Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote any unlawful activity, such as, is depicted in the story. By continuing to read this work you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character that they are depicting but they remain at all times adults.

Feature Writer: Regis


Published: 14.06.2024

Story Codes: Erotic Horror, Young Ones, Abuse, WS, Demonic, Snuff

Synopsis: A group of young mothers, all married to wealthy hi-tech executives with no need to work — all seek to end their boredom — they decide to host sports teas, where the tea is usually wine and the sport is their little girls. Inside an electrified ring, they will fight one another, completely naked, and the mothers bet on the outcome. Before long, the sport becomes a club — the “Kiddiefight Club”. There are no rules. No referees. They can do as much damage as they like. And the mothers love it. They form an inner circle, where the fighters become even more aggressive. Here, from time to time, opponents even kill one another — a huge loss but a huge payoff!

Kiddiefight Club 1

There was virtually no sound from the group of watching women as the two young girls circled each other, hands roughly held up in what could be described as a conventional boxing pose. At least they had been taught that. They may have been blinking at each other nervously, but urged on by their moms, they kept their hands in position, their little fists clenched.

Lucifer was in ecstasy, his penis in full erection, his balls stirring, and he started to ejaculate fire because of his passion regarding what he was seeing. These mothers were moving in the direction he steered, encouraged, and inspired them to go, in putting at risk their delightful little girls. They were all headed for Hell, His kingdom, and the very thought of that brought him off.

The slightly taller of the two girls, Donna, was six and a half, and theoretically in boxing terms could outreach the slightly smaller girl in front of her. The five-year-old Megan was looking tearful already and they hadn’t even exchanged blows. She was having more trouble keeping her hands up, though encouraged by her mother on the sidelines to do so.

The thin white tape wound around her small fists was already wet from where she had used the back of her hand to wipe her tears away earlier. That was when she had accidentally touched the perimeter wire that formed the small ring in the home’s living room, where friends had gathered to see a pair of naked little girls get it on, and she had gotten a small but sustained shock.

Megan was a little plumper than Donna, and considerably darker in all sorts of ways. Donna was blonde and pale, her little opponent was almost tawny-skinned with dark brown hair. They were both naked, which was standard for organized kiddie fights, save for a thin gauze diaper around their slender hips.

It wasn’t about modesty; child fighters as young as this tended to piss themselves when punched hard, especially in the belly. Some people liked seeing them with pee running down their little legs, but Davina — at whose home the fight was taking place — didn’t want the smell of piss stinking up her living room.

The main carpet was new, and I though the two girls were going to fight on a square of older carpet put down on top of a sheet of plastic for the occasion. It was a sort of off-white, so any new blood would show up to go with the brown dried blood, pee, and a few poop stains already there from past fights.

As one might expect, there was always a chance that some kind of child mess would end on the good carpet. Worse than that, if a hurt little girl fell out of the ‘ring’ there was every chance of a smear of blood on the better carpet. That was the reason for the electric fence surrounding the fight area.

Four posts formed the corners of the ring, standing on a solid base so they wouldn’t fall if one of the girls collided with it, but the post was only there to hold up the thin wire that marked the edge of the arena. An electrical current pulsed through the wire, not enough to hurt any girl who staggered against it, or tried to run away, but enough to remind the two fighters to keep in the middle of the square upper carpet.

Of course, some girls wanted to run away. They didn’t escape, despite their flight instincts, as their training was to stand and fight another girl. Rather than a haphazard chase around the living room with one kid flailing at the back of the other, the spectacle the women desired was to see them fight face to face.

To ensure that they complied, one more feature was added. A collar was placed around each girl’s neck, and a thin but strong short chain connected them, holding them facing each other at close quarters. There were, of course, a few Kiddiefight Club purists who said that such a connecting chain spoiled the event.

The chain could interfere with a swing at the opponent’s head. They also maintained the girls had to retreat, the way professional boxers did. But the spectators here at Davina’s home, the twenty or so women who had made the journey here from all over the state, wanted to see a real fight. No qualms, no buts, just naked little girls and bare butts.

The only woman who wasn’t sure sat to one side and didn’t lean forward. Not only did she not have her hand up her skirt as some of the other watching females did, but she also had a look of disbelief on her face. Bringing yourself off while yelling at two small naked girl fighters to get on with the fight was an expected response.

The dissenting woman, Adele, stared in horror at what was in front of her: it wasn’t just the two almost naked little boxers circling each other, but the way the women round the side of the ‘ring’ were calling for one or the other to get throwing hurtful punches.

