Barocca vs Shannan Leigh
VS 
THREE-DAY WEAKENED (Bout 2)
Winner of Bout 1: Shannan Leigh, KO in Round 5
When the maid arrived with Barocca’s fighting kit for Sunday’s Bout 2, the Brazilian Bombshell was still fast asleep. “Poor dear,” the maid sighed to herself. “After the beating she took yesterday, I don’t know how she can possibly go out there and face that crowd again…much less that Shannan Leigh.” It was past 10:00, less than two hours to fight time. The softly snoring femme fighter would have to shower and dress soon.
In the opposite wing of the Hawaiian mansion, Shannan had been awake since shortly after 7:00. She’d wanted to party hearty last night, to celebrate her decisive and indisputable trouncing of the great Barocca in only five rounds. But with two more bouts to go, Leigh had to restrain her natural impulses and be in tip-top condition for an angry opponent out for revenge. After the drubbing she’d delivered to Barocca, The Knockout wasn’t about to slack off now. There’d be plenty of time to raise a ruckus after Bout 3. The auburn-tressed boxing champ amused herself imagining ways to spend the $15,000 in daily fees and $25,000 winner’s bonus she’d already accumulated.
But now it was after 10:00, so she should hop into the shower for a luxurious water massage to loosen up her muscles, and then wriggle into the tight foxy boxing trunks the maid had delivered a few minutes ago. She stretched and did a few callisthenic moves to limber up.
Back at Barocca’s, the bruised brunette was lying nude on a massage table, a husky masseur working on her lower back muscles. The first thing she’d wanted after the maid finally decided to wake her up was not breakfast—never eat this close to fight time—but a therapeutic massage. Their host, a lottery-winning multi-millionaire, provided for his boxers’ every wish and comfort and had thoughtfully hired a masseur to be in residence during this boxing tournament. And this one was a great-looking buff Hawaiian guy. “If only I didn’t ache all over…” Barocca thought.
With a playful slap on her ass, the masseur said, “OK, Miss Barocca, Time for you to shower and dress.” After a long pause he added, “I don’t want to upset you, Miss, but I sneaked a peek into the gym yesterday to watch you fight. You are my favorite, Miss Barocca. I have all your fighting videos, and I was…I mean, I hoped you would win. I still do,” he blushed.
Barocca’s heart melted. Here was a true fan—and a hard-bodied on to boot. “Tell you what; I’ll get our host to let you have a ringside seat…as my guest. He’ll do anything to keep Shannan and me happy,” she smiled, sliding off the table and facing him in all her naked glory. “You root extra hard for me today and if I win, I’ll give you a personal reward later tonight.” Barocca had never before said “if I win,” so it was an indication of how deeply yesterday’s brutal beating had shaken her self-confidence. “By the way, what’s your name?”
“My close friends call me Wahu, short for Owahunake. So please call me Wahu. It would be an honor.”
“Wahu?” Barocca thought. “Like ‘Wahoo’?” Her mind raced with speculation about how this Hawaiian hunk earned that nickname. “And here’s an added incentive.” Barocca snuggled up to Wahu and gave him a big kiss on the mouth. She grinned at the immediate reaction she felt through his shorts. With a wink she disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
At high noon, everyone—including Wahu—was seated in the spacious gym awaiting their host to announce the girls. Presently he climbed through the ropes of the ring and quieted them. “Some fight yesterday, eh friends? Let’s get started with today’s competition. First, leading in our tournament 1 bout to none, from Manhattan, New York, standing 5’7” and weighing 128, the winner of Bout 1: SHANNAN ‘THE KNOCKOUT’ LEIGH!”
The Knockout, who had fully lived up to her nickname Saturday, burst through the doorway wearing blindingly orange satin foxies with black waistband and trim, black ankle-high boxing shoes, and orange sweatsocks. She jogged completely around the outside of the ring, high-fiving several fans before trotting up the steps and into the ring. Flexing both arms in the classic make-a-muscle pose, Leigh made a complete circuit inside the ring before she settled into her corner, still waving to the cheering spectators.
“And the lady who took a licking and keeps on kicking, from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, standing 5’10” and weighing 135: BAROCCA, THE BRAZILIAN BOMBSHELL!”
