Boxing on the Beach by Dradis

The dressing room was her sanctuary.  It was a personal refuge away from the rest of the world; an inviolable space that belonged to her and no one else.  It was here that she could prepare herself physically and mentally for the battle ahead.

Taking stock of her surroundings, Erica Ellis couldn’t help but notice how different this particular dressing room was from the norm.  Her four walls were not made of wood, sheetrock, or concrete, but of thin fabric; there was also no floor beneath her feet, and she instead found herself sinking her toes into warm beach sand.  The cabana tent was approximately the size of a small bedroom, but more than adequate for her purposes.  Its white cloth material, while opaque enough to provide her with privacy from prying eyes outside, nonetheless seemed to lighten up under the rays of the hot midday sun.

A gentle breeze brushed along the outer surface of the structure – the taut fabric of the tent rippled with a soft noise for a brief second or two before becoming still and silent again.  It was a reminder to Erica of what waited for her outside of its walls.  The ocean waters of Playa del Carmen were tranquil and aggressively blue – they’d serve as a lovely backdrop for the afternoon’s boxing match.  Every now and then the beautiful young blonde could hear the sound of the guests that had been invited to come see the fight – the patrons of the resort fighting circuit were always a refined, well-to-do sort of crowd.  In the distance, only a few hundred feet away, Erica knew that there was a ring set up for her – in that ring would be waiting a formidable opponent who would test every aspect of her mind and body.

The first opponent since Lily

For the time being, however, she did not need to burden herself with such concerns.  The contest at hand was looming over the horizon, but she still had a few more minutes of peace.  Physically, Erica was as magnificent as ever as she sat on a wooden bench in the center of the enclosed space – her peak form was on full display in her newest fighting attire.  The outfit was a blue string bikini, solid-colored and cerulean in shade, with a metallic finish that was sure to gleam in the afternoon light.  Her mind seemed to dwell on that fact as she flexed her fingers, clenching and unclenching her black boxing gloves as they rested in her lap.  She’d grown quite attached to the previous pink swimsuit that she’d lost in the aftermath of her last match; there wasn’t another in the world that made her look better.  Deep down, however, she knew that there was more to it than that.  The obvious question on everyone’s mind would be whether or not this latest bikini would share the fate of her last.  The butterflies were always there, but despite telling herself that, they seemed to linger far longer than she would have cared for this time around.

A soft pair of hands took one of Erica’s shoulders and then the other.  These belonged to Whitney Morgan, one of the blonde’s seconds, who was standing behind her charge.  Erica closed her eyes as her cornergirl’s adroit palms and fingers began to massage her trapezius muscles, relaxing as the physical tension seemed to melt from her body.  Whitney’s last name belied her Italian heritage; though practically identical in age and size, her jet black shoulder-length hair set her in stark contrast to the blonde.  She was not as well-endowed as Erica, but was certainly no slouch in that department either.  The black triangle bikini top and matching boy cut shorts that she wore was a slightly more demure choice of attire than Erica’s fighting bikini, but that was not to say that the brunette was not an eye-catching sight: Whitney was a sultry beauty in her own right and was more than capable of holding her own in terms of looks even side by side with the blonde.  Ever-eager in temperament, always supportive, and intensely loyal: Whitney was the ideal lady-in-waiting if ever there was one.

The brunette’s feet padded across the sand with the gracefulness of a cat as she came around to the other side of the bench to face Erica.  Kneeling down in front of the blonde, Whitney reached out and gently grasped the bikini’s top right strap with one hand, while the fingers of the other took hold of the cup on the same side.  She made a few careful adjustments, making sure that the swimsuit’s positioning met with her impeccable standards.  Reaching upwards, Whitney’s hands then found their way to Erica’s blonde tresses, which she primped just a little bit – a few minor touches here and there were all that were needed to achieve the look that she thought framed Erica’s lovely face in just the right way.

“There,” Whitney remarked with a cheerful smile and a certain sense of satisfaction, “All perfect now.”

“You do know that the top will likely be gone and that my hair will be a mess by the time the fight’s done, right?” Erica asked in response.

“But now you’ll look magnificent fighting in it,” the brunette replied with confidence.  She took the blonde’s head in her hands, caressing her cheeks with sisterly affection.  “What are you going to do to her?”

“I’m gonna fuck her up,” Erica answered.

“That’s my girl.”

She might be a bit of a Pollyanna and was probably loyal to a fault, but if there was any one person who the blonde would rather have than be without, it would certainly be the junior of her two cornergirls.

Except that wasn’t quite true this time, was it?  Today Whitney would be the second of three…

As if on cue, Erica was brought out of her idle musings by the sound of the tent’s entrance zipper being pulled open.   Two ladies stepped inside to join their small group, one of whom she knew and one that she didn’t.  The former was her trainer, Aimee Holbrooke – she was an elegant blonde about ten years Erica’s senior; her lithe figure and refined mannerisms masked the pure fighter’s heart and instincts within her.  Dressed in attire matching Whitney’s, she was a splendid sight by any measure.  Accompanying her was a Hispanic girl closer to Erica’s age – she was petite, brown-haired with blonde highlights, and wore a skimpy red bikini.  Though definitely sexy in her appearance, the newcomer seemed a bit demure.  She kept her place by the entrance while Aimee approached – this new girl seemed impassively detached from the other three ladies, yet at the same time maintained her station in the manner befitting someone trained and cultivated as a servitor.  Perhaps this girl was on staff with the local resort hosting the match?

Erica’s thoughts were interrupted by the older blonde reaching out and placing a calm hand on her shoulder.  It was a firm touch that commanded the young fighter’s attention, but simultaneously felt reassuring.

“It’s time.   This is what we’ve been training for.  I know you’re prepared for it,” Aimee exclaimed.  There wasn’t a trace of uncertainty in her words. 

“She said she’s going to fuck the other girl up!” Whitney chimed in exuberantly.

Erica smiled softly at the brunette’s words.  The completely unnecessary exclamation seemed to lift the tension in the air, even if only briefly.  The young blonde typically did not seek to hide her feelings from her compatriots, but today the doubts and apprehensions seemed to be weighing down on her more heavily.  The stakes today would be high – not just in terms of the effect that a second major loss in a row would have on her career, but also what she stood to gain if she won.  One way or another, this afternoon would be a defining moment for her.

Erica’s response was brief: “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Aimee replied, “Let me introduce the last member of our team for today.  Raquel?”

The young Mexican stepped forward at Aimee’s beckoning.  “Raquel Vasquez, at your service.  I am to be your arenadora this afternoon.”

“Glad to have you here,” Erica said in return.  She extended her right glove, which the other girl clasped with both hands in an awkward sort of handshake.

La Reina is a formidable opponent.  She will test you on the sand today,” Raquel continued, “But I am confident that it will be you that prevails.”

The blonde’s mind lingered on the words of her newest follower.  The resort circuit had a long and well-established history, going nearly as far back as the oldest organized femme fighting Stateside.  Foxy boxing was no exception to this, but over the decades it had developed its own unique characteristics that set it apart from the fare found to the north.  One could almost think of Las Reglas de la Playa as a case of divergent evolution that catered to jet-set desires and tropical sensibilities.

The first and most obvious example was the venue itself: what better way to make use of the prime real estate than to set up a ring directly in the sand?  That one single design choice had a host of repercussions that affected the entire tenor of the fight.  Compared to a canvas surface, sand was an impediment to mobility, and prevented a boxer from maneuvering or dancing to any serious degree.  And while that might preclude a talented out-fighter from ever making a serious foray into the beach scene, it conversely encouraged the type of slugging that a wealthy tourist would be paying to see.  All in all, there was a strong sense that the resort circuit was a territorial affair – to claim a beach from her rival, a woman had to literally fight for the very sand she stood upon.  To be sure, boxing matches in more traditional rings could still be found at these locales, but these had long ago become far less prevalent.   

Despite its sensual look and feel, foxy boxing by and large conformed to the structure of a regular boxing match: three-minute rounds punctuated by one-minute breaks.  The only typical allowance was that there was no limit on the number of rounds, which meant that a fight would only end with a knockout or when a girl quit on her stool.  In contrast, a round in a beach boxing match continued for an indefinite length of time until a fighter scored a knockdown.  The steady accumulation of sand on a fighters’ sweaty skin and gloves was a potential hazard, but the solution was a novel addition to the ruleset: the downed fighter was required to stand during the break while a second in Raquel’s position – a sand girl, in English parlance – used a hand towel to clean her off above the knee.  Such an arrangement was not without its perils: a downed fighter could not otherwise be tended to until the sand girl’s task was complete, while the fighter who scored the knockdown benefited from a full rest period.  This fact, combined with the sweltering heat and long periods of combat, meant that a single knockdown could potentially snowball into a serious detriment.  Given the ease with which a fighter could wither under the hot sun, such a venue was not for the faint of heart. 

Would the beach prove to be too daunting of a challenge for the young blonde?  Erica took a deep breath as she rose to her feet and put those thoughts aside.

“I’m ready,” she repeated – the words were as much for her own benefit as they were for those around her.

Stepping out of the tent, Erica could feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on her skin.  the heat almost felt comforting as it radiated through her, though she suspected that she’d think otherwise once she got into the thick of things with her opponent.  To her left was the ocean, tranquil and turquoise; to her right was an interspersed string of palm trees and cabanas that separated the beach from the nearby resort.  All ahead of her was a flat and wide expanse of light-colored sand – Erica could already see the ring waiting for her in the distance. 

It was a brisk walk of about two hundred feet, with Aimee leading the way and Whitney and Raquel bringing up the rear.  The ocean breeze was gentle as it caressed Erica’s body, almost inviting her to forget about the violence waiting for her several paces ahead.  She could see an audience of about two or three dozen gathered around the ring, mainly on its inland side.  There didn’t seem to be any stands or bleachers set up, which seemed to indicate that there would be standing room only for the spectators.  Given the proximity that this entailed for optimal viewing, this meant that her arena would be a much more intimate venue than the typical fight club that Erica was accustomed to.  As she got closer, she also noticed that the ring had a three-rope setup with individual pads for each turnbuckle.  Aesthetically, it seemed to harken back to the style of boxing rings from the 1940s or 50s and further emphasized the otherworldly nature of the beach ring and its traditions.

