08-05-2008, 12:28 AM
the set up written by jerry
Two things about me are my complete obsession with female fights and my ability to turn lemons into lemonade. That is how my daughter's tearful plea for car insurance money became a plan for the first live no-rules female fight I have ever witnessed.
At 17 my daughter is a typical suburban teen-ager with a confidence bred of over protection, so when I suggested a stomach punching match for a year's insurance she put her arms up in a mock boxing stance and laughingly said "I can do that, sounds like fun."
The day of the match she pulled up in the gravel parking lot behind the pool hall where we were to meet the girl I had hired to fight her. It was the perfect location, secluded and since it was early morning the place was closed and no one would interfere, I was already parked when she drove up, and parked at the far end away from the hall, she was to get out and start walking towards the building where she would be met.
As she got out of the car I was pleased that she had taken my dress code very seriously: She was wearing those tight black bicycle shorts and she had turned the tops down so that the waist was barely above her pubic bone, and a black bikini top, she had pulled her brown shoulder length hair back into a pony tail that made her look even younger. Her pale skin seemed to shine in the bright sun.
The shorts seemed to make her butt look a little larger, but the real star was her belly, from the bikini top all the way to her pubic bone the soft slightly rounded belly flesh, never touched by a sit-up or crunch. As she saw me her brown eyes lit up and her thin face broke into a smile as she flexed her pale, thin arms, the soft brown hair glinting off the sunlight.
I saw her opponent before she did, and suddenly this girl looked twice as tough as she had before, in the strip club were I hired her. She had the type of tanned skin that looks as if she were never indoors, long red-blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun, which enhanced her evil look. She was about 5' 4" which gave an inch on my daughter but she looked buff: sinewy arms, and the sunlight that made my daughters arms seem so pale and weak highlighted the sunbleached blonde hair on this women’s arm to further give the impression of power.
She wore low cut jeans and sports bra. The stomach while not ripped was flat as a board. My daughter finally noticed her and stopped stunned in her tracks, the look of shock evident, but even more surprising was the reaction of the blonde.
"YOU!" she shouted, "You were such a goodie two shoes in high school I hated you." They knew each other? They were standing face to face now, my daughter tried to cover her fear by waving her palm in the blonde's face, The blonde seemed eager to begin.
"OK, priss ass," she sneered. "Any time you're ready."
My daughter looked so outclassed I was going to stop it right then but something held me back. My daughter immediately tried a roundhouse right that was telegraphed badly. The blonde caught her arm mid-punch and held it just below the elbow for the briefest second, long enough to growl a low chuckle before letting a right uppercut slam into the belly flesh of my daughter.
The punch had no sooner disappeared into the soft stomach than my daughter's legs buckled, her eyes glazed over but strangely enough she did not shield her belly, her free arm seemed to freeze in mid air, (I learned later that is the bodies way of dealing with a severe shock).
The blonde immediately began a series of uppercuts into my daughter's gut, my daughter was by this time lurching wildly with each blow, lifting her off her feet. By this time my daughter was having trouble standing so the blonde slammed her back against her car, holding her in place with her left arm across her throat the blonde began slamming fist after fist into my daughters belly. My daughter's weak arms were flapping helplessly, with each punch her soft midriff dancing as each fist crushed her organs. The blonde, who by this time had worked up a sweat beating up my daughter, was working over all aspects of my daughter's weak guts -- navel shots, lower gut shots, just below the sternum; my daughter meanwhile seemed like a puppet on the string of a mad puppeteer, jerking and flopping with each punch,.
Her rival, meanwhile, was grinning as she set her on the edge of the cars hood, I assumed to belly punch her. Instead she grabbed my daughter's pony tail and drove an uppercut into her pretty young face, she flopped wildly bouncing on the hood, as she started to slide down the hood, the blonde grabbed her at the top of her shorts and pulled her towards her looking at me she seemed surprised I did not react to the face punch.
