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Starring
<Valenzuela> The Heights – Underground Bare-Knuckle Boxing
Tucked away inside an unassuming office building in the heart of the city, The Heights is an exclusive, underground fight club where gambling, alcohol, and raw combat reign supreme. While the lower floors are occupied by legitimate businesses, the upper levels are a secret haven for fight fans and high-stakes bettors. The 15th floor is where bare-knuckle boxing matches are held, inside a dimly lit room lined with framed boxing trunks. Each set of shorts represents a fallen fighter—one picture showing her in a confident pose before the fight, the other capturing her lying sprawled out on the canvas, defeated and stripped of her fight attire. A special rule applies here: if a fighter remains unconscious for 15 seconds after the knockout, her opponent has the right to claim her trunks, exchanging them for an extra cash reward. Those who rise to the VIP lounge on the 20th floor find even more humiliating trophies, where the highest rollers collect risqué mementos from past conquests.
Valenzuela: The Fighters:
Carlotta "Val" Valenzuela de Reyes (Mexican); Height: 5'3"; Weight: 125 lbs, Age: 30; Fighting Style: Brawler with heavy hands and a granite chin; Strengths: Toughness, endurance, power punches; Weaknesses: Less speed and agility than younger fighters
Wakabe (Vietnamese/Dutch); Height: 5'1"; Weight: 95 lbs; Age: 19; Fighting Style: Lightning-fast speedster with gymnastic footwork; Strengths: Agility, evasiveness, stamina, fast punches; Weaknesses: Less power
The Stipulation: This fight is a bare-knuckle match—no gloves, just wrapped fists. The winner gets to humiliate the loser, either by claiming her fight trunks or taking an extra trophy of their choosing. If the knockout is clean, the loser's fight gear is framed on the wall, marking another fallen warrior in The Heights' brutal history.
<Valenzuela> I take a deep breath, rolling my shoulders as I prepare to step into the ring on the 15th floor of The Heights, this high-end den of violence and vice. This place is a real step up from the dingy, sweat-stained basements and back-alley pits where I usually fight. The air is thick with smoke, booze, and money, the crowd already loud and restless, throwing cash down on their bets, hungry for blood. And tonight? They’re getting a show. A grin creeps across my face. It’s a special night, not just because of the packed house and the big money on the line, but because for once, I’m the bigger fighter. My opponent? A nineteen-year-old, pint-sized Asian chick who’s probably quick as hell but doesn’t have a prayer once I start punching. Oh, she’s gonna regret stepping into the ring with me. With that thought, I stride forward, stepping through the ropes with confidence. My outfit for tonight? Frayed blue jean cutoffs that hug my hips, a snug sports bra emblazoned with the Mexican flag, and white gauze tightly wrapped around my fists, ready to do some serious damage. My toned, battle-hardened body is on full display, a walking warning to anyone who thinks they can outslug me. The moment my feet hit the canvas, the crowd erupts—drunken, rowdy, already half-mad with anticipation. Some cheer, some jeer, all of them caught up in the thrill of the night. A bunch of idiotas, really, but at least they know a fight worth betting on when they see one. I settle into my corner, rolling my neck, cracking my knuckles, and then throwing out a few sharp, precise punches into the air…..a jab, a right cross, a vicious left hook…….shadowboxing with controlled aggression. My muscles coil, my breath steady. Now, all that’s left is to wait for Wakabe to step through those ropes, to see if she really belongs in my ring.
<Wakabe> I wasn't fully aware of the "special rules" in this place. The guy that recruited me to fight just mentioned a way to add a nice bonus to your purse. No wonder he was so vague, about why the reward money was so high. I look at the wall adorned with the truncks of fallen fighters, I see the pictures layed out with their undies on display. Some of them looked so strong and confident in their picture before the fight. If I had known I would have definitely word different panties instead oof the ones with a heart pattern that I am wearing now. I am admittedly a bit of a prude, so these fights are a bit out of my wheel house. Nevertheless I have beaten plathera of opponent foolish enough to underestimate me, once I enter the ring I am a different person entirely. Today I am wearing my signature color. Bright loose fitting trunks that go down to my knees, and a matching sleeveless top equally baggy. My handwraps are a crimson red. As I make my way to the ring, my nerves seem to automatically calm themselves, as they always do when I get in to a fight. I stare across the ring to see a toned latina woman, she is bigger then me.......as per the usual. And she has a beautiful toned physique, I better bring my A-game if I am to beat her. I take off my glasses and place them at ringside. Then one last deep breath before I slide under the ropes into the ring, ready to knock this woman out.
