Mysterious training

The next morning, Karen arrived at the gym almost an hour late. Diana was already there, waiting since dawn like always. She didn't think that her daughter had any reason not to show up.

The ex sexfighter was sitting on a bench with her arms crossed, staring at the clock on the wall. Her expression had gradually changed from impatience to concern, she was never this late.

When the doors finally opened, Karen walked inside, looking exhausted.
Her blonde hair was still damp, her eyes slightly red from lack of sleep, and she was carrying her gym bag over one shoulder. Diana immediately noticed.

“Where were you?” Karen stopped.

“Good morning to you too, Mom.”

“Where were you?”

Karen sighed and dropped her bag beside the bench. “Out.”

“Out where?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Diana stood. “You were supposed to be here at seven.”

“I know.”

“We have just arrived! You can't start been late already.”

“I know.”

“Nights are made to sleep. Don't you dare go out or do something stupid.”

Karen said nothing. Diana's frustration finally broke through. “We only have nine days left to train for your fight! You are facing Elvira Volkova!"

“I know that too.”

“Then act like it!”

Karen looked at her mother. “I am.”

“No, you're not.”

Diana stepped closer. “You're exhausted and unfocused. Youclearly didn't sleep enough last night and you're showing up here looking like you've been fighting someone.”

Karen's expression remained neutral. “Maybe I have.”

Diana stared at her. “What?”

Karen picked up her gloves. “Nothing.”

“Karen.”

“I said it's nothing.”

Diana grabbed her daughter's wrist before she could walk away. “I'm not your opponent. You don't have to play games with me.”

Karen looked down at her mother's hand. Then back at her. “I know.”

“Then tell me what you're thinking.”

“I can't.”

The answer came instantly. Diana released her. “You can't or you don't want to?”

“Both.”

For several seconds, they simply stared at each other. Diana had trained champions. She had fought some of the most dangerous women and men of her generation.
She knew how to read fear, arrogance, exhaustion and pain. But she couldn't read her own daughter. And that frightened her. Since their arrival she started thinking her daughter couldn't win, that for the first time since she started training her, she might lose, and lose hard.

“What is your plan against Volkova?”

Karen smiled faintly. “Beat her.”

“How?”

“Hitting her where she doesn't expect to.”

“How?” She insisted.

“You'll see.”

Diana shook her head. “Why hiding something from me? I'm your coach!.”

Karen picked up her gloves. “Then let's start training!”

She walked toward the ring and Diana was in disbelif, and most of all angry. Why was her daughter keeping secrets from her? She was there to protect and guide her, she was the only one in the entire nation, maybe the entire world, that wanted to see her succeed. But for now she had to try and focus on the training, trying to imprint as much as she could on her in the very little time that they had remainig.

---

The following days became a nightmare. Karen trained harder than ever during the day working on everything she and her mother could think of: on footwork, defense, counters, clinch escapes, body shots.
She repeated combinations until her shoulders trembled with exhaustion.

But every night, she kept disapearing and Diana noticed. Not at first, but by the thrid night she picked up that Karen wasn't always in her room. She tried waiting up. Karen always came home after midnight. Sometimes two in the morning. Sometimes later. And every morning she returned to the gym looking progressively worse. On the fifth morning before the fight, Diana saw something that made her loose all the little patience she had left. Bruises. Small, nothing-to-worry-about scratches that would heal in a day or two, but still bruises, all along her shoulder, ribs and legs.

Diana stared at them. “Who did that?”

Karen pulled her shirt down trying to hide some. “No one.”

“Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not.”

“Karen.”

Karen turned away. “Mom, please.”

“No.” Diana's voice was suddenly quieter. “I'm your coach and your mother....”

“I know.”

“...And I watched you fight when you were a little girl. I know what normal training injuries look like.”

Karen said nothing.

“These aren't from your training here, or made by mistake. Those are fighting marks.”

Silence.

“Where are you going at night?”

Karen finally looked at her.

“I can't tell you.”

Diana's face hardened. “Do you think I'm not going to find it out myself?!”

Karen smiled faintly. “You probably will.”

That answer made Diana even more nervous.

---

That night, Diana waited for her daughter to leave her room. She didn't ask Karen where she was going because she already knew she wouldn't get an answer. Instead, she watched from a distance as her daughter slipped out of the hotel shortly after midnight, dressed simply and carrying her training bag.

Diana followed.

Karen crossed several unknown streets, going into the Suburbs of Moscow, before stopping outside a discreet entrance beneath an old building. She exchanged a few words with the man at the door and disappeared inside. Diana waited a few minutes before following her.

At the entrance, the huge bouncer stopped her before she could even get close to the door. His Russian was very peculiar, but luckily Diana was good enough at the language to understand him.

