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The Pugilists (Lowblow emma X Freddylee23)

So much for plans. Let him do the work, drain his energy, make lighting fast strikes when he gave her an opening. Except, he wasn't buying it. He had a different game plan, making her come to him, bringing herself in range when he could pummel her senseless if she let him.

She had gone longer than this in fights before, much longer, but never against so powerful an opponent. Charlie's words were what kept her going, the thought that he was running out of steam. But he wasn't, in fact he was taunting her while he took his time to recover some strength. And that was sapping Emma's confidence.

But she couldn't stand there staring. She must not let the crowd thing she was done. She mustn't let the Lord think that either. So she did what she had to do, the only thing she could do. She went on the attack. Using the one thing she had that was superior to George – agility. Working with the pain, through, he launched a flurry of blows, coming at her opponent from all directions, aiming high for his face, but changing direction when his hands came up, or coming in under his guard to attack his stomach. She shot her blows as close as she could to his belt, reminding him just how much damage she could do if she moved lower, unnerving him, while drawing his guard lower and lower to give her more chances to hit his already damaged face.
 
With the taunt, George had turned himself into a living and breathing punching bag. His head and body absorbed every of Emma’s incoming punches like a King but he couldn’t hide the fact that every one of them made him wince in pain, especially those aimed towards his stomach. His plan backfired on him but when he couldn’t reach for his hand? Why he just wouldn’t reach out for her instead?

A lightbulb was turned on inside his thick head. It was an Eureka moment for the guy as he lunged at Emma and locked himself in a tight clinch against her. Hot breaths were brushing against each other necks and their chest collided. For a moment, he wished he was making out with Emma instead of beating her to oblivion. While in the clinch, George used his weight to press Emma on the ropes while peppering her face with close ranged hooks. The angle would lessen the power of each punch but still, coming from George, it’d sting.

His other hand would come to her ribs, even her tits while he fiercely knocked her head around. He could care less how Emma would defend herself. The mustachioed man was inspecting closely, ready to break the clinch if things didn’t go to a fighter’s favor. Then, out of nowhere his knee drove up to the pit of her stomach. It was supposed to hit her cunt as a retaliation but he missed it.
 
She was doing so, so well, she couldn't believe. She was knocking the shit out of him. Ever tactic he tried, she came at him from a different angle. Over his guard, under his guard. Made sure to keep clear of the ropes. It was just a matter of time before he was down, on his knees or flat on his ass and ready to be carried out by his supporters.

Then it all went wrong. He smothered her. There's no other word for it. Rushed her, trapped her on the ropes again. She was pinned so tightly, the big bug with the moustache had trouble seeing her tits, which made him move in closer, but didn't stop George smashing her like a punch bag. Nothing she tried made any difference. The only positive thought she could find in her brain was that she was conserving energy. Plus he was using up his. But that energy seemed to come from a bottomless pit.

He was pressed up against her. She could hear his breathing, rasping with each blow as he put all his strength into pounding her. She could smell his sweat. Smell his musk too. And that meant only one thing. He was aroused. But she didn't need a subtle sense of smell to tell her that. She could feel his dick as he pushed against her. He wanted her to feel it, she was sure of that. He was trying to let her know how virile he was. Telling her that he was hard despite that knee that had rattled his nuts not long before. He was getting off on thrashing her, harder and harder.

She felt him move away slightly, which should have been a warning, but it wasn't. She was saved by chance. He must have been aiming at her crotch, but his knee brushed up just too high and caught her in the belly. Winding her. She grunted and gasped.

Worse than winding her.

It sent waves through her, mingling with the growing waves developing between her thighs. And set them off harder. She couldn't stop myself. Damn, how could this happen, how could she orgasm in the middle of a fight.

It began deep, like a growl from an angry dog. It grew into a bellow, like a bull. And it began a roar like an animal rampaging through the woods where she had been brought up.

Her body thrashed, arms flailing. The big guy with the big moustache jumped back.

This wasn't a fight any longer. It was just a release of pure uncontrolled energy.

She wasn't fighting George. He just happened to be in the way as her arms and fists flashed widely around. He couldn't read her actions or intentions, because they were out of her conscious control. There was nothing to read. Some hit a target, some missed, she didn't care. Her throat was getting hoarse as she shouted abuse at him, words he knew, words he didn't, words woman say inside themselves when they orgasm.

Fuck she felt good, so good.
 
The seemingly endless beating he gave her built a tent with his tight pantaloons as if morning glory just struck. Finally, all of the agility, tactic bollocks was rendered useless under his savagery. Despite being the “weaker” sex, Emma received no mercy from the down on his luck drunkard. He could care less about the spittle, sweat and blood flying throughout all of the directions. Punishing Emma after all of the difficulties she had provided him turned out to be one of the most exciting things he had experienced in life.

The ones betting on George were on their feet, shouting mindlessly as they watched their “hero” cornered and battered the woman to no end.