<Valenzuela> The ref now motions us forward, as is function is only to start the fight, and then to stop the fight when one fighter goes down. He tells to stand on either side of the "scratch" line in the centre of the ring, and asks if we are ready. I smirk and nod, but then say to you, "Better put those glasses back on, or you won't see my fists coming!" Then I form an orthodox boxing stance, left fist and foot leading, as I wait for the bell.
<Valenzuela> 
<Wakabe> "Don't worry I can smell them as if necessary" I have no idea where that came from but it set the tone for the match. I start the match of in southpaw, and as soon as the bell rings I close the distance and throw to quick flicker jabs at your face. It is more to gauge distance and to see how you react rather then to actually cause serious damage. After An opponent like this needs to be broken down over time, and these fights go the full 10 rounds, with the idea that most fights end in a knockout. I slide back out of range. Let's see what this woman has to offer.
<Wakabe> 
<Valenzuela> The bell rings, DING!!!!!! and suddenly I'm facing a southpaw stance. Always a little more confusing than facing an orthodox boxer. You look good and sharp and determined, but wow....some jabs now flick out, i lean back sharply from each, letting the jabs strike the air an inch in front of my face. Then i try counter punching, lounging forward to close the distance and send a left hook at your jaw, gonna teach you who the boss of the ring is.
<Valenzuela> 
<Wakabe> My jabs miss, not unexpected. I can tell by way you move that this isn't exactly the first time you fought. It's a good thing I slipped back because you are coming out swinging with a left hook that I manage to slip. I slip in to your left, and lunch a quick lead hook at your ribs followed by a left cross aimed at your solar plexus. Then attempting to slip out of range again. Making you chase me.
<Valenzuela> My left hook falls short, slicing only some thin air, as you slip back, but then you lunge forward, attempting to take advantage of my left guard before it goes back into position. And now I learn about how fast you are, as you slip into my left side, hitting me in the ribs with a right hook, and a split second later a nasty left cross powers into my solar plexus, bending me forward a little and forcing me to reset my guard as I breath hard as pain hits my ribs and midsection. II step back a little, but then lunge forward, coming at you fast, swinging a left hook at your jaw, and then a right cross at your nose....
<Wakabe> As I hoped you are eager, and swinging for the fences early on. I lean back to avoid the hook and then catch your cross on my guard. It is here I feel your power for the first time. Even tgough I blocked I can feel how hard you can hit and as feared you definitely have knock-out power. If I am not carefull you could end my night in short order if you catch me in a lethal combo. But nobody can throw heavy strikes like those all night if I get on your nerves you might exhaust yourself premature.
<Wakabe> "I could see those fists coming in the dark, Val!" After my taunt I fake low with my left the attempt to slap you across the face with my right, before dancing out of range again.
<Valenzuela> I can still feel the sharp sting in my ribs and the lingering ache in my solar plexus from you working over my body with fast moving fists, but it feels even worse when I throw a vicious left hook, only to see you lean back just in time, my fist slicing harmlessly through the space where your jaw was a second ago, and then my right cross gets caught on your guard, but you felt my power and that’s good. Your voice cuts through the moment, "I could see those fists coming in the dark, Val!" The cocky little chica is playing games, huh? I grit my teeth, when suddenly your left dips low, my instincts scream body shot! I brace myself, only to get a sharp slap across my face instead. The sound reverberates through the room, people gasp at your audacious and humiliating move. A fucking slap. A growl rumbles up my throat as I blink from the sharp sting, watching you dance away like a ghost, light on your feet, frustratingly out of range before I can punish you for that little stunt. My jaw tightens. "Gonna fuckin break you in half!" You’re trying to get inside my head, trying to bait me into losing control. I don’t care, no one does this to me. Again, I lunge forward, rushing you, snapping a left jab at your mouth, not just for damage but to disrupt your rhythm. Then, with no delay, I drop my stance slightly and whip a short, brutal right hook towards your ribs, so angry I could spit!