“This isn’t the entr—” The man stopped and looked at Diana. “Hey, you’re the American girl’s mom! I say you in TV a few days ago.” A mischievous smile appeared on the hulking man’s face. “Go right on in, and be careful not to cause any trouble.”

The place didn't look like just any basement at all, but rather a huge, crowded, noisy and warm night-club. The theme seemed to be underground, private fights—a sort of strip club where, instead of poles, there were small rings and arenas where women and men of all kinds faced off for the wealthy spectators, cash in hand. At the sides, bartenders were constantly pouring fancy drinks, which were then picked up and carried off by petite women and burly men dressed as sexy bunnies, shamelessly flaunting their feminine curves and masculine prowess. Diana looked around not to take note of the place, but just to find her daughter.

And finally she saw her.

Karen was already in one of the ring. Her hair was tied back, her gloves were on, and a strange and rushed full face makeup was on, badly masking her apperance.
Her opponent was a russian woman taller than her, with long and wild red hair and large, round and firm breasts. She also looked very young, not older then early twenties. Her face had a sweet, innocent expression, accentuated by her calm green eyes. She didn't seem like a fighter at all. It was cleary a missmatch.

The bell rang, and Karen immediately took the initiative. Her first instinct was the same one Diana had observed throughout her professional career: control the distance, set up the jab, force her opponent to retreat, and dictate the pace.

It worked for maybe thirty seconds.

Then her opponent closed the distance. Karen tried to evade her, but couldn’t create enough space. The bout became chaotic and close-quarters—exactly the kind of exchange Diana had tought Karen to avoid during her professional training.

Her opponent pushed her against the ropes and began distracting with little taps around her hips and on her breasts whenever she found an opening. Karen tried to break free, but in the end she was forced to give up ground.

Diana watched motionless, noticing something no one else could. It was Karen who was allowing all of this to happen.

Her dodges were slow, her punches lacked power, and she let her opponent slip inside her guard without doing anything to block her, letting the readhead do whatever she wanted with her body, even play a little with playful touches and rubbing her body all over Karen's.

The redheaded girl managed to pin her in a corner of this clearly smaller ring and began working on Karen’s midsection, her punches piercing Karen’s trained muscles with ease, like she wasn't even trying to harden them. Instead of defending herself, Karen wrapped her arms around her opponent’s shoulders and let herself be used as a punching bag for the entire round.

When the round ended, Karen returned to her corner, gasping for breath. She said something to her opponent, who nodded in response.

The next round began and they both took off their sports bra. Now they were fighting topless. Karen breasts were a bit smaller then the russian, so were her nipples.

This time it was Karen who approached her opponent; the redheaded girl was taken by surprise for a moment, but she seemed to immediately realize what her opponent was up to. They locked in a clinch, and no one seemed willing to separate them; their breasts brushed against each other, their erect, hard nipples clashing like the tips of swords.

And Diana noticed it again. Karen let herself be overpowered. Her young opponent managed to free one arm and press her breasts against Karen, pinning her against the ropes. With her freed arm, she began pummeling her with punches wherever she could, especially to the sides. The more punches landed on her, the more she let herself be dominated rather than defend herself, until the redheaded girl could simply take a step back—now free—and start throwing combinations at a completely defenseless Karen. It was a massacre that any referee would have stopped immediately with a TKO, but instead the match continued and took a different turn in the final minute. After repeatedly striking her face and breasts with brutal precision, the young Russian began licking her cheeks and nibbling her ears, planting possessive kisses on her, until she started sucking on her nipples. Meanwhile, she began caressing her pussy through her sports shorts with a boxing glove, making Karen moan like a slut.

Diana watched her daughter rapidly approach an orgasm, her eyes glistening, her expression ecstatic, and her mouth open to moan and gasp, without moving a muscle to defend herself and even spreading her trembling legs for her opponent.

Before she could experience this humiliating orgasm, however, the bell rang again, saving her.

Karen and her opponent exchanged whispers once more, this time smiling and giggling for a moment, before walking back to their corners.

At the sound of the third round, both took off their athletic shorts, leaving only their ultra-thin panties on.

Karen was so wet with pleasure that her panties were soaked through.

There wasn’t even a third round. In a sort of humiliating ritual, at the sound of the bell the young Russian pointed her glove toward a neutral corner, and Karen obeyed, walking over and leaning her back against it. Diana watched as her daughter thrust her muscular stomach and wet pussy forward and let her opponent strike her with powerful, slow punches that sank into her abs, making her moan, and crushed her pussy and clit, causing her to grunt like an animal and roll her eyes back.

Karen had a powerful orgasm, and in the midst of it, her opponent grabbed her hair and began kissing her violently, continuing to torment her breasts and stomach with devastating punches, keeping her orgasm going and driving it into a continuous squirt and stream of clear pee.

