Jack vs Ellie II - The Request

This match was different from the first one—very different. To start with, everyone was expecting a simple sparring session, a demonstration of everything we’d shown that afternoon. Ellie’s friends were cheering her on, but their cheering was clearly over the top—more for fun and show than genuine competitive support.

Only my opponent and I knew what was at stake.

The second major difference was that this match wouldn’t involve any explicit sexual acts—no orgasms, no stripteases: just pure, unadulterated competitive boxing.

This last difference gave me a huge advantage, which was clear right from the start when Ellie—dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants that were anything but provocative—tried to attack me with competitive spirit and strength, rather than with a sly, seductive demeanor.

Her feminine punches slammed into my strong, solid guard, slid past my sides, and it was even easy for me to anticipate them with some of my own, clashing glove against glove just for fun.

The latter was an unorthodox technique, but when done right, it severely sapped the opponent’s endurance, flexibility, and strength in their arms and elbows.

I wanted to knock Ellie out as quickly as possible, without giving her a chance to turn the fight around because of some weakness on my part.

My jabs forced her backward; my quick, decisive footwork made her run around the ring nonstop to avoid me; my combinations against her thin guard tossed her from side to side.

It was a complete mismatch.

Ellie had improved a lot. Her movements were more precise and faster, and much of the hesitation she’d shown during our first, sensual encounter had almost completely disappeared. This Ellie was clearly not just a pretty face, but also a talented novice boxer. She was certainly far better than anyone else in this gym, man or woman.

And then there was me. The difference between her and me was vast—not only in physique, but also in experience and technical finesse.

There was no way I could lose...

But my curiosity got the better of me.

“Who knows what favor she wants from me.” My mind wandered for a few moments.

Ellie unleashed a flurry of punches to my left side, far more coordinated and precise than any during our match. Normally, I would have been able to block it without trouble—or at least deflect its force so I could dart to the side or counterattack immediately afterward—but that split-second of distraction cost me.

She hit me in the lower abdomen, and I instinctively doubled over, allowing a hook that followed to land squarely on my jaw and knock me straight back up. At that point, I tried to crouch down to protect my left side—something I would never normally have done.

My body was on autopilot—it wouldn’t obey me and was doing everything it could to let Ellie beat me up—while my mind was filling me with perverse thoughts, preventing me from focusing.

“I wonder if she’s planning to do something even sexier than expected.”

“What a humiliation it would be to be defeated in front of her friends. It would make Ellie a true goddess in everyone’s eyes.”

Fortunately, both my body and mind were silenced by the final punch in Ellie’s combination—a powerful uppercut to my right ribs. Despite the famous liver punch that Ellie had landed right on target, my body was too massive, my muscles too well-trained, and Ellie too weak to deliver a blow powerful enough to knock me out.

And yet...

Hesitating, I took two steps back, letting out small groans of pain. I tried to raise my guard, gasping for breath. I regained my composure and advanced toward her, determined. I saw her face darken with concern, and everyone present knew that if this blow hadn’t worked, it was clear that nothing else would.

Then I feigned a twinge of pain. Or did I? My body was actually trying to tell me I was in pain, but I didn’t feel it. My mind snapped back into focus; I pictured myself on my knees before her and various knockout scenes where her fists mercilessly pounded my face and body, a wicked smile on beautiful Ellie’s face.

My cock began to harden.

I made my legs wobble and halted my advance. The phantom pain now getting more real. I wanted it to be.

My arms dropped, pressing against my side to protect and hold my aching liver.

Ellie understood. I don’t know if she saw through the pretense, but she certainly understood the moment.

And as if my fantasies had come true, her smile changed too. Not entirely malicious—it was clear she was pleased to be winning, but not to be hurting me. She wanted to knock me out, not harm or injure me.

Punch after punch rained down on my face; my guard was now slow and weak. I became a giant punching bag, getting pounded left and right in the ring, against the ropes, and in the corner.

“Now you’re mine,” she whispered to me, as the shouts of her friends filled the gym, urging her to finish me off.

In a scene as dominant as it was humiliating, I dropped my guard completely as Ellie approached me, my back against the corner of the ring. She stepped into my guard’s range, and I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, attempting a resistance that wasn’t there.

Knowing I was finished, she began punching me in the stomach—right, left, over and over—without any precise technique and with no resistance from me, just pure power punches.

Her gloves, blow after blow, sank deeper and deeper into my abs, while my cock hardened at the same pace and I moaned and panted silently in her ear, defeated.

Once I could no longer tense my abs and my body was completely slumped against hers, Ellie decided to take a step back.

Two uppercuts to the chin followed. The first one made me jolt, almost putting me back upright in the corner, slowing my descent toward the mat.

The second one sealed my defeat, snapping my head hard, closing my moaning mouth and making my eyes roll up.

I was glad to fall face-down, because the ease with which Ellie defeated me and the humiliation I felt were too much for my poor cock, which stained my pants with a hands-free orgasm, induced by nothing but fists and torment.

Why did I love losing to Ellie so much? I couldn’t even feel embarrassed—neither about the defeat nor about the farce I’d just put on again.

I could still hear what they were saying, what was going on, even as I pretended to be completely out, and it wasn’t what I expected.

“Is he really out?”

“Oh my God, is he okay?”

“Ellie, don’t you think you went too far? Isn’t he your new boyfriend?”

“But wasn’t this just a sparring match? It looked too brutal.”

Everyone seemed worried about me instead of being angry with me or disappointed.

No one was laughing.

Only the familiar voice of Veronica congratulated Ellie. “Good job! I knew he was a bum! Nothing special in him.”

At that point, Ellie spoke up. “I went a little overboard, but he’s fine. I’ll take care of him—he definitely won’t want to see anyone else once he recovers. Sorry, guys, you can go ahead; we’ll catch up with you later.”

Within seconds, the crowd dispersed around the ring amid worried murmurs and half-hearted goodbyes.

Ellie came over to me and whispered, “Hey, you can stop pretending—they’re all gone.”

I slowly came to my senses and sat up, trying to hide my cumstain with my boxing gloves.

“Did you figure that out?”

“No, but now you’ve confirmed it.”

Damn. Ellie was definitely sharper and smarter than me. “But you’ve improved a lot. I got distracted for just a moment, and you hit me with a knockout combo. If those had been heavier gloves or…” I didn’t know whether to go on.

“If I'd been stronger?” she said, as if reading my mind.

This time I didn’t say anything; I didn’t want to confirm it and offend her.

“Jack, don’t worry—I’m not stupid. You’re a beast compared to me; in a fist fight, you’d knock me out with one punch. I just wanted to know if I’ve gotten better at the sport part. I wanted you to coach me." Well that sucked. I let Ellie down by letting my fetish and attraction to her control me like a puppeteer, instead of focusing on what she had asked of me.

"But I’m still counting this as a loss.”

“But…”

“No ‘buts.’ I know that didn’t really beat you, but someone down there clearly lost in the end,” she said, glancing at my dick, which I was hiding in shame under my boxing gloves.

She’d clearly noticed. Obviously.

I didn’t know what to say.

“So, as for the favor you owe me…”

“Anything. Take it as an excuse for my poor performance,” I said, trying to redeem myself. What a huge mistake.

“Good. Because I need you to fight someone for me.”