protecting her side with her elbow. Teresa followed her, smiling for the first time in hours, only to bite hard on a feint and catch a sharp right that knocked her smile off.

Well... no one ever said it would be easy.

The rest of the round passed by with a new rhythm, of Finesse fighting off her back foot with much less confidence or success than she'd displayed in the first round. She still scored with punches, sniping at holes in Pound Cake's guard as the portly slugger advanced, taking special care to target her topless opponent's swaying tits and round face. But retreating and strafing further diminished her already unimpressive power. And each time Finesse settled down to try and rearrange the little meatball's face with stronger punches, she ate one or two in return that convinced her to leave rather than trade with the stocky brawler.

She clinched, held, pushed, desperate to stifle the shorter girl's brawn, but spent most of the rest of the round spiraling away from her, firing long jabs to cover her retreat.

But Finesse refused to cede the entire round to this little bowling ball, instead standing her ground late in the round after landing a particularly nasty double jab, straight combo. She set her feet, bit down on her mouthguard and torqued her entire body into an overhand right meant to come over the top of the shorter woman's guard and remind her why height mattered. But she'd miscalculated, a fraction of an inch too high, a moment too late, and her punch grazed the top of Pound Cake's head instead of knocking her on her ass.

The shorter woman continued her advance unimpeded, pivoting her entire body into a walloping right hand that caught Finesse below her ribs and knocked the fit blonde momentarily breathless and bent over. Pound Cake’s purple gloves splashed against her tanned face and body as she made her escape, drawing pained grunts as payment for her retreat.

The end of the second round sent both women sweating and panting back to their corners.

“That was better!” Jennifer Schweizer cheered as Teresa sat down, handing her friend the water bottle. Jennifer's short green and black hair clung to her forehead and the 21 year old brawler realized that her friends were nervous on her behalf. She was lucky to have them. “You're figuring out how to come forward, but you're still letting her angle away. Step out. Step to the side. Cut her off.”

“She's not very strong is she?” Priyanka said, leaning over Teresa. “You're walking through her punches and she definitely looks like she doesn't want to trade with you.”

“She was strong enough to put me down once.” Teresa admitted, sending her oversized pigtails flying with a shake of her head.

“But not strong enough to do it again. You've got her running. Keep it up.”

---

In the other corner, Britney Gleeson's friends were attempting damage control for their suddenly concerned fighter. “She's not biting on my feints, she's walking through the double jab, her head must be made of concrete...” the blonde groused.

“It's just one bad round. Keep chipping away at her and she'll crack.”

“Yeah yeah whatever...” Finesse shook her head. “I'm still gonna take her head off. It'll just take a few tweaks...”

Her friends suggested that taxing the voluptuous slugger’s stamina might be the better tactic instead of aiming for a quick knockout of a woman whose bra size was only exceeded by her endurance, but Britney remained convinced that her ticket into the upper echelon of this particular scene was to make a quick and humiliating example of the new girl. She rose off the stool and slapped her green gloves together.

“Time to take out the trash.”

The third round proceeded much like the first, with Britney prodding and poking, trusting the distance between them to keep her safe from the topless slugger. She pivoted and leaned and strafed, unwilling to stand in the same spot for long lest the little mini-fridge rearrange her organs with a lucky punch.

The Lucky Shot bar’s rules encouraged all offense all the time with no regard for defense, but Finesse had found a style that worked even in this venue and in these rules. A dominant first round or two was enough to demoralize most girls; once she'd forced them to think about how to keep her from hitting them it was just a matter of time before they gave up trying to win.

Smacking some wanna be brawler around the ring for 5 rounds did wonders for her mood, especially when she could watch her helpless opponent and her corner lose hope in real time. Breaking some accountant who'd taken one too many boxing classes for her own good made Finesse feel great.

She just had to use her reach and mobility to convince this fatass that she couldn't actualy beat her. The mind fell and the body followed. But Pound Cake wouldn't fall. Worse yet she'd begun slipping and weaving some of Britney's punches, moving her head and upper body to evade or minimize the incoming impacts as she moved forward, tagging Finesse's toned abs with quick, light punches that felt anything but. Britney felt the momentum slipping and refused to concede it to some “chubby thick” bitch named after her favorite dessert. And so the blonde moved. And punched, and moved some more until she felt the ropes grazing her side and the brawny young woman bearing down on her, smiling behind her guard. Finesse's punch glanced off Pound Cake's glove but the shorter woman’s response detonated on Finesse's cheek and left her swearing inside her head.

Finesse pivoted and leaned, searching for space to fully extend her punches, but she might as well be fighting in a phone booth for as much space as the plump slugger would allow her. The shorter, younger woman dug savage hooks and uppercuts into her sides and stomach as if she were trying to excavate Finesse’s internal organs.

