You Ought to See Her Box : Wank Wednesday

Wank Wednesday rolls around again and this time the prompt word is #box. For more info on Wank Wednesday check out Ruby Kiddell's Erotic Notebook. You'll find links to all the stories there. And don't forget to let the writers know if you liked their story.

I owe the title of my story to the classic rude novelty song of the same name by Faye Richmonde.

You Ought to See Her Box

Clara Bow

"I'm going to gut her grandparents!" growled Greta looking straight into the eye of the television camera. "When I've finished with her, Brandy will not only wish she'd never been born, she'll wish she'd never been conceived."

"So this time it's personal?" queried the commentator with great seriousness.

"It's been personal since our first fight," Greta replied. "There's a certain level of respect that's expected towards one's opponent in this sport, and making rabbit ears behind my head while the press are snapping photos is simply against the code."

"Some are saying that your transition from Flyweight to Light Bantamweight has left you feeling cocky," the commentator informed her.

"I'm heavier than I was," she replied. "It's all muscle. That means I can do more damage. And, believe me, I intend to."

The interview was over. Greta acknowledge the applause and met me back stage.

"Gut her grandparents?" I queried.

"A little too Tysonesque, you think," she smiled cheekily.

Greta's been boxing professionally for four years. I've been a trainer for fifteen. I used to train male boxers, but Greta's been getting my full attention since she hit the big time last year.

I can't say my motives for working exclusively with Greta are professional. She's no "million dollar baby". But money isn't everything.

My life changed on May 17 last year. I was all padded up and Greta was slamming her gloved fists into my chest and belly. The slap of leather on leather echoed around the empty gym. It was past midnight.

Perhaps I should explain that I've always had a thing for athletic women. Something about firm muscles and sweat. I'd fancied Greta since I first met her, but so far our relationship had been professional.

Then she landed that killer right hook to my head. I had the helmet on, but it still knocked me off my feet. I fell hard onto the canvass. It had been a long night, and I didn't feel like getting up right away. I looked up through bleary eyes to see Greta counting me out.

"And Greta wins the Flyweight Championship of the World!" she cried gleefully.

"That's enough for tonight," I panted.

"I'm too much for you, aren't I?" she crowed.

Clara Bow

"Right now you are," I agreed.

"All the time I am," she teased, pulling off her gloves. And then, to my surprise, she turned around, pulled down her shorts and panties and waved her bare bum at me. The glaring lights of the gym reflected off of the rivulets of sweat that ran down over her pale but muscular buttocks.

"What do you think you're doing!?!" I cried.

"Don't worry," she replied. "Tomorrow I'll be back to being the good little fighter, but right now I'm sick of all that discipline and taking orders. And now that you are down on the canvas, like one of my loser bitch opponents, you can kiss my ass, coach!"

With that she squatted down and rubbed her sweaty butt-cheeks against my face. They were clammy with the cooling perspiration.

She didn't know what she did to me. This wasn't an attempt at seduction, but playful humiliation, but it was too much for me. I grabbed her hips and pulled her down over my face, thrusting my tongue deep into her hairy warm snatch.

"Fuck! You dirty dog!" she exclaimed, surprised but not displeased by this turn of events. "Suck my sweaty cunt! I deserve it after such a hard workout. And it looks like that isn't the only thing that's hard!"

Soon my shorts were down and my raging hard-on was sliding in and out of Greta's warm wet mouth.

It was a frenzied exchange between two individuals whose inhibitions had disappeared with the late hour, leaking away in the sweat of strenuous exercise.

"Ahhhhhhhhh," I moaned as my cum coated Greta's attentive tongue. And then her thighs twitched in a shivering orgasm of her own. After that we lay on the canvas for about an hour, talking tenderly, sometimes laughing, sometimes gently teasing each others satiated erogenous zones. Then we showered and went to our separate homes.

From that time onwards our training sessions took on a sexual tone. Greta would do her exercises - jumping rope, stretching, etc. - naked, while I watched and jacked off. This always made her laugh. And Greta could always earn sexual forfeits from me by performing well against me in the ring.

Busty Ellen

*          *          *

"I want you to throw the match," I told Greta on the evening before she was to take on her arch enemy Brandy.

"No way!" she insisted. "How can you even suggest such a thing!"

"You don't want to stay in this business too long," I explained to her. "You don't want to end up with brain damage and cauliflower ears."

"But what about my integrity?" she insisted. "What about my loyalty to my fans?"

"Your fans!?!" I exclaimed. "Why should you feel any loyalty to them? To them you're just a piece of meat. They don't care if you bleed. Boxing's a mug's game, unless you pull a scam and get out early. And losing this match could make you a lot of money. The odds are heavily in your favour."

