Private Boxing Match Story

I heard a solid knock on my front door. I caught my breath. Boxing was a passion with me. Also a fetish. Boxers wearing boxing gloves always gave me a severe hard-on. I'd taken some boxing lessons in college and boxed occasionally with some buddies. But I never took it seriously. Until a month ago, that is, when I joined a newly-opened boxing gym that taught boxing and provided a training facility for amateur and professional fighters. I was happy to see that several of the trainers were pretty hunky and I even took some private boxing lessons just so I could be alone with some of them. After a month of classes, I was beginning to feel like a fighter.

I was looking for a challenge. Maybe one of the other fighters? Or maybe one of the trainers? I didn't know what to do. But fate intervened. I made up my mind fast when James, the hunkiest trainer of all, had posted a notice on the bulletin board in the locker room saying he was "an ex-professional prizefighter now available for light to heavy sparring matches with gloves."

I'd always fantasized about really competing against a professional fighter with the gloves on. And now I had a chance to live that dream.

I phoned James early in the day and he said he remembered me from the gym. He said he'd spar with me at the gym but I told him I had doubts about staying with the gym and that I was intimidated being around the other fighters. I thought a private boxing match with him would help me get my nerve back. He laughed and said he understood. He'd be over at 2pm.

When I answered the door, I found myself face to face with the manliest looking man I could ever hope to meet dressed in tight sexy gym attire. This was my first time to really get a good look at James up close and personal. This guy was a total hunk. His muscles even had muscles and a patch of black chest hair could be seen sprouting above the neck of his tight bulging tee-shirt. James extended his hand and we exchanged greetings. His crushing handshake shook me. He exuded an aura of strength, confidence, and obvious self-discipline.

James came in and I led him to the back of the house to a walled-in patio, which I used as a gym. Besides the weights and bench press there was plenty of room for us to box in. James liked the setup. He tossed his gym bag on the floor, then pulled off his tight tee-shirt from his massive hairy torso and tossed it on the floor. He was wearing a tight pair of black spandex bicycle shorts. I guessed he was about 30 years old, standing 5' 10", weighing one-ninety-five. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him. His large pecs were well-defined and his abs were thick and cut, bulging through his chest hair. His arms were at least 20", nicely shaped. On his right bicep he sported a tattoo in the shape of a pair of boxing gloves. Nice touch! His legs were like tree trunks, well developed and very hairy. His body was tanned deep brown. James was a fine specimen of a man.

James asked, "Frank, Do you use headgear?"

"No," I said, "but you can."

James shook his head and dropped his back in the gym bag. He saw me fumbling with my handwraps and came over and took them from me. He began to help wrap my hands. My heart was nearly thudding out of my chest as I studied him up close. He smelled like the soap Irish Spring. I loved that smell. His short black hair was tossled. Sexy as hell. His squared jaw was already showing signs of a five o'clock shadow. I watched the muscles in his arms as he wound the cloth around my hands. The way they danced under his skin, I could tell he was no stranger to weights. After he finished me, he did himself. He then flexed his hands, his bare knuckles protruding through the cloth like spikes. He spoke a little about the pro fights he fought. He won almost all of them by knockout.

We spent the next ten minutes stretching and warming up in silence. I heard James' deep manly grunts and groans as he stretched himself into shape. My biggest problem while watching James workout was trying to keep my growing hardon from being visible through my black shorts. Fortunately it wasn't.

Soon we began to lace up the gloves. James was wearing 12 oz. red Everlast. I wore my trusty Tuf-Wear black leather 12 oz. gloves. The smell of the leather in the room was exhilerating.

Finally, we were ready to box. I felt great with the gloves on. James looked even better with his gloves on. As he handed me a mouthpiece, he went over the rules. We would box three-minute rounds with one minute breaks. We gauged rounds by the wall clock. At the right time we approached each other prepared to do battle. I was dizzy with excitement as I watched James with his red leather gloves raised and ready. "Ding!" The match was on.

I flicked a couple of jabs at him which he batted down with his gloves. He responded with a few jabs that fell short. I threw a roundhouse right at the side of his head which he ducked. When he straightened back up, he touched his chin with his glove. He was cute as hell.