Heads were starting to turn as Erica made her approach, increasing in number as more and more people caught sight of her.  Judging by their reactions, her bikini must have made her look like a brilliant blue topaz, gleaming in the afternoon light as she strode down the beach towards them.  Despite whatever apprehensions she may previously have had, the blonde nonetheless put on a well-practiced smile as she finally approached the ring – it was just a simple little smirk, but it radiated confidence and oozed of sensuality far beyond its measure.  The spectators were a small coterie of polo shirts and bikinis, definitely quite well-to-do in their means – their applause was restrained as she slid through the ropes, but enthusiastic enough to let Erica know that she’d won them over.  Raising her arms proudly, she began a slow and sexy strut around the rings perimeter, putting every toned muscle and luscious curve on display.  A few sharp whistles rang out as she sashayed across the sand, but Erica paid them no heed – her nonchalance only added to her sultry mystique.

It took the blonde about a minute to make a full circuit.  Returning to her corner, she leaned back against the turnbuckles and rested her arms on the top ropes almost casually as she waited for her opponent to make her entrance.  The many shades of anticipation were familiar – the desire to meet the other woman, the eagerness to fight, the worries over the outcome – Erica closed her eyes and took a deep breath to center herself.  The crowd had quieted to a low murmur that mingled ambiently with the sounds of the ocean.  The blonde wondered idly about the degree to which these men and women were familiar with her fight history.  Surely, though, they recognized exceptional beauty and fighting prowess when they saw it.

Erica’s eyes opened as the audience’s voices began to rise once again.  Looking across the beach on the other side of the ring, she could see a figure marching resolutely towards her. 

La Reina had arrived.

Sara Hernandez looked regal as she approached the ring.  No other word came to Erica’s mind as she laid eyes on her opponent for the first time in person.  It was not just a matter of her beauty, world-class though it may be.  Rather, there was something about the way she carried herself, something subtly evoked in every movement of her body, that demanded the undivided attention of those around her and captured the imagination in a way that the young blonde didn’t think was possible.  At 5’2, Sara was two inches shorter than her challenger; by all accounts she weighed less than Erica’s 110 pounds, but was probably within five.  Perhaps her most eye-catching physical features were her breasts, a hulking pair of 34Ds that were easily the equal of Erica’s rival chest.  In her mid-thirties, Sara was roughly a decade and a half older than her opponent; with her black shoulder-length hair and olive skin, she was an attractive contrast to the norteamericana she now faced.  Sara’s choice of attire was a white halter-style bikini with black gloves – the broad neck straps made her top look sturdy for battle, though its string connection between the cups suggested that wilder sensibilities were at play.

This beach was the crown jewel of what had once been a mighty empire.  It had been a decade since Sara began her fighting career here on these sands – her rise to prominence was swift, and by the end of her first year she’d evicted the territory’s previous claimant and set up her own hegemony in its place.  From there, she turned her attention northward and established herself in the American fight scene with equally shocking speed.  For a brief period, Sara was the undisputed mistress of whatever ring, apartment, or beach she sought to make her own.  Though she remained a force to be reckoned with over the years, the passing of time had nonetheless taken its toll as her dominance was slowly eroded away by countless battles.  Old enemies and new challengers alike sought to claim parts of her vast domain for themselves, slowly but surely wresting one piece after another from her.

Every prize except for this one strip of land that she guarded passionately against all comers, be they her major rivals, touristas, or would-be usurpers.

It was almost funny, in a way – every young girl who competed on this beach was inevitably jealous of the older queen that lorded over them, and yet they all dreamed of following in the footsteps of her great success.  Truth be told, Erica felt a bit of that herself as she watched the older woman slide through the ropes on the other side of the ring.  Even despite her age, Sara was every bit a body rival for the younger blonde.  The crowd, which only a scant few minutes earlier had cheered so enthusiastically for Erica, now seemed to be bending over backwards in its efforts to fawn over the Mexican as she put herself on display.  Sara’s accomplishments over years were numerous – her fierce rivalry against Jill Sullivan was legendary enough on its own to secure her legacy – and these spectators, well versed in her history, were automatically showing her a deference that rankled Erica.  Sara, in turn, paid no heed to the blonde as she completed a slow parade around the four sides of the ring.  Not even the intensity of her challenger’s stare following her every movement across the sand seemed to faze her as she basked in the adulation of her gathered subjects.

The two fighters were soon called to midring by the referee.  She was a Hispanic woman in her late twenties, somewhat taller than either combatant, and wearing a white monokini with a short grey sarong around her hips.  It was only now that Sara turned her attention to her foe.  Up close with her opponent for the first time, Erica could see the disdain in the Mexican’s eyes as their gazes met.  The referee’s final instructions, despite being spoken in clear and concise English, seemed to recede into the background when held up against the haughty expression etched on Sara’s face.  Sara was a proud woman, and very rightly so – every nuanced and minute shift in her posture seemed to radiate out a new and disproportionately intense wave of arrogant presumption. 

Erica heard the referee command the two fighters to touch gloves, which prompted Sara to slam hers down brusquely on top of the blonde’s.  The older woman turned away almost immediately afterwards and sauntered back to her corner as if she dismissed her opponent without another thought.  Erica snarled as she watched Sara go, but there was nothing she could do to protest – her only option was to fume in silence as she headed back to her own corner.

“Don’t let her get to you,” Aimee counseled as she returned, “You’ll show her just how serious you are soon enough.”

Erica nodded as she took in her trainer’s words.  It was hard not to be a little bit flustered in the presence of a woman like Sara.  But as she turned around to face her opponent on the other side of the ring, she knew that she was as ready as she was ever going to be.

“Stick to our plan,” the older woman continued, “I want you give her everything you’ve got right from the start.  Don’t let up for a single moment.”

“The plan?” Raquel asked inquisitively.

“You’ll see,” Whitney snarked in response as she slide a mouthpiece in between Erica’s lips.

The plan… Erica rolled her shoulders as her thoughts fixated on her course of action at the match’s start.  She tried to bounce her feet lightly in anticipation of her initial movements, but as expected, the terrain beneath her feet was not going to be doing her any favors.  From across the ring, Sara’s expression seemed to change for a moment as she cast a piercing glare at the young blonde…

The moment of truth arrived as the metallic clang of the bell rang out across the beach. 

Erica was confident and resolute as she left her corner.  Despite the effects of the beach’s sandy surface on her foot speed, she still felt motivated as she came out and crossed the ring quickly to meet her opponent at its center.  For her part, Sara was slower out of the starting gate, but that fact alone was far from telling.  After all, Sara was perfectly evolved for an arena such as this, sculpted by natural selection in to an apex predator at the top of the beach venue’s ecosystem.  Either way, finesse seemed like it would be a low priority for both fighters as they marched straight towards each other.

Erica and Sara locked onto each other’s eyes with fierce gazes as they peered at each other from behind raised gloves and as the distance between them rapidly grew smaller.  The blonde could see the disdain practically overflowing from the Mexican’s body language – was she expecting Erica to be too much of a creampuff to trade punches seriously?  Did Sara think that she’d be the type to turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble?  Or was she amused at the notion that her naive younger opponent might actually try to make a foolish attempt at standing her ground?  The two fighters were now coming together just slightly closer to Sara’s corner than Erica’s – determined to keep the initiative on her side, the blonde made the first move.

Turning her body to the left, she extended her arm and put every last bit of malicious intent she could into a straight right…

…Which traversed the space between the two fighters in crisscrossed fashion and found its target squarely, impacting heavily against Sara’s right breast.

The sound that came from the older woman’s lips was unmistakable as it reverberated across the beach.  Sara’s groan of pain was sharp and short, but it had a tone of anguish to it that Erica found intensely satisfying.

Bet you weren’t expecting that, were you?

The blonde threw another right hand lead, which this time landed to the outer side of the Mexican’s left tit.  The blow drew a cringe from the older woman, who was clearly trying not to let on just how much it had harmed her.  The blonde’s third punch mirrored the second as she snapped a left hook into her opponent’s heavy right orb.  Sara couldn’t contain herself this time – her reaction to this latest blow came in the form of a definite squeal, and a rather plaintive one at that.  No encouragement was needed – Erica picked up the pace of her punches and poured herself at opposing rack with malicious vigor.

“What’s wrong, bitch?” the blonde taunted gleefully, “Can’t take it, huh?”

Erica’s lips curled into a devilish grin.  She was letting her enthusiasm show a bit more than she probably should have, but at times like this it was hard not to enjoy the work.  She loved the way Sara’s heavy jugs felt as her fists and black leather violently compressed them against the older woman’s chest.  She loved how each impact seemed to draw out a new and unique pained expression on the older woman’s face.  Most importantly of all, however: she loved the way that her punches were backing Sara up.

Much as Erica had suspected, Sara’s halter top was proving to be sturdy under such duress – it was thus far doing a commendable job of containing her heavy jugs within its cups despite every best effort by the blonde to knock her out of it.  The same could not be said of the Mexican’s guard – her arms were still up, but Erica was able to repeatedly punch or wrestle them apart as her fists continued to maraud Sara’s tits.  However, despite the fervor with which she went after her opponent’s hulking rack, Erica didn’t let her juglust get the better of her – rather than going for Sara’s breasts mindlessly with both hands, each punch she threw was deliberate, methodical, and meant to do significant harm.  The blonde landed three punches in rapid succession – two quick right uppercuts followed by a matching left.  They drew out the loudest wail yet from Sara’s throat – the older woman stumbled forward and wrapped her arms around Erica in a desperate clinch.

Locked up in a tight embrace with her opponent, the blonde savored the sensations of the fight: the hot exhalations of her opponent’s breath on the skin of her neck, the sound of her opponent’s whiny pouts in her ear, the feeling of their breasts and bellies pressed together between them.  She could hear the animated reactions of the normally mild-mannered audience, but the noise felt ambient as her attention focused on the older woman.  Erica could feel something in the way Sara writhed and wrestled with her – she could sense a touch of desper4ation seeping into her movements.  The blonde confidently pushed with her body, trying to bully the Mexican towards the ropes.  Sara was trying to gain some purchase with her footing in the loose sand, but there was none to be found as the younger forced her back against her will.

“I’m taking your tits, Sara,” Erica whispered into her opponent’s ear, “I’m gonna take everything I want from them.”

Her words got Sara to respond – snarling, the older woman planted her feet into the ground and shoved back against her challenger with provoked fury.  The two fighters were hopelessly tied up as they wrestled with each other for position, forcing the referee to step in and separate them.