When the young redhead was done, she took a step back and landed a powerful, over the top, uppercut to Karen’s chin, which sent her flying off the ground, spinning through the air, and landing face-down and ass-up, her pussy still dripping with pleasure while she drooled from her mouth onto the mat.

A referee climbed into the ring to grab the young winner’s arm and declare the match over.

While everyone celebrated and the spectators showered the winner with compliments and tips, Karen was already back on her feet and, as if nothing had happened, had already grabbed her clothes and headed for the locker room.

Diana tried to catch up with her, but the crowd blocked her way, and she couldn’t see which door Karen had disappeared through.

Karen spent a lot of minutes navigating the intense crowd around the rings, but before she could figure out where to go to find her, her daughter was already on the other side of the place, once again ready for another bout, in the venue’s center and largest ring.

She was already topless, her makeup hastily reapplied, and her opponent looked quite strange.

The enormous woman she was facing was the closest thing to Elvira Volkova that Diana had ever seen. Almost a twin, but with darker hair and slightly taller.

This time, at the sound of the bell, Karen moved as she always did. The match proceeded cleanly, like a real boxing match, but despite the intensity of the blows exchanged, the American remained on the defensive, observing, letting the fake Elvira do exactly what the real one would have done: she insulted her, pushed her forward, and tried to corner her with powerful punches.

Diana watched as Karen managed to dodge everything, yet allowed herself to be hit by blows aimed at her breasts or her lower abdomen, moaning even when they weren’t that strong.

She seemed to be testing her own endurance.

Then she let herself be caught.

A very disadvantageous clinch, where the fake Elvira managed to push Karen into the corner without any trouble and began to work on her guard with devastating punches.
Karen held her ground, but then she did something. She started insulting her opponent back.

“Is that all you’ve got? You’ll never make me come like that.”

What were they talking about? Karen had never been tried to taunt her opponents during a match, let alone allude to something so sexual.

Yet it had worked. The fake Elvira stopped trying to hit her and instead began locking her arms and pressing her breasts against the American’s.

The two began a session of kissing and pushing, grinding against each other by rubbing their groins together.

The first round ended with Karen’s complete sexual domination, leaving her gasping in the corner where she’d been pushed, after Elvira had proven that her pussy and tits were stronger.

The second round continued in the same vein, with a professional start in which Karen, however, revealed her weakness—distractions caused by her arousal. Pinched back into a corner after a brief minute of boxing, she found herself once again being fucked standing up by the fake Elvira.

The crowd chanted “Make her come! Make her come!” in unison, and Diana could see her daughter’s eyes slowly rolling back, her cheeks flushing deeper and deeper, and the orgasm building stronger and stronger.

But then Karen regained her strength.

A punch to the ribs, an uppercut to the solar plexus—and suddenly the roles had reversed.

Now it was the fake Elvira who was pinned in the corner, and Karen grabbed her by the legs and sat her on the second rope, then began grinding her pussy against her opponent’s.

In a sort of standing tribbing, Karen pounded her opponent’s pussy until the end of the round, holding back her own orgasm and bringing her closer to one.

At the start of the third round, Diana watched her daughter return to her normal self. Fast, precise combinations; flawless technique. She began circling her opponent like a hornet, striking her with rapid punches and leaving her no time to think. It was clear the difference between a prodigy and an amateur underground fighter.

The fake Elvira was already gasping for breath as she left her corner, and now she was completely dazed. She tried to defend herself and escape, but simply ended up backed into a corner.

Karen approached her slowly, hit her with a combination to the face, and then kissed her once she had lowered her guard, exhausted.

The Russian fighter—clearly stronger, bigger, and more experienced than the American—could do nothing as the kiss robbed her brain of vital oxygen and aroused her more and more.

Karen was, in a way, a professional kisser, as if she’d trained specifically for it.

A single punch, straight to the groin, elicited a stifled moan and a squirt from the body of the fake Elvira, who remained motionless in the corner, trying to hold her stomach and pussy in and hide her orgasm.

Karen took a step back and spread her arms, gesturing with her gloves for her to “come on.”

Diana was stunned by her daughter; she couldn’t understand why she was doing all this, why she was behaving this way. Boxing wasn’t a sport where sex was so necessary—it was technique and strength that prevailed over other combat sports. It was these aspects of boxing that made it so unique, so respected even today.

Instead, Karen was abandoning everything she’d learned to engage in extremely erotic bouts, bordering on sexfights.

The very same sexfights that Diana had tried to keep out of their lives.

Lost in her thoughts and doubts, Diana had let a few seconds slip by and found herself stunned to see her daughter being battered by punches to the face and breasts, while the Russian crowd cheered on their compatriot as she recovered and started destroying her stupid, sexy american opponent.

