Dan Boxer's blog

APRIL'S OFFER – PART 2
When I walked out toward the ring, April's champion was already in there, shadow-boxing and rolling his shoulders to stay loose. Under the glaring lights, he was an impressive sight in bright red trunks and matching red gloves and boots, and as I got closer to the ring he appeared even larger than I'd remembered.
But I'm a lot faster than he is, I keep telling myself … at least I was, until April had her way with me a few minutes ago.
Speaking of April, she was at ringside, setting up the timer, and she slid her way through the ropes about the same time I did. I was trying to keep loose when she high-heeled her way to the center of the canvas and waved us in.
"OK, boys, you know the rules and you know what's at stake," she said. "We'll go two-minute rounds with two minutes in between, and it ends only by knockout. If one of you wants to quit, the other can continue until there's a knockout. May the best man win."
Her champion never took his eyes from mine the entire time we were at mid-ring, the same type of focus I'd seen from him in his earlier fight. I tried to match that focus … my mind was swirling with emotions, but I kept a stone-cold face and matched his gaze.
I also saw over his eye the remnants of the scar over his right eye from the bout I watched. Have to remember that, I thought. Other than that, both of us were pretty much unmarked … about the only thing similar between us. Had there been others watching, they would not have been able to imagine a greater contrast.
There was only one thing in common between us that really mattered, and she was standing right between us preparing to watch us beat each other into submission for her charms.
When April finished, I extended my gloves, and he hit downward on them with his … hard. He's trying to intimidate me, I thought … and he's pissed that I'm trying to take his girl – and I just got a first-hand experience about how fantastic and incredible she is. I'd be pissed, too, and I'd fight to the last breath to keep her.
We went back to our corners and waited for the timer to sound as I stuck my white mouthpiece between my lips and bit down hard. April took one of the seats normally reserved for the judges … right at mid-ring. I figured she wouldn't be using the seat too much, and was still thinking about her when the timer went off to signal round one.
I come out cautious and start circling left, planning to stay away from that big right hand as much as possible, and the champ isn't in any hurry, either. He is a picture of energy efficiency, striding purposely forward in a classic boxer's stance and trying to cut off the ring to negate my speed advantage. But nobody's thrown a punch in more than 15 seconds … and had I dared glance over, I can imagine April getting impatient for some leather to fly.
When the champ gets close, I throw a couple of jabs up at the big man, both of which he picks off with gloves that look too small for his massive frame – the 8-ouncers that April chose because they can do the most damage. He responds with two flicking left jabs of his own, both off my gloves, and I saw the muscles in his right arm twitch – a tell that he was loading up for a follow-up right.
I easily duck under the punch – it's a little easier against a bigger opponent – and suddenly I see the entire right side of the champ's body wide open. I'd hoped for that, and pivoted for my bread-and-butter punch, the uppercut under the rib cage. It landed solidly, good enough to have put a lot of fighters on the canvas gasping for breath, but all my opponent did was let out a "whoofff" and grab me in a clinch.
"That all you got," he hissed through his mouthpiece as both of us struggled to get punching room. "Got a lot more where that came from," I hissed back, but I was already starting to wonder.
OK, he just took my best punch with little more than a shrug – and I'm pretty sure he knows that – and I can feel him twisting in the clinch and preparing to attack my body as he quickly took midring to cut down the distance between us. Time to get out of range, and start sticking and moving, my original plan.
I bobbed in and out, keeping my head movement, Joe Frazier-like, to make it more difficult for Duke to pick up. My constant movement also helped me load up the jab, which I flicked out rapidly into my opponent's gloves, pushing them back into his face.
Moments later, Duke stepped into range, his right hand up around his face and his left hand down, and put his weight on his left foot, dipping to unleash a hook. I took a half-step back, and that quick motion unhinged Duke's release, and he hesitated, knowing that his shot would either miss or land without much force. I shot a lead right off his forehead and side-hopped right as Duke turned and reached for the hook that missed.
My speed advantage is already making him miss, I thought, and I started shooting pin-pricking jabs aimed at Duke's forehead and eyes. I kept my right hand high to ward off his jabs and was starting to punish him with the left jab when he suddenly ducked aside one of those jabs, and swung a big left hook that slammed into my right side at the waistband, grunting loudly as it connected.
Unnnnhhhh … had I not turned slightly just as the punch landed, that would have dug right into my abs and I would likely have been on the canvas, struggling for breath. As it was, the force of the blow knocked me two steps back against the ropes, and Duke was on me in a flash.
I kept my gloves at my temples and elbows pinched in from my sides as Duke loaded up and threw several punches that made big, banging "whack" sounds that echoed off the gym walls. But they mostly hit on my arms and gloves, not doing much damage, and I was clinching and pinning his big arms as we leaned against the ropes when the timer went off.
We broke, and I walked back to my corner and swung out the metal stool built into the ring post, taking out my mouthpiece and trying hard to get my breathing under control. The dull pain from Duke's big shot to my side had started to go away and I was looking down at the canvas when I saw a shadow in front of me. It was April, who had stepped between the ropes.