The Bombshell exploded through the doorway. Anything less could have been misconstrued as a sign of weakness…or fear. She stopped a few steps in, widened her stance, and planted both fists on her hips. Today she wore white satin foxies with turquoise belt and trim, black shoes, and turquoise socks. The crowd roared in a standing ovation; she’d never heard such cheers for someone who had been so thoroughly defeated less than a day earlier in view of the same people. “They must be impressed with my courage,” she surmised.
With a stern, intimidating expression, Barocca took her time surveying the group. She loved the adulation and knew it would irritate Shannan, who glared at her from the ring. The lusty brunette strode like She Who Must Be Obeyed slowly around the ringside seats, pausing before Wahu to caress his cheek and whisper to him. He grinned as she resumed her processional. Before the ovation died down, Barocca mounted the steps and, in a display of bravado, vaulted over the top rope.
This time Shannan made Barocca come to her for the handshake. After all, she was the victor and this Brazilian bimbo was the vanquished. Barocca inspected Shannan’s orange and black outfit and said, “Happy Halloween, witch,” clearly enunciating the last word.
“And what are you supposed to be…a black Irish leprechaun?” Leigh replied through an insincere grin. Barocca spun 180 degrees and strode to her corner. Their corner attendants again laced up the combatants’ black boxing gloves and rechecked their shoelaces before scurrying out of the way. As they did yesterday, both babes warmed up with some shadow boxing. Finishing some squats, Shannan noticed Barocca’s laser beam stare and met her eyes. The Bombshell narrowed her eyes and menacingly banged her gloves together with increasing force—clearly a warning and an omen of things to come.
“I refuse to be cowed by that cow,” Shannan reassured herself. “I beat her once; I can do it again. That bitch is not invincible. I proved that to these dozens of witnesses. And if that guy up front is her new boyfriend, at least she’ll have someone clearly capable of carting off her unconscious carcass today.” She turned her back to Barocca and mooned her.
Despite these childish antics, both women had profound respect for each other’s combat abilities. Deep down, Shannan knew that Barocca could easily have won Bout 1 had she been lucky enough to get the breaks. The Manhattan mauler had first-hand experience with the power of Barocca’s blows. The black beauty was every inch a champion and a formidable foe. In other circumstances, they’d be friends—but never in the ring.
Barocca wasn’t indulging in such introspection. She was too busy focusing all her concentration on avenging her reputation as the Number One femme fighting queen. Maybe Shannan was right: maybe she’d frittered away too much time lately playing grab-ass with the likes of Chessika Cartwright, Nina Mercedez, Summer Walker, and other candy-ass cuties instead of honing her skills against real competitors. Well, yesterday was refresher training as far as she was concerned. Today was back to business.
ROUND 1:
The test-and-probe session lasted only a few seconds this time. Both babes by now were thoroughly familiar with each other’s tactics and skills. Barocca had vowed to herself to be on full alert for Shannan’s bait-and-switch techniques. She wouldn’t be suckered into dropping her guard today. Just the thought of that prompted the pouty pugilist to sneak a straight-arm blow into Leigh’s face. It snapped her head back, sending a fountain of auburn hair arching skyward. A left hooked into Shannan’s upper belly and sent her boobies bouncing. “Don’t get cocky,” the Bombshell warned herself. “That’s just what she’s counting on.”
Indeed it was. Shannan was irritated at having to take two insulting punches like those. That irritation grew when the black beauty gave her no opening for a retaliatory strike. Every one of Leigh’s lobs was met by one of Barocca’s blocks. The Brazilian shot a few more jabs that connected well while Shannan couldn’t lay an effective glove on the dark diva.
They danced and parried for the rest of the round. When they retired to their corners, Barocca had scored all the points and Shannan was frustrated at having been made to look like an amateur sparring partner instead of the champ she was. “Oh, well,” she thought, “wait till the next round.”
ROUND 2:
Eager to pull a surprise, Shannan was shocked when Barocca ducked under her arching right and blasted the white warrior’s chin with an up-thrust that began at the Brazilian’s knees. It lifted Leigh clean off her feet while lifting the crowd to their feet, screaming and cheering. The Knockout fell against the ropes and kept from falling by hooking her arms on the top rope. Since it was still early, The Bombshell entertained the spectators by bouncing in center ring while her quarry gathered her wits. Her bobbing boobs were meant for Wahu, but Barocca always welcomed admiring glances from others.
Leigh was grateful for the merciful reprieve. Her brain spun like a top and her vision refused to refocus at first. She blinked and shook her head until her world stopped revolving. Her eyes settled on the hopping honey in the white foxies whose chocolate cupcakes bobbled on her chest. She wiped her glove across her mouth and examined it; no blood. “That black bitch is gonna pay—and pay big,” Shannan swore.