<Wakabe> I don't need to wonder whether my slap got inside your head, your face tells the whole story. I succeeded in pissing you off, now I need to weather the storm that is about to come my way. I am not worried about your threat, your anger plays right into my hand. You unleash a jab which is a bit of a surprise since I expected heavy hooks, nevertheless I dodge to the side, which you clearly anticipated and your right hook slams onto my guard, so hard I need to sidestep to maintain my balance. My arm hurts so hard was that hook. I shake it loose to try an lessen the pain, then throw a quick 1-2 to the head before sliding out of range again.
<Valenzuela> Again, I feel like I’m shadowboxing a ghost as my jab cuts through empty air, but at least my hook clips your arm—not the rib-crushing shot I wanted, but a reminder that I can still touch you. You shake out your arm, barely fazed, and I smirk, raising my guard, letting you know I’m still in this. But before I can even think of my next move, you fire off a blistering-fast 1-2, a sharp jab followed by a left cross. The first snaps my head back, the second follows through with even more venom, my vision flashing for a split second as my brain registers the impact. You're fast. Too fast. A growl rumbles in my throat, frustration bubbling over as I step in, refusing to let you dictate the pace. I push forward, feet planting hard, and unleash my own 1-2 combo: a stiff jab aimed for your forehead, followed immediately by a right cross snapping out over your guard, trying to catch you clean and force you to respect me.
<Wakabe> I can see your frustration building up. What's more my strikes appear to have an effect on you, meaning the size difference may not be to much to overcome. I look to follow up, but it appears I will first need to defend my self more as you simply keep advancing. That's right I think, tire yourself out, work harder then me. I party your jab, but but your co.es in faster and stronger then expected and I am slightly to late to party causing it to graze my cheek. I stagger back, I am still ok, but even a grazing strike hurts, I bracelet my self for the incoming assault, which I am certain will test my skills.
<Valenzuela> My left gets parried to the side, but my incoming right cross does its job, keeping you too busy to counter. Even though it only grazes your cheek, it still leaves a faint red mark, a reminder that I’m closing the distance. I don’t give a damn if it wasn’t clean because I’m here to break you down. I can already picture it, you sprawled on the canvas, out cold, while I stand over you, peeling off those yellow shorts as my prize. So I keep coming, relentless, pressing forward like a freight train with no brakes. My left jab fires low, aiming to hammer your solar plexus if I can punch fast enough, to knock the wind out of you, to slow those damn fast legs of yours. A second later, I twist my hips, putting my full weight behind a brutal right hook, swinging straight for your jaw, a shot meant to crack your head open like a coconut!.
<Wakabe> You keep advancing and I keep retreating. Your attacks leave very little time for me to retaliate. I must admit that your attacks are technically very solid. Little wasted motion, clearly you can fight. Your jab plants itself on my solar plexus, the pain stunning me. Then a right hook rocks my guard almost spinning me around. You pack a lot power and you slowly taking control of this fight. While I am certain you wont be swinging haymakers all night, you are not tiring as fast as I had hoped. And I cannot avoid you forever!
<Valenzuela> I see it now, the flicker of worry on your face. You might be faster, but you’re starting to realize something—I hit hard. I’m only 30, still in my prime, and I ain’t some grandma you can just run circles around. You might have the reflexes, but I’ve got the power to break you down. My jab drives into your solar plexus, landing flush, and I see it in your eyes. That one hurt. You look stunned, your body betraying you for just a split second. I don’t waste time admiring my work. My right hook follows, smashing into your guard with enough force to spin you slightly to the side. That’s my cue. I rip a left hook at your jaw, aiming to whip your head back in the opposite direction. And a second later, I fire a right cross straight for your mouth, pouring my power into it, determined to drive you back into the ropes where I can really begin a proper beatdown. I intend to stay on you, burning my reserves of energy.