“Connect with the other little bitch,” they were demanding, “Punch her lights out.”

Adele was no barbarian, and this was no barbaric place. It was all incongruous. She was in the large but otherwise ordinary home of a well-to-do woman, a mother apparently, judging by the five-year-old child who stood by her side. Davina had welcomed Adele when she had arrived with her friend Theresa, and was very polite when told it was Adele’s first time at a Kiddiefight Club event.

Davina made only the briefest inquiry of Theresa, asking if they were good friends, just to check that Adele wasn’t some do-gooder or cop or an “unreliable” as they were known. Theresa had assured Davina that Adele was okay, and they had taken their places at the ‘ringside’ to watch the fight.

Adele couldn’t help but notice that some money had changed hands as bets were made on the outcome and that some of the women had their girls with them. The women sat in chairs around the ring, but all the children watching stood silently by their mother’s shoulder, regarding in awe the events.

One of the watching girls, Adele could see, had her hands tied behind her back. Perhaps not everyone was here willingly, she thought. The girl was seven and black, but she wasn’t struggling against her secured hands. It was just a cable tie, enough to stop her from moving her hands.

A couple of the other women watching were using their cell phones to record the event. Adele wondered how often this went on, how many of these Kiddiefight Club movies were circulating underground. She’d never seen anything in the media about it, never heard rumors of it until her friend Theresa persuaded her to come and see one.

The invitation was on the strict understanding that Adele promised faithfully not to say anything to anyone about what she saw. Yet for all her misgivings there was a certain raw animal excitement about this. The way, she imagined, that original bare-knuckle fights were conducted centuries ago. No gloves, no Marquess of Queensbury rules, no sham event staged for television. There were only women here and that made her feel better.

This may be some sort of perversion but it was a female-only perversion. Like real dyke lesbianism in a way, not the lipstick variety for horny men to whack off over. Adele did wonder if some of the women here were lesbians, but their attention was on the girls circling, their own hands pleasing themselves and no one else.

There seemed, Adele noted, to be no hurry for the girls to engage. But then, there was a lot of calling and a strong smell of female arousal in the room. Some of the women had already cum once and were determined to climax again. However, the language from the women was getting more and more filthy.

They weren’t just bitches in the ring, they were fucking cunt bitches now. And that was the language of their mothers! Adele glanced at her friend Theresa next to her. Theresa was leaning forward like the others absorbed in the dance between these two girls, her hand already up her skirt.

Then the real fight action began. The taller of the girls lashed out. It was a sort of windmill action, and it caught the smaller girl off guard. Donna’s clenched fist connected with the top of Megan’s dark-haired head and the smaller, plumper child staggered. There was no blood, but it was the first blow.

A roar went up from all the women — save for Adele, though she did gasp — with more loud demands for proper punches. Donna looked pleased. She thrashed out again, bringing (Adele heard) a rebuke from a blonde woman who must have been Donna’s grandmother, judging by the similarity in looks.

“Keep your fucking hands up as I showed you,” she snapped.

Donna didn’t hear. She had connected with another blow, a glancing one, and Megan staggered again. Megan’s mother, a darker-skinned woman near Adele was telling her “fucking stupid little bitch” of a daughter to get her guard back up.

Megan, though, had another problem. As Donna had stepped forward to throw those two punches, the chain between their necks had slackened, and Megan, in seeking to tighten it, had stepped backward a couple of paces, enough for her back to touch the electrified perimeter wire.

The tawny-skinned chubby girl screamed and jerked off the wire. She stood up straight and took a third blow straight to the face. Her guard was gone and Donna’s taped fist smashed into Megan’s cute nose. Blood spurted and Megan dropped to her knees. Donna had scored big time.

“Get up, bitch,” howled the woman who was Megan’s mother, “Just hit the cunt back,” she yelled.

Maybe Megan misheard the instructions, but she threw her first punch right at Donna’s gauze-covered but visible crotch. Donna’s guard was in true boxing style higher up, and there were no limitations on below-the-belt (or in this case, below-the-diaper fastening) punches.

There was no referee in the ring, and no need for one, with no rules in play. There would be no reason to pause the fight until it was all over. The naked little girls were expected to go wild. Adele guessed that this was a fight until surrender; timed rounds were of no interest here.

