Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not represent 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 unlawful activity as the story describes. 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 they are depicting, but they remain at all times adults.
Writer: Midwych
Subject: KIDFIGHTCLUB 1
Link: Copyright 2009 / Midwych. All rights Reserved / http://www.asstr.org/~Polaris/
Story Codes: NC, Rape, Young Ones, Sadism, Abuse, Scat, WS
Kidfight Club 1
There was virtually no sound from the 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 kept their hands in position, little fists clenched.
The slightly taller of the two girls, Donna, was six and theoretically in boxing terms could outreach the slightly smaller girl in front of her. The five year old was called Megan and she was looking tearful already and they hadn’t even exchanged blows. She was having more trouble keeping her hands up, and the thin white tape wound round her small fists were 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 and got a small but sustained shock.
Megan was a little plumper than Donna, and considerably darker in all sorts of ways. Donna was blonde, her opponent was almost tawny skinned and dark brown haired. They were both naked, save for a diaper round their slender hips. It wasn’t modesty; child fighters as young as this tended to piss themselves when punched apparently, 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 through her living room.
The main carpet was new and though the two girls were going to fight on a square of older carpet put down for the occasion (a sort of off-white, so any new blood would show up to go with the brown dried blood stains already there) there was always a chance that some mess would end on the good carpet. If a girl was fell out of the ‘ring’ there was every chance of a smear of blood on the better carpet.
Four posts formed the corners, 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. A small 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 carpet.
Of course, some girls wanted to run away. They didn’t, despite their instincts, as their training was to to fight another girl. But rather than a haphazard chase round the living room with one kid flailing at the back of the other, the spectacle was to see them fight face to face, and to ensure that one more feature was added. A collar was on each girl’s neck and a thin but strong chain connected them.
There were a few Kidfight Club purists who said that such a connecting chain spoiled the event. They 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 fight. No qualms, no buts.
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. Apparently bringing yourself off while yelling at two small girl fighters to get on with the fight was an expected response. The woman, Adele, stared in horror at what was in front of her: it wasn’t just the two almost naked 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 punches. Connect with the other bitch, they were demanding. Punch her lights out.
Adele was no barbarian, and this was no barbaric place. But it was incongruous. She was in the large but otherwise ordinary home of a well-to-do woman – a mother apparently judging by her five year-old child stood by her side. Davina had welcomed Adele when she had arrived with her friend Theresa and was polite when told it was Adele’s first time at a Kidfight Club event, making only the briefest enquiry of Theresa to check that Adele wasn’t some do-gooder or cop or “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 one or two women had their own girls with them. The women sat but all the children watching stood silently by their mother’s shoulder, regarding the events. One of the watching girls, Adele could see, had her hands tied in back of her. So maybe not everyone was here willingly, she thought. The girl was seven and black, but she wasn’t struggling against her secured hands. Just a cable tie, but enough to stop her moving her hands.
One or two of the other women watching had video cameras running to record the event. Adele wondered how often this went on, how many of these Kidfight Club movies were circulating underground. But 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. On the strict understanding Adele promised faithfully not to say anything to anyone.
Yet for all her misgivings there was a certain raw animal excitement about this. The way, she imagined, that original bare-knuckle fights were centuries ago. No gloves, no Marquess of Queensbury rules, no sham event staged for TV. 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 in fact 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 actually engage. But then, there was a lot of calling and strong smell of female arousal in the room. Some of the women had already cum once and were clearly 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. 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 own hand already up her skirt.
Then the fight action began. The taller of the girls lashed out. it was a sort of windmilling action, but 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. No blood, but ti 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 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 backwards a couple of paces; enough for her back to touch the perimeter wire. The tawny skinned 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 hand smashed into Megan’s cute nose. Blood spurted and Megan dropped to her knees.
“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 crotch. Donna’s guard was in true boxing style higher up, and clearly there was no limitations on below the belt (or in this case, below the diaper fastening) punches. In fact, there was no referee in the ring. The 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 diaper padding did little to protect her. Megan may have looked scared and bloodied, but she was clearly determined. The neck chain stopped Donna stepping too far away and Megan was up, trampling her blood into the already blood-stained carpet.
Megan didn’t windmill 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 – a weaker punch – but 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. 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. Bitches were being urged to beat the fucking shit out of the other bitches. Blows were connecting everywhere now on the girl: head, body, arms… Any semblance of an idea that they would fight as boxers did had disappeared. This was a free-for-all, and Adele was sure that at least once Donna kicked out with her bare foot and connected hard.