George knew he was running out of fumes to keep up with the beating. He knew he had to end this somehow before he turned into a punching bag for the woman to punch around. The knee seemed like a good option at the time but what happened next would baffle him to the very core of himself.

Instead of her cunt, his knee greeted his firm solid abs. His knuckles were still flailing on her but he soon stopped the beating when she shouted words that some he understood and some that he failed to get a grasp on. Their bodies once again collided in what appeared to be a tight clinch as an effort to assert dominance on one another. Hot breaths brushing necks, muscles colliding and she was experiencing something George had been familiar with his entire life. He always knew when a woman didn’t fake her orgasm and Emma certainly didn’t fake it.

George was filled with amazement. Neither his cock nor bollocks pounded her cunt yet she was experiencing body shaking orgasm amidst the crowds. Fuck, he knew he had to have her after the fight. Emma was a woman in a million and he wouldn’t care if she loved women, he would make sure she would crave cocks after getting a taste of his..

The mustachioed man finally did his job to separate the pugilists. Again, he was reprimanded for his action for using other limbs than his knuckles to strike his opponent. His body was drenched in sweat top to bottom, not to mention the blood covering most of his face. The words from the man buzzed in his ears as he used every second of the interval to catch his breath. His chest heaved rapidly and his arms were burned in fatigue but nothing pleased him more than watching her pantaloons partially covered by her cum that was mistaken by the audience as her piss.
 
Emma knew what was happening. Her pantaloons were a tight fit and now they were a wet fit, clinging tighter to her buttocks and crotch, showing the bulging outline of her labia. She didn't need to look down to check, she could feel it.

And she knew what was happening in George's pantaloons, because she had felt him pressing into her when he was beating her. She didn't need to look down, because she had felt it. and she wasn't going to look down, because she was keeping her eyes on George's eyes.

She could see where his eyes were. They were on her crotch. He could probably smell her too, smell the tang of her juices. Which of course was adding to his arousal. And a guy who is arousing and getting harder by the second is being led by his cock and not his brain. The more he concentrated on her sodden clothing the more distracted he was and the less on his guard.

She gave him a few seconds for his interest to develop and then attacked. The end had to be close because she had expended huge energy in her orgasm, so she had to make the best use she had of what she had left.

With his eyes now fixed on her growing dampness, she lashed out, not wildly as before, but with targeted precision and concentrated power, at those eyes. Left fist, right fist, right eye, left eye. Jab, jab, jab, in and out, fast and hard, as often as she could, as hard as she could before he managed to get his mind back into the fight.

And then she would come in under his guard.

She's love to land a blow on that cock, one would be enough, but that would be a sign of weakness and of desperation, and she was neither. Not yet any way.
 
It felt like his brain was shutting down with his lust clouding his mind. His concentration was full on the wet fabric of her pantaloons. For all of his worthless life, he had never seen a woman squirting while punched out because they only normally would after his bollocks and cocks pounding their cunts real nice. It was an out of body experience to witness Emma in this state. He needed a release badly but he couldn’t exactly whip out his cock and wank it in front of the audience, could he ? He was envious of Emma that could have the climax anytime she wanted to.

With him distracted at Emma’s wet groin, his guard was down and Emma peppered his head without a fight like hitting the punching bag. His head moved back and forth like a bobblehead and a true idiot from Emma’s precision attacks before the last jab sent him sitting on the ground. He quickly rose up from the shame and wanted to continue the fight after his mind was back into the fight again instead of lingering at Emma’s wet cunt. However, the mustachioed man stopped him, citing that it was counted as a knockdown so both pugilists have to return to their own respective corners.

George was feeling so betrayed by his own lust that he returned to his corner with anger on his face. John didn’t look happy as well, so did Kane but he was never as expressive as his partner. The Irish bastard expressed his anger while George was still deep in thoughts about what he had just witnessed. The smell of her juices still lingered in his head. The fact that she’d be fighting with her pantaloons being wet by her own orgasm would prove to be a great distraction.

John splashed a bucket of water on George that almost earned himself a nice hook to the jaw. George was wet…top to bottom and his pantaloons was soaking all of the water. It became twice as heavy and would have impacts on George’s movements. It was a rash decision by John to clear his pugilist from any lust that had accumulated in his mind but also negatively impacted George. “Listen to me lad. I don’t fucking care if she ever squirts just like that but you don’t stop, you trash her real good and come home with the fucking win because your fucking reputation and mine are on the line, you get me?” His hands grabbed George by the head. John was dead serious about everything he said and George simply nodded before he & Kane went to work on his facial injuries and trying to stem the bleeding.

To the scratch! Round 7 was about to begin!

George made it to the scratch and so did his opponent, otherwise she’d be deemed as the loser. Both of them were wet and they were about to get wetter with their blood. “You like being trashed, don’t you?” said George as he swung a right hook to her forehead to begin things with.
 