As they were pried apart, Erica saw the expression on Sara’s face – there was a look in her eyes that was a mixture of hurt, shock, and outrage.  When was the last time a girl had been brazen enough to dive straight into Sara’s rack at the start of a fight?  How long had it been since someone had been audacious enough to show her such little respect?  No one present today could have seen it coming: not the officials, not the spectators, and most of all, not Sara.  Erica was beaming as she reveled in her success – her choice of tactics had put the older woman in serious disarray and threatened to turn the round into a rout. 

Sara’s left hand snapped out as the two women reengaged – Erica winced as the forceful jab stung on impact against her brow.  Sara threw another punch, identical to the first, which Erica blocked on her glove.  Both knew that these were merely a set up – what the older woman was really looking to do was set up the bashing right hand that she needed to take back initiative from the young upstart.  The left flicked out again, but Erica timed the punch precisely and slipped it off of her shoulder.  Stepping inside as she did, she hammered Sara’s breasts with a vicious left-right pair of hooks – the Mexican howled in agony as the blonde’s punches forced her to continue backpedaling.

Erica could see Sara’s fury get the better of her for just a single moment.  She was determined to make her younger opponent pay for her insolence, and without thinking threw a haymaker right that was meant to take the blonde’s head off.  Reading it well, Erica beat her to the punch with a shorter left to the chin that put her on her heels.  Resetting her hands, Erica jabbed once again and then a second time Sara’s right tit.  Stepping in, she pounded the Mexican’s left breast with her hardest punch thrown yet, a heavy right cross – Sara screamed loudly as she staggered away, looking particularly wounded as her back hit the ropes.

The blonde didn’t miss a beat as she landed another left-right combo to Sara’s rack, eliciting another tortured groan from the older woman.  “Your tits are mine, slut,” Erica continued to taunt.

The blonde aimed higher with a stiff left uppercut.  The blow toggled Sara’s chin and put a noticeable wobble in her legs – she tried to come forward and clinch again, but Erica bodied her back and stacked her up against the strands once more.  The blonde’s left hook bashed Mexican breast again, yielding a loud wail in response.  There was a grim determination in Sara’s eyes as she tried to ride out the storm, but she was pushing with her punches as she tried to keep the blonde off of her; every effort to tighten up her guard was undone when a new cuffing blow collided with her hulking jugs.

Erica threw a quick trio of left jabs to Sara’s right breast – each one hammered the heavy orb with pounding force.  The other woman’s eyes went glassy and she groaned in a low voice as the pain seemed to overcome her for a moment.  Her hands also seemed to be dropping just a tad – it was an opportunity that the blonde couldn’t let slip by her.  Erica immediately popped her hips and turned to put her body behind a solid right to the chin.  The blow’s effect was felt instantaneously as Sara’s head was rocked back in picturesque fashion – her legs lost their strength and buckled beneath her as her entire body seemed to go limp.  Erica was able to fetch an insurance left hook to the jaw as Sara started to slide off the ropes – the last blow turned her sideways as she dropped to her haunches, hands pressed against the sand as she braced herself from falling any further. 

“Yeah!” Erica shouted enthusiastically, “How was that, bitch?  You like that?”

The blonde’s punches had shaken Sara, but Erica’s words quickly brought her back to her senses.  She focused all of her range and hatred into a scowling death glare, leveled straight at her younger challenger.  Erica merely replied with a smug grin, but the referee stepped in to usher her backwards before she could get in another word edgewise. 

With the round at its close, there was no need for the blonde to go to the neutral corner.  Instead, she took only a few steps back and watched as the referee began to administer the count.  The crowd outside of the ring was cheering eagerly and loudly, but even through the din Erica was able to fixate on the sound of the taller woman’s voice as she called out the passing of each second in Spanish.  Sara hadn’t averted her hostile gaze from the blonde as she knelt in the sand, but it was clear that she’d picked up on the count as well.  Pressing her hands against the ground and getting her legs under her, Sara wisely took a full rest before rising at 8.  She presented her gloves for the referee, who quickly wiped the sand off on her waist wrap before signaling for the bell.  Erica flashed another condescending smirk at her scowling opponent and then turned towards her corner, sauntering away with arms raised.

Aimee and Whitney were both at the ready upon her arrival.  The brunette was giddy with delight at Erica’s success as she began attending to the fighter, while the older blonde’s demeanor was still strictly business.  In contrast to the other two seconds, Raquel remained at her station outside of the ring and watched the events transpiring on the other side of the squared circle with close scrutiny.  Erica sat down on her stool and leaned back to rest her arms on the middle rope as Whitney removed her mouthpiece and gave her water.  Looking over the brunette’s shoulder, she fixed her eyes on the opposing corner as she took stock of the other fighter.

Sara was standing in her corner facing the turnbuckles, gloves clenching the top rope on either side of the ring post.  Her sand girl was hard at work cleaning the grit off of the older woman’s curvaceous glutes and thighs.  The young girl worked quickly even in spite of the light sheen of sweat that adhered the sand grains to Sara’s skin – all in all, Erica estimated that it took her a maximum of fifteen seconds to complete the task.  All the while, Sara was looking over her shoulder balefully at her blonde opponent – she maintained her fierce glare even as she took her stool.

“You did good,” Aimee commended, “I want you to keep it up.  Jugs and chin.  Give her as much as she can take.”

Erica nodded in response to her trainer’s words.

“Watch out for her left.  She’s mad as hell over there – she’s going to throw everything she’s got at you now.”

Casting a quick glance across the ring, Erica could see the truth in Aimee’s words.  Sara seemed unbowed as she waited for the bell – judging from appearances, she looked like she’d managed to get the most out of the break, even if it was abbreviated.  Erica knew that a fighter of Sara’s caliber wouldn’t be brought down so easily, even after as poor a start as the one she’d had.  The Mexican’s angry stare, unyielding in its vigilance, spoke volumes about the fury that had been awoken by the blonde’s brazenness.

Erica simply smiled back at her foe.  Ten seconds remained in the break – the blonde rose to her feet the moment Whitney slipped her mouthpiece back into place.  She brought her guard up in front of her body as these last fleeting moments passed by – it was time to get back to business.

The loud clang of the bell echoed across the beach as Round 2 began.  Sara’s mindset seemed to be reflected in her actions as she rose off of her stool and marched straight forward to engage Erica.  The blonde came out of her corner more quickly, meeting the Mexican just past mid-ring.  She immediately began pumping out her left jab to her opponent’s face and was met with reciprocating punches that snapped against her cheek and guarding right glove.  Erica followed the quick trade of punches by turning her body and driving a hard right hook into Sara’s left breast.  She was determined to continue investing in her opponent’s rack and couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction as the blow brought a pained cringe to the older woman’s face.  But even as she threw a matching left hook to the other breast, Sara countered with her own right that landed solidly to the blonde’s jaw.

The stinging blow forced Erica to take her first backward step of the fight.  It took her a moment to recover, but it was only the briefest of pauses as Sara advanced on her without hesitation.  The older woman was spitting out the left jab now and trying to negotiate her way in close even as the blonde was attempting to circle away and regroup.  Erica’s right cross found its mark and connected solidly with Sara’s left tit, but a similar punch aimed for her cheek hit nothing but air.  Sara had read the blonde’s punch perfectly and bobbed out of harm’s way – moving in underneath the blonde’s arm as it extended outwards, the Mexican carved at Erica’s body with a powerful left hook to the liver.  Erica cringed as Sara’s fist drove into her midsection.  She tried her best to hide just what kind of an effect the blow had on her even as it stopped her in her tracks, but suppressing a groan of pain proved impossible as a second similar blow hammered her torso.

Even in the face of Sara’s punches, however, Erica was still slugging back.  She threw a stiff right that caromed off of Sara’s forehead; pawing out a left jab, she followed with another right that snapped at the older woman’s left breast.  Her body continued to be Sara’s primary target – soft gasps were forced from her throat by the hard left hooks that impacted twice against her flank.  Erica cried out again as a right uppercut snapped at the underside of her left tit – this latest vocalization had a much more whiny quality to it as her breasts came under fire for the first time in this fight.  Sara threw a left uppercut now to the blonde’s right breast – the violent jostling of her rack strained the string of her bikini top as it bowed and then snapped taut with her orb’s rise and fall.

Fading backwards, Erica planted her feet in the sand and tagged Sara on the brow with a stiff left hook.  It wasn’t enough to stagger her or seriously hurt her, but the punch definitely served as a reminder that the blonde would make the Mexican pay dearly for every inch of real estate she contested.  Circling a few steps to the side as she regarded her opponent warily, Erica jabbed with her left once to each tit.  She saw her opening as Sara’s arms came in to protect her chest – the blonde came over the top with a solid right cross to the jaw.  But despite throwing what she thought was the best punch of the day, her gloved fist failed to find its intended target as Sara fluidly slipped the punch off of her shoulder.  The moment it took Erica to realize that she was wide open was one that she couldn’t’ spare as Sara slid in and crammed another devastating left hook to her belly.  She cried out loudly as the blow harmed her, forcing her to step back in retreat.

Sara was relentless.  She threw herself at her younger opponent with hot-blooded fury – Erica recovered her guard barely in time to block a one-two combination that thudded against her forearms.  She threw a left hook to the jaw as her opponent tried to come forward, but Sara ducked the blow that likely would have rocked her badly had it landed.  The two exchanged punches as the older woman came out of her crouch – Erica grimaced as a stiff right slugged her ribs, but she simultaneously pounded the side of Sara’s head with a counter right hook.  The Mexican was already throwing another punch even as the blonde was resetting her hands – a robust uppercut found her chin and snapped her head back violently.  Erica’s legs trembled and threatened to give way beneath her.  Stumbling forward, she reached out with her arms and wrapped them around Sara’s, pulling herself close to her opponent for a much needed respite.

Despite the similarities to the previous round’s clinch, the circumstances now were considerably different.  The two women were again embraced nose to nose and body to body, but unlike before it was now the blonde who found herself in dire straits.  The blow had shaken Erica badly, and its effects were written in her every movement and facial expression.  The spectators in attendance were responding enthusiastically to the action in the ring, but their cheers were cacophonic and individually unintelligible – in her current state it was hard for her to discern if the prevailing sentiment was rooting for her to rally or for Sara to put her down.  Erica could hear Aimee’s voice shouting at her, but she couldn’t make out the words – the only thing that was perfectly audible was the sound of Sara’s heavy breathing as she writhed and struggled to break free from the blonde’s clutches.  Sara was still trying to move her arms, shrugging a few short punches at the blonde’s ribs, but Erica’s clinch was keeping her tightly constrained.