<Wakabe> This isn't how I hoped it would go so far, I am being driven back and you keep advancing without giving me any time to recover. As I am spun around am hit in the jaw, and I keep staggering back, trying to avoid you, this fight does'nt have rounds as far as I am aware so no waiting for the bell either. And then I feel the ropes in my back. Crap nowhere to run. You are firing your right hand straight down the barrel and I decide to drop to one knee avoiding your cross and forcing a 10 count on my self. While that attack must cost you stamina, if I get trapped in the ropes now it would mean doom for me. So this is the smart thing to do. I look up at you from my kneeling position, trying to gauge your reaction.
<Valenzuela> My left hook smashes into your jaw, snapping your head to the side, but my right cross cuts through nothing but empty air as you dip low and drop to a knee, taking the 10 count. The crowd erupts in boos, jeering at the sight of you down on one knee, and I let out a frustrated breath, stepping back a few feet. My body stays loose, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet, keeping my energy up as I watch the referee start the count. I smirk, tilting my head as I look down at you, my voice dripping with mockery. "Would you like me to fight with one hand tied behind my back, chica?" The audience laughs and roars, the tension in the air thick as we wait to see if you’re getting back up or if you’ve had enough.
<Wakabe> Ok, I need to sell this. She is only a few steps back. I drop to my hands and knees. The crowd knows this knockdown wasn't hard enough for my trunks to adorn the walls, so they are shouting for me to get up. I crawl a few inches closer, pretending to get up and failing. I hear you mocking me, yes it is good that you are confident, it will allow my next trick to work. Just a few inches closer, and I am in range. See I have been to these kind of clubs before. This is no professional boxing match, this club is illegal. And I know these people came for violence, as such I can get a way with a number of dirty moves. And I am about to exploit that fact for everything it is worth. I take of stepping low almost like a wrestler going for a take down, I close the distance and while again on one knee I fire of an uppercut right between you legs into your most delicate area. Then I get up and launch a hard overhand right straight into your mocking face!
<Valenzuela> I watch as you crawl forward, and i stand taller, proud of what i've done, proud that i've made you crawl like a fucking beaten worm. I leep my fists up ready to punch your lights out. "Beg for me to stop bitch!" I say with a sneer of contempt on my face. "You're fucking nothing!" "Go back to mopping.....arggggggggg!!!! Before i can finish my sentence your uppercut hits me between my legs, your bareknuckle pounding the delicate folds of my labia, my clitoris suddenly throbbing with pain. I begin to stumble backwards, and BOOM, a big overhand right hits me over my eyebrow, opening a cut as you get up so fast and lunge at me. My head snaps back and my head reals from the blow.
<Wakabe> I I get up now orthodox stance, right is my dominate hand and now is the time to throw some heavy leather it seems. I try to distract you with a lead left hook to the jaw, while not a feint the real power is in the upper cut I am aiming right below your breasts into the solar plexus. "What was that, Val? Go back mopping??" I launch a jab and hard right hook to your nose and temple respectively. "Mopping the floor with you!" Let's see if she can continue at this pace now that I am hitting her back.
<Valenzuela> I'm dazed, stunned, my head swimming from the vicious low blow and the crushing overhand right that blasted into my skull. A warm trickle of blood drips from my left eyebrow, blurring my vision, mixing with the sweat and pain that’s now flooding my senses. My body is slow to respond, my muscles aching, my confidence shaken as the reality sets in. One moment, I was in control—now, I’m the one getting wrecked. The crowd erupts into a frenzied roar, feeding off the shift in momentum, their drunken voices rising in chaotic excitement as I stagger, struggling to reclaim my footing. My head pounds, my lungs burn, and my mind reels as you seamlessly switch into an orthodox stance, your attack flowing ruthlessly, effortlessly, like you can smell the blood in the water. Your left hook slams into my jaw, whipping my head violently to the left, a flash of white-hot pain ripping through my skull as my neck twists, spit flying from my lips. A guttural groan forces its way from my throat, but before I can even react, a brutal uppercut crashes into my sternum, just below my breasts, driving the air from my lungs in a ragged gasp. My ribs scream in protest, my body doubling over just in time to meet your jab—SMACK! My nose explodes with pain, a fresh burst of blood spraying as my head snaps back, my vision briefly darkening at the edges. The sting is immediate, sharp, blinding, my instincts screaming at me to cover up, to find a way out. I barely register your right hook swinging in, but the jab’s force has already sent me stumbling backward into the ropes, my arms flailing for balance, my body now a punching bag against the steel cables. Panic surges through me. I lash out, swinging a wild, looping left hook at your jaw, praying to land something, anything, knowing that if I don’t fight back right now, I might not get another chance.