Donna staggered back, a little surprised by the ferocity of the blow and its location; the thin diaper padding did little to protect her. Megan may have looked scared and bloodied, but she was determined. The neck chain stopped Donna from stepping too far away and Megan was up, trampling her blood into the already blood-stained carpet.

Megan didn’t make a windmill swing like Donna had. She actually threw a right-handed punch, and while it just missed Donna’s face, the marker was down: this was a fight, not a surrender. Megan threw another punch with her other hand at her opponent’s face, a weaker punch, but one that connected and suddenly there was blood on Donna’s lips.

Donna looked stunned as if she hadn’t expected that, but she didn’t retreat into the wire. She lashed out with her hands, making a wild movement and connected with one blow. It caught the smaller, younger girl square on the face. More blood, or rather the same free-flowing blood, spurted from Megan’s nose.

The shouts and calls from the watching women were loud and frenzied. Filthy little bitches were being urged to beat the fucking shit out of the other little bitch. A rain of blows was connecting everywhere now on the younger girl: head, body, arms. Yellow urine began to flow through Megan’s gauze diaper.

Any semblance of an idea that they would fight as boxers had disappeared. This was a free-for-all, and watching with growing interest, Adele was sure that at least once in the tangle of flying limbs, little Megan had kicked out with her bare foot and connected hard with Donna’s cunt.

Kicks weren’t going to bring blood; it was punches that would do damage, and both girls’ faces were now a mass of red ooze and snot. When another of Megan’s wild swings caught Donna’s nose, the six-year-old also released a spray of her piss through her thin gauze diaper. It was a curious material to use, as it contained nothing, but was designed to allow liquid through.

The carpet at their feet was splattered and they still laid into each other in a frenzy. Adele stared and thought she was wrong; she had thought Megan would surrender meekly. The chubby five-year-old wasn’t going to: she was a fighter. The smaller one barreled forward, her head down, and she connected with Donna’s flat chest.

The taller girl’s legs buckled, and Megan was suddenly over her, hitting down Donna’s face with her little taped fists. Blood was spurting and fists flying, and what happened surprised everyone. The ladies were in a frenzy of their own, screaming at the girls and masturbating wildly.

It had appeared Megan would surely win, and no one was stopping it, and Adele thought it wouldn’t be stopped until one of the girls was unconscious. Donna wasn’t quite done yet. Somehow she raised her shoulder and got a straight right hand into Megan’s face, and the smaller girl’s head snapped back. Donna sprang up to her feet and landed a punch into Megan’s belly. The girl collapsed into a ball, sobbing.

Donna had won and kicked the downed Megan in the side several times in an exultant rage. The ladies backing her cheered, and the others were not disappointed, as they had got a good fight, which was all they expected. The fiery little Megan had put up a good fight, forced Donna to piss and brought blood to her nose.

It was over, and Adele was startled to realize her hand was now busy between her legs.


“What did you think?” asked Theresa as they drove home.

There was silence for thought before she got an answer.

“I don’t know,” said Adele.

She had been staring out the window, lost in thought since leaving Davina’s. She was wrestling with herself over her reaction to the fight between naked little girls she had witnessed, along with a room full of masturbating women, most of them mothers of little girls.

“Like it?”

“No, I hated it,” Adele took a deep breath and blushed, ”But I guess if I was invited, I’d probably go again.”

“It gets you like that,” grinned Theresa.

She was driving and seemed relaxed; Adele was sure that she couldn’t have driven at all after what they’d seen. She was too disturbed by it all. Part of her reaction was because of the way the loser, poor little Megan, after the fight had been tied to the electric wire by her mother so she’d receive some shocks.

Her daughter’s failure to win had cost her mom three hundred bucks in lost bets, so she probably felt entitled to take some of it out on her loser of a daughter. She had believed the kid could beat the other girl, who was not very talented in the ways that count, and she thought Megan could find a way to beat her.

The poor girl was unrecognizable under all that blood and puss and bruises, but she bit her bloodied lip and didn’t complain about her punishment. Donna, as the winner, equally bloody, got to have her bare cunnie licked out by a couple of the women who had won their bets and the right to a cunnie-licking.

The losing blonde child Megan had to provide the same kind of oral service to Davina, who sat in a lounge chair with her legs spread wide, her panties removed and her skirt held up, as a thank you for the woman staging the fight. She didn’t do it voluntarily, but her mother forced her to do it.

“But why do they stage these fights between naked children?” asked Adele, “I mean, it was so barbaric.”