"Not bad," she said as she leaned down and toweled off my face and chest. "Your jab's keeping him off balance. Just got to watch for that hook … you pay too much attention to his right hand, and his left hook will send you to dreamland."
She picked up the water bottle and squirted into my mouth, wiping the spill and my sweat again and running her hand through my sweaty hair.
"You're doing good," she said. "Keep it up and he'll get tired of chasing you. That's when you can take him … mess him up, baby," as she stepped away.
I watched that white-satin-covered ass, one stunning leg showing out of the slit, walk to the other corner and repeat the same motions … water and towel. I couldn't hear what she said to Duke, but I now understood why she had set up two minutes between rounds. Whatever she was saying, Duke never took his eyes off me, even when pushing the stool back to the ring post at the warning buzzer.
When the timer went off for round two, it was a sharp contrast to the slow start of the opening round. Both of us stepped forward and Duke began unloading big shots. I was able to duck under most of his looping head shots, a couple of times countering with a quick left-right to his body as a penalty for him missing me, before moving back out of range.
Duke was still controlling the mid-ring area, though, and started crowding forward and pushing to get under my guard. I was able to dip down and take most of his shots on my elbows, but his crowding with his shoulder kept nudging me off balance and making it difficult to jab my way out of trouble.
Most of the round continued in that manner … Duke trying to bull his way forward and push me against the ropes and me trying to bounce jabs off his head and eyes and circle away. That became a pattern … until Duke feinted another low push forward and I instinctively dropped my left hand toward his head. He ripped a roundhouse right over the top that clipped me right on the point of the chin, and I fell back directly on my butt near the ropes.
Stunned more than anything, I started to get up when I noticed that Duke hadn't gone to a neutral corner with the knockdown, and in fact was looming over me, his gloves low and ready to do more damage. And I saw and heard April through the big man's legs, leaning over the apron and banging on the canvas while yelling, "Yes, yes!"
I half-scrambled away as I stood up, and Duke gave chase, but he was overanxious and I was able to pick off the lefts and rights he aimed at my head and connected with a couple of stiff left jabs and a following right cross that landed right at the buzzer. The right caused Duke to blink and shake his head slightly as he turned to go to his corner.
I did the same and took a seat. The knockdown hadn't hurt, just a momentary stun, and I actually felt pretty good in the way I came back and got in some shots at the end.
This time, April went to Duke's corner first, and I watched as she toweled his chest and body with one hand and stroked the other on his thigh, darting under his red trunks just a bit to reach near the top of his leg. As I was getting my breathing back under control, she walked toward my corner … and my only thought was that the front view looked even better than the rear one from the previous round break.
This time, she sat on my knee as she put the towel to use.
"Maybe I was wrong about paying attention to his right," she said.
"Nice advice," I said, forcing a grin.
"Just keep it up," she said. "He hasn't had many long fights recently, and I think you're in better shape" – she was rubbing her hand against my chest while she spoke. "Use those legs," she said as she moved her hand to my thigh, "and keep away from him for a while."
She stood up at the warning buzzer and slipped back through the ropes, and my eyes followed her for a few moments before I looked back toward the other corner. Duke had again focused his gaze on me, a stare that continued when the buzzer sounded for the third round.
Duke came out quickly again and established himself at mid-ring. He does stick to a plan, I thought, and why not … he hurt me in the first round and had me down in the second, why not stick with what's working. But I still felt good coming into the round, and the nerves seemed to have finally disappeared and the surroundings seemed a lot more comfortable. It's a boxing ring, like all the rest I've been in, and I'm here for a fight.
Because of that comfort level, I decided to try something that I'd done a couple of times previously, and switched to a southpaw stance, pointing my right shoulder at Duke and making it harder for his left hook to find my body and chin. Still had to watch for the right hand, but at least I'd see it coming.
I started chopping out right-hand jabs, and they split Duke's gloves more often than not as he tried to solve my new stance. I got off first on every exchange for most of the round, almost every one with a right lead, one catching him square on the nose and a couple above his right eye. Most of his counters I either blocked with my gloves and arms or they thudded off my back as I was turned almost parallel to the big guy.
When I saw he was waiting for another jab, I dipped my right shoulder, stepped inside and picked him up with a tight right uppercut and quickly followed with an arcing left hand over the top, directly into that right eye. Duke stepped back – the first time I'd backed him up – and I followed inside again leading with my right shoulder and dropped another quick left into his jaw. The short, snug southpaw slugging was working … I was able to smother much of his open attack and get in some short, choppy left hands. As long as I could avoid his right hand, it was okay to be in this close.
But I also did my share of staying away, remembering the two big punches that Duke caught me with in the first two rounds, and continued to circle and flick out the jab. Duke also tried to jab and follow up with the right, but I was able to parry away the jabs with my right glove and step back from his right. He appeared frustrated when the buzzer sounded to end the third round, and I could see a trickle of blood coming from his nose and his right eyebrow was puffy.
