Golden Gloves

Author's Note: A lot of people are going to read this story and say that it's a sick story and that I'm a sick fuck. They're right of course – it is a sick story and I am a sick fuck. Furthermore, the premise of the story seems entirely insane. But so what? It's a work of fiction! People are insane! Get over it!

Just so you know, I would never treat a woman (or a man for that matter) in the manner depicted in this story. Nor do I condone racism. Having said that however, I do admit to having a hell of a good time writing this story. So if you're not completely satisfied, feel free to send it back.

I used to be quite a fan of boxing back when I was young. When you come from an Italian family, grow up in a working class neighborhood, and are devoted to your older brother, I guess that's to be expected. My brother learned how to box at the local gym, and by the time I was a teenager, he would let me tag along.

It wasn't long before I became the gym's resident gopher. The guys would ask me to fetch water or towels, and smile when I came running. I wasn't stupid though. I knew why they were smiling. I matured very early in my teens, and had developed some very huge tits. When I went running to fetch things, the guy's eyes were invariably pinned to my chest. Out of respect for my brother though, the guys only flirted with me occasionally - usually out of his earshot.

As time went by, my brother, Jason, got to be pretty good at boxing. I would go watch him fight, and he almost always won. He didn't let it go to his head. But as it turns out, I was cocky enough for the both of us. That's what got me into trouble.

My brother had been selected to fight in a match at a gym across town, and I, of course, went along to see him fight. I got there early, in case the club needed my help, and being the gopher, I was sent to a car to retrieve some equipment. As I was coming back across the parking lot, a guy there spoke to me.

"Hey little girl. You here to watch me fight?"

"Fuck off asshole," I told him.

"Now is that any way for a pretty girl to talk to a future champion?" he asked taking hold of my arm.

"If you don't let go of me," I told him, "my brother's gonna kick your ass."

"Well now, just who is this brother of yours?" he asked, laughing.

When I told him, he laughed some more. "That's the guy I'm scheduled to fight," he told me. Now I looked at him more closely. He was a black guy, insolent lips, long eye lashes. He had a broad chest, with muscles that seemed about to explode from his clothes. A muscle in his face twitched and the corner of his mouth rose in a smirk. "Well now, maybe you and I should place a bet on this match" he said with a chuckle.

I felt a moment of fear, looking at his imposing size, but of course the fear just made me angry. "You don't stand a chance against my brother," I told him.

"Well now, if you're so sure of that, perhaps you'd like to bet something on it ... like a feel of your knockers, perhaps?" he asked mockingly.

"Sure, I'll bet a feel of my knockers, as long as I can kick you in the balls if you loose!" I snapped back. I couldn't believe I had said that. No sooner were the words out of my mouth then I wanted to take them back.

"Well then, it's a bet," he said right back. "Be here tomorrow night at eight so you can pay up," he said to me over his shoulder as he strode away.

I watched my brother fight that night with a sinking weight in my chest. The black guy's name was Luther Wood, and from the very first, I could see he was better than Jason. For the entire first round, he danced around my brother, landing a jab every time Jason missed with his. He had tremendous hand speed that my brother couldn't match. Still, I knew how strong my brother was. If Jason could land just one good blow, he might be able to beat this guy.

As the two of them sat down between rounds, the black guy's eyes met mine. His trainer was speaking into his ear, but I'm not sure if Luther was hearing him. His eyes just kept boring into me, which only served to compound my nervousness.

About 30 seconds into the second round, Luther decided to end the fight. He sidestepped a left hook from my brother, and came in with a right uppercut that caught my brother square in the jaw. It lifted my brother practically off his feet and laid him out cold on the floor.

I was, of course, stunned. I ran to ringside, watching as the doctor brought my brother around with smelling salts. The doctor checked Jason over and then got him to his feet. It looked like he was going to be alright.

I turned and stared at Luther. "Tomorrow," was all he said to me. Then he headed off to the locker room.

For the next 24 hours, I was a mess. I didn't tell a soul about the bet I'd made with Luther. Had I really agreed to a bet, I kept asking myself? I told myself that there was no bet and I wasn't going to meet him. But I was afraid if I didn't show up, he'd come looking for me. You didn't welsh on a bet in my part of town, and the rule probably held in his part of town as well.

Finally, with only an hour left before I was supposed to meet him, I decided that I'd go see him, but I wouldn't let him touch my breasts. I got on a bus and rode across town, feeling so nervous I could hardly think. I played back images of Luther in my mind. He was huge really, with well defined muscles in his arms, legs and chest. He was probably the same age as my brother, but he looked so much more like a man.

By the time I got to my destination, I was a nervous wreck. Still, I forced myself to get off the bus and walk the final block to his gym. I got to the door and found it unlocked. The lights in the lobby were off, but I could see that there were lights on in the gym. I made my way in as if I were walking to the gallows.

"You made it, I see," Luther told me. We were alone in the gym, which frightened me to death. Where everyone else was I had no idea. But Luther wasted no time.

"Now let me take a look at those breasts," he told me, his two hands reaching out towards my tits.

"Get the fuck off me nigger!" I yelled, knocking his hands away as I jumped back. Again, I couldn't believe what I had said. I mean, I hear a lot of racist remarks in my part of town, but I never thought people were right for saying them. I certainly never thought of myself as a racist.

I opened my mouth, either in shock or because I wanted to apologize; I'm not sure which. But I could see from Luther's eyes that no apology would be accepted. The hardness in his gaze made me freeze with my mouth hanging open. Before I knew it, Luther had me face down on the floor with a knee in my back. Then he grabbed my feet and began dragging me across the floor.

I started fighting of course; screaming at him and trying to kick my way free. But his grip was so powerful I didn't stand a chance. He stopped dragging me, and I heard tape coming off a roll. I twisted my body enough to see him binding my ankles tightly together. Even with only one hand gripping my ankles, I was no match for his strength.