The break was short as the referee moved in to separate them, but it was sufficient for the blonde to clear her head.  Raising her gloves, Erica shuffled forward in the sand towards her opponent as Sara likewise advanced aggressively towards the blonde.  The older woman’s eyes fixed upon Erica with an angry glare, and she returned the hostile gaze with equal vehemence.  The feminine animosity between the two was now as palpable as the ocean breeze as battle was rejoined.

Erica measured with her left jab as the two fighters came together again, and they immediately exchanged punches as soon as they were in range.  The blonde grimaced as Sara’s left hook slammed into the side of her head like a bludgeon, but even through the throbbing pain she could still relish the sound of her opponent’s pitiful wail as her own right fist smacked into the Mexican’s left tit.  Sara’s forceful blow was disorienting, but Erica rallied all of her energy and willpower into throwing another punch, which came in the form of a left-handed blow that she felt plow forcefully into her opponent’s rack.  She could hear the resulting anguished scream that came from Sara’s lips – it had a whiny and almost demoralized quality to it.  Had it been in enough to stop her in her tracks?  As her vision regained its focus, she could see the discouraged expression on her opponent’s face – there was no doubt Sara was starting to unravel.

The moment passed quickly, however, as Sara’s eyes went hard.  The Mexican leaned in and drove a vicious left hook squarely into the blonde’s midsection.

Erica’s eyes went wide as the punch found her liver with pinpoint accuracy and crammed in with brutal efficacy.  She opened her mouth to cry out in pain, but no sound came forth.  Paralysis was spreading quickly throughout her entire lower body – despite her best efforts, her legs felt like they would give way at any moment.  Desperately needing to clinch, Erica reached out with her arms to tie her opponent up as she stumbled forward, but all she could do was get her hands on Sara’s shoulders.  The Mexican’s own arms were still free as she threw a second and third hook, each identical to the first – the blonde found her voice and cried out in agony as these latter blows drove violently into her body.

Sara pressed her left glove on Erica’s shoulder and gave her a firm push, creating some separation between them.  Crippled by the blows, the blonde was now wide open for the older woman’s next punch: a perfectly measured right cross to the jaw.  The blow snapped her head back violently and sent her tumbling backwards in a daze.  The blonde tried desperately to keep her feet, but her legs were finally buckling beneath her – she made it only a few steps before she lost her balance and toppled backwards to the sand.

Erica groaned softly as she struggled to come to her senses.  She was dimly aware of the fact that she had been dropped to a seat on the ground – the only things that had kept her from being stretched out on her back completely were her forearms, which propped her back up off of the sand.  Staring down the length of her body, she tried to coax some movement out of her legs, but they felt leaden and were slow to respond.  Erica listened anxiously for the referee’s count, trying to gauge how long she’d been down.  A singular voice cut through the haze and grabbed her attention:

“You little whore!  Get up!  Get up!”

Tilting her head, Erica looked up to see Sara staring back down at her.  The fury in the older woman’s eyes was unlike anything that the blonde had ever witnessed, and the glare seemed to pierce through her defenses effortlessly.  Erica felt a brief shiver run through her spine.  Time seemed to stand still as she remained locked in Sara’s gaze, but soon everything was in motion again as the referee intervened to begin the count.

Erica recovered from her momentary lapse in composure as the voice of the third woman in the ring replaced that of her opponent.  Turning herself over gingerly, the blonde made it to all fours as the count, in English, rose to 5.  She took a moment to rally some strength into her legs before rising off of the ground, making it to her feet at 8.  Erica raised her gloves for the referee, who gave them a perfunctory wiping off before signaling for the bell.

The mood was much more somber upon Erica’s return to her corner than it had been during the previous break.  This time, Raquel was the one waiting for her inside the ring while the other two cornergirls remained on the sidelines.  The young Mexican girl guided her as she arrived, directing her to face the turnbuckle – Erica reached out for the top ropes with both hands, leaning her weight into them for support as her second went to work.  Raquel performed her duty rapidly, wiping the sand from one triceps, then the hips and glutes, and finally the other triceps in succession.

“She’s a strong fighter,” Raquel said softly as she leaned in close, “but I know that you are stronger.”

It was a short and rather simple platitude, but in the absence of any other assistance the blonde would take whatever positive reinforcement she could get.  With the sand girl’s work complete, Erica took her stool as the other two seconds moved in to replace her.  The shortened rest period did the blonde no favors, but Raquel had been swift in her work and kept the time taken away to a minimum.  Resting her forearms in her lap, Erica took a deep breath as Whitney began her revitalizing ministrations.

“She’s fast,” Erica muttered as her mouthpiece was removed.  In her current state, she could find no other words to assess the situation.

“She’s pulling out all the stops to take this fight early,” Aimee replied, “She knows she won’t be able to keep up with you the longer this goes on.”

The blonde fighter nodded as she was given a quick swig of water.  A brief massage of her biceps and shoulders from Whitney felt invigorating and eased some of the tension in her body.

“Tit for tat,” Aimee continued, “She’s going to crowd in and try to bully you.  Give her as good as you get.  You’re stronger than her.  Better than her.”

Erica bit down on her mouthguard as Whitney slid it back in between her lips and rose to her feet as the seconds were called out of the ring.  The bell to begin Round 3 rang far sooner than Erica would have preferred.  As she rose off of her stool, she could feel the aftereffects of her opponent’s fists, and not just in the body – her legs still felt a bit shaky and were definitely much slower to respond as she took her first steps out of her corner.  The inherent limitations imposed by the ring’s terrain were now presented more starkly than ever – combined with the condition of her legs, the chances of being able to stay mobile were absolutely nil.  As Erica stared across the ring and saw her opponent advancing with the same hard look in her eyes as before, she now clearly understood how Sara had managed to dominate this sandy arena for as long as she had. 

The blonde took a pair of left jabs as she met her foe at midring.  With her reflexes diminished, both punches snapped into her cheek before her body could react to the command to move.  Sara now went to the torso with a right hook – Erica tried to block the punch on her arm, but instead she cried out in pain as it slammed into her flank behind her elbow.  Sara was right behind her punches, taking the fight into close quarters as she leaned in mouth-on-shoulder.  The Mexican pressed her left glove against the blonde’s right shoulder, bracing herself as she carved at the younger lady’s midsection with repeated right hooks.  Erica winced as the blows continued to land, burying her own face in the crook of Sara’s neck.  The older woman again pushed on her shoulder and threw another punch to the body – between the wrestling left hand and the concussive right fist, Erica was slowly being driven in a backpedal towards the ropes. 

Erica scowled as she jostled with Sara for control, but had no success as she took another punch to the midriff.  “You bitch,” she muttered through a pained grimace. 

Planting her feet into the sand, the blonde finally began to move her arms and fight back.  The two fighters traded rough, compact punches to the body; Erica was quicker to follow up as she doubled the right into the pit of Sara’s stomach.  The older woman gasped softly in pain, but the hushed cry was perfectly audible to the blonde in their near-intimate confines.  Erica’s punch was soon answered by a hook to the midsection, which brought an achy cringe to her face as she pressed her mouth against Sara’s collarbone.

Blonde and Mexican pushed with their arms and shoved with their upper bodies as they issued punches in close quarters.  The small but enthusiastic crowd was now cheering energetically for both women as they continued to methodically trade punches – this was the fight that they were paying to see and the type of action that they’d come to watch.  The fight was also, undeniably, Sara’s kind of fight.

Erica snapped at Sara’s taut midriff with a left-right combo – the sound of her opponent’s suffering was uplifting, but the younger fighter soon found herself choking back an anguished cry of her own as a vicious left hook slammed into her liver and cramped her up badly.  The motion of Sara’s body was as fluid as it was merciless – she pushed her opponent’s ribs and biceps to gain a small measure of separation and then shrugged a right uppercut into the blonde’s face.  Erica groaned as the blow picked her head off of Sara’s shoulder and snapped it back violently – she staggered backwards on unsteady legs, driven perilously closer to the ropes.  Sara stayed on her, not giving her any opportunity to regroup – Erica pushed out a groggy right cross, but her punch only caromed off of the top of her opponent’s head as Sara’s left crashed violently into her right breast.  The Mexican was already moving inside as the blonde reeled backwards, resuming their close-embraced battle of attrition.

Autopilot was beginning to take control of the blonde’s actions as she brawled and traded body punches with her opponent in increasingly mindless fashion.  Erica resented the touch and heat of Sara’s body against her own, and the sweltering afternoon provided no comfort as the sun’s withering rays taxed every motion that she and the Mexican made.  But despite the fatigue creeping into her arms, she willed herself to continue punching Sara’s flanks and stomach even as the older woman’s fists battered her own svelte chassis.  Achy gasps and whines punctuated the trade of blows as the two fighters pushed and strained against each other, taking and yielding ground in a back and forth struggle. 

One of Erica’s punches strayed upwards and slammed into the underside of Sara’s right breast.  The sound of the Mexican’s tortured cry was music to the blonde’s ears and only served to encourage her.

“Gonna wreck your tits,” Erica proclaimed as she snapped a second and third punch into her rival’s rack.

Sara was starting to back off as her chest took punishment, and Erica pressed the attack with a right uppercut to the chin that snapped her head back ever so slightly.  Pushing for more separation, the blonde threw a right cross to the Mexican’s jaw, but took a hook on the ear in exchange – the blow disoriented her and sent her stumbling a few steps away from her foe.  A right cross immediately followed and caught her on the mouth, rocking her head back.  The last punch in sequence, a left hook, snapped her head sideways and drove her backwards on shaky legs to the ropes.

Erica was in a fog as she slumped against the strands for support.  She desperately tried to rally her body and mind, but neither seemed to be recovering with the necessary urgency.  Her hands were still up at chest-height, bu8t her guard was loose and in no condition to protect her from further harm.  Erica could feel her arms being wrestled and pried apart – Sara’s left hand was soon pressing on her shoulder once again, stacking her upright against the ropes for more punishment.

A reprisal punch to the tits brought Erica back to her senses.  The blonde arched her head back and wailed loudly as Sara’s fist impacted forcefully against her left breast, compressing it painfully against her chest.  More punches, delivered in slow but very purposeful fashion, continued to land against one heavy orb or the other and were each punctuated by a new agonized cry that was torn from the blonde’s throat.

“”How do you like it, whore?” Sara shouted, “How do you like it?!”

