Ms. Americana gets Punched Out

- By Violator

Warning:  the following story is a violent and highly unrealistic sex fantasy.  Anyone who believes any of the events depicted herein could recreated in real life, in whole or in part  (at least without extensive discussion of consent and safety procedures first) should seek professional psychological help immediately.

Second Warning.  The following story plays as fast and loose with the rules of boxing as most villains do with Ms. Americana’s personal space. I’m here for the sex, not a point-for-point simulation. Ms. Americana is property of Mr. X.  ‘Duke Dyson’ is an original character based on absolutely no sporting figures living or dead who may or may not have criminal records yada yada yada you know the drill. Hit END for a short summary.

“Are you ready, Ms. Americana?” Duke Dyson asked.  A towering wall of black muscle, he stood tall with his golden Heavyweight Championship belt around his waist and his gloves on.  “Are you ready to face me in the ring?”

“Of course!” Ms. Americana announced haughtily. 

She stood proudly before him as Flag Girl helped tighten her gloves.  All around them in the dark and dingy boxing gym muscular thugs and trashy sluts looked on, eager to see the two champions battle.  In the far corner of the ring from both combatants a gorgeous black woman in a white-and-black striped bikini waited – their combination ring announcer and ref.  She was a professional bikini model Dyson had been attempting to seduce when Ms. Americana burst in.  Chosen more because she was the closest thing to a neutral party readily available than because of her brains or knowledge of the sport, she was biting her lip as she hurriedly thumbed through a rulebook.

 “And when I win, you’ll have to confess what you did to those young ladies,” Ms. Americana continued.  “That was our deal, right?”

“Those bitches were asking for it,” the enormous boxer sneered.  He stood before the bikini-clad heroine clad only in loose orange trunks, massive gloves, and his thick golden belt.  “But sure.  I will.”  He cast his eyes up and down her body, and grinned.  “And you ready to fulfill your half o’ the bargain if I win - slut?”

“Of course,” Ms. Americana purred.  She tested the gloves, and confirmed to her satisfaction they were on tight.  She nodded to Flag Girl.  The blonde sidekick ducked down and slipped out of the ring, assuming a nervous place behind her mentor’s corner.  “But that’s not going to happen,” Ms. Americana said, planting her gloved hands confidently on her fertile hips, beside her own smaller golden belt.  “I could beat you with both hands tied behind my back!”

“Really?” Dyson asked, raising an eyebrow.  “Are ya prepared to prove it, bitch?”

“Of course!” Ms. Americana said, again.  She lifted her chin and smirked.  “Come give it your best shot, big boy!”

The bell rang, signaling the start of the first round.  Ms. Americana remained perfectly still.  Her gloves remained planted on her hips, even as Dyson came forward with his fists raised.  With a mighty roar the huge boxer sent a devastating haymaker straight into the grinning face of his foe… and yelped as it glanced off.  .

“Ugh!” Dyson grunted.  His arm was nearly wrenched from its socket by the force of his recoiling blow.  He stumbled backward and gaped at her in shock.

“What’s the matter?” Ms. Americana purred.  Not so much as a single hair on her head had appeared to stir under his strike.  “Was that a punch?  Or did your grandma sneeze?”

“What the FUCK?” Duke growled, gripping one stinging gloved hand in the other.

“You aren’t going to do anything to me as long as I have my belt,” Ms. Americana said to him.  “I just upgraded it to make me completely invincible!  And since I specifically excluded it from our deal – it isn’t coming off no matter what!”

“We’ll see about all of that, bitch,” Duke said.  Planting both feet before the smug super-heroine, he wailed on her as if he were running a speed drill on a punching bag.  His right followed his left followed his right over and over, with blinding speed and thundering force.  Ms. Americana just smiled and stood fast under the hail of punches, completely unaffected.  The impact of his punches set her softer flesh to jiggling and her huge breasts to swaying, but she showed not the slightest sign of pain.

“Was that a light breeze?” she asked, as his fortieth punch glanced off her wobbling left breast.

“B-bitch!” was all Dyson could growl in response.  Sweat dripped down his face.

Finally, after over a hundred blows had glanced off her, Ms. Americana stuck out her glove and gave the exhausted boxer a light shove on his bare chest.  Stumbling backwards across the ring, he collapsed against his corner, arms stretched out across the ropes… just as the bell rang to end the first round.

“Aw, what’s the matter?  Baby tired?” Ms. Americana purred, mockingly.  Hands still on her hips, she spread her legs a little wider, threw back her shoulders, and smirked, feeling the whole gym’s eyes upon her.  “Thanks for giving my new belt such a thorough test, though, wimp!” she added.  “Pity it seems to have you completely outmatched.  Guess you won’t be seeing me strip, after all!”

Hanging from the ropes and panting for breath, Duke Dyson stared at her with thwarted hatred.  Then, a slow sly grin slowly spread across his dark face, to match hers.

“Actually, I will,” he said.  “It was one piece per round.  And belt or no belt bitch – each blow is still a point!  I won this round a hundred to one!”

The smirk disappeared off Ms. Americana’s face and she gaped at him in shock. 

 “Oh!  He’s right!” the clueless ref gasped, staring into her book.  “Right here – one point per strike with full force.  Which means… Ms. Americana loses the round!”

The gym rats, who had been watching in shock and awe, began instead to leer and chuckle in anticipation.  A blush slowly spread across Ms. Americana’s cheeks, and she glared at them defiantly, tossing her lustrous hair.  But she was a lady of her word.  “Fine…” she growled.  Reaching down with both gloved hands she managed, with difficulty, to work her padded thumbs into the massive crevices between the cups of her strapless bra and her extruding side-boob.  She hesitated for just a moment, gaping down with open lips at what she was about to do.  Then, with a soft gasp, she yanked down her own bra.  The huge cups popped off her titanic breasts, and the whole gym erupted in whistles as those massive flawless mammaries came out to sway and jiggle naked before them.