The fake Elvira proceeded to dismantle Karen round after round, inflicting half a dozen orgasms on her in between heavy hits, before finally knocking her out. In the final minutes of the match, Karen wasn’t even holding her gloves up; her arms simply hung limply at her sides, heavy and lifeless, as she took devastating punches and let her pussy become her opponent’s favorite plaything. But her eyes were always focused, and they observed everything that happend to her.

While she was lying on the ground, the fake Elvira crushed her pussy and clit with her foot, posing for the audience while a referee raised her arms high in the air in a sign of victory. As soon as the crowd began to focus on their champion, Karen slipped away and disappeared back into the locker room again.

This time, though a few minutes late, Diana managed to follow her.

---

The locker rooms were almost completely empty; the night was clearly drawing to a close, and Diana had no trouble following her daughter’s trail, even asking staff members for directions along the way.

She found herself following the sounds of moans of pleasure coming from two women who were clearly sharing an intimate moment together.

When Diana entered the last locker room, she saw the redhead kneeling between Karen’s legs, who was lying on a bench, panting and holding her former opponent’s red hairs in her hands.

“I *lick* lick* heal poor *lick* lick* injured pussy.” Her english wasn't so bad, even with the russian accent.

“Oh yes… She has taken so much… please heal her-.”

“KAREN KNOXX!”

The two girls stopped, startled by the scream. Karen found the strength to lift her neck and head to see who it was, recognizing the voice but hoping it wasn’t true.

At the sight of her mother, she began to panic and tried to hide her body with her arms and behind her red-haired partner.

“Mom! What are you doing here?!”

“WHAT AM I DOING HERE? What are YOU doing here!” Diana was furious; the embarrassment she felt at having seen her daughter have all those orgasms and finding her in the middle of the act was buried beneath the raging fire growing inside her.

“In less than five days you have the most important match of your life, and I find you in the middle of the night at a strip club getting roughened up by a couple of amateur Russian girls?!”

“Mom, I can explain, really—”

Karen was truly frightened; her naive youth was showing at that very moment. When she saw that her mother wasn’t interrupting her—waiting for an explanation—she continued. “Please don’t kill me, but I really can explain.”

“I’m waiting.”

“So… Well, first of all, she’s Svetlana, my girlfriend.”

Diana glanced to the side, where the redheaded girl was kneeling and waving shyly.

“She helps me with my training and—”

“What kind of training?! I’m the one who trains you.” Diana cut her off, not understanding what her daughter was referring to and feeling a little betrayed.

“Mom, well.” Karen took a deep breath and launched into a long explanation.

“Svetlana and I have been sending letters to each others for a couple of months, and she’s the one who gave me the idea of how to beat Elvira—that’s why I accepted the challenge. Basically, I come here to train myself to withstand these fighters’ sexual attacks, knowing that they don’t want to hurt or injure me. The club basically has a rule that you can only win if you make your opponent orgasm first. Svetlana told me that Elvira used to come here often, too, but she always lost because she couldn’t make her opponents come, and she always ended up getting knocked out from too many orgasms. So I thought: what better tactic than to wear her out with orgasms and then use my speed to knock her out before she can recover. But I'm newbie in this too, you never trained me to be that sexual on a ring, so Svetlana invited me over this club where she works in and night after night they started to know me better and they allowed me to have more and more matches until I could face Johanna — the fake Elvira — and prove I can fight someone that the real Elvira could never beat.”

Karen sighed after the explanation, delivered in one breath, but Diana was still staring at the two of them with a furious look on her face.

“So the fights were all a sham?”

"Not exactly. I mean, the one with Svetlana was—she helps me build stamina and explore my sexuality in the ring. But against the fake Elvira, I was serious. She’s a former pro. But once I realized I could beat her—in the third round—I decided to see how long I could hold out against her onslaught. The real Elvira will never be able to knock me out now, especially if she tries to do it sexually."

“Aren't you forgetting something, you idiot?”

“What?” Karen was so naive...

"THESE GIRLS AREN'T THE REAL ELVIRA! It doesn't matter how good you are at inflicting or withstanding an orgasm—Elvira doesn't give a damn. Her punches will knock you out just like they've done with everyone else. She'll fight the same way she always did! With her punches! That’s why I’ve been training you so hard! You need to improve your boxing, not figure out how to make your opponent come!” Diana was furious, but she had to admit that her daughter’s idea had intrigued her. As a coach, she couldn’t deny that this training might actually pay off.

But as a mother, she couldn’t help but be angry. It felt like she was talking to a teenager who’d run away from home.

“I want you at the hotel for the rest of the nights we have left. And no more nighttime training sessions.”

Karen looked down, saddened, but Diana then added, “Svetlana can come, too. It won’t hurt to have a second sparring partner.”

The two girls stifled a squeal of joy and quickly got dressed before following Diana to the hotel.

She didn’t know if she’d made the right choice, but now she’d regained confidence in her daughter’s potential—a potential that might just usher in a new era and style in the world of modern boxing.