I almost danced to my corner, buoyed by my success, and before I could even get the stool pulled out and my mouthpiece out, April was in my corner. She took the mouthpiece and toweled off my face and chest as I stood against the corner padding, and she pressed in very close while she wiped the back of my neck. I had a stunning view of the cleavage that her white satin dress showed off to maximum efficiency.
"THAT'S what I was looking for," she said. "You've got him so screwed up he doesn't know what to do. Now you start screwing him. Fuck him up, baby."
With those words, she poked my mouthpiece into my stomach, and I grabbed it as she let her hand slip down and graze the front of my trunks – and I noticed that I was hard and straining against my jock strap – before she walked toward the other corner. I pulled out the stool to get at least a partial break, and leaned against the padding while she kneeled between Duke's red boots. Duke was breathing heavily before she got to his corner … maybe he is starting to wear down some … and kept breathing heavy the rest of the break – maybe from just needing air, or maybe from a little bit of "inspiration" from April.
Regardless, both of us were on our feet just after the warning buzzer and were already a couple of steps toward mid-ring when the buzzer for round four sounded.
The fourth round was fairly tame, me sticking with the southpaw stance and Duke still looking for an opening he could exploit. I was still having success with the right-hand lead, trying to pepper Duke's nose and eyelid, but mostly they hissed off his gloves and it was my turn to feel frustration in not being able to do more damage to my target. Still, I was slow-playing him enough to be effective, and had just dropped another hammering right jab to his nose and jerked it back to block what I thought was a left hook.
Instead, Duke had feinted the hook, pivoted and slammed a right cross into my solar plexus, which was pointed directly at his right in my southpaw look. It felt like the punch was going through me, and I bent over with the impact and grabbed his right arm and around his waist as he clubbed my head with his free left hand.
Suddenly he backed off and started walking toward his corner. I hadn't even heard the buzzer sound, ending the round, and shuffled slowly back to my corner, pulled out the stool and sat down heavily, one arm clutching my abdomen. I saw a smile from Duke as he sat in his corner, and I don't think it was all because April was walking in his direction.
I didn't pay attention to the other corner after that, instead arching my back, looking up at the ceiling and trying to stretch out my abdominal muscles to relieve the pain. Damn, this guy can hit, I thought, and I had already convinced myself that I had to be more careful when April's face blocked out some of the overhead lights.
"Looks like you could use some help, sugar," she said as I looked up at her from my stool, and she deftly stepped on either side of my stool (thank god for that dress slit, I thought later) and lowered herself on my lap. "Maybe this will make you feel better."
She put her hands on my shoulders, and I could feel her heat – the same heat I sensed that day when she came to the gym to tell me she'd set up this fight, and the same heat I felt close-up less than an hour earlier in the locker room. That now seemed like days ago. But I could also smell her juices flowing, and knew she'd been getting off on watching this fight right from the first minute.
"Remember what you're here for," she said as she leaned in closer, eventually pushing those lovely breasts right under my chin. "He may hurt you, bruise you, cut you up, but don't lose sight of the prize. It's more than worth it."
I resisted the urge to raise my gloves and fondle those breasts … instead, I sat there and enjoyed the respite, knowing that in only seconds I would have to stand back up – probably with a raging hard-on – and face a guy who's now hurt me twice.
April stood and stepped back when the warning buzzer sounded, not saying anything but continuing to lock on my eyes until the buzzer sounded for round five.
By the time I kicked the stool back out of the ropes, Duke was halfway across the ring and still coming, trying to pick up where he left off. But his haste left him temporarily out of control, and as I side-stepped to the left and away from his advance I planted my right foot and launched a quick left hook over the top that crashed into his eyelid. Blood instantly spurted out, making a line on my white glove and sending a steady trickle down the side of his face.
As an experienced fighter, Duke knew immediately to cover up and put his right glove up high and on his temple, trying to prevent further damage, while shooting out straight lefts in what was now a vain effort to continue his momentum. For my part, I stepped back, both to avoid his lefts and to assess the damage … and to figure out how to do more.
I had already decided to go back to an orthodox stance instead of the southpaw, mostly to prevent a repeat of Duke abusing my open body from the right side, but now that was even more important as I started pistoning left jabs to his head and immediately backing away.
Maybe it was the sight of Duke's blood, or maybe it was knowing that his big right hand wasn't going to be nearly as dangerous since he had to protect the cut, but I felt a rush of energy and a feeling of empowerment. The pain in my abs had diminished – April's magic hands might have had something to do with that – and I felt much lighter on my feet. I kept the jabs working, but was now stepping in and chipping away with overhand right crosses that popped into Duke's left cheek and jaw whenever he tried to use his left.
The punches didn't hurt much, but I could tell they were enraging Duke, and the madder he got the more likely he was to lash out and not cover. That he did a couple of times, and I easily dodged those and made him pay with quick left-right combos.
