Prize Fight

This is pure fiction – a fantasy, but I am not sure it is my fantasy. It is really written for Ms. Georgia Peach – I have not felt like writing any of my erotic stories lately (heck, I don't talk about hubbie often, but the more he "services me," the less apt I am to write erotica). I hope this is not forced dribble – and if it is, I will blame Bill Gates. Darned MS Word, screwing up my thoughts again.

I found myself in Las Vegas one weekend with a boyfriend. I had never been in sin city, and I was taken aback by everything. The lights, the noise, the shows, the excitement. I was jazzed.

I was in college, and boyfriend – let's call him Jim – knew I did not have lots of cash. Being in Las Vegas with no cash is no fun. So he bankrolled me and I had a blast.

That evening, was my turn to repay the kindness. A girlfriend of mine let me use her boxing gloves and suggested a "playful way" to use them. That is what this story is about.

We got back to the room that evening, and I suggested we play a game. We stripped down to our undies (his boxers, my panties), and then he laced my gloves for me. I had never worn boxing gloves and they were a bit heavy. I am sure I looked funny in cherry red boxing gloves – and he was pitching a tent, if you know what I mean. By the time I finished explaining the rules, there was a bit of a wet spot on his boxers.

He would try and catch me, fuck me, whatever. And I could use my – ahem – brute strength. Well, I could at least use my boxing gloves to defend what was left of my honor. The only ground rule that he made was that I could not attach his groin area. Seemed fair.

So we started in our "corners" of the bedroom. Jim approached me, and I could see the wheels turning. How was he going to get me.

My first blow was awkward. I did not want to hurt my boyfriend. I used the side of the glove to hit the left side of his head. A glancing blow, an ineffective blow. Jim knew my heart was not in this night.

"That the best you can do, Leesa? Doesn't bother me, sweetie."

He moved towards me.

"Just easier to get inside of your pussy, that's all. I mean, it makes it easier to fuck your cunt."

Oh, how I hated that word. And I punched him – I punched Jim – in the middle of his chest. I wanted him to back off.

Not sure, but the gloves seemed to pad the punch. I thought I had punched him hard, but he was still coming.

"Hey, sweetie, you will need to hit harder to protect that sweet pussy of yours."

I hit him again, this time right on the nose. Oh, my goodness, I hit Jim, and it felt good.

I ran around to the other side of the room and jumped on the bed, and it was a bit tricky, but I regained balance. It was harder to balance with the two gloves strapped to my hands.

Jim jumped on the bed as well, although he was a little slower. The hunter can take his time, while the prey needs to be more nimble, I suppose.

"So," Jim looks at me, "you have decided to give up, lay on the bed and surrender what is mine."

Oh, he was egging me on, my bastard of a boyfriend.

I jabbed at him again, lost my balance, and tumbled off of the bed, catching myself with my padded fists.

He jumped off of the bed and caught my arms, pinning them behind my back. I could feel the coolness of the gloves on the upper portion of my legs. Then he forced me over the side of the bed, whispering in my ear, "Tag. You're it. Oh, I forgot to tag your pussy."

Each time he used the word "pussy", I was both excited and infuriated. He pins me against the bed, and rips – not removes – my panties off. It stung a little, but there was no other way for him to remove them really.

As he ripped them, I struggled to get loose, trying to hit him with my elbow. Not sure if I surprised him, or he was looking at his capture to savor the moment, but he lost balance, and I was free.

I jumped up quickly and smiled.

As I made my way to the more open part of the room, I screamed and then shut my mouth. I did not want our neighbors to know what we were up to.

Jim followed closely and I hit him again. He tackled me and I could hit him no more. My arms were pinned again, and he placed his knees on my arms. I could not move.

He then reached around and touched me there. I bucked up, but he would not budge. He was so much heavier than I was.

"I have you now. Will you come willingly?", Jim asked.

"Yes," I said, and he started to get up. I, too, arose, and I hit him again.
"You prick," I said.

Then he stumbled. I again got up on the bed – higher ground gives one an advantage, I thought.

He tacked me by my legs and I tried hitting him again. Then he pinned my arms again. Damn, I thought, he is strong.

He started swatting my bottom and saying, "Bad girl!"

He turned me over, pinning my arms again, and positioning me to accept his manhood. It took him a moment to remove his boxers, and he was ready. But I wasn't.

I stuck my butt out, then in, then out. He could not hit this moving target.

Then he grabbed a fist full of hair with one hand, taking care to keep both arms pinned with the other. "Come easy or I pull." And he tugged on my hair.

He would have pulled my hair, I knew that. So I relented. Besides, in the haste of the evening, he was unsheathed, and I did not want to be known as Mother Leesa.

By the time his penis was inside of me, I wanted it there. It took him but a moment to shoot his load inside of me – well, actually he shot into a trusty condom. But I could actually feel him so well.

Jim didn’t hit the jackpot in the casino, but he certainly did in the hotel room.