She stepped from the ropes with a look of grim determination designed to intimidate any opponent. But Barocca wasn’t just any opponent. The brunette fully intended to infuriate Leigh in hopes that her emotions would override her first-rate sense of fighting strategy. The Brazilian would remain cool and calculating.
Shannan squinted at the saucy Latina and threw a right. Barocca sidestepped it and felt it whoosh past her cheek. She quickly nailed the New Yorker with a boob-blasting blow that set her gasping and cradling her mashed milker. She backhanded the black boxer, sending her spinning. Barocca held out a gloved fist and smacked Shannan as she completed her full rotation. That staggered Leigh and got the audience laughing.
The redhead glowed with embarrassment. It was bad enough to get bopped around like a stumblebum, but to be the object of public derision was more than she could stand. Five minutes ago she was the champ, the winner of yesterday’s indisputable defeat, the gal who pounded the high-and-mighty Barocca into a puddle of chocolate pudding. Now they were laughing at her. “I’ll show them,” she swore.
Leigh lashed out with a flurry of fists. Barocca erected her shield and deflected every attack. Shannan had her backing up but she wasn’t doing any damage. The only silver lining to this cloud was that Barocca wasn’t laughing—never had, in fact. “So…that’s her game, eh?” the auburn-haired Amazon thought. “Get me pissed, acting rashly. Goad me into stupid mistakes. Well, it almost worked,” she admitted. She stopped and stood her ground, waiting for Barocca to make the next move.
The next move was a left to her head. Shannan shot up her gloves in defense…but nothing happened. Wait—something did happen: a right to her right breast, a left to her belly, and a strong right cross to her chin. Barocca had faked her out and Shannan was going down—
CLANG!
Her knee hit the canvas the instant the bell sounded. The Knockout took a moment to let the fog lift before rising and heading to her corner. Barocca had had another flawless round, while she had looked like a rookie. Damn that bitch! She’d even turned Shannan’s favorite tactic against her: a fake shot to the head to draw her defenses away, then blast into the opening. Shannan consoled herself, “I must’ve knocked some sense into Barocca yesterday. She’s a dynamo today.”
ROUND 3:
Barocca came out of her corner ready for anything. Leigh looked livid but Barocca stayed cool and analytical. The redhead’s right came at her face, but the Brazilian thought, “That’s her old feint again. Don’t fall for it.” She raised an elbow but kept her eyes peeled for Shannan’s real assault.
But it was no feint. The rocketing right glanced off the Bombshell’s arm and clobbered her left cheek. It was followed immediately by a powerful left to her face. The coup de grâce was a roundhouse right that detonated in the Latina’s face and set the black beauty whirling on her way to the canvas. “O shit!” she thought. “Not again!”
When Barocca woke up she heard the crowd chanting, “…6…7…” Desperate, she scrambled up before recognizing where she was and who she was with. She’d seen the gloves on her fists, so she was vaguely aware she was boxing. “Oh yeah…Shannan. Hawaii.” It was all coming back. But was it coming back fast enough? All she really understood was that she had to beat the 10-count. She had been knocked out, but not for long enough. She seemed to recall that she’d been winning…at least before the power failure blackout. She shook her head but it didn’t help much..
Shannan was about two miles away, in a far corner. The white girl was scowling. Scowling at Barocca. “Right…I spoiled her victory…I got up. Now she’s coming back to finish the job. Over my dead body. Oops. Better not give her any ideas.” Barocca blinked and put up her dukes.
It didn’t take Shannan any time at all to cover the two miles and get right up in Barocca’s face again. She snarled something the shell-shocked Bombshell couldn’t make out and doubled her up with a left hook to the belly. Barocca hit the canvas again, face-first. She landed on her face, bosom, and knees with her inviting ass sticking up; got on all fours by the count of “3”; and on her feet by “6”. Leigh closed in again.
The Brazilian Bombshell almost dodged The Knockout’s punch; it missed her face and skittered off her cheek relatively harmlessly. Barocca had enough wits about her to figure out that she couldn’t afford to get her brains scrambled any more than they already were this round. She blocked Shannan’s next blow and flattened the redhead’s right melon with a moderately hard left. Leigh’s painful grunt gave her reason to smile. A few more body blows drove the Manhattanite back against the ropes.