Eventually, I stood flat-footed with my weight forward and was chopping with both hands to his head, watching his eyes blink with astonishment as his smaller foe was starting to punish him. He was again backing up and soon had his back against my own corner pad as I continued to ignore any defense and rain lefts and rights, all aimed at his head.
I couldn't see April, but I could feel her again beating her hands on the ring apron, and I could hear her yelling, "Get him, baby … hit him … hit him … fuck him up bad!"
Duke tried to swing back with a sailing left hook, but I saw it coming and leaned back as it sailed by. As my weight came back forward and Duke was still off balance and leaning away from the corner, I pivoted into a big right-hand counter that clipped him perfectly on the chin. He went crashing down on all fours right at my feet, and I could hear April again … "Yes, Yes!"
I instinctively stepped back to go to a neutral corner before remembering there was no referee, so it was my turn now to watch the big man shake his head and try to regain his balance – and watch the blood steadily dripping from his face. The buzzer to end round five sounded when Duke was still trying to stand, and he eventually used the ropes to stand up and lurch his was across the ring.
I leaned in my corner and watched him walk unsteadily, and watched April leap through the ropes and head toward Duke's corner to assist him. It took a few seconds for me to realize that I could sit down, and when I swung out the stool I realized how tired my arms were from all the punching in that round. I sort of let my arms dangle at my sides, shaking them, and was still doing that when April walked over and started kneading both shoulders and biceps.
Damn, this woman knew exactly what to do to help a fighter. For once, April didn't say anything between rounds … just stood in front of me and kept working on my sore arms, burying her thumbs and fingers deep in the muscles, and they felt much better when the buzzers sounded for the sixth round.
The sixth round started much like most of the fifth. I was making a concerted effort to pound at Duke's face, and he was still taking some of them flush. He was game, but defending his eye had negated part of his attack and I kept getting off first.
I was hammering home straight rights and leaning out to clip across some quick left hooks, one of which raked across Duke's nose and reopened the blood flow there. My gloves were now a mixture of white and maroon from the dried blood, and I felt a sense of entitlement in punching that blood back into the big man's face.
Again I had Duke backed into the ropes – I could tell he wasn't used to backing up much, the way he sort of lumbered when he took a step back – and was in a punching pattern. Perhaps Duke picked up on that pattern, perhaps I got cocky or perhaps the blood flowing from two places made him desperate, but when I swung another straight right hand he leaned away, batted my punch away with his left glove and nailed me under the jaw with an uppercut with a right hand that must have started six inches off the canvas.
All I saw was the overhead lights of the ring and my sweat flying between the stars that Duke's punch created, and I staggered back with arms flailing until I hit the ropes. Duke was on top of me in a flash, his feet wide apart and his arms sending swinging lefts and rights at my head as I desperately tried to cover. I tried to clinch, but he used his beefy left forearm to push me back against the ropes and smashed my open abdomen with another right hand.
I doubled over and my head was about the height of his waist as he beat a steady diet of punches around my head, and I eventually went down on my hip and side from the barrage.
My head was spinning and one glove was caught in the ropes, but I knew if I rolled onto my back I probably wouldn't be getting up for some time. Instead, I pushed myself to my knees, grabbed the ropes and pulled myself up …too quickly, as it turned out, because Duke was right there and nailed my open face with a right hand that hit on my left eye as I went crashing back down hard, face first on the canvas.
With my head on the mat, I could feel a vibration, and I knew it was April pounding the ring apron again, and I'm sure she was screaming although my head was too foggy to hear. I also felt a wetness running down my cheek and I knew my left eye had been cut open.
I'm not sure what helped me get back up – maybe there was a subconscious feeling of knowing the prize that went to the winner – but I was able to get my bearings and work my feet back under me, still in a kneeling position not unlike a baseball catcher. I stayed that way for a few seconds, with Duke still close by, fists at the ready, before standing up.
Fortunately for me, that's when the buzzer sounded ending the sixth round, and I was in the process of limping back to my corner when April grabbed my arm, put it over her shoulder and helped me back, pulling the stool out for me.
She splashed water all over me and was lightly slapping my chin, saying, "Baby, baby, you all right? You OK?" I remember babbling something about getting the number of the truck that hit me, and I saw her smile just a little. "Take your time, you have time here," she said. "Try to breathe normally and focus your eyes on something."
Again, she knew exactly what to do, and I focused my eyes on her sparkling brown eyes as I slowly regained my senses. By the time she had finished toweling me off and wiping the cut over my eye before walking across the ring, I was able to focus on her walking away and the lovely calf that came out of the slit in her dress.
I didn't know what took place in Duke's corner, but by the time the warning buzzer sounded I at least felt like standing up. But I knew I was in no shape to trade punches, especially with my eye, so it was time to get back on the bicycle for a while.
At the buzzer, I expected Duke to charge out, but he unhurriedly walked out, very much under control. Maybe he was starting to wear down or maybe he was just measuring my condition, but I was glad for the break and started circling to my right again, away from his right hand that was a weapon once again. But I could see that his cut was still a mess over his eye – mine was much better by comparison – and his nose hadn't stopped bleeding.