Lacking the manual dexterity to unclasp her own bra, Ms. Americana instead had to bend over and slowly work it, with great difficulty, over her buxom fertile hips.  Meanwhile the entire gym, especially her leering opponent, got to enjoy the sight of her tremendous mommy-fruit hanging down and wobbling back and forth directly in front of her skimpy panties.  Finally she got her bra over her hips and slid it down her mighty thighs.  Releasing it just past the tops of her boots, she stood up and looked down with open lips as it settled delicately onto the mat at her feet.  Stepping delicately out of it, Ms. Americana spread her legs to either side of it and stood tall once more, hands returning defiantly to her hips.

“Enjoy it while you can,” she said.  She thrust her massive bare rack forth with pride, as if daring the gym to get an eyeful, and looked her opponent dead in the eye.  “I won’t fall for the same trick twice,” she growled.

The bell rang for the second round, and true to her word, Ms. Americana immediately lifted her gloved hands off her hips and came strutting forward… her huge breasts swaying.  Dyson popped back up off the ropes and advanced cautiously to meet her.  But he barely got his stance up before a top-heavy blur suddenly hurtled toward him.  “Argh!” he cried as Ms. Americana’s right hook smashed his face to one side, and he stumbled backward.

But when the enraged super-heroine darted after him for a follow-up blow, the massive boxer managed to get a forearm up and block her.  He grunted in pain as his mortal muscles struggled to stop her super-powered punch – but regardless of who was hurt more it was enough to deny her a second point.  Then, while the surprised beauty recoiled backwards, off balance, he slipped his other fist below her punching arm and landed a glancing blow to her massive left breast.  It didn’t hurt her, but it still counted as a point, and even as she took a couple wary steps back, her huge breasts swaying with its impact, the gasping super-heroine clearly knew it. 

 “That belt may make ya tougher bitch,” Duke taunted her, see-sawing his massive shoulders back and forth behind his guard.  “But it don’t give ya talent!”

“We’ll see about that,” Ms. Americana growled. 

For the rest of the round the two fighters danced and traded jabs warily, playing for points.  They proved roughly matched in strength and skill.  In theory, Ms. Americana still had the advantage, since she didn’t actually feel his hits… but in practice she still fought very cautiously.  Every time she backed up after an indecisive exchange her buxom hips wiggled nervously… tingling with the knowledge that, by prior agreement, her skimpy little panties would be next to go should she lose.  But her mighty fists still made the champ groan in pain each time she did land a hit, and by the time the bell rang he was looking much the worse for wear.

Both fighters retreated at the end of the round.  Standing in her corner Ms. Americana put her hands on her hips, and glared righteously.

“You’re good,” she admitted to the heavyweight champion.  “But not good enough.  I still won by six points.”

“I counted three,” Duke said, from beneath a swelling eyesocket.  Turning his head, he spat blood.  “But yeah… you win.  Bitch.”

“Okay,” the pretty referee said, turning to him and pointing down towards his trunks with her book.  “So that means you have to strip.  Right?”

A brief rumble rose through the gym.  Ms. Americana’s eyebrows went up, and she breathed deep.  The negotiations had been for her stripping, not him.  “That’s… that’s okay…” the mighty heroine said hastily.  “He doesn’t have to.”

 “But it’s the rules,” the pretty ref said, insistently.

Looking briefly down, Ms. Americana breathed deep, licked her lips, and then looked hurriedly back up to the ref.  “No, it’s fine, I won’t make him,” she told her.

“What’s the matter, Ms. Americana?” Dyson asked.  A smile slowly spread across his lips, as his gloved hands dropped to his trunks.  “Don’t you want to see the weapon that ruined all those pretty blonde models?  Or are you scared it will turn you on?”

“Of course not!” Ms. Americana said, stridently.  She lifted her head, proudly.  “I’m not sure what ideas you have in your head, but powerful women are not attracted by the mere thought or sight of a penis, no matter how large.  Especially a super-heroine such as I.  Do you know how many-  OH, GREAT JUSTICE!!!  That’s HUUUGE!!!” she screamed. 

For as she prattled, the big boxer had just gone and yanked his pants down anyways… exposing a tremendous black member well over a foot in length before the shocked super-heroine.  Despite her words, Ms. Americana’s eyes instantly became glued to it.  “Oh, Goddess…” she whispered, as they slowly traced down its immense length.  So distracted was she by the sudden ringing in her head, that she barely heard the ringing of the next bell.

“Oh!” Ms. Americana suddenly yelped, as the huge dick came hurtling towards her… along with the rest of him.  Her face finally darted up from his penis just in time to receive his fist.

Although she had shrugged off his previous blows with apparent impunity, in truth Ms. Americana had had to brace herself to resist his momentum.  Now, unprepared, she was knocked off her feet and sent flying, wailing, through the air.  Although her flesh was unbruised and unbroken she landed flat on her back on the mat and lay there, squirming and dazed.

Then with a gasp she jerked up from the mat and rolled swiftly up onto her knees… only to freeze, mouth gaping open, as she found his huge dick dangling right in her face.  She paused a moment, eyes crossing, as she realized she was so close she could kiss it.

“Stop staring and get up here, bitch,” Duke Dyson growled.  Grabbing hold of one arm with a padded paw, he jerked her up to her feet and delivered a second blow right into her face.  Americana cried out as she was knocked away a second time.  But this time, instead of landing flat on her back, she managed to catch herself and roll up into a crouch.  Looking up at the huge boxer, who stood before her naked save for his gloves and belt, she glared.

“I wasn’t staring at it in lust,” she insisted, using a gloved hand to tuck some hair hastily back behind her head.  But her eyes couldn’t resist darting down for another quick taste.  “I was just looking for that bite mark the Swiss co-ed said she left on your penis.  You know?  The one that’s going to prove you guilty.”

