Boxing with Ms. Victoria

Boxing with Mistress Victoria



Mistress Victoria was a tall Native American dominatrix, with long straight black hair, a quiet smile, and a wicked sense of humor. She was trained in kick-boxing and Tai Kwan Do. Each time I had a session with her (and I saw her weekly for over a year), I marveled at how long and hard she whipped me-- making me take so much punishment and still not ever marking me. Even when she used a single-tail, she was so accurate (and considerate) that the bright red welts would disappear in 3-4 days.



But, each week, when I was putting my clothes back on my sore but unmarked body and about to leave, I would politely ask her when we could do some fantasy boxing. She kept saying she couldn’t find her boxing gloves. This went on for over three months. During this time, I’d just go home and work out every day, doing push-ups, pull-ups, and stomach crunches, hoping that one day she would box me. To pass the time, I read Chuck Palahniuk’s “Fight Club” and Joyce Carol Oates’ “On Boxing.” I even read a book by ex heavy-weight champion Floyd Patterson.



Finally, stimulated by one of those ultimate boxing matches on cable, I took decisive action, and I went and bought a pair of red 14 ounce Everlast gloves with a Velcro closing on the wrists. I sent Mistress Victoria a polite email saying “the k**” (that was me) wanted a chance to get into the ring with the Champ (Mistress Victoria). She emailed me back that “The k** is going to get a real beating.”



The day of our boxing match arrived, and I went to her dungeon. When I gave her the boxing gloves, she had her hair pulled back in a pony tail. She was wearing a short black lace teddy and black knee high boots with a low heel. The thin straps on the teddy highlighted her graceful shoulders and fine breasts. Her thighs and legs seemed to stretch forever until they reached those shiny boots



“So you want me to put on these boxing gloves and punch you?” She said, holding the gloves with an air of nonchalance.



“Yes, Mistress, but, please, I want sexy punching. I don’t want you to knock me out or anything.”



“What a shame. Maybe I could bl**dy your face up just a bit?”



“No, Mistress, please. Just some sexy boxing.”



“What do you mean by sexy boxing?”



“Just some soft punching. You know. Punch my chest a bit. And maybe punch my stomach. But not too hard.”



“Have you ever boxed yourself?”



“No, Mistress. But I’ve watched plenty of boxing on television. And you know I’m in good shape. I keep imagining how erotic it would be if you were to punch me a bit.”



“Anything else?”



“Could you punch my cock and balls, too?”



She looked at me as if she were really impressed. “I’d love to punch your cock and balls.”



“Not too hard.”



“You mean so your cock won’t get too hard?”



“No, I’m sorry. I mean, don’t punch my cock too hard.”



“Maybe you want me to punch your cock just hard enough to get it hard. Is that it?”



“Yes...” I said tentatively, aware that I’d crossed a bridge and there was no going back.



“I can do some cock and ball bashing” she said. “But once I start, you’ll have to take whatever I give you.”



So Mistress Victoria took me by the hand and walked me over to the corner of the dungeon where a slender steel bar was attached to the ceiling by a chain and winch. She put leather cuffs on my wrists and attached them to the bar so they were spread about two feet apart. Then she cranked the winch until my arms were raised over my head. I could still move a bit, but there was no way I could protect my body in any way. I was totally vulnerable.



“You look so good strung up there, waiting for me to start punching you,” she said. Then she put on the red gloves.



For a while, she stood close to me, gently rubbing the gloves over my chest, pushing into me with her body a little bit and leaning on the gloves. With the aroma of the leather and Mistress Victoria being so close, I began to get excited. It was like she wanted to caress me with the gloves before she began punching me.



This beautiful woman backed up several yards away from me and began slowly moving her arms in what seemed like soft, gentle punches into the air. Her legwork was quite graceful, and she looked like she was doing a slow-motion ballet, with elongated follow-throughs for each punch. Gradually, she moved in closer, leading with her left glove, her right slightly behind it. Then she began gently but accurately popping the gloves on my chest. Each time she hit me, I could hear the impact of the leather on my chest, and she always hit my chest a little bit harder. Soon, my chest was bright red.



Even though I could tell she was pulling her punches, they soon started to hurt. In spite of all my reading, in my ignorance of real boxing, I’d imagined that with all the padding, those gloves would feel quite soft. Like getting hit with a little pillow. But now, when she landed a right into my chest, it made me glad I was tied up. She’d hit me, I’d recoil back a bit, and the steel chain connected to the bar above my head would make a harsh grating sound. If I hadn’t been tied to that bar, I might have fallen over from the impact of her careful punches.



I started to grunt each time she struck me.



“Keep quiet,” she demanded.



After a few more punches, Mistress Victoria moved in close again. She rubbed the leather gloves against my red chest, chafing my nipples, and roughing them up. She liked doing that--sliding the glove leather back and forth over my nipples, exciting me and hurting me simultaneously. Then she took a step back and started jabbing me again with lefts and rights to the chest.


Despite her warning, each time she landed a punch, it made me grunt. There was no way I could stop it. I bet she loved hearing me groan each time she socked me.