I spent all of round seven stepping back from his punches, which were now noticeably slower than the start of the fight, and continuing to circle. A couple of times, Duke pressed forward, but I was able to use my gloves to push his shoulders away when he tried to boar in head first and back-pedaled away from him. He got through with some jabs and one time landed a right lead to the side of my head, but it glanced off my glove and didn't land with authority.
By the end of the round, I felt good enough to throw a couple of jabs of my own, and my head was almost clear when the round ended. I felt fortunate that the slowest round of the fight so far had some when I needed it as I walked back to my corner.
I remembered April's instructions and was still focusing on one thing, one of the high ring lights, and was pulling out my own waistband with the thumbs of my gloves – an effort to make breathing easier – when April walked over and kneeled in front of me.
"Got something down there you want to show me?" she said. "I think I saw it up close a little while ago. You do remember, right … you couldn't be that much out of it, huh?"
I smiled and instantly felt better. "I'll probably never forget that," I said. "I was just providing a little air and reminding the guy down there how good that felt," as I let my waistband settle back in on my abdomen.
"I don't think he needs any reminding," April said as she raised one hand and gave my crotch a quick squeeze. "And he'll get a much bigger taste when this is over and you've taken care of business here."
I looked back at her face – that blond hair now loosened up from her hyperactive sideline cheerleading and now cascading down on both sides. God, she looked hot, and she knew exactly what I was thinking.
"Just keep going and stay smart," she said as she stood up, almost instinctively knowing that the warning buzzer was about to sound – and it did.
Round eight wasn't much different from round seven, with me staying away and slowly getting back to form and back to plan, trying to flick the jab at Duke's swelling face, reddening nose and the widening gash above his right eye. Blood from that cut was now not only trickling down his cheek, but was also running down the middle of his eyebrow, flowing into his eye, and he was constantly blinking and rubbing his eye with the heel of his glove to try to clear his vision.
I could still feel my own blood, but it was only an occasional drop off the side of my face, and I knew most of the blood on my gloves and my white trunks had come off my opponent.
To his credit, Duke continued to press inside, bulling his way in and trying to create open shots at my body and uppercuts toward my head, but I was able to parry most of them and smother with clinches. Much of the round resembled a wrestling match, with arms locked and our chests pushed against each other, my head planted under Duke's chin where he couldn't get at it, and both our arms punching against the other man's sides.
With my lower position, I could get more leverage on those, and as I held the clinch with my left I was pounding Duke's left side with my right hand. It couldn't do much damage, but it did make it harder for him to breathe, and I could feel "whoofs" coming out of his mouthpiece as his head moved around mine. I could also feel his blood dropping on my shoulders and flowing down my back, and it almost felt like it came in spurts … every time I would hit his side with a right, I could feel a few more drops fall from either his nose or eye.
We were still clinched up when the buzzer went off ending round eight, and I felt good walking back to my corner. April was right behind me.
"He's tired," she almost hissed in my face as she wiped Duke's blood off my face, shoulders and body. "He's ready to go … you can take him NOW!"
I had already learned not to doubt her, and maybe she was right. If he'd had any energy left, he would have taken advantage of me the last two rounds. But he didn't. Maybe he was struggling more than I realized.
April had already walked to the other corner when I decided to cut back on the back-pedaling and challenge Duke a little more, and I was ready for that to happen when the ninth-round buzzer sounded.
Duke again walked out slowly and in control, probably expecting me to again get on the bicycle and keep away, which I did for a moment. But quickly I went back to a southpaw stance, where I could more easily step inside, and was able to split Duke's gloves with the first two lead rights I threw. Whether it was luck or fate, Duke shifted his head just when I threw the first right, and it crashed directly into his nose, smashing it flat, sending sweat flying and sending blood out of both nostrils. As he shifted away, my second right pounded directly across his eyelid, hissing as it raked the skin, and the flow of blood there began anew and was washing into his eye.
Duke again brought his right hand directly in front of his face, both as a defense and to use the thumb to try to clear the blood, but that only added to his vision problem. Buoyed by that, I started jerking right uppercuts off his chest and chin and slicing left hands that tore at his swollen face. He started backing up again, but I kept the distance between us the same and continued a two-handed assault with tightly-grouped punches. I could feel the energy flowing out of him, and for the first time felt that he was set up for a knockout.
We were at mid-ring when I slipped Duke's jab, and his follow right hand to my body hit home but didn't have much on it. I turned back to an orthodox stance to get my left side forward, and was able to body up and muscle Duke's bulk – not so much as earlier when he was sturdy and resistant to anything – to the ropes as we clinched. Once there, I pushed off and dug two left hooks into his right side – an open area since he had to keep his right hand high to protect the eye and nose. I could feel them sink in … just like punching the heavy bag in the gym, I thought … and I followed by shifting my weight and digging right hands to a body that was fast becoming a mass of red, black and blue.