I was lost in admiration until his glove jabbed me smack on the chin. I was shaken. My chin hurt like hell but I couldn't let it stop me. He danced around me showing off his fancy foot work. "C'mon, Frank, let's pound some leather," James said waving his gloves at me. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. I advanced on him determined to score. I threw a hard right which he bobbed to avoid. He countered, and popped me with a right.

I threw another roundhouse right. But this time, he blocked my arm with his left and hit me with another right. My head snapped back and I saw the ceiling. As my head came back down, James had moved a step closer and smashed an uppercut into my jaw.

Fortunately it was the end of the round. We broke and rested. He was whipping my ass and I had to stop it.

After a minute, it was time for the next round. I told James he wasn't going to win this round. James shrugged his muscular shoulders and assumed the fight stance. I stepped forward and threw a hard straight right. James stepped back and let it fall short. I immediately countered with a straight left and then a right hand. James weaved by the left and ducked past the right. When I recovered my balance, I lost him. When I turned around a flying glove pounded me on the side of the jaw. I saw stars.

The match wasn't going as I had planned. I lost my temper. "Damnit, man, I haven't even hit you yet!"

"This is boxing, Frank. I'm not supposed to let you hit me."

James could tell I was disappointed. As I looked up at him through a swelling eye I think it suddenly dawned on him and he realized I had more in mind than a simple boxing match.

James came to me and patted me on the shoulder with his glove. "Frank, I'll tell you what. If you want to hit me, I'll let you."

"You will?"

"We can both stand here and trade shots until one of us drops. No ducking, no evading punches. That includes body shots and punches to the face. In fact, I kind of find it erotic. And the best part is, you get to go first. What do you say?"

The thought of landing a few solid shots to his washboard gut sounded good to me right now, so we lined up face to face. Gathering all of my strength, I rammed my fist into the center of his stomach as if I was hitting a heavy bag. He grunted and was knocked back a step.

"Not bad," he said. "Now it's my turn."

His right glove blurred as he whipped it into my left side just under my ribs. There was a sharp pain in my kidneys. I stifled a cry and clutched my side.

"Your turn," he said, placing his arms behind his head and scrunching his bulging stomach muscles.

I took a deep breath and fired off five rapid-fire punches to his solar plexus. He barely moved this time as his body absorbed my best shots. And the tell-tale bulge in his pants was undeniably erotic. James was getting one hell of a hard-on.

He hit me again in the left side. I staggered like a drunk. The pain was severe. James smiled at me, "Have you had enough, Frank?"

"No." I came back with a straight jab to his chin and I'm sure I caught him unprepared. His head snapped back and he staggered back. He massaged his chin with his glove. He then countered with a solid uppercut. I'd anticipated it and prepared myself for the punch. My head rattled afterwards.

I told James he was the toughest guy I'd ever met. He was truly a fantasy come true for me. James said he could take any kind of punishment any guy could dish out. I believed it. But I thought I still had one last chance to beat him.

I approached him and punched him directly in the abs. He took my punch and then punched his right glove into my chest. The force stunned me but I continued to batter his abs. I threw continuous rights and lefts. After a dozen hard punches I lost count.

I watched James absorb each punch. He was enjoying it. I could tell. He wasn't trying to counter with any punches back. James stood there and took all the shots I threw at him. And that bulge in his pants grew even more.

So I zeroed in on his pride and joy -- the family jewels. I packed three hard shots into his balls. It was unexpected and that got several moans and groans from him, but he still stood there and took his medicine. This guy was hot!

I followed with a couple of shots to his chin, then his bulging hairy pecs, and back down to his armored abs. His washboard abs were getting softer and softer as I continued to pound them, breaking them down. Soon James had no more fight left in him. He finally dropped down on his knees and looked up at me and tried to speak, but there were no words.

I couldn't stop myself. I finished him with a left uppercut to the chin and a roundhouse right to the head. That knocked him flat on his back. He was out! The match was finished.

I reached down and patted his face with my glove. He came to and opened his eyes. He was still winded. As he got to his feet he thanked me for giving him one of the best matches he's ever had. I told him it was my pleasure and that I knew we'd probably have other matches in the near future.

James agreed. I was too full of my victory to see his left glove coming. It blasted in my face and was quickly followed with a hard right and then another eye-splitting left. All I knew was hurt.

And that's when the lights went out.

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