“You won’t find it, cuz no matter what she say in court she was suckin’ deep like a champ,” the champ himself sneered.  “But if you want a closer look bitch, just put your hands up and surrender, and you’ll get as long and close a look as you could ever want.”

The reminder of their final terms made Ms. Americana blush, and gasp deeply.  “That’ll never happen,” she promised, getting to her feet.  “But you can dream about it in a moment – when I knock you out.”  Reforming her fists she came forward.

Though he might have briefly gotten the drop on her, Duke had still gotten the worst in the previous round… and it swiftly showed.  Managing to keep her eyes mostly off his dick Ms. Americana was able to repeatedly swat aside his defenses and land body blows.  The champ groaned as his insides got worked again and again by her belt-enhanced might. 

But despite his predicament, he was still a virile male in close proximity to an exceptionally buxom and barely-covered woman.  What came naturally happened swiftly enough.  In the midst of darting low and forward for another punch, Ms. Americana gasped as she felt something hard and thick brush against her bouncing right breast.  Unable to help herself, she turned her head down and gaped in awe at the sight of his huge erect penis jostling between her breasts.

The momentary distraction gave Dyson a chance to twist his shoulders out of the way of her blow… which came with the additional compensation of making his penis rub and slide deliciously between his foe’s gigantic silky-soft jugs.  Carried on by her momentum, Americana slammed into him chest-first.  Too worn down to do anything else, Duke put his arms around her back and hugged her close, trapping her in a clench.

“Oh! Goddess!” Americana gasped as she found herself clutched tight to him, so close that if she wanted she could have lifted her luscious lips up and given the disgusting boxer a kiss.  She struggled, trying to pull away, but despite her belt her foe’s massive arms were strong enough to keep her pinned tight.  Her gloved hands tapped uselessly against his back.  All her struggles accomplished was to make her enormous breasts caress deliciously back and forth across Duke Dyson’s sweaty appreciative chest.  “Let… let me go!” Ms. Americana gasped, sounding more like a schoolgirl than a super-heroine.

It was the referee’s job to break the two up at this point and restart the fight.  But the pretty ref was either ignorant of this, or too busy standing to one side and watching in awe to care.

Within the clench, Duke twisted a bloody puffy lip into a sneer.  “Admit it super-heroine… you like this…” he said down into her gasping gorgeous face.  And, ever so slightly he pushed his hips forward, sliding his huge penis up against surface of her sleekly curved panties.  Twitching with pleasure, his big black cock throbbed and leaked a little precum as it slowly slid back and forth across her sheer red-white-and-blue-clad crotch.  Americana’s eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped open, as she felt his immense length caressing against her flesh.

“That… that’s not true!” she hissed up at him stridently.  And yet somehow, in the process of her struggles, her mighty thighs crossed and then slowly pushed her buxom panty-clad hips closer to him.  His huge erect penis slowly bent backward under the press of her body, its veiny underside rubbing hard against the curvaceous surface of her panties.  Such was its immense length that its hard tip was soon grazing back and forth teasingly against the undersides of her chest-buffing breasts.

Between her legs, barely visible beneath the shadowy contours of her ass, a tiny trickle of moisture slid out of Ms. Americana’s tender panty-clad mound and ran down her thigh.

Fortunately for both gasping females, at that very moment the bell rang.  Sneering down into her face, Dyson gave Ms. Americana’s voluptuous body one last squeeze against his chest… and then relaxed his arms and let her go.

Backing up hastily, Ms. Americana retreated to the center of the ring.  Lifting a gloved hand, she gasped as she fixed her hair.  Then she spread her legs wide… and slowly smirked.

“Another round to me,” she announced.  She looked her exhausted huffing opponent in the eyes… with only a tiny downward glance at his still-erect dick.  “You’ll have to take off that belt this time,” she said, pointing to the golden championship belt.  Her smirk broadened cruelly.  “But that’s okay – I think it’s clear you don’t deserve it anyways!”

Looking her up and down, Dyson spotted the lone trickle of moisture running its way down her thigh.  His eyes followed it for a few seconds.  Then, slowly, his lips twisted into a smirk to match hers.

“Not quite, bitch,” he said.  “I knocked you down.  Twice.”

“Yes.  So?” Ms. Americana asked, lifting her chin petulantly.

“So by club rules that’s twenty points.  I win the round.”

For once, the little referee was on the right page already.  “Oh!” she gasped, eyes lighting up.  “He’s right!”  She turned the tiny booklet helpfully toward the gaping super-heroine.

“What’ the matter, heroine?” Duke teased, as she gaped at the club rulebook in shock.  “Scared?”

Ms. Americana turned and, for several seconds, glared silently into his face.  Her massive tits, still dripping with his sweat, bounced in front of his chest.  Then her face slowly twisted into a snarl.

“Fine!” she spat.

And, as the entire gym whooped at her with glee, the buxom heroine slowly bent over at the waist.  She gasped, looking down, her curvaceous hips wiggling back and forth in the air, as she struggled to get her padded thumbs through the hips of her panties.  Finally managing it, she worked the tiny garment up over her ample ass and slid them slowly down her squirming shapely thighs.  Depositing them around her booted ankles, she stood and slipped one ankle from them.  Then, standing on one long and sculpted leg, she lifted the other up behind her and, with some difficulty, managed to pick the tiny, twisted, rolled-up little garment off her high-heeled foot.

“Here, take them you… pig!” she said, reaching out with one hand, her tiny panties dangling from between her heavily padded fingers and thumb.  With a revolted look upon her blushing face, she tossed her bikini bottom into the center of the ring.  It landed on the mat and lay in a tiny twisted forlorn heap, directly between them.

“Thanks, bitch!” Dyson laughed.

A deep ring of chuckles rose from the gym rats all around the ring.  For several seconds, Ms. Americana could only gasp and squirm, gloved hands sliding across her flesh in a useless attempt to cover every exposed inch of her ample charms.  Then, getting a hold of herself, she forced her gloved hands down to rest on either side of her buxom bare hips… and slowly formed them into fists.  Lifting her head high, she gave her foe and his men a stern and cold expression as if daring them to enjoy her body.