Staring bleakly at her opponent’s eyes, Erica’s gaze came into focus as she caught a glimpse of the hatred and malevolence driving the Mexican to pay the blonde back for all of the abuse that her rack had suffered thus far.  Erica’s response came in the form of a sweeping left hook to Sara’s right tit.  The Mexican’s voice took on the form of a loud groan as it echoed the blonde’s earlier distress.

Compelled by the sight and sound of the older woman’s anguish, Erica coaxed her other arm to move as she began assaulting rack with both hands.  By now, Sara had already pulled her own left hand back to begin punching the blonde’s tits – a point of no return had been crossed as the two fighters went after each other’s jugs in ferocious and single-minded fashion.  Erica cringed as her opponent’s blows hammered and savaged her magnificent breasts with seemingly tireless dedication and vigor.  Her tits were throbbing from the steady attack, but she took solace from the grimace that was reciprocated on Sara’s face as her own punches slammed repeatedly into the Mexican’s bikini top.

The blonde threw a right hook palm-up into Sara’s left tit twice in succession, eliciting a tortured moan as the blows smashed into the heavy orb.  The sound of her opponent’s distress compelled Erica to snap out another left-right pair of punches to Sara’s breasts, yielding another anguished groan.  The last combination also buckled Sara’s legs, causing her to stagger forward for a clinch.  Erica instinctively struggled against her foe’s ensnaring clutches, and for a moment she could feel her back coming off of the ropes as her body pushed Sara’s backwards.  However, this sensation was soon replaced by another as the Mexican disengaged her right arm and drove an uppercut into the overhanging ledge of the younger girl’s bikini top.  Erica wailed as black leather pounded her breast repeatedly like a piston – the intensity of the pain overwhelmed her briefly and left her powerless to stop Sara from bodying her back into the strands.

Sara’s hand pressed against her shoulder again to prop her upright.  Erica’s eyes were misty with tears, but she could nonetheless discern her opponent’s form squaring off toe to toe.  Though Sara had certainly not been spared from the fight’s tolls on her body and spirit, her desire to put the young blonde upstart in her place was as strong as ever.  An exchange of right hands to jug went in Sara’s favor as her follow-up left to the blonde’s tits went unanswered; Erica threw another right, but it was preempted by another savage uppercut to the left breast.  Sara pushed at her shoulder again to keep her stacked up – the blonde cried out helplessly as another left hook and right uppercut buffeted her chest like rough waves of the ocean against the shore. 

Straining to focus her efforts, Erica lashed out with a right hook to the outside of Sara’s left breast.  The punch had a dramatic effect on impact as it knocked the Mexican’s heavy tit out of its bikini cup – Sara seemed to falter momentarily from the psychological blow while the blonde zeroed in on the exposed orb.  Erica went after her new target with weary but determined straight punches, hacking the blows head-on at Sara’s nipple.  Agony now seemed to be etched permanently in Sara’s expression, but the desperation in her eyes was mirrored by a similar look on the blonde’s face as the two fighters continued to batter each other’s breasts. 

Another uppercut collided with the underside of Erica’s left tit, tearing an anguished scream from her lips.  This last blow proved to be too much for her to bear as she reached in to clinch with Sara.  All around her she could hear the crowd cheering in approval as the boob brawl’s victress was decided, but for the time being she had bigger concerns as the older woman stacked her up in preparation for reaping the rewards of her triumph.  Erica sobbed helplessly as the blows were now landing without answer – Sara was weary, but still willing to punch as she pillaged Erica’s rack triumphantly. 

A brutally precise left hook hammered her in the liver.  Erica blurted out in pain as the blow doubled her over – she could feel her entire body starting to relax as if the punch had sapped all of the life out of her.  As she tilted forward, a right hook clouted her chin and snapped her head sideways in crowd-pleasing fashion, clapping the mouthpiece cleanly off of her teeth in the process.  One final short right smacked against her pate, but it was unnecessary at this point – Erica’s downward trajectory had already been ordained as she jackknifed to the ground at Sara’s feet.

Erica moaned softly as she lay with her face and chest pressed into the sand.  The throbbing in her head made it hard to regain her bearings, whereas each shallow breath she took sent a new ripple of agony throughout her body.  She tried to coax some life into her legs, but her upper torso remained firmly immobilized on the ground – as a result, her movements did little more than to shake her ass as it stuck up elevated above the rest of her body.  Pinching her eyes shut, Erica choked back a sob as she struggled against both the pain and her feelings of helplessness.

Planting her hands into the sand beside her, Erica made another attempt to get up off of the ground.  She summoned every ounce of strength that she could into her limbs and put it all into one frantic push.  Her arms finally came to life as she raised herself up to all fours, and soon her legs responded as well to bring her up to her feet.  Erica swayed unsteadily as the bell rang – it was only when the referee reached in to wipe her gloves that she realized that she had beaten the count.

Erica’s mind was still in a haze as she plodded back to her corner.  She could feel Raquel’s hand on her shoulder guiding her as she returned, gently helping her to lean up with her back against the turnbuckles for support.  Erica rested her arms on the top ropes as the arenadora began her diligent work to remove the sand that now covered her face and upper torso.  Raquel was trying to be delicate with her touch, but the soft terrycloth material of the towel still felt abrasive when it dabbed against the scuffed skin of her cheeks and around her eyes.  The young Mexican’s attention soon shifted downward to the blonde fighter’s chest, accompanied by an anguished cringe and low moan of pain as her bruised and tender breasts ached with the slightest jostling.  Erica could hear Raquel offering words of encouragement, but she couldn’t make out the words.

On the other side of the ring, a commotion was brewing.  As Sara had been knocked out of her bikini top, she was now obligated by the rules to have it removed.  Looking over her sand girl’s shoulder at the opposite corner, Erica watched as the older woman rose from her stool and posed proudly while her seconds removed the white halter.  With her chest unobstructed, Sara grasped the top rope with her gloves and arched her back, thrusting her big breasts out for all to see.  The heavy orbs had suffered just as much abuse as Erica’s had in the preceding rounds, but they nonetheless remained an impressive sight that elicited immediate and enthusiastic approval from the audience.

Likewise transfixed by her opponent’s figure, Erica could hear Aimee calling out to her as Raquel completed her task.  Through her grogginess she was able to make out that she was being asked if she wanted to have her own top removed.  Erica nodded dumbly, and soon felt the knots at her neck and back come undone as the shiny blue garment was peeled away from her chest.  In theory, disrobing by choice after forcing her opponent to be stripped should have been at least some sort of psychological victory; in her current state, however, it didn’t feel like one to the blonde fighter.

Only about 15 seconds remained in the break, leaving very little time for Erica to be tended to.  The blonde gasped as Whitney squeezed a sponge of ice water atop her, reviving her somewhat as the cold rivulets trickled down her face and shoulders.  Focusing her eyes on her opponent across the ring, Erica knew that she was in far worse shape than Sara going into the next heat.  The residual effects of the previous round’s punishment continued to be felt as it weighed down her movements and reflexes.  Being made to stand through the whole rest period was a significant detriment for her legs, and they still wobbled as she let go of the ropes and raised her hands into a guard. 

A new mouthpiece was slipped in past her lips just as Round 4 was set to begin.  Focusing on her opponent across the ring, Erica stepped forward at the sound of the bell, making her way out of her corner at a slow plod.  The ocean wind swept in a caress across her skin, almost as if it was beckoning her to meet the fate that was awaiting her at midring.  Even at a distance she could see the malice in Sara’s eyes – there was no understating her desire to put the young upstart blonde down once and for all.  Curiously, however, Sara likewise appeared to be shuffling a bit slowly as she strode across the sand towards her challenger.  Had the unbridled ferocity of the previous round taken too much out of her, or was she merely holding back for the decisive moment?

Erica’s body moved purely on instinct as she and her opponent came together.  She probed with a repeated left jab to Sara’s face and chest, though the punch was perhaps more accurately described as a push since it lacked much of the snap that it had displayed earlier in the fight.  Sara seemed to react passively, blocking each prod on her glove or forearm as she backpedaled ever so slightly.  One blow managed to get inside her guard, colliding with her right breast – Erica immediately turned and put her full weight behind a right cross to the jaw.

Sara beat her to the punch.

Erica was unprepared for the speed with which the older woman struck.  With one deft motion, Sara lunged in and threw a powerful hook to the blonde’s face.  The punch violently snapped her head sideways, shattering her defenses as it sent her reeling backwards on wobbly legs.  Erica could feel her body and mind shutting down rapidly in the wake of the blow’s concussive effects.  All but out on her feet, she was wide open and helpless as Sara’s right cross came hurtling towards her chin moments later.

The next thing Erica knew, she was staring up at the blue sky overhead.  Groaning softly as she struggled to clear her thoughts, it took her a second to realize that she had suffered another knockdown.  She now found herself stretched out on her back with both of her arms lying on the sand above her head – it was hard to imagine that the blonde could possibly have looked any more beautiful or helpless than she did in that single moment.

The cool ocean wind had subsided.  In its place, the stifling tropical heat now hung in the air and cast a hellish pall over the ring.  Ragged breaths slipped in and out of Erica’s parted lips as she tried to get up off her back, but her entire body felt heavy and resisted all of her commands to move.  Rolling over wearily onto her hip, the blonde could hear a dozen or more voices shouting and cheering enthusiastically – the multitude of sounds seemed to bleed together until they became a single loud roar in Erica’s ears that was not unlike the loudest of ocean waves.  Lost amid the incoherent clamor, however, was the sound of the referee’s voice.

Erica couldn’t tell what the count was at, but she knew that she had to act soon if she wanted to avoid being knocked out.  Fighting against her own grogginess and exhaustion, she knew that it would take all of her remaining energy to climb up off of the proverbial deck.  Her muscles seemed to ache in protest as she coaxed them into moving, but they nonetheless acceded to her wishes and came to life; all four of her limbs, previously inert, finally responded as she managed to get up to all fours.  Giving it everything she had left, Erica made one last attempt to push herself up off the sand…

…And heard a loud shout of “NINE!” as she finally made it to her feet.

The blonde boxer swayed on unsteady legs as the bell rang to end the round.  She had managed to stave off the knockout with her heroic efforts, but that fact alone provided little comfort or reassurance as she was directed back to her corner.  Her body ached with every movement she made, and her throat felt parched with every heavy breath she sucked in as she limped back to port.  There was no doubt that four bruising heats with La Reina had left her drained and used up.