Luther lifted me off the floor by my feet, and in short order I found myself hanging upside down from a chain. It was a chain normally used to hold a heavy bag, but now it was being used to hold me. I tried reaching up to free my feet, but I didn't have the strength. In the meantime, Luther was pulling on a rope attached to a pulley on the ceiling. He was using it to hoist me higher off the floor.

"Let me down you motherfucker!" I screamed. "Stop it! You can't do this!" This last was said as he grabbed hold of my arms and began taping each of my wrists. I couldn't guess why until he hooked each of my wrists to two more heavy-bag chains that were hanging from the ceiling.

I was cursing and screaming and fighting to get loose. So he silenced me by putting tape over my mouth. Then he used the ropes from the other two chains to hoist my arms higher in the air. I found myself hanging from the ceiling, face down, spread out like a hammock.

"Now isn't that lovely," Luther said, stepping back to take a look at his handiwork. I cursed his soul, feeling like a worm on a hook as I squirmed to get free. He stepped under me and pulled my shirt up over my bra. I screamed at him through the tape, using every curse word I knew, but the sounds were just muffled.

"Those really are big," Luther said with a tone of awe as he pulled my bra cups over my breasts. He had to reach into the cups to get the underwire over my tits. And with that act, Luther became the very first man to have ever laid hands on my tits.

I wear a size F or DDD if you prefer, which means I have tits about the size of large cantaloupes. They looked even larger hanging from my chest in my current position. Luther had pulled me up to just the right height so he could stand underneath me and simply tilt his head back to suck on my nipples, and that's just what he did.

I stopped screaming at that point. I looked in amazement as he sucked my nipples and sent sparks shooting through me. It felt so good I began to moan before I knew it. Then I came to my senses and started fighting and cursing again.

Luther just stepped back and looked at me. "My trainer tells me I need to do more work with the speed bag," he told me, reaching behind him to get a pair of gloves. I refused to believe what he was about to do until he actually did it. Then I couldn't stop screaming as he rained blows upon my tits.

Luther began with my right breast, moving under it in a circle so he could hit it from every angle. Afterwards, he did the same with the other tit. I don't think I stopped screaming the entire time, but I did look down at what he was doing. My breasts didn't move like a speed bag of course. They were too soft for that. Instead, with each blow he threw, I would see my breast mold around his fist before it would fly back feeling like it was being torn from my body.

When Luther finally stopped boxing, my breasts were throbbing so bad I could hardly believe it. Tears were coursing down my face and snot was dripping from my nose. Luther took the gloves off, moved under me, and once again began licking and sucking my nipples. This time he was exceedingly gentle and I didn't put up any fight.

Luther spent quite some time licking my nipples. Gradually I stopped crying and sniffling. I had no fight left in me, so I just let him lick. Each time I looked down, I could see my breasts turning deeper shades of red, black and blue. The ache didn't go away, but the licking began to feel good. Finally a pitiful moan escaped my lips and I found myself hoping that Luther wouldn't stop.

Luther didn't stop. He continued licking and kissing, moving from one breast to the other, until my moans became more frequent and my body began to squirm. When his lips finally left my breast, he took my face in his hands.

"I'm going to lower you down now and make love to you. When I release you from your chains, you can kneel over the side of the boxing ring and invite me to take you from behind."

I didn't attempt to say anything in return. I guess when I looked down into his eyes, my own eyes signaled acquiescence. He stepped away and went through the process of gently lowering me to the floor. When I was down, I lay there while he removed the chains and tape from my limbs. With one strong hand, he gently helped me to my feet. He made no move to direct me towards the boxing ring. I did that on my own.

I walked towards the boxing ring, feeling my tits throb with each beat of my heart. They were badly swollen, and would hurt for days if not weeks. I reached the ring, and bent to my knees. I put my head under the rope, and laid my chest gently on the cool wooden floor. The slight pressure on my breasts was painful, and yet the coolness of the floor felt like a balm on their aching mass. I parted my legs and I waited.

Luther had no way of knowing that I was a virgin, and yet he was very gentle. He began with only the slightest of movements, pushing between my lips until he encountered my hole, and then pulling back again. He did that over and over until I was dripping wet and moaning softly. He then moved slightly deeper. He never varied his same slow tempo. He only moved slightly deeper with each of his thrusts.

When Luther finally pushed through my hymen, it wasn't just he who was pushing, but both of us together. There was a moment afterwards when the two of us froze – I give him points for knowing what had happened – then he slowly resumed his motion.

By the time Luther's cock was deep inside me, I was moaning nonstop. I had never imagined feeling so stretched; I had never imagined feeling such an ache in my breasts; and I had never imagined that something could feel so good. My first orgasm seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. I pressed back with my pelvis and felt a spray of wetness that made me think I had peed.

I pressed my tits to the deck, lifted my ass, and surrendered to the pounding of Luther's cock. It felt so wonderful; I began cumming again even before my first orgasm had subsided.

Luther filled me with his jizz that day, and many times in the days and months ahead. In nine months time, almost to the day, Bobby was born.

Today, I no longer see Luther. I haven't seen him for years. But I do credit him with a few things he gave me. First, of course, was my son – the little man who's become the love of my life. Second, was the way he freed my inhibitions and taught me to fight the fears that were holding me back. And third, was how he opened my eyes to see that the differences among people were a blessing and not a curse.

Today, I'm married to a black man. Sometimes, for old time's sake, he'll take me to his gym and let his buddies see my melons. They're not as firm as they used to be (both my melons and his buddies), but the guys don't seem to mind. They just enjoy having the chance to fuck me silly.

I like it too. Long live the revolution!