<Valenzuela> 
<Wakabe> You are on the ropes, and hurting, now is the time to go all out. Your right hook is wild and lacked the focus your other hooks had. I reach up to catch your hook with my right hand, and then I trap your arm against my side. I fire of two uppercuts right below your navel. Then a hook aiming for your plexus again. Hoping I knocked the wind out of you sufficiently, I attempt to fold your right arm over the ropes. If I can trap you here and now, I could do so much damage, maybe even enough to finish this whole thing. I get close and whisper in your ear. "Guess we are going to find out what panties you wore today, my money is on red thong" Maybe I shouldn't be gloating yet, but it appears you simply bring that out of me.
<Valenzuela> My wild hook never finds its mark. Instead, you snatch my right arm mid-swing, trapping it tight against your side, locking me into a helpless, exposed position. A surge of panic hits as I try to yank it free, but before I can react, BAM! BAM! Your right fist drills into my stomach, just below my navel, the first shot making me grunt as my abs tighten, the second forcing a harsh gasp from my lips. My body jerks from the impact, and you’re already setting me up for a vicious left hook straight into my solar plexus, UGGHHHH! A ragged cry escapes me, my lungs burning as the punch rips through my midsection, knocking the breath from my body. My abs clench but oxygen won’t come, my chest tightens, and for a terrifying moment, I feel like I might collapse. And then it gets even worse. You wrench my trapped right arm over the top rope, stretching it out, pinning me in place, my entire left side exposed, vulnerable, helpless. My heart pounds in my chest, humiliation settling in deep. If you were bigger, stronger, I might already be face-down on the canvas, and maybe that would be easier than this. This is fucking degrading. Getting beat down, trapped, gasping for air by a 95-pound Asian boxing demon, your tiny fists drilling into my body like they belong to someone twice your size. The crowd is eating it up, roaring in delight at the sudden reversal, and I can hear the mocking laughter, the jeers, the drunken shouts. Then you lean in, your voice dripping with arrogance, your words slicing deeper than any punch ever could. "Guess we’re going to find out what panties you wore today. My money’s on a red thong." My face flushes with rage and embarrassment, my vision blurring from pain and fury. With my right arm useless, my legs shaky, and my stomach aching from your assault, I do the only thing I can, my free left hand snapping out, aiming straight for your throat, desperate to choke the life out of you before you humiliate me even further.
<Wakabe> The crowd is loving my display of skill and sheer viciousness, barely recognizing the dorky girl that cam wandering in not so long ago. I relish the act of doing this to you. I always loved to fight , it is when I feel most confident in myself. And there is this rush I get when I see a strong and proud woman and I get to overcome their strength and shatter their pride. It gives me a rush like almost nothing else. And your pride is definitely taking a beating , possibly worse then your body right now. After I finish my mocking taunt, your hand darts out grabbing me by the throat, squeezing my neck shut. I instinctively grab your wrist, but you are not so beaten yet that I can simply power your hand away from me. I am holding both wrists , one to keep your left arm trapped, and one on the hand that is choking me. I decide to let go of the choking had first, see if I can make you let go through pain. I start peppering you with shots with my left hand. Aiming for your face, ribs and when you won't let go I desperate fire a shot at your boob. But I need fresh oxygen soon, and while your choke isn't perfect, it still hinders the flow of oxygen enough to slow me down.