Raquel met her as far out as was permissible and guided her the rest of the way to the corner, but Erica was still laboring even with the assistance of her young second.  The blonde stumbled and swooned forward against the top rope and turnbuckle – she felt sure that she would’ve collapsed had they not been there to support her weight.  Raquel went to work immediately with the towel, first brushing the loose grains of sand from the blonde’s hair and then sweeping the cloth up and down the length of her back to wipe clean her sweat-slicked skin.  Erica whimpered softly as the arenadora‘s hand and cloth worked their way down her body, brushing at her tenderized flanks.

It was times like these that fighters asked themselves how badly they wanted it.  For Erica, every answer to that question seemed bleak.  She’d given it her all, but in the end her best simply wasn’t good enough against someone like Sara.  Once again, she found herself faced with the prospect of defeat.  There was no denying its inevitability – the only question that mattered now as how much longer she could last before Sara put her down for good.

“You can’t give up… Please… I know you can beat her…”

Lifting her weary head off of the turnbuckle, Erica heard the sound of Raquel’s voice in her ear.  The words were soft, barely audible above the din of the beach and attendant crowd; her tone was a plaintive one, spoken as if wishing hard enough would result in her desires being fulfilled.  Despite this, her words were nonetheless those of a true believer.  Raquel had not yet given up on a favorable outcome, even if odds seemed slim.

Looking out onto the other side of the ropes at her cornerwomen, Erica saw the same emotions etched onto their facial expressions.  In Aimee and Whitney’s eyes was the same mixture of apprehension and hope – though they likewise recognized the gravity of the current situation, both women nonetheless still had faith that she could win.  Erica nodded as their words of encouragement gradually restored her composure – the match wasn’t over as long as she was still standing, and she resolved to give it everything she still had for as long as she could.

Much like the previous break, it took Raquel the majority of the period to finish her work.  As the sand girl completed her work and exited the ring, Erica turned around to face her opponent.  It was barely perceptible as she looked across the ring, but the look in Sara’s eyes suggested that she was asking herself many of the same questions as she recuperated on her stool.  The Mexican had likewise expended a great deal of energy thus far in the fight, but there was no question that she would give it all to achieve a final victory in the coming rounds.

As the clock wound down on the break, Erica dutifully put up her dukes and formed a guard.  Her arms felt heavy as she wearily raised them up in front of her, and her legs similarly felt a bit stiff as she took up her fighting stance.  However, she was resolved to withstand the siege that she knew was about to resume.

Round 5 came with another tolling of the bell.  Erica shuffled slowly and took a few steps out of her corner, but advanced no further.  She faded backwards towards the ropes and established a defensive position – under the present circumstances, she intended to let her opponent expend energy coming to her instead of the other way around.

Sara moved noticeably slower as she crossed the ring to meet the blonde.  The spring was just as much gone from her step as it was from Erica’s, but she marched determinedly across the ring to meet her opponent all the same.  In contrast, the older woman’s eyes blazed with undiminished fury as she stalked the blonde – Sara’s gaze was no less fearsome than it had been at the start of the match, and Erica was almost take aback for a moment by the intensity of her glare.  Whatever her physical condition may be, Sara remained as hungry for victory as she had been at the fight’s opening moments.

The atmosphere in the ring and around it was tense as the fighters drew towards each other and closer towards resuming combat.  Both women eyed each other warily from behind their respective guards, each looking for an opening to exploit.  Erica made the first move to break that tension as Sara came into range, throwing a right-hand lead to the older woman’s jaw.  The punch caught Sara by surprise and rocked her back, sending her stumbling a step to her right as well.  The blonde tried to capitalize with a second identical blow, but the Mexican recovered quickly enough to duck.  Sara lashed back with a left-right pair of hooks that impacted against Erica’s bicep and flank.  Sara’s forward motion continued as she bulled her way inside and pushed Erica back into the ropes – she was leaning in with her head and upper chest, but leaving her hands ample room to punch down below.  Erica scowled and tried to push Sara off, but her expression changed into a pained cringe as two compact left hooks pounded at her waist.

No verbal barbs were traded as they worked in close – neither fighter could spare energy to exchange anything other than punches.  Sara’s face was pressed up against the crook of Erica’s neck much like a lover’s, but there was no mistaking the hatred fueling her punches as she again sought to conquer the blonde’s torso.  For her part, Erica showed equal animosity as she paid Sara back with reciprocal blows.  Black leather snatched at tanned bellies and breasts – the work was hot, sweaty, and draining as the sweltering afternoon wore on.  And yet, neither blonde nor Latina was willing to concede an inch to the other, much less the outcome of the fight itself. 

Erica leaned back into the stiff ropes for support as she tried to ride out the other woman’s punches.  Another strapping blow to the ribs caused her to wince – for just that brief moment though, in her heart of hearts, it almost seemed to her that Sara’s fists weren’t landing with the same force that had driven them previously.  The blonde was weary and hurting, but she could tell that the older woman’s punching output was also slowing down.  Pushing the pace was a great risk in her current state, but Erica was willing to gamble.

A tidy right to the pit of Sara’s stomach drew a gasp of pain, accompanied by a satisfying exhale of hot breath against the blonde’s collarbone.  Erica grimaced as she took a left uppercut to her right breast in response, and nuzzled her mouth against Sara’s head as her chest throbbed in pain.  The blonde crammed her right into the Mexican’s tit, relishing how the orb felt as it was compressed against the other woman’s chest.  Erica batted a pair of short right hooks to the side of Sara’s head – the blows seemed to harm her as she now reached to tie the blonde up.

Wrestling for control of the clinch, Erica managed to snake her arms in underneath Sara’s and wrap her up with a tight hook.  She pushed with her right shoulder, and at the same time pivoted counterclockwise – Erica could hear the crowd enthusiastically applaud the reversal.  There was only one sound that mattered to her though: the whine in Sara’s voice as she now found herself on the defensive.

Disengaging, Erica took a step back and gave herself some room to work.  She split Sara’s gloves with an uppercut, knocking the other woman’s head back.  Reclining against the strands, Sara set up a tired earmuff as the blonde laid into her with renewed vigor.  The Mexican was covering up adroitly as Erica belted away with both hands, but the gaps in her armor were there to be found – the blonde’s spirits were lifted each time a solid connect drew out a new grimace or pained groan from her foe.  Sara gasped sharply as a stiff hook found her waist behind the elbow – she tilted forward looking to clinch, but Erica pressed her back against the ropes and wrestled apart her guard.  Sara’s anguished scream filled the blonde’s ears as she hammered the Mexican’s left tit with another right hook; Erica threw the same punch again moments later to Sara’s chin, swiveling her head violently. 

Sara swung at the blonde with both hands – the punches were wild as they were thrown groggily, but that didn’t make them hurt any less.  Erica groaned as the left landed forcefully against her brow and sent a tremor through her tired legs.  She leaned in to work mouth-on-shoulder, thus swapping the positions that she and Sara had been in earlier in the round.  The blonde tucked a short right into Sara’s stomach, drawing out an achy moan.  She punched with her left and lifted an uppercut into Sara’s right breast, savoring its weight and feel as it molded against her fist.  A right to the Mexican’s midriff was matched by a blow to the blonde’s abdomen; Erica was quicker to capitalize as she landed a right to the midsection and a left uppercut to the right breast in succession.

Sara’s tank was running dry – Erica swore that she could feel the last of the older woman’s competitiveness ebbing away.  Sara was committing all of her reserves to holding off the younger blonde, but how much longer could she last?  The blonde punched her opponent’s stomach again with another stubby right, producing what had to have been the most anguished cry yet.  It was enough to crack Sara’s resolve, causing her to reach out with both arms and try to clinch – Erica pushed back on Sara’s hips, keeping their bodies separate and the older woman trapped against the ropes.  She managed to prod at Sara’s face with a few left jabs before the Mexican tried again, this time securing her arms around the blonde’s shoulder and waist.

As she wrestled with her opponent and tried to body her back up against the strands, Erica was caught off guard by a sudden pivot.  Sara pushed with the right side of her body and turned them both counterclockwise – their positions were thus reversed once more as they inched closer towards the neutral corner.  Erica squealed as she once again found herself trapped, but writhed intently as she fought to free herself from Sara’s clutches.  Pushing against each other with chests and upper bodies, their movements back and forth across the sand was measured in inches as one sought to constrain and the other to break free. 

Erica’s left arm was unencumbered, and she began stuffing a series of short blows into Sara’s ribs – she didn’t have the leverage to make any single one hurt, but all together they were enough to allow her to finally push the older woman back.  As they reset, the Mexican jabbed at the blonde’s right breast, connecting directly with the nipple and drawing a howl of outrage.  The tit shot goaded Erica into throwing a vengeful right-hand lead at her opponent’s face, but she took a matching blow in return that snapped her head back and stunned her momentarily.  Sent reeling back against the ropes by the trade, Erica was open as she took another left, this one a left hook to the jaw.

The blow was short, but it was timed and landed perfectly, hitting Erica like a jolt.  Her head was snapped sideways by the punch, and her body followed as it turned her a quarter of the ways to her left.  The blonde’s legs gave out beneath her, almost as if someone had flipped a switch – she staggered away a few steps as she tried to keep her feet, but to no avail as she crashed to her knees in the neutral corner. 

Erica instinctively tightened her grip on the middle rope as her upper body leaned against it for support.  Her eyes were momentarily vacant as she stared out of the ring at a homogenous blur, but her vision soon came into focus on the turquoise ocean rolling tranquilly inland.  Erica cursed softly under her breath, hating the fact that the older woman had proven herself superior in yet another round.  Fortunately for her, while the knockdown blow had been a shock to her system, her senses were recovering quickly as she picked up the referee’s count.  Pushing against the taut cable, Erica lifted herself up with a forceful heave and rose to her feet at the count of 8.  Her legs still felt a bit shaky, but her head was clear as the referee once again wiped her gloves and signaled for the round-ending bell.

Trudging back to her corner, Erica found her stool already prepared for her arrival.  With no new sand accumulated above the knee, she was entitled to take her full rest period – the blonde required no prompting as she plopped down, fatigued but thankful for the minute-long respite.  Whitney went to work immediately – she first supplied the blonde with a much-welcome swig of water, and then began working on the puffiness that was starting to build under her eyes.  Erica winced as the cold compress traced back and forth across her tender flesh, applying a soothing touch to the battle damage that her face had endured.

“I can’t believe that bitch dropped me again,” Erica muttered.

“You’re still in this fight to win it,” Aimee replied.  Her words went beyond mere platitudes – Erica knew her trainer well enough to recognize the sincere confidence she had in her fighter’s abilities.