Duke sat in the ropes and tried to huddle forward, but when he did I put my left arm under his and stacked him back up high. Stackin' and packin', that's what they called it at the gym, and it opened up his body again for more lefts and rights, some low on his waistband and some to his abdomen, but at least a couple of left-hand uppercuts directly under his rib cage – the same punch that had so little effect on him in the first few seconds of the first round. This time, I felt the convulsion in Duke's insides when they hammered home, and a third uppercut pounded in and drew a retching sound as the buzzer sounded to end the ninth.
Duke went to his hands and knees with that last body blow, and half-crawled, half-walked to his corner, with April – all 5-foot-3 and 115 pounds of her – trying to help pull Duke's 6-foot-5, 260-pound frame to the stool. I took my seat and watched, not knowing if Duke was going to make it out for the 10th round and knowing if he did, I was ready to make sure he wasn't around for the end of it.
April did all she could in that first minute, applying pressure above Duke's eye with the heel of one hand and pinching the nostrils with the fingers of that same hand, while using the other to clean him up. Pretty impressive, I thought, and I tried to imagine if there was another woman anywhere – outside of trained professional fighters – that knew so much about boxing from the inside.
By the time she high-heeled over to my corner, I was breathing normally but my heart was racing. This time, I couldn't wait for the two-minute break to end. April didn't kneel this time … instead, she reached under my chin and tilted my head up to look directly into her face.
"You've got him fucked up, now you know what you have to do," she said. "Finish him, baby … make me proud."
"You will be," was all I said.
I was up quickly at the warning buzzer, but Duke was still on his stool, leaning back against the corner pad and his eyes closed. I thought for a moment that's how it might end – and was actually disappointed if that's how it had, considering the nine-round war we'd had – but when the buzzer sounded to start the round he slowly rose and took a fighting stance, taking a couple of steps forward.
He's game, I'll give him that, I thought. But I had a job to do, and I quickly walked forward. Duke's face was a mess and would have been an easy target, but I wanted to end it with a body attack, especially since that's where Duke had hurt me earlier, but instead of working the front and the waist where Duke's elbows were clinched to protect, I started pounding behind the elbows, hammering at the ribs and the liver. Sweat was pouring off me as I kept tensing and throwing punches, leaning into them with everything I had left. My gloves pounded and bounced off as Duke sat on the ropes, legs trembling and hands useless at his temples.
What's holding this guy up, I thought, but suddenly one left hand wedged in between his hip and lower ribs and Duke lurched that way before crashing to the canvas, his nose and eye also rubbing across the rough material and leaving a blood trail before he rolled on his back.
If there had been a referee, he would have waved it off – probably a lot earlier – but I half-expected Duke to rise once again as I stood over him, his face barely recognizable and bruises already forming across the entire area between his chest and his waistband. I raised my arms toward the ceiling in victory just before I felt April's hands wrapping around my waist from the back and her chin on my shoulder. My cock, which had been remained rigid for most of the fight – can she have that kind of effect, even in the middle of a fight like that? – strained against my sweat-soaked trunks, the flesh easily visible.
"I knew you could do it, champ," she said, before stepping away, bending over and removing Duke's mouthpiece. He was all but unconscious, with his gloves flat on the canvas at his sides and his head lolled over to one side.
I wasn't sure what to do next, so I stood there while April tended to him for a moment. Suddenly, she kneeled down and put one knee on Duke's chest, grabbed my white-and-now-maroon trunks and pulled me next to her by the fabric, and quickly jerked my trunks down to my ankles, leaving me standing there naked except for boots and gloves. I was taken aback for a moment, and then realized that, in the emotion of the last hour, there was nobody else in the gym except for our little trio standing near the ropes.
I was still watching when April worked Duke's trunks down, exposing a flaccid cock that rolled out and listed to the side. April then grabbed my jock with almost animal lust, and began stroking my still-swelling member. Soon I had a hard-on like none I can remember, while still standing over my beaten foe.
"Which one do you think I want?," April said, nodding toward Duke's crotch while she pumped me unmercifully. "You just be a good boy, now."
With those words, she suddenly wrapped her lips around my cock – never taking her knee off Duke's chest. The feeling was like nothing I had ever experienced and my penis felt like a steel pipe as her lips pressed in and her tongue soothed and caressed as she slowly moved in and out. While her tongue swirled around the tip, one hand moved under my cock and began squeezing and massaging my balls and the other reached around my bare and now-quivering ass.
Her tongue was incredible, running back and forth down the entire shaft length, and my tip was already sticky with pre-cum when she began taking it between her lips and sucking softly. The massage on my ball sac increased in intensity, before she slowly moved her hand and grabbed my penis at the base, leaning forward and sliding my entire member into her mouth in one movement. She then began stroking the flesh strip under my scrotum, and I had to stifle a scream of pleasure.
There could have been more screams as her lips began sliding up and down the shaft, and I couldn't control myself as I felt the muscles of her throat massaging my cock. I moved my gloves to the back of her head and started slowly pumping long strokes into her mouth.
