Lola gets a lesson in over-committing

Lola Pop’s wind-up punch was the kind of attack that even a mountain of muscle like Max Brass would know better not to take head on. At the beginning of the brawl, there was no way she’d consider using it against an untrained opponent, especially not for a fight she wanted to drag out for the sake of showmanship. Now, after having been punished twice for trying to put on a flashy fight and train the rookie, she might not admit it to herself, but she was about ready to lay the kid out so she could take her money, smile for the crowd, and go home.

“I mean, I could drag it out, give ‘em a full size show, but… well… the kid needs to learn about a knockout punch some time, right? Might as well be now!” she reasoned, ceasing the windup and throwing the arm backwards. The spring formed by her balloon appendage recoiled backwards, becoming tightly packed from shoulder to glove.

Randy panicked, realizing his good right fist was still way extended over Lola’s shoulder. The appendage was heavy and the arm was taut- there was no way to whip it sideways and hit her now. He clenched his teeth and raised his left glove to guard his face– he felt like the way that punch was coming in, he was about to turn into Raw Meat Randy!

Lola’s fist shot forward, popping the spring’s coil and unleashing all its ****. It hit back against her shoulder like a piston and went from coiled to fully extended in under a second, so fast that the audience couldn’t make follow the action. The fist, with all the **** of a rocket, ought to have been on a collision course for the poor rookie’s face. Even if that Beginner’s Luck glove he was hiding his face was lucky enough not to be obliterated by the hit, it’d surely be knocked backward into the newcomer’s teeth. He’d be out like a light, no need to count!

If they couldn’t follow that part of the action, they certainly couldn’t comprehend how it ended.

Somehow, instead of hitting square in the center of the glove or curving and hitting the face, it instead glanced off the fingertips at the glove’s top. What should have been a knockout punch for Lola, delivered to her opponent, went sailing back in her direction! It was as though he’d redirected it with an imperceptible tap of his glove, like a martial arts master!

The clown contender’s face was stupefied. Even if she’d wanted to inflate for defense, at this point, the attack was coming too fast for her to blow up. She instead relied on pure animal instinct, diving to the ground. Her Funchuck fist hit down next to her with a thunderous thud, seeming to shake the fighting mat of the ring. She jumped up, thinking herself fortunate to have avoided the blow, but as she did, nearly her whole nightie remained pinned down beneath the weight of her own fist, tearing it from the belly straight across so the bottom portion hung off uselessly by a thread.

The parts of the fighter’s face that weren’t already red from makeup grew redder as she moved her other, non-noodly arm to cover her front. After all, what was there wasn’t doing a great job. The undergarment would offer pretty decent coverage, if the transparent parts between the elaborate, pinkish lace shape were filled in. Instead, that garment was little more than dressing over an eye-catching purple thong, trimmed with fluff like the upper part of her roughly-used babydoll was. The back was little more than a wedged-up, finger-tip-wide band, hiding little of the bubble butt that her clownish, puffed-up pants usually concealed.

“Accidenti!” she cried, wanting to cover her face, but having no free hand to do so. She was finally starting to recover the mobility of her fully unleashed arm, but just as she did, Randy’s other arm whizzed by. Her teeth clenched and her eyes widened in shock as the gauntlet, perhaps unintentionally, snagged hold of the babydoll, yanking the rest away, all except for the fur-lining just above her breasts. It wasn’t too much more to see, but the crowd could now see her surprisingly fit abdomen and pale flesh. A garter supporter circled her waist as well, part of those useless lace panties, but it was already cut from the stockings, serving little purpose.

The viewers were going crazy with excitement. Not only was this upstart pulling a complete reversal of the odds, but also, they were getting the most literal type of eye-candy on the market!

Randy, for his part, barely got to enjoy it. As his fist rocketed back, it carried him with it, propelling him amusingly into the back of the cage to rattle against it. It looked like his thumb somehow had embed up stuck between the gaps in the mesh… he couldn’t actually get it free! He grit his teeth, put his foot up against the side, and pulled hard, trying to free his hand. In short, he was the perfect target.

Lola Pop would certainly appreciate the humor of the scene– it looked like something she might do herself– if it weren’t for the rest of the situation. Her previously embarrassing outfit was now looking less like something off the front of a lingerie magazine and more like something off of an adult pin-up calendar. “Look, kid, I uh… I would never regularly attack a guy while he’s only got one hand, sportsmanship and all that, but I’m kinda at the end of my rope here,” she explained, smiling sympathetically while using her gloves to hide the thong on her lower body as well as she could. “Ya get it, right?”

Randy, who previously hadn’t even realized he’d scored some damage, looked over with eyes like saucers, temporarily forgetting his stuck arm. “Huh? What?”

“I said I’m gonna hit ya,” she reiterated, gingerly uncovering herself to once again have the use of her arms. “So sorry in advance!”

“Then you can’t get mad if I punch off more of your clothes, right?”

“Th-That’s not going to happen!” she retorted in a somewhat high-pitched squeak, surprising herself. She could feel herself sweating, and not in the normal hot-blooded battle way. They were about to get outside of bikini coverage territory and into the place a gal just doesn’t show off in public, even if she was Twintelle in a bikini photo shoot. “No more Ms. Nice Clown! Time for, uh…”

“Nice ass, clown!” someone from the crowd shouted down at her.

“No, not Ms. Nice-Ass Clown either!” she protested, covering her backside with both gloves again. Was she really going to be able to attack like this?

—----

Roll 6!

Outfit durability: 15/28 (the fur part of the nightie covering her chest with the undersides of the breasts showing, transparent lace panties and severed garter belt over fur thong, limp stockings)