My pale daughter, lying supine like that, her belly bright red, her face bloodied by that single punch, the blonde while holding her shorts with her left hand and began raining roundhouse blows into her flattened stomach, which even stretched out had retained it's pouch. My daughter's stomach by this time was no more than a receptacle for her rival's fists, jerking spasmodically with each hit, as the blonde once more lifted her by her pony tail to a sitting position her soft belly forming a pillow, her pale arms hanging uselessly at her side, the blonde forced her face over the side of the hood, then to my horror slammed her knee into my young daughters face send her flying back in a flailing mess.
The blonde saw me getting out of my car and she held my little girl's head slightly off the hood she began raining her fist into the soft pale belly meat the soft muscles flesh not even yielding as a defense, my daughter only signs of movement were her arms twitching instinctively each time her young body was hit. As I reached the battered brunette, the blonde still holding her hair, paused briefly, and wiping the sweat from her brow said "Damn, I messed this bitch up."
I thought I was going to pass out as my throat dried out and I said in a whisper, "Please keep messing her up," the blonde looked stunned then her face broke into a huge grin as she hoisted my daughter to her feet and, holding her by the hair on either side of her head, she began alternating knee lifts the soft gut meat, after several of these, she delivered a final blow into the destroyed girl's guts, lifting her off her feet for the final time and letting her drop finally to her knees.
She waited for the battered brunette to begin to fall forward, taking a punter's step, she kicked the girl in the face so hard that she flew backwards and wound up leaning for a second against the car before gravity, helped by a final face punch from the blonde, delivered my daughter to a lying position on the hood of the car.
We watched in silent awe the brutal devastation this girl had suffered at the hands of her enemy, her face almost unrecognizable, her belly and breasts completely covered with purple and black marks. We listened as her guts growled in shock at the trauma they received. Sliding, she finally stopped as her shorts caught on the hood ornament pulling them down just enough to remind us of the color her belly had been before her fateful encounter, it also allowed her legs to remain on the car, while her arms hung limply over her head, her belly stretched taut, her pony tail barely touching the ground.
Looking at her tormentor I smiled. "I've never met anyone like you before," I said as I stepped over my daughter and placed her insurance money into her bra, "Care for a drink?"
"Sure, I'd love one "She smiled as she roughly took the money from my daughter's bra, "but it's on this bitch." We laughed as we walked into the cool tavern.
Two things about me are my complete obsession with female fights and my ability to turn lemons into lemonade. That is how my daughter's tearful plea for car insurance money became a plan for the first live no-rules female fight I have ever witnessed.
At 17 my daughter is a typical suburban teen-ager with a confidence bred of over protection, so when I suggested a stomach punching match for a year's insurance she put her arms up in a mock boxing stance and laughingly said "I can do that, sounds like fun."
The day of the match she pulled up in the gravel parking lot behind the pool hall where we were to meet the girl I had hired to fight her. It was the perfect location, secluded and since it was early morning the place was closed and no one would interfere, I was already parked when she drove up, and parked at the far end away from the hall, she was to get out and start walking towards the building where she would be met.
As she got out of the car I was pleased that she had taken my dress code very seriously: She was wearing those tight black bicycle shorts and she had turned the tops down so that the waist was barely above her pubic bone, and a black bikini top, she had pulled her brown shoulder length hair back into a pony tail that made her look even younger. Her pale skin seemed to shine in the bright sun.
The shorts seemed to make her butt look a little larger, but the real star was her belly, from the bikini top all the way to her pubic bone the soft slightly rounded belly flesh, never touched by a sit-up or crunch. As she saw me her brown eyes lit up and her thin face broke into a smile as she flexed her pale, thin arms, the soft brown hair glinting off the sunlight.
I saw her opponent before she did, and suddenly this girl looked twice as tough as she had before, in the strip club were I hired her. She had the type of tanned skin that looks as if she were never indoors, long red-blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun, which enhanced her evil look. She was about 5' 4" which gave an inch on my daughter but she looked buff: sinewy arms, and the sunlight that made my daughters arms seem so pale and weak highlighted the sunbleached blonde hair on this women’s arm to further give the impression of power.
She wore low cut jeans and sports bra. The stomach while not ripped was flat as a board. My daughter finally noticed her and stopped stunned in her tracks, the look of shock evident, but even more surprising was the reaction of the blonde.