Cut off from retreat, Shannan was forced to fight back. She paid Barocca back for that breast blow with one of her own that slammed her bountiful black bazooka up almost to her lowered chin. From here the girls launched mutual rack attacks. Their mouthwatering mounds became speed bags. Hefty hooters were hammered with volleys of lefts and rights until severe chest pains forced them to call it off. Shannan managed to squeeze in one more smack to Barocca’s face as the bell rang. It did little harm, but it was a satisfying sign-off to a round which Leigh clearly dominated.
Both boxing babes were drenched with sweat after the exhausting and painful exchange. Shannan had floored the egotistical ecdysiast, briefly knocking her out…too briefly. Barocca had battled her way back from near doom to give a good accounting of herself at the end. She cautioned herself not to let anger interfere with her judgment; to remain cool and stay on the path to victory.
ROUND 4:
This round the tired tigresses began by circling each other cautiously. Each expected the other to do something rash, something on which her opponent could capitalize, something she’d regret when she woke up after being counted out. Both were crouched, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. Gloves were held high, protecting their gorgeous faces, but not obscuring the view of any golden opportunity to slug her rival.
Shannan broke first, aiming a guided missile at Barocca’s beltline. It was a feint and the brunette didn’t go for it; she flinched, but maintained her guard. Leigh feinted again with the identical gambit, and this time Barocca invaded with a hard right to the face that splashed that auburn hair around her black leather glove. Two more quick right jabs rocked the redhead back a few steps.
Shannan’s face was bright red—from the blows or from anger?—and she sneered before cocking her right and unleashing a lethal left that twisted Barocca’s head to her left with an audible SPLAT! Too many bells rang and they sounded different, so they couldn’t be the round ending yet. She turned back just in time for another blackout as Shannan’s incoming glove smashed into her face. Barocca felt the ropes on her back, then she felt herself pivoting forward. She collided with an object—Shannan?—before hitting the canvas. The bewildered Brazilian was up before the count could begin.
Barocca circled wide again, buying tome for her head to clear. “I must’ve been too close to the ropes when she socked me,” she thought. Leigh was in no mood for dancing and came charging at the disoriented diva. But Barocca wasn’t as fuzzy-headed as Shannan assumed. She sidestepped the barreling boxer and tripped her with a slow-reacting foot. Leigh crashed down in a graceless flurry of arms and legs. She was undamaged but embarrassed. And Barocca got a few more seconds to recover.
“I look like an asshole,” Shannan chastised herself. “Time to stop fooling around and put Barocca’s lights out again, just like yesterday.” She rose, banged her gloves together to convey to her nemesis that from now on it would be all business, and approached her gingerly.
For half a minute they traded a fast series of sharp, hard punches. Neither pugilist gained any decisive lead, but each drained some of the fighting starch from the other. The barrage ended in a clinch, both brawlers panting heavily. Their pounded puppies pancaked together in a chocolate-vanilla Sunday afternoon sundae, melting slowly in the tropical heat. As the impatient prodding from the spectators, the girls disengaged and resumed the classic boxing stance.
Barocca abruptly stepped up and began battering Leigh’s belly with a whirlwind flurry of lefts and rights that drove the auburn Amazon into the corner. The Brazilian blitz allowed Shannan no room to raise a glove in defense. Instead, she pounded her tormentor on the back with soft blows from an angle that offered her no decent leverage. The Bombshell’s head was butted against The Knockout’s neck, pinning her in the corner. Barocca grinned as she knew Shannan was helpless in this position and there was no referee in the ring to pull them apart. She could continue pummeling the pink-skinned pugilist at will.
Leigh’s knees buckled and she began to sink, her descent halted by Barocca’s head against her chin. The brown bomber kept slugging away; Shannan’s bust and belly were on fire from the relentless ravaging she was being dealt. She vowed that if she somehow survived this round, she’d exact revenge on Barocca any way she could.
“Time for the big finish,” the brunette decided. Shannan had sunk to a pile in the corner, still conscious but looking nothing like the champ who’d beaten and humiliated Barocca only 24 hours ago. She grabbed Shannan under the arms and hauled her up, dragging her to center ring. Steadying Leigh on her feet, Barocca wound up a huge right cross and let fly. With a pathetic groan, Shannan corkscrewed to the canvas with a crash.