Emma didn't let her supporters touch her as she waited to be called forward for the next round. She was so aroused, she was afraid that either woman's touch would set her orgasm rolling. As she walked forward, she was aware that she might as well be naked. The crowd had had a full view of her tits from the start, but now she might as well be naked. Her pantaloons were so wet and tight that they showed the mounds of her buttocks and the depth of her crack and, from the front, her genitals were on full view through the thin material.

But she didn't care. She had only one focus. On the fight and on winning the fight. Her opponent was obviously as aroused as she was. And the soaking he had received courtesy of his supporter was making the pantaloons all the tighter around that rigid cock. Every movement he made must have intensified his erection and the distraction he would be experiencing. Charlie had understood his predicament and whispered urgently to her to keep him moving as much as she could.

She ignored George's taunting words. She had to, because they told her he had read how she was feeling and was aware of the advantage it gave him. she had to concentrate on his fists and his feet, making sure she knew where the next blow would come from and have a way to meet the attack.

The first blow was easy. She just stepped back and it flew past her with an inch to spare. Then she was in, fast as she could, hard as she could. Her fist flew at his nose with all the strength she could muster. She did not aim at the nose, though, but through it, through his skull to the back of his head. Another trick from Charlie. She would still be accelerating when the blow landed and her fist would push his nose into his face.

Damn, she felt so good, so powerful, her clit was throbbing in anticipation of the shock to her arm when she made contact.
 
George only had one thing in mind, to end it all and find a release in the nearest and cheapest brothel he could find. So, he didn’t think when he swung that arm, to put down Emma for good because his orgasm was mounting and he would rather avoid humiliating himself in front of the public like the woman did to herself. The fight had been dragging out for so long. Flashback to the changing room, the Lord himself visited him. His order was clear. To end the fight clean and as swiftly as possible to keep the pride of men’s boxing but the fight was neither clean nor had a swift end from George.

When he missed Emma’s face with that punch, he didn’t even have the chance to let out “Ohhh Fuck” before blinding white flashes showered his vision when Emma’s fist proppelled towards and crashing into his nose with every power she had. Despite his losing streaks, none had yet been able to break the nose that belonged to George “The Butchered” Bufford. It had become a custom where the audience would place a bet on his nose, see if his opponent managed to break it somehow. None succeeded…until now.

The amphitheater suddenly grew silent, terribly surprised at what they had just witnessed. It wasn’t just her sheer power that put the man on the ground. It was the punch with surgical precision combined with her strength that made a man nearly twice her size crumble before her. His corner was scrambling to lift him to his corner but no amount of slapping, yelling and smelling salts would be able to bring George back even though he was extremely lucky that his nasal bone wasn’t driven up to his skill that would prove fatal. That was it…the woman had just proved herself to be equal with a man in the ring.

The Lord left the amphitheater in anger as soon as he knew George wouldn’t be able to resume the fight. It was a humiliating night for men’s boxing and he knew the woman wouldn’t stop there. She had tasted blood and she wanted more.
 
It ended suddenly. Sooner than Emma had expected. The blow to George's nose sent a shock along her arm, across her shoulder and throughout her whole body. It was like an orgas, in its intensity, but it wasn't a real one. She knew the difference and could feel one still brewing away between her thighs.

She heard the crowd in the background, cheering, booing, shouting, winners demanding their payment, losers reluctantly, grudgingly paying on bets that were sure fire winners. But all she saw was George. If this had been any other fight, she would have extended her hand to help him back on his feet, raised his hand in appreciation of the good fight they had shared. But she couldn't do that, not this time. She understood, at least she thought she did, how her opponent felt. He had lost, but he had lost fights before. But this time he had lost to a woman. No man had done that before. His career was over, as he must already now. And greater than the loss of the career was his personal humiliation, something he would never shake off. No, helping him to his feet would merely add to his pain. At that moment, as she looked down on him, her only feeling was one of pity.

But she didn't have time to think for long, as her second sprang on her, slapping her on the back, hugging and kissing her, before dragging her away to her changing room. Annie was all concern about her cuts and bruises, fussing around trying to clean her up. Charlie had other things on her mind. 'Let's get you out of those pantaloons,' she squatted down in front of Emma. 'Damn, they're almost indecent.' She peeling them slowly over the fighters hips and down her thighs, inhaling deeply. 'Damn, girl, you stink.' But Charlie helped her friend out of her clothes, her face now almost buried in Emma's crotch. Emma looked down and their eyes locked. Charlie's tongue slipped between her lips and Emma tilted her crotch towards her face. Annie, as usual, failed to notice the sexual frisson between the two women.

'Annie,' Charlie spoke without moving her eyes from Emma, 'go and see if you can get some dressings for these cuts. Try to find the guy with the big moustache, he'll probably know where to find some.'
 
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