<Valenzuela> I see the panic flash in your eyes as my fingers tighten around your throat, your body instinctively tensing as you claw at my hand, desperate for air. For a moment, I feel control, the raw satisfaction of watching you struggle, your breath coming in ragged gasps. But then, you stop wasting energy grappling at my wrist and shift to the real way out, attacking me directly. BAM! Your fist slams into my eye, a sudden burst of white-hot pain exploding across my vision. My head snaps back, and before I can react, BAM! Another punch drives into my ribs, my body jerking from the impact, a sharp grunt escaping my lips as my core tightens against the pain. And then, UGGGGGGHHH! Your fist crashes into my breast, flattening it with a brutal thud, a wave of humiliating, searing pain coursing through my chest. My body shudders, my fingers instinctively loosening from your throat, the desperate need to protect myself overriding my grip. I have no choice. I release you, gasping, my body aching, my mind reeling from exhaustion. Beaten down, drained, blinking through the haze, my right eye already swelling from your counterattack. Desperation kicks in as I reach out with my free hand, clawing at your wrist, trying to pry your grip off my right arm, struggling to free myself from the ropes as I stagger unsteadily, my legs trembling beneath me.
<Wakabe> I unleash my barrage across your body and your instincts fore you to leg go. If you had held on for a few seconds more I would have been forced to let go of my grip, and break your choke hold, and who know how that would have gone? I take a deep breath fill my lungs with fresh oxigen, before I can continue my onslaught. And then you make a mistake, as you turn to wrestle my grip on you pinned wrist, in doing so you turn you body and head, and both hand are down giving me a wide open target. After that low I gave you I expected you to just push me away with a kick or something, but it sees you are a boxer through and through, and in the heat of the moment these tactics don't come to you. I fire a straight left at your temple, then a mean hook in to your liver. I then let go of your trapped wrist and shake my hands loose, preparing for a rush with which I hope to put you on your ass.
<Valenzuela> I thought this fight was going to be easy, but I didn’t expect to get torn apart like this. I started strong, landing a few shots, but now my body is breaking down. My ribs are bruised, hammered relentlessly by Wakabe’s quick, precise strikes, the solar plexus shots you landed have left me struggling for air, my fucking gut and pussy are battered, my face is a mess, with a cut over my left eyebrow my right eye is swollen, the skin tender and puffy and blood is dripping from my nose. The crowd roaring, laughing, as this 95-pound bitch traps me against the ropes, leaving me helpless. Now I’m staggering, barely able to stand, my legs trembling beneath me. Beaten, exhausted, humiliated, my vision swims. And then as I turn to try to wrestle my arm free….a straight left pounds into my temple, twisting my head, until BAM! A left hook swings into my liver, and a wave of sickening pain sweeps through my body. I use the ropes to stay on my feet, as you release my arm, and I turn to face you…..I begin to clench my hands into fists…but the pain to my liver is overwhelming
<Wakabe> I made you chase me and spend energy for little reward, but now I have been burning through my own reserves. My body is glistening with sweat despite the AC in this place keeping it cool. My loose fitting top and trunks are now clinging to my body exposing my muscular form . But my efforts have not been in vain as I see you struggling to keep standing. Maybe pride is the only thing keeping you up right now, more so then the ring rope. "Time to go to sleep ,chica" I mock your use of the word, before unleashing my blitz. Let's bring that guard down first. I fire off a jab to make you raise your guard, then a right hook to your ribs, followed by yet another liver shot. Now I go back to the well again and hit you with the move that started my comeback, I bend my knees and go for a low blow once again. And now I burn through my reserves. I start swinging for the fences with feral left and right hooks, the target your jaw and and temple. I swing 1-2 not slowing down 3-4 feeling the burn in my arms 5-6 almost out of breath - 7-8. I stagger back breathing heavily and ragged. MY arms hanging at my sides. "Did...*Gasp*.Did you see *Gasp* those fists *gasp* coming....*gasp gasp*...Chica?"