I could tell she desperately wanted me to come into her, and it didn't take long … after only a few thrusts, I felt my body clench tightly and start twitching as hot white shot out in a geyser into her mouth.
I was still trembling when she stood up, finally taking her knee off the beaten former champion and rubbing against my body all the way up. "Let's go back here," she said, pointing back to my locker room where an hour ago I had first tasted her charms.
"The champion is about to go down."

++++++

After doing things to me that didn't exist even in my dreams, April left the locker room and said she had to head for Duke's home and check on his cuts and bruises. "I have to do that, baby," she told me as she walked out, "but I'll be there for you later."
That was fine by me. I had some arrangements of my own to make. After what she'd done for – and to – me, I had to do something special for her, and I already knew what to do.
The adrenaline was still racing through me, so the aches weren't that bad. Duke had hugely heavy hands and I knew I'd be sore for a while, but it wasn't bad by the time I got home. I was able to make all the necessary calls and do all the needed tasks to set up a surprise for April, and I had fallen dead asleep when a familiar pair of hands and a familiar aroma slipped under the sheets next to me. I grabbed her tight and we both fell asleep quickly – not too quickly, of course … I did a little fingering and she did a little tugging before we passed out from the excitement of the day just before the Sunday sun rose.
When April finally stirred around mid-day, she found my note:
"Meet me at the gym when you get up," it said. "I'll be waiting."
April knew the gym was closed on Sunday, but she quickly got ready – stunners like her don't need a lot of time to look like a million bucks – and headed downtown.
When she reached the gym, the front door was locked, but the side door had a crack in it. She walked over, picked up the glove that was holding it open, and smiled as she shut and locked the door behind her.
Once again, the gym was dark with the exception of the bulbs above the ring, spotlighting the spot where only 12 hours earlier where her long-time champion and her newest lover had fought for her pleasure. The visuals from that fight were still fresh in her mind and were stirring her loins once again as she walked toward the ring, and saw a sign taped to the ropes.
"Come to the locker room," it said. "It's nearly fight time."
Intrigued, April walked back to the locker room area. She saw the "Champion" tag that she'd put on one door the previous night, but the "Challenger" sign on the other had been replaced by one that read "Thunder." She hesitantly turned the knob and stepped inside, the light already on.
"Hello, champ," I said from my seat on the trainer table, the spot she'd occupied the previous night. "You ready?"
I could see the confused look on her face … especially when she saw the pink halter and shorts, the white boxing boots and the white gloves laid out on the table. It was exactly what she was wearing the afternoon that I first laid eyes on this amazing woman.
"What's this all about," she said, but she couldn't help but break into a grin. I was dressed casually, golf shirt and slacks, and walked over to her, took her arms and led her to the table and lifted her up to a seated position there.
"Just like last night … we have the gym to ourselves," I said as I started softly caressing her arms. "Except this time, it's you that will be doing the fighting."
Her face was one large question mark.
"You love the fight game so much," I continued, "and you know so much about it that it's scary sometimes. It's a very sensual thing for you, and I love that. But you've never had the opportunity to experience boxing at its most carnal … the thrill of going into battle, the feeling of your fists punching your opponent and having him punch back, the intense feeling when you knock your opponent out and stand over him in victory."
I could feel the goosebumps rising on her arms.
"That will be you today," I said as I grabbed the wraps and went to work wrapping her delicate hands. She didn't ask any questions, didn't say anything, just watched me intently until I finished with the tape.
"Time to get you into fighting gear," I said and began slowly removing the jogging/sweat suit she was wearing. I made sure to rub myself against her as much as possible during this process, and lingered with my hands on her lovely backside as I removed her sweat pants and thong and pulled her to the edge of the table. "But first, I have a little favor to return."
Since April had pleasured me so memorably just before I went into the ring, I kneeled between her dangling legs and began to caress her waist and thighs, and I could feel her began to breathe heavily. I began kissing her inner thighs and could feel her heat and smell her delicious aroma as she laid back on the table and spread her legs even wider.
My tongue slowly ran its way up to her throbbing pussy, and moments later it was inside her, flicking against her warmth as she shuddered … and almost immediately grabbed the back of my head, holding me tight against her as she came with a rush.
She was still laid on the table a couple of minutes later when I toweled her – and myself – off.
"You finish getting ready," I said, nodding to the pink outfit and boots while I leaned over and kissed her, "and I'll be back to glove you up. Have to go and get your opponent ready."
Her eyes were still filled with questions, but I couldn't resist one more look at her naked body – except for the hand wraps – lying prone on the training table. Damn …. I reached behind a corner and grabbed a hanger off the wall, where I had hung one more clothing item. It was a white robe I had dug up in my apartment, one of the short ones that barely covered my butt, and I had stenciled "THUNDER" across the back.
I laid it next to the rest of her outfit, and I couldn't resist grabbing her thong on the way out, remembering her phrase. "And you won't need this," I said.