But kicks weren’t going to bring blood; it was punches and both girls’ faces were now a mass of red ooze and snot. The carpet at their feet was splattered and they still laid into each other with a frenzy. Adele stared and thought she was wrong; she had thought Megan would surrender meekly. But she wasn’t going to: she was a fighter. The smaller one barreled forward, head down and connected with Donna’s flat chest. The taller girl’s legs buckled, and Megan was suddenly over her, hitting down at Donna’s face. Blood was spurting and fists flying, and then the unthinkable happened. Megan was surely about to win and no one was stopping it, wouldn’t stop it until one of the girls was unconscious perhaps. But Donna wasn’t quite done yet. Somehow she got a straight right hard into the face of megan and the smaller girl’s face snapped back. Donna sprang up and brought a punch into the belly of Megan, who collapsed into a ball, sobbing. Donna had won, and she kicked the side of Megan several times in an exultant rage.
It was over, and Adele realized with horror that her own hand was now between her legs.
“What did you think?” Asked Theresa after a while as they drove home.
“I don’t know,” said Adele. She had been staring out the window, lost in thought since leaving Davina’s.
“Like it?”
“No, hated it.” Adele took a deep breath and blushed. “But I’d go again.”
“Gets you like that,” grinned Theresa. She was driving and seemed relaxed; Adele was sure she couldn’t have driven at all after what they’d seen. It was the way the loser, poor little Megan, had been tied to the electric wire and given some shocks by her mother. Cost her mom three hundred bucks in lost bets, so she probably felt entitled to taking it out on her loser of a daughter. The poor girl was unrecognizable under all that blood and pus and bruises, but she bit her bloodied lip and didn’t complain at her punishment.
Donna, as winner, equally bloody, got to be licked out by a couple of the women who had won cash, though the blonde girl had to do the same for Davina as a thank-you for the woman staging the fight.
“But why do they do it?” Asked Adele. “I mean, it was barbaric.”
“If you say so. But it was entertaining, and a lot more honest than any wrestling make-believe.” Theresa shrugged. “Fake is fine and a lot of women get off on seeing hunks play at fighting, sure. But we Kidfight Club women here get off on seeing reality, albeit with girls.”
“So would you let your kids fight like that?”
Theresa laughed. “Honey, I have three boys. Boys may do that someplace, but I don’t know of it. This 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 Ursa do that! They’d kill her.”
“No one’s died in the ring,” said Theresa. “Not as far as I know, but then it goes on all over the States. Secret stuff, but word’d get out if one girl was killed. Still the benefits are good.”
“What?” Asked Adele again.
“I reckon 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, bet on the other kid. Hey, even I won forty bucks. Davina gets a free tongue job as a thanks for staging it. 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 birthday and Christmas she’s showered with gifts from adoring Kidfight fans. I heard someone sent her two thousand dollars as a token of their thanks.”
“Fuck,” gasped Adele. Then she gathered herself. “So how often does this girl fight?”
Theresa shrugged. “Four, maybe five times a year. Good ones fight more often, the poor ones need more time to recover from being smashed up.”
“And always this many to watch?”
“Today’s crowd was small; I’ve been 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. In private.”
“It wasn’t a fight,” said Adele soberly. “It was a massacre.”
“Not entirely. Megan was on top, 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 that Megan will be back. Can’t keep a good kidfighter down long.”
“You make it sound like it’s all good.”
“It is when you cum just like I did,” said Theresa. “That was one hell of a good climax.”
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 of women getting off, but she was puzzled why were the 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 with it and yet… “
“Yeah, it tickles you right in the fuckbox,” laughed Theresa. “God, there’s no greater feeling than an orgasm watching some girls fight.”
Adele didn’t want to say it aroused her. She had made herself cum over the memory of it a couple of times. “But there were kids there watching.”
“Oh yeah. Learning the ropes, kids who are going to fight themselves.”
“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, going to take place at some rich bitch’s mansion.” She laughed. “Crease Hers Palace, they call it.”
“The one who was tied, was she being punished?”
“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 mean. 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 dollars each and I think my hubby would miss me being away for three days.” The woman looked at her friend. “But you want to go, don’t you?”
Adele gulped and colored up. Then she said: “Yes. I must be mad, but I want to see two more girls beat on each other.”
“In which case, put fifty from me on Tyson to win.”
THE END OF CHAPTER ONE
This is really hot lol had me hard