“If you say so. But it was entertaining, and a lot more honest than any of the wrestling make-believe you see on television,” Adele shrugged. Theresa continued, “Fake is fine and a lot of women get off on seeing hunks play at fighting, sure. But we Kiddiefight Club women get off on seeing reality, albeit with girls.”

“So would you let your kids fight like that?”

Theresa laughed.

“Honey, I have three boys. Fathers may make boys fight naked someplace, that would be very interesting, but I don’t know of it. Our sport is girls-only stuff.”

The woman driving didn’t say anything for a few minutes and then said, quietly: “You have a daughter.”

“What?” Adele stared at her friend, ”I couldn’t let Urina do that! Believe it or not, that’s my daughter’s name. We thought she was such a piss-poor infant that we named her that, and it stuck. We claimed it was a Ukrainian name. If I ever let her into such a fight, They’d kill her.”

“No one’s ever died in the ring,” said Theresa, “Not as far as I know, but then it goes on all over the States. Secret stuff, but I’m sure word would get out if one girl was killed. It would be extraordinary if that ever happened, and I’m certain we’d all hear about it if it did. Still, the benefits are good.”

“What benefits?” asked Adele.

“I calculate the winning mom made over a thousand dollars on that fight we saw. Even the losers get something; if you think your daughter’s no good, enter her, and bet on the other kid. Hey, even I won forty bucks. Also, Davina gets a free tongue job from the winner as a thanks for staging it. As a reward, Donna gets a week off school, and probably as much ice cream and soda as she can manage. Plus, she’s famous. She loves the attention; at birthdays and Christmas, she’s showered with gifts from adoring Kiddiefight fans. I heard someone sent her two thousand dollars as a token of their thanks.”

“Fuck me,” gasped Adele.

Then she gathered herself.

”So how often does this girl fight?”

Theresa shrugged.

“Five, maybe six times a year. The good ones fight more often, the poorer ones need more time to recover from being smashed up.”

“And always this many to watch?”

“Today’s crowd was small. I’ve been to places where they have three times as many women watching. But you have to have homes, or private places, where you can stage a big fight, and keep it entirely private, for obvious reasons.”

“It wasn’t a fight,” said Adele soberly, “It was a massacre.”

“Not entirely. Megan was on top once and could have won. But I’ve seen her fight before. She gets all teary and panicky until something riles her. Donna’s okay, but not a natural. I just had a feeling today she’d have the edge. But Megan will be back. Can’t keep a good kiddiefighter down long.”

“You make it sound like it’s all worth doing.”

“It is when you cum just like I did,” said Theresa, ”That was one hell of a good climax for me.”

It was later, when Adele could bring herself to ask about it that she found out why the black kid was bound. Indeed, why there were kids there watching? She accepted reluctantly it was a way for women to get off, but she was puzzled why some of their little girls were there.

She and Theresa were having a coffee a few days later in Theresa’s kitchen.

“I can’t get the event out of my mind,” confessed Adele, ”There was so much wrong like it was in so many ways disgusting, and yet … ”

“Yeah, it tickles you right in the fuck box,” laughed Theresa, “God, there’s no greater feeling than an orgasm watching some naked little girls in a fight.”

Adele didn’t want to say it aroused her. She had, however, made herself cum over the memory of it a couple of times.

“But there were kids there … watching.”

“Oh yeah. They’re there to learn the ropes, those are kids who are going to be in a fight before too long.”

“But the black girl was tied. I saw it, her hands were fastened behind her.”

“Oh her … yeah. That one is going to be some champion,” Theresa said, ”Her mom has been training her for a big fight in Vegas, it’s going to take place at some rich bitch’s mansion,” she laughed, “Crease Hers Palace, they call it. They have big events there every few months.”

“The little black girl whose hands were tied … was she being punished?”

“That girl was tied because she gets so excited it’s like she wants to jump in the ring and start pummeling someone. Her name’s Tyson, no shit, and she’s a mean little cunt. I think it will take a damn good fighter to stop her when she’s loose.”

“So, you going to go to Vegas to see this Tyson fight?”

“God, I wish!” Theresa laughed, ”Tickets are a hundred fifty dollars each, and I think my hubby would miss me being away for three days, and it would be hard to explain,” the woman looked at her friend, “But you want to go, don’t you?”

Adele gulped and colored up.

“Yes,” she said, “I must be mad, but I’m willing to pay to see two more naked little girls beat the piss out of each other.”

“In which case, put fifty for me on Tyson to win.”


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