“She’s got to be close to her breaking point,” Aimee continued, “I want you to keep the pressure on her.  Get in her trunks and don’t let up for a moment.  She can’t afford to keep trying to compete with you body-to-body.”

Erica nodded as she set her mind on the daunting task.  Both cornerwomen reached for her bare thighs and upper arms and began to massage them vigorously, trying to coax some more mileage out of the muscles in her weary limbs.  Glancing over Aimee’s shoulder at the opposite corner, the blonde fighter could see similar efforts being made to rejuvenate Sara before the start of the next round.  Whitney squeezed a sponge of ice water atop Erica’s head, and then did the same on the back of the blonde’s neck – Erica gasped as the cold liquid ran down her back and chest, bringing her nipples to hard attention in the process.

As the seconds cleared the ring and the break came to an end, Erica directed her gaze and her attention fully on her Mexican opponent.  For five bruising heats, the blonde had endured the worst that this woman and the sweltering beach had to offer – despite this, she felt a renewed sense of vigor as the bell rang to begin Round 6.  Her legs still felt stiff as she rose off of her stool, but she was determined as she crossed the sand to meet her foe.  On the other side of the ring, Sara looked slow getting off her stool, and seemed both plodding and arm-weary as she stepped out of her own corner – there could no doubt that the frenetic pace of the match had drained her, but how badly remained to be seen.

Meeting her foe about two-thirds of the way across the ring, Erica began sorting Sara out with a series of jabs.  Three landed in succession to Sara’s face, visibly rocking her head back upon impact.  Erica turned her body immediately after the third and put her weight behind a right cross to the chin – the punch landed in picturesque fashion, snapping Sara’s head back and sending her staggering backwards to the ring’s perimeter. 

The cross had definitely hurt her.  Following in pursuit, the blonde landed a left hook to the right tit and another to the jaw as Sara reeled back against the ropes.  The older woman was groggy, but showed her own fighting spirit as she threw a left and a right that crisscrossed to batter the blonde’s tits.  Erica answered with a thick left that smacked loudly against the older woman’s obliques.  A quick pair of payback blows snapped upwards at the undersides of Sara’s heavy jugs, sending them jostling.  A heavy right drilled into the Mexican’s ribs, eliciting a plaintive groan. 

Erica winced as Sara traded back rotely with a pair of punches to the body, but while they still carried the same bludgeoning force behind them, they no longer had the same zip that had characterized them previously.  The blonde sank a left hook into Sara’s midsection just below her navel, drawing out a blurt of pain and putting a clear tremble in the older woman’s legs.  Reaching in with her hands, she wrestled the Mexican’s guard apart and opened her up to more punches, continuing her way up Sara’s chassis with a quick right and left to her tits.  Erica capped off the combination with a right uppercut to the chin, snapping the Mexican’s head back once more and causing her to stumble forward for a clinch. 

Sara was breathing heavily as she cinched her arms up around the young blonde and clung on as tightly as she could.  The spirited attempts to wrestle for control were gone, replaced by a single overriding struggle just to survive.  Erica muscled her back into the ropes and pushed off as she set herself up to begin working again.  The blonde doubled up her right hook, landing to the ribs and face in succession – the latter was particularly impressive as it swept across Sara’s mouth, cutting open her lip and loosening her up in the process.  Sara tilted forward in another attempt to clinch, but was again shoved back against the strands.  Erica could feel Sara trying to push off and reverse, but at this point she was no longer strong enough to do so.  Erica put an end to those struggles with a tidy left to the stomach, before pushing off to reset.  Her eyes brightened as she looked over her hurt opponent – there was nothing she wanted that she couldn’t take. 

And what she wanted were Sara’s tits.

An anguished groan filled the air as Erica’s right uppercut savaged the Mexican’s left breast.  A matching blow took Sara’s right jug, followed by another to the left, and then another to the right.  Corresponding to the older woman’s cries, a roar of excitement rippled through the crowd as they delighted in the way Erica chose to assert her control over the fight.  Sara crossed her arms in an effort to protect her chest, but the blonde merely reached in and wrestled the guard apart again – pushing the shoulder with her left hand to stack Sara upright, Erica drove a smashing right cross into her opponent’s jugs.  The resulting scream of agony was the loudest thus far, and was the first of a series as the blonde pumped her cross into the left tit without mercy.  Erica could feel fatigue starting to creep in as her body was in constant motion, but arm-weariness was a small price to pay for her opponent’s pain and suffering.

Pulling her hand back from Sara’s shoulder, Erica stroked her with a left hook across the jaw that buckled her legs.  The Mexican was glassy-eyed as she struggled to find her footing – she sagged back against the ropes and slid to her right along them, but the blonde stayed on her and continued to shell her jugs all the while.  Erica picked up Sara’s chin with a left uppercut; a pair of right hooks ravaged her left breast; a left hook bashed into her brow – the pace of the blonde’s punches was slow, but she was making every one count as they worked to unravel the older woman.

Sara offered back a left hook to jug, bringing a cringe to Erica’s face.  As she moved to throw another, the blonde beat her to the punch with a right hook to the jaw.  The blow swiveled her head and loosened her up even further as she came off of the ropes wobbly, stumbling to her right in the direction of midring.  Her backpedaling put her in perfect range for a well-measured right cross to the chin – the punch looked absolutely magnificent as it snapped Sara’s head back and sent her crashing to the sand on her back. 

Erica’s heart pounded at the sight of her opponent sprawled out parallel to the ropes.  Her posture on the ground could almost be described as a grim parody of a fighter’s stance – both of Sara’s elbows were planted in the sand on either side of her body, leaving one arm and gloved hand curled up near the swell of her breasts while the other rested closer towards her lap.  Her eyes were pinched shut, while her lips formed a pouty frown as she struggled to shake off the formidable force of the punch that had laid her out.  The rest of her body, however, remained still except for the rise and fall of her chest in shallow breaths.  Erica’s own expression changed into a tired but delighted smile when she realized that she might have done what she had originally set out to accomplish when she first arrived here on the beach.

Sara rolled over onto her stomach as she tried to get up.  In doing so, sand stuck to her sweaty skin and coated the front side of her body, mirroring the moderate accumulation on her back.  Erica roared in triumph and lifted her arms high as she began a sexy strut along the ring’s perimeter.  She looked over her shoulder as she paraded away slowly, enjoying the crowd’s cheers, the sound of the referee’s voice counting in Spanish, and most of all, the sight of her opponent’s helplessness. 

The Mexican wriggled her glutes and thighs as she struggled to push herself up off of the ground.  She was clearly having trouble shaking off the effects of Erica’s cross, but had managed to rise to forearms and knees by the time the referee reached 4.  Reaching for the middle rope, first with one hand and then the other, Sara put all of her energy into one desperate attempt to rise before she was counted out.  As Erica turned back to face her opponent, everyone both inside and outside of the ring seemed be holding their collective breath as they watched La Reina in suspense. 

Finally getting her legs firmly beneath her, Sara lifted herself up and rose to her feet at the count of 9.

Erica stared transfixed for a moment as she watched the referee move in to wipe off the other fighter’s gloves.  The sound of the bell ending the round snapped her out of it, and the sight of her battered opponent brought a satisfied smirk to her lips.  As she returned to her corner, Whitney and Raquel were both cheering excitedly, but the blonde kept her own enthusiasm contained as she took her stool.  Whitney once again set about working on Erica’s puffiness with the enswell, while Aimee briefly removed her mouthpiece to give her a sip of water.

“I want to see her,” the blonde fighter exclaimed.

Both seconds acquiesced and gave Erica as unobstructed a view of the opposing corner as they could while continuing their work.

Standing on the other side of the ring, Sara was in shambles.  Her sand girl was out and working furiously to clean her off, but the chances of her getting a meaningful rest period were negligible given the amount of sand covering her body.  Sara lolled on her feet and swayed unsteadily with both arms dangling limply at her sides.  The signs of battle on her face were more pronounced after the punishment inflicted by the blonde in the previous round – in addition to the cut lip, she was starting to look busted up around the eyes.  Despite the injuries and forlorn appearance, however, Erica could see the embers of her champion’s spirit still smoldering as she stared back across the ring at the blonde.  Even in her current form, as a shade of her former self, Sara was almost as awe-inspiring a sight as she had been in the height of her glory at the fight’s beginning.

Erica reflexively clenched her fists as a very familiar feeling of anticipation began to build within her.  She yearned to sink her fists into her opponent’s body and leave the other woman lying at her feet, just as she had done to so many others.  The blonde needed no guidance on to what to do next – her opponent’s destitute state was more than enough encouragement.  Rising off of her stool with 10 seconds remaining in the break, Erica bit down on her mouthpiece as it was replaced and batted her gloves together enthusiastically – it was time to get to work.

Sara’s legs were still showing the aftereffects of Erica’s punching, and she appeared unsteady as she came out of her corner at the start of Round 7.  Nor had she found her bearings after the last knockdown – the older woman had a drowsy expression on her face as she stepped forward, carrying her gloves at chest-height.  Erica ignored the tired ache in her own thighs and calves as she crossed the ring to confront her opponent – she was sure that her eagerness to put the other woman down would be more than enough motivation to continue as their battle carried on.

Erica’s left jab snapped out and landed with a jolt to Sara’s cheek, rocking the older woman’s head back.  Stalking patiently, she feinted another jab and instead threw a booming right cross to her opponent’s jaw.  The blow instantly unhinged Sara’s legs and sent her stumbling forward looking to clinch – her gloves pawed at and tried to grasp Erica’s shoulders, but the blonde’s arms remained free enough for her to land a few short punches to the older woman’s belly and boobs.  Each succulent shot produced a new gasp or groan from Sara’s lips, all of which sounded like music to Erica’s ears.

Sara pressed her face against Erica’s collar as she pulled their upper bodies together and hung on tightly.  She clung on tightly, trying desperately to both find her bearings and contain her opponent’s momentum.  Erica conversely pushed and writhed as she tried to free herself and continue her pugilistic assault on her opponent’s body.  To the blonde, the outcome of this struggle seemed readily apparent – Sara surely must have recognized it as well.  And yet, despite it all, Sara refused to give up and concede to the inevitable.  Erica had to admire the older woman’s tenacity, no matter how foolish or ill-founded it might have been.

Erica jerked a short right up into Sara’s ribs, causing the Mexican to groan achingly.  She followed with a left that she crammed in just below Sara’s navel, and was rewarded with a cry that was even more anguished than the previous.  Erica could feel Sara’s grip loosening after the last punch, and with a wriggle and a shove, she was able to extricate from the clinch that had confined her.  The blonde lunged in before the Mexican could reset, bashing her with a hook to the side of the head. 