At the count of “5”, the bell rang. “Fuck!” Barocca bellowed and stomped back to the stool in her corner. Her attendant quickly toweled her off, a ritual they both found stimulating and arousing. Barocca eyed the Hawaiian girl, who returned her stare with a lascivious glint of her own. She was doing a particularly good job of drying Barocca’s breasts. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Nuki.”
“Nookie? Oh, that’s just perfect. You’re rather attentive, Nookie. I know our host is paying you well for this, but after the fight, stop by my room. I’d like to show how much I appreciate it, too.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Barocca. Yes, I’ll come.”
“Damn right you will,” the boxing babe thought. “Yep, sex and violence are linked,” she mused.
Shannan’s attendant had dragged and carried her fighter to her corner. If not for the bell, this bout would have been over by now…and Shannan knew it. Could she rally from this temporary reprieve and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat? She knew it was a hackneyed cliché, but it was the best her rattled brain could come up with under the circumstances. Unlike Barocca, who was obviously getting off from her rubdown across the ring, Shannan could scarcely feel her attendant’s ministrations. It even took a second snootful of smelling salts to get a reaction from her.
Barocca glanced over to where Wahu was sitting. His gaze revealed a disturbing combination of sexual desire and blood lust…or so it seemed to her. Hell, maybe he was just getting turned on by the sight of her being clearly aroused by Nookie. Either way, the blood was coursing through Barocca’s entire circulatory system, and she and Wahu sensed victory within her grasp.
ROUND 5:
Barocca was still winded, but knew the end was near; she doubted there’d be a Round 6. Brimming with confidence, the Brazilian Bombshell carefully circled her prey. Shannan staggered flat-footed, like the Bride of Frankenstein, from her corner. To her credit, she showed no sign of giving up…but then again, she showed little sign of being capable of defending herself properly.
Succumbing to the only stupid impulse that had entered her mind all day, Barocca allowed Shannan the first punch. She stepped within range, dropped her gloves, and muttered, “Hit me, bitch. One last face-saving punch before I demolish you. And make it a good one.” Unable to resist the offer, Shannan did indeed make it a good one. She put everything she had left into a multi-megaton right that sent the Bombshell sprawling across the ring, through the ropes, and out onto the floor. The crowd sprang to their feet, roaring in shock.
Barocca quit rolling inches from Wahu’s feet. He gaped, unable to express his astonishment. There before him was his goddess, thrown out of the ring like a rag doll. How could she do that? How could she let Shannan take a free shot like that? She’d just handed her opponent the bout.
But the Brazilian Bombshell was far from finished. She took her time getting up, knowing she couldn’t lose by this sort of count-out. She raised both arms triumphantly to show the spectators that she was all right. Then she paused to lean over and kiss Wahu, who stood and embraced her without breaking the kiss. Impressed with this display of bravado, the crowd erupted in cheers that didn’t subside even after the lusty Latina had re-entered the ring.
Facing Shannan, Barocca complimented her. “That was a good one, dear. You’ll go down without a trace of shame.” She shot a right jab at Leigh’s face that the New Yorker easily blocked. But she wasn’t fast enough to fend off Barocca’s beltline left. Shannan folded her arms over her inflamed belly, leaving her head wide open for the Bombshell’s atomic right fist.
Shannan Leigh was lifted off her feet, fully unconscious before she landed face-down with her left arm and leg draped over the bottom rope. The crowd picked up the count at “3” and kept it up until the end. At “10”, Barocca stretched her leg out and rolled the lifeless Leigh over on her back with a nudge from her toe. Shannan’s shiny breastworks rose and fell with her rhythmically deep breaths. It was all over for her.
Nuki ran up and hugged Barocca, kissing her on the cheek. The winner directed her to help Shannan’s attendant remove the body so the stripper could have the entire ring to herself for strutting and posing for photos. She shucked off her gloves and tossed them with a wink to Wahu, standing just outside the ring. He knew that Barocca would be eager for a relaxing massage as soon as she finished her post-fight shower. And that massage would include the works, the complete package. She’d be so fired up, she’d be insatiable.
The tournament was now tied at one apiece. Barocca had certainly avenged her loss to Shannan Leigh with a stunning second bout comeback and had picked up a well-deserved $10,000 winner’s bonus today. She proved that she hadn’t got soft from all those slap-and-tickle phony fracases she’d fought against amateurs. She could still hold her own against the best.
But there was still one more bout left. Tomorrow would be the deciding battle for the $100,000 grand prize. Today and tonight, she’d celebrate, being careful not to overdo it and jeopardize her chances in the Grand Finale.
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