“Go ahead and get a good look,” she said, haughtily, and completely unnecessarily.  She looked Dyson in the eye.  “Enjoy it while you can.  Because you have nine more rounds and I have nothing left to strip.  There’s no way you’ll last the distance.”  Her lips twisted into a cruel smirk.  “Your only chance is a knockout.  And thanks to my belt – you’ll never get one!”

The words struck true enough to wipe the leer off Duke’s battered face.  Seconds later, the bell rang.  Appearing utterly confident despite her jiggling nudity, Ms. Americana slowly raised her fists, and grinned almost evilly.

Groaning, Duke lurched away from the ropes and raised his own fists.  He immediately gaped in shock to find her hurtling at him, fist raised and a high-pitched battle cry, in a complete inversion of her previously defensive tactics.  Lurching to one side he managed to dodge her charge, barely, but Ms. Americana flew past unhurt and then whirled to face him again.

“You have no chance,” she exulted.  “You’re trapped in here with me.  I’m the predator… and you’re my prey!”

She darted forward and unleashed a furious offense upon him.  Dyson bobbed and weaved backwards, managing to barely escape blow after devastating blow, but the exhausted boxer was starting to stumble and had no idea how long he could keep it up.  ‘I have to turn the tables on this bitch quick…’ he thought.  ‘But how?’  Then, suddenly, a crazy idea came into his head.  Glancing down quickly, he got his bearings… but that gave her just enough opening to land a thudding blow into his chest.

“Ugh!” he grunted, stumbling backwards.  Shaking his head, he looked up to find Americana bouncing across the ring from him, an eager grin on her face.  Raising his own fists again, Duke circled warily, looking at her with apparent fear.  He glanced down repeatedly, though whether out of lust or terror was hard to say.  Grinning, Ms. Americana circled as well, luscious naked ass jiggling spectacularly with her every step.  Then, stopping, Dyson lowered his fists slightly.

“You think you got me, Ms. Americana?” he said.  He raised his chin up as if in invitation.  “Then come and take me, bitch!”

Eyes glittering, Ms. Americana allowed herself one last lingering look up and down his massive black body, taking in the muscles and the huge penis that would momentarily lie prostrate at her feet.  She licked her lips and grinned.  “Gladly!” she said, and darted forward.

Her muscular curvaceous body bounded forward with flawless grace and power.  Letting out a glorious battle cry, Ms. Americana raised a fist and prepared to bring it smashing down onto his unguarded face.

Then her mighty cry suddenly transformed into a shriek of shock as her thundering feet suddenly snapped together and vanished out from under her.  Her ankles, unbeknownst to her, had stepped into and fettered themselves with the still-clasped loop of her own bra.  Duke Dyson, in his circling, had carefully placed it exactly one stride-length before her. 

Grinning evilly, Dyson stepped to one side… exposing the turnbuckle to the gaping heroine’s hurtling face.

Preceded by a loud cry that cut off sharply into a thud, Ms. Americana’s face slammed into the corner of the ring.  Her belt might protect her flesh, but could do nothing against the momentum and whiplash as her entire body drove in behind her, bending her moaning head back.  Recoiling off the post she lurched upwards, turned, and collapsed back against it.  Her trembling legs stretched out onto the mat, she struggled to keep upright as her dazed head groaned and wobbled.  So distracted was she by the stars bursting in front of her vision she barely even saw Duke coming to loom over her.

“Alright, bitch,” he said.  Bending down, he suddenly put both arms beneath her thighs and lifted them up.  “Let’s see how you deal with this knockout blow…”  And pushing his hips forward, he pressed the tip of his enormous penis to the sopping gates of her pussy.

Ms. Americana’s gaped up at him in shock, her jaw dropping.  “You… you can’t do this…” she said.  But she was still too dazed for her body to do anything but tremble before him.  “It’s illegal!”

“Hey, Ref,” Dyson called.  “There a rule against hitting my opponent below the belt… with my dick?”

“Nah,” the referee said.  She had the spine of the book pressed to her full gaping lips as she spoke.  Beneath her bra, her model-perfect breasts were visibly excited.  Down lower, from the crotch of her skimpy black and white striped bikini panties, a trickle of shimmering moisture leaked out onto her thigh.   “Nah,” she said, pretty eyes blinking wide, “I didn’t see one…”

An exultant smirk slowly spread across Duke Dyson’s lips.  Gaping up at him, Ms. Americana’s eyes went wider and wider.  “No!” she gasped.  “No, no, you can’t-”

“Ref’s rule is final!” the champ laughed.  He slammed his hips forward, delivering a mighty blow deep inside Ms. Americana’s pussy.

“Oh, GODDESSS!” Ms. Americana screamed as his huge dick rammed deep up into her.

Grinding his huge penis inside her cunt, Dyson exulted in the feel of his enemy’s tight hot snatch wiggling all around him.  Lifting each of her booted ankles with his gloves, he hooked them over the top of the ropes, hanging her up with her thighs spread wide.  Then Dyson grabbed the ropes to either side of her tits, and using their leverage, he began slamming viciously and repeatedly into her.  Hanging from the ropes, Ms. Americana could only squeal and scream as a far larger and more brutal force than she had ever felt pounded away inside her pussy.  Outside, the entire watching audience, including both the ref and gasping helpless Flag Girl, could see the champion’s huge penis slamming wildly in and out of the Queen of Justice’s snatch… and see just how unprepared the quivering, squirting, sopping Cunt of Justice was to handle it.

“DING!” the bell finally sounded, after two solid minutes of furious pounding up Ms. Americana’s pussy.  Grunting gleefully, Dyson delivered a last few slamming thrusts deep into her depths, but no one, not the ref, not even screaming Ms. Americana herself, was inclined to call him on it.  Then with a great groan he pulled out his massive, ooze-dripping member and stepped away.