"How can I let Brandy win?" she wanted to know.

"You'll be the winner. You'll  have the cash," I pointed out.

She wasn't easy to convince. I had to organise a movie marathon at her place - The Harder They Come with Humphrey Bogart, Raging Bull, Tyson and, finally, Million Dollar Baby. That was the deciding factor.

"I don't want to die for my sport," she mused, "even if it does lead to an Oscar-winning movie."

*          *          *

"In the red corner, weighing in at 114.3 pounds, we have Brandy Alexander! And in the blue corner, weighing in at 115.1 pounds we have Greta Good, the reigning champion!" the announcer yelled into his microphone.

"I want a good clean fight. No punching below the belt. No taking a dive for the quick cash before you end up a punch drunk has-been living on the streets," insisted the referee.

When the bell went off, Greta and Brandy leapt out and then began to dance forward and back looking to get in an opening blow. I'd told Greta to put up a good fight until the third round and then go down.

Brandy dove in close, her arm swinging out, her fist smacking hard into Greta's temple. Greta staggered back. The bell for the round went. She returned to her corner and I handed her her water bottle.

"Get in some blows," I told her, "but make sure they aren't too hard."

Greta really made her presence felt in the second round, but I could tell she was holding herself back. She could have beaten Brandy by now.

I sponged the sweat off of her face and sent her in for the decisive round.

And then it happened. Greta swung at Brandy and Brandy went down hard.

"I never even hit her!" Greta cried to me.

"Shut up!" I yelled. "Everyone can hear you."

"Did I do good?" Brandy was asking her couch, as the referee continued to count her out.

"Shut up!" yelled Brandy's coach. "Everyone can hear you."

"And the winner is Greta Good!" announced the referee.

Clara Bow

*          *          *

"The mob's not going to take kindly to this," I explained to Greta, when we got back to her changing room.

"There was nothing I could do," she insisted.

"I know. I know," I assured her. "But we are going to have to find some place to hide out."

"For the time being you can hide out at our gym," suggested Brandy, whom we turned to discover listening in the doorway. "They'll never look for you there."

"Why should you help us, you cunt?" asked Greta.

"I'm gonna need to hide, too," she pointed out, "once I get my money."

"My money you mean!" yelled Greta.

"We can sort that out later," Brandy insisted. "But at the moment it is obvious to everybody that the fight was fixed and we were all involved. So, if we hang around here, we won't be alive to spend the money."

*          *          *

"My coach did a runner with the money," explained Brandy when we arrived at the gym where she trained.

"I'm going to kick you in the cunt, you fuckin' bitch!" screamed Greta, making a dive for her.

"Now! Now! No fighting," I insisted, throwing myself between them.

"Get out of the way!" shrieked Greta. "I'm going to gargle with her gizzards! And I'm going to do it right now!"

I was facing Brandy, holding my arms out to protect her from the banshee that was Greta.

The next thing I knew my pants and underpants where around my ankles and Brandy was laughing at my exposed cock and balls.

"Fuck it!" I declared. "You two deserve each other." And so I stepped aside, taking care not to over-balance with my pants around my ankles.

They may have been pretending in the ring, but they weren't now. They went at each other like mad dogs, fangs bared, tearing at each other's clothing until they stood scratched and bleeding and stark naked. And then things changed.

It happened in an instant. Their mouths came together in a passionate kiss. Their hands began forcefully fondling each other's naked buttocks and each began rubbing her pussy against the other's thigh.

"That's better," I told them, slipping out of my own clothes. "You two make up and be friends." I came up close and began running my hands over their sweaty bodies as my cock stiffened and insinuated itself between their bellies.

"Who said you could join in?" asked Greta, pulling her lips away from Brandy's. Then she turned to her and added, "He's such a perv. He even jacks off while I do my workouts."

"What a dirty old man," Brandy replied, running her fingers up and down my stiff cock.

"I'm not that old," I pointed out.

"Certainly not old enough to know better," huffed Greta.

"O.K.," I said, putting on my referee's voice, "I want a good dirty lezzyfest. I want plenty of licking below the belt. A plethora of pussy gouging. And may the biggest slut win."

I wanked off as I watched them writhing away on the mat on the floor for a full hour, licking and fingering each other's pussies, and having multiple orgasms, before, finally, Brandy lost consciousness.

"And the winner is Greta!" I cried, holding her arm aloft with one hand and using the other to point my cock and cover her with a celebratory coating of jism.

The End

Boxing Gloves by Jason Glasser