Each punch elicited grunts and contortions as Finesse sought an exit from this bare chested little devil. She finally corralled the shorter girl, wrapping an arm around her head after absorbing half a dozen mood altering punches, only for the little shit to continue digging short punches into whatever exposed skin she could find.

The referee took her sweet time breaking them up, intervening well after Finesse had made it clear she intended to hold on for dear life, rules be damned.

“C'mon crossfit! Where'd all that attitude go? Are you gonna get knocked out by a chubby nerd?” Teresa finally allowed herself a moment to gloat.

“Fuck you, loser! Don't fucking talk to me!” Panic tugged at the edge of Finesse’s voice.

“Alright alright, break it up!” The ref pulled on the two warriors, and Teresa had honestly forgotten the referee was in the ring with them until the inattentive woman untangled her and her opponent and stood between them. The two reengaged as soon as the ref moved, and Finesse reasserted her jabs several more times before the round ended.

The two warriors regarded each other very differently as they returned to their corners after the third round. Finesse'd planted an ugly purple bruise on Teresa's face during her dominant first round and gradually watered it with steady jabs until the swelling under the curvy brawler's left eye threatened to close it completely. Unfortunately, dark blue-purple splotches made Finesse's proud abs look like a garden of petunias.

Teresa sat down and fought to keep her excitement in check. “That was better right? It felt better. I'm actually hitting her now and like...”

“Alright, reel it in.” Priyaka said, cautious joy painted across the Indian American woman's light brown face.

“Calm down. It was better, but you're not done till the ref hands you her shorts.” She reminded Teresa.

“Keep breathing. Keep moving. Keep hitting her. You’re tired, but she’s hurt. Keep it up and get ready for her to get desperate.” Jeniffer explained.

Theresa nodded wordlessly, breathing with her mouth open. She was tired, but still had a fight to win against an opponent who'd never willingly admit defeat, especially to someone shaped like Pound Cake.

---

“So Brit... do you want advice or are you just gonna figure this one out on her own?” In the other corner, the feisty blonde bickered with the friends she'd ostensibly trusted to lead her to victory.

“Depends. Are you gonna say anything useful or just say stupid shit I already know?”

Things didn't improve from there. Finesse’s friends tried to remind themselves that Britney was frustrated at the prospect of losing a fight she'd utterly dominated for the first round and a half, but that didn't make her bad attitude fun to endure.

Both women rose off their stools as the 4th round began and their friends returned to the safety of the floor outside the ring.

An exchange early in the fourth round set the tone for the rest of the round, when Finesse landed with a familiar 1-2-3 jab-straight-hook combo that briefly calmed her fraying nerves. The last punch snapped her opponent's head to the side and she lunged at the opportunity to reassert her obvious and rightful dominance. She pawed at her chubby prey, lining up another hook aimed at her opponent's chubby face. The followup connected but with Pound Cake's gloves instead of her unprotected face, and the shorter woman rolled with the punching, ducking into an uppercut that found a home on Finesse's already compromised stomach. The blonde hunched forward and gasped, stuck in place and served up perfectly for the left exploded on her cheek and sent a spray of spit and sweat into the cold air.

Teresa followed, all too happy to take advantage of her flagging foe. Finesse's steps had slowed, her punches lacked the sting they'd brought to begin the fight, and Teresa could muscle her way in as well and deliver punches that pierced the taller woman's desperate guard. Teresa might not be tall, or fast, but her struggles had bought her patience and she'd long since learned that she hit uncommonly, dispiritingly hard. Finesse was now learning the same fact, one breathtaking punch at a time.

Pound Cake pushed her backwards with each punch, cracking the boxer's guard and demolishing her failing resolve. Pound Cake lived up to her name, landing thudding combinations that elicited desperate whimpers from the woman who'd long since run out of air to spare on cheap fat jokes.

Teresa landed punches at will, jerking Finesse’s head around with each punch until a thudding body blow left her gasping. The blonde staggered back, desperate to find some pocket of the ring that this stubby bitch wouldn’t fucking follow her. The shorter girl ducked Finesse’s hook and blasted her with an uppercut that left Britney seeing double and staggering backwards, right into range for more punishment from the excited college slugger.

“Come on! Fight back!” Teresa teased, beaming. “Unless you wanna get knocked out by a chubby nerd? You like being humiliated don't you?” She grunted, ripping 2 hooks in quick succession into Finesse's breasts and stomach.

Finesse protested, but her fists said nothing. Her body refused her desperate commands to escape, to find the range or the angle to free herself from her prison between her unlikely executioner and the corner. Even holding the little shortstack brought no relief. Pound cake's thick arms and wide hips kept churning, delivering more punishment to the miserable blonde. Pound Cake muscled her against the corner post, pressing her forehead into Britney's green sports bra and digging into her unprotected sides with punches that felt like bricks. A thunderous right hand finally broke her, and Britney collapsed forward, right into the shorter woman's bare breasts.