I came back a few minutes later, and she was in her outfit and boots. "Okay, really, what is going on…," she said, but I didn't respond and only took her hands, slipped the gloves over and began lacing, putting her now-gloved hand against my chest as I tightened each one.
"That feel all right?" I asked, and she nodded. "Good … now you get nice and loose, and come out to the ring when you hear the bell." I walked out, and unknown to her slipped into the dressing room on the other side of the hall.
A few minutes later, April heard the old-timey bell that was still bolted to one of the ring supports, and walked out through the darkness of the rest of the gym toward the ring, her robe and white shoes reflecting what little dim light there was. As she got close, she saw a figure – my figure – in the far corner, one with a longer robe and a hood, facing the corner.
As she climbed through the ropes, I slowly turned around, pushed back my hood and removed my robe. I was wearing the same trunks from the previous night – washed out, but with blood stains still visible – and the same gloves that also carried stains. I was also sporting a huge erection – that seemed to happen a lot around her, but seeing her in the boxing gear was an even more incredible sight – as I walked to the center of the ring, and she took the cue, removing her short robe and joining me.
We stood literally chest-to-chest, her breasts and rock-hard nipples poking me every time she drew in an excited breath, and my cock tenting out my trunks and rubbing against her lower abs.
"Do just what you do to the heavy bag over there," I said. "Don't hold anything back. This will be a fight to the finish, so you better come out fighting."
Instead of turning and walking to the corners, both of us walked backwards, never taking eyes off the other. I reached back and hit the timer, immediately activating the 10-second warning buzzer, and watched her bounce and roll her shoulders in the corner. She'd been to enough bouts to know exactly how to handle herself.
When the timer went off, both of stepped quickly out and took boxers' stances, and she had a look on her face that was at the same time exhilarated and serious.
Obviously, I was never going to hit her … only tap her gloves around a little and push a couple of slow punches at her arms and body just to give her the feel of the leather against her. But I wanted her to unload, to feel the power, to know what it was like to use her fists to impose her will on her opponent.
April was tentative at the start, but slowly began to throw harder and harder punches and started working up a good sweat. She wasn't large, but I'd seen how she could move the big bag around that first day I saw her in the gym, and I wanted her to match that intensity.
A couple of times we clinched, and I pawed at the side of her head with my gloves and hit her sides lightly. For her part, she struggled to get punching room and was using both hands to punch my gut – pretty hard, too. I squeezed in closer, backing both of us up against the ropes.
"That all you got," I said.
"Not even close," she came back, and pushed me away, now with a malicious grin on her face. She walked toward me, gloves high, almost stalking me – she'd seen fighters do this for years, and she was quick to recall those lessons. She began throwing punches, again slowly increasing in intensity, and I covered up until the buzzer sounded.
I watched her walk back to her corner and reach with her glove for one of the water bottles I had put at each spot. She drank a little, but then leaned over and spit into the funnel next to the corner, just like she'd seen so many times. The sight of a woman spitting out water under most circumstances wouldn't exactly be attractive, but here …
When she turned back around and saw me watching, she took the remainder of the water bottle and squirted some on her face, then her shoulders and chest – simultaneously cooling her down and heating both of us up. She dropped the bottle out of the ring, turned back toward me and laid her arms across the top ropes of the corner, cocking one leg up and leaning back against the corner padding, her eyes focused on me across the ring.
The sight was incredible, and she could see my excitement from across the ring – just like I could see hers.
When the timer went off, she began pounding her gloves together and each of us walked to mid-ring again.
"The champ is about to go down again," was all she said before stepping back and taking her fighter's stance again. I followed suit, and soon she was on the attack again, raining punches at me as she pressed forward. I tapped her a few times on the sides of the head and in the middle of her abdomen, again so she could feel the leather and the sweat, and made a point to rub my gloves across her breasts several times when we were in close. Her nipples were hard as stone and stood out against her halter top that was soaked from water and sweat.
Some of that wetness had also run down her body, but I could tell there was more than water and sweat at work here as the crotch of her shorts was soaked through. In a couple of the clinches when she would grab around my tucked-in arms, I used my glove to rub the wetness between her legs, and I could hear her moan in response.
She suddenly broke loose from my pussy rubbing, pushing me roughly back into a corner and using both hands to punch my body. "You can't take much more," I heard her almost hiss. "I'm going to put you down."
Taking the cue, I spun out of the corner and opened my elbows to expose my abs one last time. She used her right hand for one final punch, and I slowly went to the canvas, going flat on my back.
I watched for a few moments as she stood over me, stepping over so that she had one boot on each side of my hips, holding her gloves over her head before looking down at me, her breathing so heavy that I thought her chest was about to burst.
She stayed there for a few more seconds before ripping her gloves off, dropping with her knees still surrounding me and also ripping my gloves off. She began kissing me as I've never been kissed before.
"Now it's my turn to take my prize," she whispered as she deftly removed my trunks. "You're about to see what a champion can do."

END PART TWO