Shuddering, Ms. Americana slowly sunk to the ground.  Her long muscular legs trembled, as she nearly slumped all the way until her ass brushed the mat.  Then, with a groan, she pushed up and, putting a hand to her ringing head, stumbled into the center of the ring.

“You… you beast…” she muttered, putting a hand down to her naked, buxom belly, just above her drooling violated pussy.  “How… how COULD you?!”

“What’s wrong, bitch?” he laughed.  “Ref’s rule is final, remember?”  Reaching out, he gave the luscious ref a little swat on her black-and-white-striped ass.  She squeaked, and blushed, but made no effort to reverse her decision.  “Or are you gonna wimp out, now that I actually found where you were vulnerable?  If so, feel free to fall to your knees and admit your mistake… with your lips around my penis.”

“N-never!” Ms. Americana cried.  Pulling her sweat-tousled hair behind her head, she whirled to face him, put her hands upon her hips, lifted her head high, and glared imperiously.  “Ms. Americana never backs down!” she promised her smirking foe.  “No matter what indignity you inflict on me – sexual or otherwise – I will defeat you in the end and force you to confess!”

On cue the bell rang again, starting the next round.

“Well, then, bitch, come and get it,” Duke sneered.

“I will!” she said.

Taking her gloved hands off her hips, she took a bold and imperious step forward.  The moment her boot touched down, she let out a large gasp as her trembling legs nearly collapsed underneath her, her broad buxom hips wiggling desperately.  “Oh, Great Justice!” she cried, forlornly, as she found herself swaying this way then that, her busty top-heavy body moments from toppling ingloriously to the mat.

“Ha ha ha!” Duke Dyson laughed, pointing at her.  “I fucked you so hard you can’t even walk!  God damn, you’re a slut!”

“No!” Ms. Americana cried out in denial… even as her luscious violated hips continued to quake unstably beneath her.  “That-that’s not possible!”

“Believe it, bitch!” Dyson laughed.  And, not wasting another second, he darted suddenly forward.  Caught with her defenses down, Ms. Americana gasped, but couldn’t get her fists up in time.  But instead of throwing a punch, Duke eagerly slammed into a clinch with the gaping, huge-breasted beauty… his massive rock-hard schlong sliding right up between her trembling legs to press against the dripping entrance to her pussy.

“Oh, my Goddess!” Ms. Americana cried.  All thoughts of her destabilized hips fled from her, and she gaped up into his looming face in horror.

“You felt my uppercut, bitch,” he sneered down into her gorgeous face.  “And it nearly destroyed you.  Now feel my fucking JABS!”

And, gripping tight to her shoulders with his gloves, he slammed his mammoth penis up into her snatch as hard as he could.

“Oh, my GODDD!!!” Ms. Americana screamed, her head shooting back and gaping at the roof in shock as his massive, rock-hard member slid deep inside her.  Taking a firm grip upon her, he started to pound his cock in and out of her over-stretched cunt as fast and hard as his hips could push.  Meanwhile, the ref could only stand back, mouth agape and her lovely body trembling, and watch.

“Agggghh!” Ms. Americana squealed, head thrashing back and forth as he ravaged her snatch.  “Oh, God!  You can’t do this!  You can’t do this!  Not to MEEE!!!”

“Ha!  Fuck you, bitch!” Dyson said, doing just that.  “You was happy to beat me up when you was invulnerable.”  He slowed down, punctuating each and every word with a devastating thrust.  “Now.  I.  Found.  Your.  Weak.  Point.  You.  Fucking.  TAKE.  IT.  THERE.  BITCH!!!”

“Oh!  Oh!  OH!” Ms. Americana moaned, as her pussy got wrecked by Dyson’s pile-driving penis.  Trapped in his clench, her buxom body wiggled and jiggled helplessly under the continuous rain of thrusts.  Her huge bare breasts batted and stroked almost playfully against his massive chest… forming, humiliatingly, the only return strokes the stunned super-heroine managed to mount.  Her gleaming boots squirmed and shook to either side of his feet as he wailed away up the defenseless cavity between her long and sleekly muscular legs.

Finally, mercifully, the bell rang again.

“Ha ha ha!  I fucked you for the whole round, bitch!” Duke laughed into the super-heroine’s stunned face… and, taking a firm grip on her shoulders from below he rammed one last devastating thrust up into her tight, wet, churning pussy.  Then, with a long relaxed sigh, he slid out and let his tired penis dangle out and rest for a few seconds.

Hips still wobbling and shaking, Ms. Americana stumbled backwards.  Holding her head she moaned, her eyes seeing literal and metaphorical stars.

“Ha ha ha!” Dyson laughed at her.  “You seen the light, slut?  You ready to fall down, spread your legs, and beg me for more?”

But when Ms. Americana’s dazed head lifted up, it was set into a snarl.

“NEVER!” she promised.  Her face dripping with sweat, she tilted her head back and glared down upon him with her eyes on fire like a vengeful goddess.  “I will punish you for what you have done!  Both to me, and to every other woman your penis has ever tamed and defiled!”

Dyson smirked.  He held his massive arms out to either side.  “Bring it, bitch,” he said.

The bell rang again.  Ms. Americana growled.

With a deeply fuck-devastated quiver still running through her buxom aching hips, she knew that fancy footwork was likely beyond her.  But she still had her belt, and with it all the superior strength and power she could want.  So, as the fading echoes of the bell still rang in her ears, she threw one glove up and, face growling like a lion, she charged.  Her buxom, juice-leaking hips wiggled like an earthquake was going through their silky flesh, but still managed to bound powerfully forward.  Howling forth the fury of the cosmos from her lips, she hurled her mighty fist forward in a blow that no mortal man could possibly block, or sustain.

Grinning, Dyson ducked.