“Get comfy. I brought you a pair of big, soft pillows. Now I'm gonna put you to sleep.” The violent nerd pulled Britney deeper into her massive cleavage with one hand secured behind the blonde’s head. The only thing bigger than Teresa's tits was her punching power, and the referee showed no interest in rescuing the mouthy blonde while Pound Cake put the final touches on her comeback victory. By the time Pound Cake pushed the taller woman away, a gasping, red faced Finesse had nothing left to offer except an easy target for a dramatic knockout.

The crowd cheered the action, recognizing the uneasy sway and low guard of a boxer on their last legs.

Britney recognized her danger and brought her gloves in front of her face, longing for the end of the round to buy her a few more minutes and another chance at victory. She simply could not stomach losing to a chubby girl, some “curvy thicc” loser more suited for crafting twitter posts than workouts, more fond of dessert than cardio. And yet here she was, cowering, whimpering, red faced and embarrassed after spending 15 seconds buried in this fat nerd's fatter boobs. It didn't make sense.

Finesse's legs felt heavy and stiff, her arms ached, and each ragged breath felt like paying interest on a debt she'd accrued by absorbing body shots that felt like bricks. She went in only one direction, backwards, in futile search for an exit or an escape, even as Teresa staggered her with gut wrenching blows that drove the air out of her lungs or walloped her with heavy punches that knocked spit and sense out of her. But Britney Gleeson endured. She had to. She simply had to survive the round, recoup, and claim revenge next round. She still had her top on, still had the only knockdown of the fight, still had…

And then Pound Cake swung her entire frame into a punch that detonated on Finesse's bruise-splotched abs and clarified things for her opponent and their audience.

The sapped blonde fell in slow motion, curling in on herself even before her body hit the canvas with an ugly thud. She fell onto her side, gasping and clutching her stomach as her green mouthguard spilled from her mouth onto the canvas. Finesse she wretched, fighting now to keep from throwing up while the triumphant infighter raised a glove in victory and retreated back to a neutral corner

Finesse moaned and gasped, her mind desperately fighting for some semblance of control over a body that had surrendered. Her battered 5’10 frame refused to heed her commands to straighten out, let alone to stand up and knock this stupid nerd out once and for all.

The referee’s count was slow and definitive, even by the lax standard of the foxy boxing league at the Lucky Shot bar. The crowd counted along with the ref even after the dominated blonde made it clear she wouldn't so much as roll over. Instead she moved one hand in front of her face to cover the salty, bitter tears that wouldn't stop flowing.

“Wow. You're a bitch. And you're bad at this. I'm not sure how I was ever scared of you.” Teresa grinned, crouched near the girl she'd felled. “Thanks for everything. Good luck at Crossfit on Monday. Tell them you got your ass kicked by a girl who can't see her feet without a mirror.”

Finesse offered only heaving gasps and half-muttered expletives as she tried to force air back into her lungs and overcome the pain still radiating throughout her stomach. Pound Cake pulled away but she wasn't finished yet. She nudged Finesse onto her back and put a triumphant boot onto the humiliated blonde's chest. Teresa raised her hand and yelled at the rafters with primal joy.

Satisfied and grinning, Teresa finally left her humiliated opponent in the care of the ref to administer the loser’s final indignity. The Lucky Shot had rules for its boxing matches after all. Teresa’s friends pushed into the ring and the short slugger accepted help putting her glasses back on, once again able to see the far edges of the bar and the cheering, drunk audience.

“Alright Pound Cake, over here!” The ref called, and Teresa turned to see the striped official holding a familiar purple sports bra alongside a much smaller green and black outfit: too small to be new clothing, just the right size to be a war trophy, and freshly stripped from a blonde fighter who couldn’t back up any of her threats. Teresa held the clothing aloft, savoring the moment. She’d overcome adversity and finished her debut in a new venue exactly the way she wanted to.

From the corner of her eye she saw Finesse’s friends tending to the battered and almost nude blonde. Teresa Paraiso thought back to the very first time she’d ever found, on a night where she'd settled a grudge with her lanky roommate and resumed their friendship on the walk home. Teresa had no such intentions of reconciling with the sobbing blonde in the far corner. Finesse could walk a million miles in just her black thong for all Teresa cared.

The chubby slugger dismissed the blonde from her thoughts and instead focused on the announcer's voice filling the cavernous bar. “Your winner, by knockout at 2 minutes and 37 seconds into the 4th round, let's hear it for Pound Caaaake!”

The announcer yelled her ring name with much more enthusiasm this time: was this what winning meant? Was this what her friends had grown so fond of? As the crowd’s rapturous cheer washed over the victorious brawler, the girl in glasses decided that she’d need to further investigate this feeling. It’s what any real scientist would do...

Find shorter thoughts at https://c.im/@NaClKnight