She then doubled up with her right and threw an uppercut and hook to Sara’s left tit and chin in rapid succession, landing both blows and buckling Sara’s legs once again.  With a reeling foe in front of her, Erica capped off her punches with a left hook to the midsection – it was a magnificent shot, worthy of La Reina herself, landing with violent precision to the Mexican’s liver.  Sara cried out in agony as the crippling punch knocked the wind out of her, causing her to sink down to the sand on all fours.

Erica felt a deep sense of satisfaction as she looked down at her opponent.  While dominating her opponents was nothing unfamiliar to her, there was something about this moment that felt uniquely special.  Sara looked pathetic on her forearms and knees with her face buried in her gloves and her damp hair spilling over her wrists.  Straining against the noise of the crowd’s cheering, the blonde was almost certain that she could hear the sound of whimpering coming from her opponent below.

“Get up, you bitch,” Erica shouted down at her opponent, “I’m going to finish you off proper when you come out next round.”

Sara looked up at the blonde and shot a hostile glare at her, mirroring the tableau that they’d had at the end of the first round.  Now, unlike then, the Mexican’s eyes seemed hollow and lifeless – though fire in her heart was still there, its intensity had been diminished to a mere glimmer of what it had once been.

The referee interceded and began to count Sara out.  Erica turned away and sauntered back to her corner, filled with a renewed sense of confidence.  She didn’t bother waiting to see if Sara would make it back to her feet or not – the older woman had far too much pride to bend the knee and surrender of her own accord.  The bell rang right as the blonde arrived – she glanced back to see Sara on her feet after having her gloves wiped off by the referee.  The expression on her face seemed tired and vacant, as to be expected of the effort required to get up off of the ground.  Fortunately for her, very little sand needed to be cleaned from her body, so she’d get the majority of her break.

Not that it mattered to Erica.  Leaning against the turnbuckle for support and resting her arms across the top ropes, she elected to remain standing throughout the entire rest period.  The blonde felt strong, sexy, and in complete control of her destiny – it was refreshing to be able to feel that way at the end of such a long ordeal.

The story was different in the opposite corner.  Erica watched as Sara’s cornerwomen worked feverishly to restore her to fighting shape, but such a task was likely far beyond anything they could do for someone as far past the point of exhaustion as her.  Erica’s fists had left Sara with a battle-worn face, bruised breasts, and a body that was in ramshackle shape all around, damage that they could only try their best to mitigate.  And yet they remained undaunted as they continued to do all that they could for her – their devotion to their fighter in the face of such long odds was truly commendable.

Erica’s blood was up.  This break felt like the longest one minute in her life as it dragged on, and she had never been as impatient to continue a fight as she was now.  She tried to seek out Sara’s eyes with her own, hoping to cast a self-satisfied grin in her direction.  However, she couldn’t find the clear view that she hoped for as Sara’s seconds continued to perform their duty.  Not that it mattered greatly – Sara would be seeing plenty of the blonde soon enough. 

“She’s all yours,” Aimee exhorted, “You’ve got this fight, now swing for the fences.  Give her everything you’ve got and put her down for good.”

“Kick that bitch’s ass.  Show her who’s in charge!” Whitney added exuberantly.

Raquel chimed in as well.  “This is your moment.  We know you can do it!”

The cool ocean wind picked up again briefly as the break neared its end.  Its touch felt kind and reassuring to Erica as it blew lightly across her bare skin.  She could hear the crowd abuzz with an excitement similar to her own that coursed like electricity between the people gathered here.  Today, before their very eyes, Sara Hernandez’s nearly decade-long iron rule was on the verge of coming to an end; soon, the last bastion of her once-expansive empire was about to crumble away from her.  Bringing her arms off of the ropes, she raised them up in front of her in a stance as the bell tolled to begin the fateful Round 8.   

The time had come.  Erica was never one to disappoint.

Sara tottered on tired legs as she rose off of her stool, staring vacantly through half-lidded eyes.  She made no move to leave her corner at the bell, instead waiting for the blonde to cross the ring towards her.  And yet, this was no act of surrender, and La Reina had no intention of simply yielding to her younger challenger.  This was made clear as she raised her gloves, acting almost entirely on instinct, and prepared for one last stanza of combat.

Erica’s stiff left jab flashed out three times in sequence.  Weakened by punishment and fatigue, Sara was carrying her arms too low to protect her head, and each blow connected just below the older woman’s eye and rocked her head back.  Erica went low with her next punch, going for the liver with a right hook – the blow doubled Sara over with a loud blurt of pain.  The blonde reached in under Sara’s arms and bodied her upright against the turnbuckle, and as she did she pressed her chest against the older woman’s in an assertion of dominance.  Erica reveled in the way Sara’s breasts felt against her own.  Battered.  Bruised.  Subjugated. 

Pushing back for room to work, Erica buried another thick right into Sara’s midsection.  Her reward was an achy and tired moan, which encouraged her to match the blow with her left.  Sara swung back with a frazzled pair of lefts, which glanced off of the blonde’s head and shoulder.  The two women reset and traded right hands, with Sara’s landing to the cheek and Erica’s to the midriff.  The blonde’s blow was more telling, staggering the Mexican once again.  Back and forth with both hands now – in spite of her own weariness, Erica worked relentlessly under the hot sun as her fists steadily lashed Sara’s ribs, flanks, and stomach.  Sara’s regal stoicism was gone – her voice now came in an almost constant low groan or whimper as her body was pillaged, occasionally punctuated by a sharp cry when a particularly tough blow found its mark.

The constant touches to Sara’s midsection were adding up, and she was starting to tilt forward towards her opponent.  Erica split the Mexican’s gloves with a right uppercut to the chin, brushing her back upright into the corner.  Lolling drowsily against the turnbuckle with her hands sinking down to her waist, the older woman looked as if she had been wilted by the sweltering tropical heat.  However, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that it had in fact been a sultry blonde that had used her up.

Erica shrugged a left hook into Sara’s right tit, wrenching a wretched scream of agony from her opponent’s throat.  A right hook found its mark on Sara’s left nipple, producing another loud shriek.  Without missing a beat, Erica plowed a left uppercut into the underside of Sara’s right breast and a right hook into the left orb.  Sara was unraveling under the steady torrent of blows to her rack – her screams were gradually giving way to sobs, each sounding more plaintive and helpless than the last.  Erica’s face was a mask of concentration as she poured her fists methodically at the Mexican’s rack, but was nonetheless filled with deep satisfaction as she continued to work.  There had been a lot of jug-pride on the line in this fight, perhaps more than either woman cared to admit – emerging triumphant in that particular contest exhilarated the blonde like no other feeling possibly could.

The punches continued to land.  Sara’s cries were starting to grow blubbery and incoherent as the pain emanating from her throbbing chest overwhelmed her.  Erica rocked the older woman with a forceful left uppercut to the chin; piling on, she threw a right-left to her jugs and capped off the marvelous display of elegant brutality with a right uppercut to the chin.  Sara was no longer responding as she stared vacantly into punishment – her eyes, once ferocious and piercing, now seemed as if they had been dimmed by the blonde’s punches.

Pushing Sara’s shoulder with her left glove, Erica labeled her with two gorgeous rights to the chin.  She pulled her left back and swept a hook across the Mexican’s face, dislodging Sara’s mouthpiece in the process.  The blonde landed another right to the jaw, snapping her opponent’s head sideways.  She followed immediately with a left that mirrored the previous blow’s effect.  Another right clouted Sara’s chin, swiveling the older woman’s head once again.  The accumulated punishment was proving to be too much for Sara – buffeted and dazed by the blows, she swooned and lurched forward, falling in against her younger foe for support.

Erica stumbled backwards a step as Sara’s weight pushed against her torso, and it took her a moment to find her footing in the loose sand with the older woman propped up against her.  Sara’s face was pressed against her upper chest just above the swell of her breasts, lips wet on the blonde’s tanned skin.  Erica could feel Sara’s gloves pawing at her hips – certainly the last bits of resistance that the Mexican had left to offer, though she was at least able to make her way out of her corner.  Sara had a champion’s heart and sturdy legs, but ultimately even these were not enough as the blonde walked her back towards the nearby ropes.

Pushing the older woman away, Erica straightened her up with a searing right uppercut to the face.  The blow put Sara out on her feet and left her helpless – she was wide open for the coup de grâce.  Erica took just a brief second to reset before stepping in behind a right cross, perfectly delivered to Sara’s chin.  The blonde could feel the force of the impact in her arm as the blow landed, and knew immediately that she’d landed a winning blow – the punch snapped Sara’s head back and sent her crashing to the sand…

…And through the ropes!

Sara’s back hit the middle strand as she toppled over backwards.  The thick cord supported her for the briefest of moments before bending under her weight, allowing her to continue her descent.  Sara came to a rest atop the bottom rope, which cradled upwards into the small of her back – her lower body was lying with the ring while her upper body lay outside it, leaving her neatly bisected between the two worlds.  Both of her arms were stretched out on either side of her body, motionless and inert; one leg was bent at the knee with foot and sole planted in the sand, but it likewise made no movement to raise the fallen fighter from the ground. 

The referee moved in to usher the blonde back and began to administer the count without delay.  It was a formality given that there was no chance of Sara getting up, but that fact did nothing to diminish the air of suspense and tension that hung over the ring and its environs.  Erica kept her gloves up at her chest and, like everyone else, stared transfixed at the older woman’s reclined form.  Sara looked so beautiful in her peaceful slumber – lying completely still aside from the slow rise and fall of her chest, she seemed blissfully unaware that her once-mighty kingdom had finally been conquered.  The beach was completely silent save for the sounds of the ocean and the count in Spanish that was steadily rising…

¡Ocho!  ¡Nueve!  ¡KO!

The referee waved her arms to end the fight, and the previously hushed scene erupted into exuberant cheers as the bell rang out repeatedly for the final time.  A battle such as this one would not be forgotten anytime soon here on the beach, and the blonde knew that there was one perfect way to cap off her most significant victory to date.

Erica stepped towards her defeated opponent and stood over her fallen form, planting her foot on Sara’s sternum in between the Mexican’s breasts.  Lifting her arms in the air above her head, Erica smiled proudly as she struck a glorious victory pose amid the beachgoers’ admiration and acclaim.

La Reina had been vanquished.  The beach had a new queen.

The End

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