“Oh, Great JUSTICCE!” Americana cried as her invincible punch hurtled right over his head.  Moments later her careening body slammed right into the ropes.  As she goggled and sprayed spittle they bent waaaay out under her ponderous jiggling weight, creaking under the strain.  Then they snapped back, lobbing the wailing super-heroine bouncily back across the ring.  She landed against the far ropes and slumped against them, head spinning and dazed.  Slowly, groaning heavily, she slid down until her buxom ass rested on the mat.

Wasting not a moment, Dyson hurtled up off his feet and lunged after her in a single bounding leap.  Seizing one slender booted ankle, he wrenched it high up on one side, and then, grabbing the other, did the same with it.  Her head still wobbling and seeing stars, Ms. Americana still managed to gasp as she felt her buxom hips lift up off the floor.  Acting on instinct as she felt herself wobbling precariously, both her mighty arms reached out and seized hold of the ropes to either side, stabilizing herself.  Then, as her dizzied head slowly cleared, she gasped as she found herself propped against the top rope, her long mighty legs spread… and Dyson towering between them, looming over her like a dark and masterful god.

“You’ve felt my uppercut, and my jab…” the huge boxer said.  Slowly, the tip of his gigantic, rock-hard penis pressed once more to the drooling lips of her pussy.  Ms. Americana gasped, her eyes suddenly going wide.  “Now,” he said, “feel my fucking HAYMAKER, BITCH!”  And, screaming out with release, Duke Dyson sent his hips slamming forward, driving his mammoth schlong deep deep deep inside her pussy.

“Oh, GODDDD!!!” Ms. Americana screamed.

The force of his wrecking-ball-like thrust caused her to rise up bodily.  Suspended upon the top rope, her body bounced high upon the follow-through of his thrust, as her stunned face flew back, leaking spit, and squealed.  Then, drawn by the elastic power of the ropes she came hurtling back down… straight into another brutal thrust.  Then another, and another, and another.

“AIIIIEEEE!!!” Ms. Americana screamed, eyes wide and wild, as she got fucked like never before.

Soon, her sloshing bouncing body was hurtling up and down almost entirely based on the pendulously elastic force exerted by the ropes, to which her own mighty muscles desperately clung.  Dyson’s titanic penis acted merely as the guide rail up and down which her helpless, overstretched, and superhumanly well-lubricated snatch was furiously demolished.  His hips slammed in hard with each stroke, keeping her going, but Dyson himself merely threw his head back, a heavenly smile upon his lips, and groaned with exultant pleasure.

Finally, suddenly and without warning, Dyson seized the undersides of Ms. Americana’s shapely glistening thighs, and hoisted the gasping heroine bodily from the ropes.  Ms. Americana could only gape down into his leering face in stunned, mind-melted awe, as he carried her into the center of the ring and suddenly slammed her down onto her back.  The referee stood to one side, her jaw hanging open, the tiny rulebook having long since fallen from her limp and delicate fingers.

Leaning over Ms. Americana, Dyson kept her pinned to the ground and leered down into her face.  “How invincible do you feel now, slut?” he asked.

Ms. Americana could only gurgle softly in response.  His face loomed over her in easy reach of a punch.  But her gloved hands could only scrape and claw at the mat, as power and passion coursed through her.  She licked her lips, eyes wide, head shuddering.  “So… so… biigggg…” she whimpered, softly.

“That I am, bitch, that I am!” Dyson purred.  He grinned.  “Let’s finish this!”

Keeping her ankles pinned to the ground to either side of her face, with her ass lifted up in the air and his dick still in her pussy, Dyson slooowly pulled out until only his tip remained inside her.  Then, biting his lip, he carefully angled his dick until it was tilted down, its point facing up towards the front wall of her quivering sloppy hole.

“Prepare for my finishing move, tramp,” he sneered down into her face.

Eyes going wide, Ms. Americana gasped.  “No… no you can’t…”

With a roar of fury and triumph, Duke sent his mammoth member slamming into her with every ounce of strength he could muster.  Ms. Americana’s pussy, excited and sensitized by round after tiring round of brutal fucking, was utterly defenseless before his onslaught.  His massive veiny shaft rocketed down, careening hard against the entire upper wall of her cunt, slamming like a runaway train up against her clitoris and g-spot. With a hard jerk he suddenly pounded to a stop, utterly immersed in her wiggling overstretched cunt.  Moments later his enormous balls slapped down hard against her ass, bounced back… and, with explosive force, unleashed a titanic cannon-blast of sperm down into her fertile and unprotected depths.

For just a moment, Ms. Americana’s jaw dropped open and she was absolutely silent.  Then her eyes slowly rolled back in her head.  “Oh, Goddess…” she murmured.  As cum started to spurt from her over-engorged slit her buxom hips started to squirm and shake helplessly.  “Oh, Goddess…  Oh, GODDESSS!!!” she said, her voice rising rapidly into a scream.  “I’M… I’MM CUMMMINNNGGG!!!”  Wiggling helplessly upon her foe’s cum-spewing cock, Ms. Americana squealed again and again.  “Oh, yes!  Oh, Goddess yes!  You’re the Champ!  You- you’re the CHAMPIONNNNN!!!”

Then her eyes became wide and lost, her pupils tilted toward the top of her head, and Ms. Americana lost the power of speech entirely.  All she could do was scream.

Having deposited his massive load inside her, Dyson slowly pulled out of Ms. Americana.  Her luscious body wiggled limply against him, like a ragdoll. When he released her, she collapsed to lie spread eagled and still at his feet.  Standing over her, he let out a last few dollops of cum from his tired but satisfied penis, splattering them across her belt and her flat belly.  She didn’t react, even as his semen dribbled down off her belt to pool in her navel.

Rushing over with a gasp, the pretty referee crouched down and put a hand over Ms. Americana’s mouth.  “She… she’s still breathing!” she said, relieved.  She looked up at Dyson, eyes wide with awe.

“You know what you got to do now,” Duke told her.