Then, she started in on my stomach, striking right at my navel, at first softly, as if to determine how much I could take, and then harder. It hurt, but I could take it because of all those stomach crunches I’d been doing for the last three months. She kept working my stomach over. Not trying to kill me, but making sure I was scared and hurt.



Even though she was being slow and methodical, I could see she was beginning to “glow” a bit. But there was no way she was going to stop now.



Suddenly, she slapped her right glove down and hit my cock like she was working with the speed bag. Again and again, she swiped the padded red glove down at my dangling cock so my cock swung wildly back and forth--bouncing after each impact. Then, changing tactics, she dropped her left shoulder down low for a second and with her left hand, she slapped upwards at my cock and sent it slamming back against my abdomen.



I was excited and scared by the beating. With all that punching and her gloves on, there was no way she could stop her shoulder straps from slipping down her arms and exposing more of her breasts than she usually allowed.



But I hardly had any time to admire her body. She steadied my cock with her left glove, so it wouldn’t bounce, and then she slapped it again and again with her right glove, like she was pounding it with a hammer. She kept landing these sharp, jabbing punches at my imprisoned cock until it got quite purple and hard. Her left glove kept my cock from moving, and her right glove punched into it over and over.



“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes,” each time she struck. “I love punching your cock.”



Still pressing her left glove against my cock, she softly grazed my balls with her right. She rubbed the glove back and forth across the base of my cock, where it joined my balls, each time rubbing my balls a little harder and then a little harder.



“Now for your fucking balls,” she said.



She landed a sharp, quick jab at the base of my cock right where it joined my balls. It was a soft punch, but it hurt. And the next punch was a bit harder and lower. She struck less of my cock and more of my balls. Each punch landed a bit lower.



Slowly, relentlessly, she kept punching my balls. Hard enough to make me grunt, not hard enough to do any real damage, but hard enough to make me feel nauseated. I could tell she was really having fun, but she was really hurting me and I wanted her to stop.



“Please, Mistress Victoria.”



“Quiet. I’m going to punch your balls and there’s nothing you can do about it” she announced.



So she kept slowly bashing away at my balls. She’d trap my cock with her left glove, and then she’d draw her gloved right fist back a little further before driving it into my balls. And each time, I felt a dull, stomach-churning ache surge through my groin. I kept quiet and just tried to endure.



“Yes, yes, yes,” she exulted. “I love punching your balls. Do you feel me punching you?”



I grunted and cried and struggled against the crossbar above my head. I would have doubled up in pain if I hadn’t been tied to the crossbar.



Maybe sensing she’d gone too far, she switched away from my balls, and she went back to work on my chest, doing a few feints so I couldn’t tell whether she was going to hit me with her left or her right. She hit me several more times in the chest. But, after the excitement of jabbing my balls, she seemed almost bored.



I thought she was going to give me one more good punch with her right hand, and then say the match was over. So after she stung me with one last punch, I relaxed a bit, which was a mistake. She dropped her left shoulder and slammed a left uppercut into my cock again making it bounce back and forth.



“I can’t get enough of beating your cock,” she said, jabbing her left into my groin again and again. “But now I’m going to finish you off.”



I had no idea what she meant by finishing me off. I was already a mess, hanging from the crossbar, chest bright red, balls aching, banged up purple cock swollen nearly double and with bruises starting to show.



With a shriek of pleasure, Mistress Victoria punched me in the chest with her right hand, then with her left. Quick, sharp, professional blows. Not as hard as she could. But hard enough to hurt me. Then she gave me a couple more punches in the stomach. The impact of the gloves on my body and my pathetic groans echoed in the dungeon.



She grabbed my destroyed cock with her left glove and began running the right glove against it. Battered as it was, my cock still started to stiffen under this repeated abuse.



“You whore,” she said, as she kept rubbing her boxing gloves against my cock. It hurt, but it was undeniably exciting. She kept rubbing my cock with her gloves for several minutes, until I started getting really excited. Just when I thought I was going to cum, she dropped my cock, stepped back, and started punching me in the chest and stomach again. There was a taunting, excited smile on her face.



“How do you like your fantasy boxing now?” she yelled.



Hands strung up over my head, I grunted and struggled as she punched me with short, sharp jabs to my helpless body.



As in a bad dream that keeps repeating itself, she punched me in the balls really hard with her right hand. Maybe her punch only traveled five inches, and maybe she only hit me three times, but it seemed like she was bashing my balls forever. I felt so sick.



“I love punching your balls,” she exulted.



I gave a long exhausted groan and felt sure I was going to vomit.



She grabbed my cock again with her left hand, and savagely rubbed it with her right glove.



“Now, you’ll cum for me,” she said, rubbing my cock harder and harder. “Now you’ll cum for me, if you know what’s good for you.” She kept rubbing my cock until it started to get rigid again. “I’m going to squeeze every drop of cum out of your pathetic beaten cock. You’ll cum for me right now to show me how much you like getting punched around.”



Mistress Victoria continued savagely jerking my cock up and down. “And if you want a re-match,” she yelled, as the cum erupted from my cock in pathetic spasms, “Just let me know.”





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Categories: BDSM
Posted by Chrs_Straight
3 years ago    Views: 172
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3 years ago
interesting :)