<Valenzuela> My liver is on fire, the pain radiating through every nerve in my body, paralyzing me, keeping me frozen in agony. My, my body slick with sweat, beaten, exhausted, broken. I see the punch coming, but my body won’t react. Too slow. Too late. SMACK! A stiff jab crashes through my weak guard, snapping my head back violently. My arms finally lift to protect myself, but they are lagging behind my brain’s desperate signals, my battered body no longer responding as it should. UGGGGHHH! A right hook slams into my ribs, the sound of flesh and bone colliding echoing through the arena, sharp and sickening. A cruel reminder of just how outmatched I’ve become. My legs tremble, barely keeping me upright. My stomach churns, a dizzying fog settling over my thoughts. UGGGGHHHH! Another vicious liver shot buries deep into my side, and this time, my body betrays me completely, my legs spread apart involuntarily, my core folding, my mouth gasping open in pain. My pride shatters as I hear the jeering laughter from the crowd, their cheers now fully behind Wakabe, entertained by the sight of me crumbling before their eyes. BAM! A brutal punch crashes between my legs, straight into my battered sex. My thighs spasm from the raw shock of pain, my stomach lurching with nausea as the cruel impact sends white-hot agony rippling through my lower body. My hands drop to my sides, my body completely overwhelmed, unable to defend myself. The humiliation burns almost as much as the pain. BOOM! A left hook slams into my jaw, twisting my head one way. BOOM! A right hook smashes in from the other side, whipping my head back in the opposite direction, my skull feeling like it’s rattling inside my own head. I hear the crowd screaming, but their voices start to fade. My knees give out beneath me. I collapse face-first into the canvas. The last thing I feel is the cold, sweat-stained mat pressing against my cheek, the world tilting, spinning, before everything goes black.
<Wakabe> The crowd goes wild as you plumit to the floor, I don't believe you were conscious after even the 5th hook. The ref starts to count, but by the looks of it you won't answer the count of 15, and the crowd knows it, I hear whistling and call for me to "pull them of." I myself am still gasping, I am glad my tricks worked, it could have been very bad if they didn't. A man with a camera enters the ring, and it is my time to get to work. I grab your ankles and place them together, then I lean down and wrap my arms around your waist to get to the front of your jean shorts. I unbutton them and unzip, and start to wriggle them side to side to pull them of you butt. It is a nice butt to be sure, and looks like I guessed correctly to. A red thong is exposed as I pull your trunks off. I take takes that they don't slide down with the shorts, I'll leave you that bit of dignity at least.
<Wakabe> The man with the camera brushes the hair out of your face so it appears nicely on the picture. I raise your trunks high as if it is a title belt. Then give them to a man who immediately frames them. Another trophy, from another fallen warrior decorates the walls of the heights tonight.
<Valenzuela> My unconscious body lies motionless on the canvas, my mind mercifully blank, spared from the sting of humiliation—for now. The fight is over. My pride, my strength, my toughness shattered. A sudden tug at my waist jolts my body slightly, though I remain limp, completely helpless. Then, I feel it—the cool air hitting my skin as my shorts are yanked down, stripped away, exposing me fully before the drunken, roaring crowd. Not just my red thong, stretched snugly across my battered hips, but the permanent marks of my fighting spirit—the tattoos on my ass cheeks. One side, a delicate butterfly. The other, a bold, defiant bee. And beneath them, the words inked forever into my flesh: “Float like a butterfly & sting like a bee.” But tonight, I floated like a bumbling fool. I stung like a fragile butterfly. The laughter begins as whispers, then spreads like wildfire. Jeering, mocking voices fill the air, the audience drinking in the irony of my branding, reveling in my humiliation. I groan weakly, my mind swimming back to reality, my body still aching, my face still pressed against the sweat-soaked mat. My eyelids flutter, my senses still sluggish……… end or
<Published> 2025-03-19, viewed 83 times.
Willow Blackwell
2025-03-19 21:51Lovely job to both of you! Low blows are quite the equalizer...
Wakabe
2025-03-20 09:34(In reply to this)
She who isn't strong, must be learn to be mean.
Valenzuela
2025-03-19 21:53(In reply to this)
Yes.....they hurt and it nearly dropped me then and there! Thanks for commenting!
Bob Rock (deleted member)
2025-03-19 19:44Holy shit, she mauled you Val!
Linda216
2025-03-19 19:44Phenomenal fight and story ❤️ love you both already but damn! Carla think I need to get you in the ring sparring to sharpen you up. Love the pictures! Amazing work with them. God I could type all day praising you both.
Valenzuela
2025-03-19 19:48(In reply to this)
Thanks Linda luv....yes, she was just too fast....had reflexes like a cat....hard to land a punch on, and hard to avoid her fast moving fists....I had her....but then that low blow changed everything!