The black beauty blinked up at him for a moment, confused.  Then, with a gasp, she turned her head down.  She squirmed slightly in consternation, her own voluptuous female body jiggling in its skimpy black-and-white-striped bikini.  Then, biting her lip, she slowly lowered one hand to the mat, raised it slightly … and started to count.

“One,” she said slowly, slapping the mat beside Ms. Americana’s head.  There was no response.  So, raising her delicate hand, she paused for a brief second and then continued.  “Two,” she said.  “Three,” she added, slapping the mat each time.

Ms. Americana let out a tiny moan, her buxom mighty body stirring.

“Four.  Five.”

Ms. Americana’s arm muscles tensed visibly.  Upon the mat beside her buxom hips, her gloved hands twitched and then formed into fists.

“Seven…”

Slowly, the Queen of Justice’s long and powerful legs lifted from the mat, bent up, and braced themselves against it.  Propping herself up on her elbows, with a gasp Ms. Americana slowly lifted her gorgeous head.

“Eight…”

Looking down her body, through the jiggling gap between her tremendous bare breasts Ms. Americana saw her pussy.  Her lips pulled into a grimace, and she snarled.  Before her eyes a large dollop of Dyson’s slimy cum oozed out of her ravaged pussy lips and dribbled down, swiftly, towards the base of her bubble-shaped ass.

“You beast!” Ms. Americana hissed, staring at her cum-leaking pussy in disbelief.  “You… animal!

 “Nine…” the referee said, softly, as her hand slapped down beside the seething super-heroine.

With a bellow of rage, Ms. Americana started to rise.  But, with her very first move, her boots trembled, slid… and then suddenly slipped out across the mat.  With a ragged groan, the Queen of Justice collapsed to lie flat on her back and trembled uselessly.

“Ten,” the referee said.  Her hand came down to slap the mat beside Ms. Americana’s face, and stayed there.

“Ohhh…” Ms. Americana whimpered.  Her gorgeous masked face gasped and quivered with what looked, undeniably, like pleasure.  Her pretty eyes blinked wide.  “Oh… what a stud!” she moaned.  Then, with a last tiny shudder, successfully pounded into submission, Ms. Americana closed her eyes and lay still.

Slowly, the referee stood up and looked down upon the prostrate super-heroine.  “Miss… Miss Americana has been knocked out!” the referee declared, barely able to believe it herself.

Silence reigned for several seconds.  A gorgeous woman sitting adjacent to the timekeeper raised a trembling pen over her clip-board, and in a tiny voice asked, “What… what result should I put in the club records?”

The referee licked her lips, running her eyes in awe over the sprawled cum-leaking Queen of Justice.  “Put…” she said, “put Punched Out… Inside of her Pussy.”  Leaning against the ropes, Duke Dyson grinned, rubbed his gloved fingers across his sweaty chest, and then blew on them.

Finally, getting over their shock, the watching audience erupted into hoots and whistles and cheers.  Flag Girl moaned as she suddenly found herself swarmed by Dyson’s gleeful criminal club-mates.  Before she knew what was happening her belt had been ripped away and her hands dragged behind her back and bound.  Squirming in her bikini, the voluptuous teen glanced down… and found, with a soft gasp, that though not quite an equal of the champ, her new captors were still quite well equipped to deliver a similar treatment.  The gorgeous teen sidekick put up remarkably little struggle as she was led away towards a private training room, so that the horny club-mates could begin celebrating their victory.

The cheers and whistles washed over the buxom naked body of the fallen female champion.  She didn’t stir.  Other than the rise and fall of her huge breasts under her shallow breath, the only other movement in her entire body was a tiny twitching in her mighty shapely thighs… as, between them, a continuous oozing waterfall of Duke Dyson’s cum poured from her pussy.  Spreading out between her legs it was already forming a small lake upon the mat… a tiny fraction of the enormous quantities of potent sperm her victorious opponent had shot into her fertile and unprotected womb.

Finally, the cheers and sounds of revelry caused Ms. Americana to moan, and squirm.  Slowly, she picked herself up and rested on her knees.  Then she gasped, her head slowly tilting upwards, as she Dyson standing before her.  The referee was standing beside him, her hand around his wrist.  The way she was licking her lips, her gorgeous eyes flickering up and down his towering body, Ms. Americana’s wasn’t the only pussy that was going to get pounded that night.

“Do you contest the result, Ms. Americana?” Dyson asked.

Ms. Americana squirmed upon her haunches at his feet.  His cum still leaked from her gaping pussy.  The giant puddle of his seed was directly between her kneeling boots.  Streamers of sticky oozing cum dribbled down directly from her pussy into the pool, while others ran in trickling streamers down her thighs.  From a distant room she heard muffled, high-pitched squeals of devastated female pleasure that she knew, instinctively, were Flag Girl’s.  Elsewhere around the room, every other woman present was stripping off her clothes and desperately soliciting the remaining men for sex.  The gym all around her had become the scene of an orgy – an orgy to honor her humiliation and conquest. 

Having taken it all in, at last Ms. Americana’s gorgeous face returned to her foe.  Her eyes blinked up at him.  Then, with a tiny moan, Ms. Americana suddenly came down onto all fours.  Her breasts squeezed between her arms, her head craned out to bring her quivering lips within an inch of her foe’s waiting, dripping penis.  She paused for a moment, gasping, her breath tickling the waiting glans.  He was huge but limp, a trickling remnant of cum drooling from his mammoth tip.  She closed her eyes, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

“You win,” she whispered.  Bowing her head, she awarded the tip of her foe’s giant black penis a delicate, lingering kiss.  Then she drew back.  “I… I believe you… those lying sluts… wanted… wanted everything you did to them…” she whispered.  She punctuated each phrase with a few delicate laps of her tongue against his enormous, wobbling head.  Slowly, the laps of her superb tongue began to make his huge well-serviced penis swell once more.  She moaned as she watched it rise.  Settling back onto her squishy haunches, Americana gaped at, half in awe and half in dismay.  Then she blushed.