"YOU!" she shouted, "You were such a goodie two shoes in high school I hated you." They knew each other? They were standing face to face now, my daughter tried to cover her fear by waving her palm in the blonde's face, The blonde seemed eager to begin.
"OK, priss ass," she sneered. "Any time you're ready."
My daughter looked so outclassed I was going to stop it right then but something held me back. My daughter immediately tried a roundhouse right that was telegraphed badly. The blonde caught her arm mid-punch and held it just below the elbow for the briefest second, long enough to growl a low chuckle before letting a right uppercut slam into the belly flesh of my daughter.
The punch had no sooner disappeared into the soft stomach than my daughter's legs buckled, her eyes glazed over but strangely enough she did not shield her belly, her free arm seemed to freeze in mid air, (I learned later that is the bodies way of dealing with a severe shock).
The blonde immediately began a series of uppercuts into my daughter's gut, my daughter was by this time lurching wildly with each blow, lifting her off her feet. By this time my daughter was having trouble standing so the blonde slammed her back against her car, holding her in place with her left arm across her throat the blonde began slamming fist after fist into my daughters belly. My daughter's weak arms were flapping helplessly, with each punch her soft midriff dancing as each fist crushed her organs. The blonde, who by this time had worked up a sweat beating up my daughter, was working over all aspects of my daughter's weak guts -- navel shots, lower gut shots, just below the sternum; my daughter meanwhile seemed like a puppet on the string of a mad puppeteer, jerking and flopping with each punch,.
Her rival, meanwhile, was grinning as she set her on the edge of the cars hood, I assumed to belly punch her. Instead she grabbed my daughter's pony tail and drove an uppercut into her pretty young face, she flopped wildly bouncing on the hood, as she started to slide down the hood, the blonde grabbed her at the top of her shorts and pulled her towards her looking at me she seemed surprised I did not react to the face punch.
My pale daughter, lying supine like that, her belly bright red, her face bloodied by that single punch, the blonde while holding her shorts with her left hand and began raining roundhouse blows into her flattened stomach, which even stretched out had retained it's pouch. My daughter's stomach by this time was no more than a receptacle for her rival's fists, jerking spasmodically with each hit, as the blonde once more lifted her by her pony tail to a sitting position her soft belly forming a pillow, her pale arms hanging uselessly at her side, the blonde forced her face over the side of the hood, then to my horror slammed her knee into my young daughters face send her flying back in a flailing mess.
The blonde saw me getting out of my car and she held my little girl's head slightly off the hood she began raining her fist into the soft pale belly meat the soft muscles flesh not even yielding as a defense, my daughter only signs of movement were her arms twitching instinctively each time her young body was hit. As I reached the battered brunette, the blonde still holding her hair, paused briefly, and wiping the sweat from her brow said "Damn, I messed this bitch up."
I thought I was going to pass out as my throat dried out and I said in a whisper, "Please keep messing her up," the blonde looked stunned then her face broke into a huge grin as she hoisted my daughter to her feet and, holding her by the hair on either side of her head, she began alternating knee lifts the soft gut meat, after several of these, she delivered a final blow into the destroyed girl's guts, lifting her off her feet for the final time and letting her drop finally to her knees.
She waited for the battered brunette to begin to fall forward, taking a punter's step, she kicked the girl in the face so hard that she flew backwards and wound up leaning for a second against the car before gravity, helped by a final face punch from the blonde, delivered my daughter to a lying position on the hood of the car.
We watched in silent awe the brutal devastation this girl had suffered at the hands of her enemy, her face almost unrecognizable, her belly and breasts completely covered with purple and black marks. We listened as her guts growled in shock at the trauma they received. Sliding, she finally stopped as her shorts caught on the hood ornament pulling them down just enough to remind us of the color her belly had been before her fateful encounter, it also allowed her legs to remain on the car, while her arms hung limply over her head, her belly stretched taut, her pony tail barely touching the ground.
Looking at her tormentor I smiled. "I've never met anyone like you before," I said as I stepped over my daughter and placed her insurance money into her bra, "Care for a drink?"
"Sure, I'd love one "She smiled as she roughly took the money from my daughter's bra, "but it's on this bitch." We laughed as we walked into the cool tavern.