“I know…,” she whispered, staring at his re-ascended penis, “because…  because I wanted every second of it, too!”  Then, unable to help herself, Ms. Americana surged up onto her knees, put her hands on his legs, and, opening her lips wide, wrapped them around her foe’s tremendous penis.  She shuddered, eyes growing wide and wild as for the first time she felt his immense girth between her luscious upper lips, and not her ravaged lower ones.  Then, moaning, slurping worshipfully, she began to bob her noble masked head furiously up and down his mammoth length.

“Good enough for you, ref?” Dyson asked, sneering as he enjoyed the super-heroine’s succulent blowjob.

The referee gaped down at the sucking super-heroine in awe.  Her hand wrapped around his wrist trembled.  Then, slowly, she raised his wrist high.

“The victor, and still champion… Duke Dyson!” the referee squealed.  Down below, as it got slurped and sucked, Dyson’s huge triumphant penis also rose higher and higher as it fully hardened once more.  Moaning softly, eyes wide and leaking tears of utter and shameful defeat, the naked Ms. Americana nevertheless lifted her head along with it, mirroring the referee’s hand in the acknowledgement of his total victory, as she continued worshipfully to suck.

Epilogue:

“You’ll never get away with this!” Got Gal gasped furiously.  Her mighty ultra-buxom body was dripping with sweat.  “I’ll force you to confess what you did to Ms. Americana, and release her from your mind control!”

“That may be, bitch,” Dyson said, leaning lazily back against the ropes.  There wasn’t a scratch or drop of sweat on him.  “But yo ass just lost another round.  You know what that means.”  Got Gal gasped, blushing, and looked away.  Already her cape and heels lay scattered around the ring, leaving the mighty heroine in naught but mask, bra, and panties.  “But speaking of – hey, Ring Slut – get that fat ass movin’ and earn your keep!”

Ms. Americana let out a defiant growl and glared at him… but moments later, her body moving lusciously, she obeyed.  Climbing up into the ring, she lifted up a large sign bearing the letter 4.  Then, her ass swaying seductively in the air and her body jiggling pneumatically, she began to strut back and forth between the two combatants, holding her sign aloft.  Unable to meet her conquered friend’s eyes, Got Gal looked away with a gasp, blushing.  Then, making her decision, the busty blonde heroine slowly bent low at the waist… and began, with great difficulty, to work her padded thumbs into the hips of her tiny panties.

Turning in the far corner, Ms. Americana briefly surveyed her smirking conqueror to one side, and to the other, her best friend struggling to strip herself.  Despite herself, a blush and a gasp briefly tarnished her haughty face.

Her Ring Girl costume, humiliatingly, was almost completely unchanged from her super-heroine one.  She still wore the same mask, gloves, and skimpy bikini as before.  But her proud boots had been replaced with six-inch fuck-me heels, which made her legs and ass sway sluttily before her audience with each and every precarious step.  Long, then silver fetters bound her ankles and wrists together, more symbols of her subjugation than practical restraints – of which she needed none.  And her belt, of course, was missing. 

Unbeknownst to Got Gal, it now lay within the championship belt Duke wore around his waist.  Brenda Wade had modified it for her new lord to work upon his physique, rendering him invulnerable.  Though she didn’t know it yet, Got Gal was doomed.  In no time, Americana knew, her long-time ally would lie naked and defeated upon the mat beneath her feet, Duke Dyson’s cum leaking from her conquered pussy.  And she would not be first, or even the second or third.  Even now, in the palatial penthouse she had bought him, Jungle Babe and Omega Woman sat naked in a swirling hot tub.  Bikinis hung up behind them like trophies, the two defeated heroines waited, lips and bodies aching with desire to give their champion and his penis their now-traditional tender congratulations for yet another flawless victory.

In truth, Ms. Americana felt the same urges.  The prospect of witnessing her best friend’s impending, humiliating defeat set her pussy to gushing.  But she wasn’t allowed to show those emotions.  Instead, as she strutted back across the ring, sign lifted high, Ms. Americana kept her lips peeled back in a sultry snarl.  Even as her ass strutted sexily for their pleasure, the defeated super-heroine cast her gorgeous face to one side and the other, and gave the hooting men all around her a series of dangerous and threatening glares.

Finally getting her gloves through her panties, Got Gal moaned softly… and then, even as Ms. Americana’s own ass strutted by, she bent even lower and slowly worked them up and over her luscious fertile ass.  Strutting on past her stripping friend, Ms. Americana gasped, licking her lips, as the trickle of moisture within her skimpy panties suddenly became a flood.  She ached for the devastation that was to come… when she would once again have it proven for her, graphically, violently, and very very sexually, that she had been defeated by a true and unassailable champion.

SUMMARY:  Ms. Americana fights in a boxing match against Duke Dyson, a boxer and accused rapist, with the wager that should she win he must confess and if he wins she must strip and suck.  Over the course of the match she is forced to strip off her bikini, doing so with great difficulty thanks to her gloves, while he also loses his trunks.  In danger of losing, the boxer manages to trick Ms. Americana into charging head-first into a turnbuckle, rendering her dazed.  He asks the ref if there’s a rule against hitting below the belt with his penis, and when informed she doesn’t know of one, he slams home despite Americana’s protests.  Proving much less invulnerable inside, Ms. Americana gets fucked brutally and finished with a devastating haymaker into her pussy.  The ref slowly counts down to ten as Ms. Americana lies prostrate on the mat, and then declares the heroine punched out via her pussy.  Recovering, the mighty heroine kneels at her conqueror’s feet and sucks his dick while the ref raises his arm in victory.  In an epilogue, a snarling but tame Americana is forced to serve as the strutting Ring Girl for a series of bouts in which Dyson uses similar terms, and his supposed mind control over her, to lure, strip and tame her fellow super-heroines.