Running Riot

The skins who'd shelled out for tickets to Romantic Violence were certainly out in force, though, she noted from the ranks of cars and scooters outside the club. And though he was casting a grim look at that column of smoke too, Barry's crewmate stationed on a chair outside -- big guy, his name was Elton or something like that -- still had a welcoming smile for her. "Hey Too-Bad, they're waiting for you inside."

Elton's bomber jacket was hanging on the seat. He was wearing a pistol harness over his Madras plaid shirt with one of those enormous Magnum hand-cannons holstered, and had a shotgun and a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire propped up beside him. The weapons gave her a pang of foreboding, but she didn't show it, just giving him a radiant smile back and blowing him a kiss as she went in, climbed down to the basement that was the heart of the Maywood Beach boxing gym.

Jonni knew the place well. She exercised here three times a week, sought out sparring partners to keep her skills up to snuff. It was old-school, primitive, aged brick and faded photos of famous or semi-famous alumni and teachers on the walls; no space-aged exercise machines, just heavy bags and speed bags and weight sets and jump-ropes around the perimeter and a standard-issue box boxing ring in the center, all of it wreathed in a vaguely vinegary pong of old sweat that seemed to have soaked into the building's very molecules. It had purity. She loved it for that.

The R'n'R crew hadn't changed much beyond hanging a big banner proclaiming "Romantic Violence 2016" from the ceiling, setting up folding chairs around the ring and putting in a makeshift bar -- just a table and some coolers full of beer, really -- by one wall. Energetic ska was blaring from an impromptu sound system. Given the limited space, it was almost as packed as Rub-a-Dub at Ferd's had been the night before; just about everyone who was anyone on the scene seemed to be there, including the Brillantes and BDFM crews in full force. Like Jonni herself, most everybody was pretty soberly attired -- not for a day like this, the scanty dresses and flash of a night on the town -- but in contrast to the grim, forbidding atmosphere of the streets, it was a carnival atmosphere, full of smiles that were almost too bright, laughter that was almost too loud. The R'n'R boys were posted at various places throughout the swirling crowd, and all of them were openly armed, just like Elton upstairs... but nobody batted an eye.

The first fighters were already in the ring: a pair of heavy-set and tattooed skins who looked like they'd seen better days, one of them a bouncer she knew from a punk joint up on Morningwood. They circled each other clumsily and Jonni had to wonder when was the last time either had thrown a punch, but the crowd was cheering them on in good-humoured fashion anyway.

Next to the heavy bags at the club's east end was a manager's office. Following nods from a couple of the R'n'R boys, Jonni made a beeline for it, dispensing a few smiles of greeting along the way. Even as she was approaching it, she saw Phaedra -- who'd come a couple of hours early in her self-appointed "manager" role -- bursting out of the door. The gorgeous little brunette was the one person in the room still dressed like she was out clubbing, rocking fishnets and garters, high-heeled black pumps and a tight black mini-dress decorated with skulls and vividly coloured floral wreaths. She was breath-taking -- and clearly furious, flipping off whoever was in the office as she stormed out, snarling "This is such bullshit!"

"Phaedra, what --" Jonni tried to ask her as she stormed past, but all she got was an irritated I-don't-have-the-words hand-wave. She was nonplussed as she watched Phaedra's departing back -- and her cute little swaying ass -- heading straight for the "bar," but it was clear she'd have to hunt her bae down later. What could be the problem?

Then she walked into the office... and drew herself up short.

Barry was sitting behind the desk, but truth to tell it was the shock of seeing the office's second occupant that really focused her attention. He was big, light-skinned black skinhead with a borrowed "MBC" robe over what were clearly hard muscles. His hands were taped and he was wearing trunks and trainers -- he was clearly planned for the ring. But it wasn't just his unexpected presence that made her gasp.

Jonni's mind went back to Chicago. The stories her friend Chris at the record store had told her about legendary skins on the scene in days gone by. If she didn't know better, she'd have to say the guy standing in front of her was a dead ringer for one of the guys from those pictures -- a guy who'd been an infamous fucking-and-fistfighting machine. One of the kinds of men she'd wondered if she'd ever meet.

This is surreal. It can't be him. But then Barry was speaking up: "Hey, Jonni. Come on in, we've got a possible... adjustment to the fight schedule to talk about. Jonni Wilder, I'd like you to meet..."

"Alex Coleman," the stranger said in a deep, resonant baritone, stepping forward to offer a taped hand. She shook it, feeling a bit dazed. "My friends call me Lex. It's a pleasure to meet you, Jonni."

"Pleasure's all mine," she replied. "Lex." Her mouth was on autopilot, and her mind was racing and her belly was fluttering as she closed the door behind her and sat down, and Barry and Lex laid out the situation. All the while they were talking, her eyes and Lex's were drawn back to each other, an electric connection that neither of them seemed able to break. And the fluttering in her belly grew more pronounced as they proposed Lex stepping in as her opponent, and she realized that cute as Barry might be... she'd much rather have Lex Coleman collect on that bet. After all... it was him.

And so she told them that of course she was fine with it. But she also wondered: What is he really doing here? This can't be just a coincidence. On the other hand... did she care? As her eyes lingered on his hard pecs and she felt that core of restless sexual curiosity inside her growing hotter, she realized she couldn't really answer that question.

It was an hour later when they hit the ring. After their meeting -- a meeting in which he had unmistakably seen Jonni recognize him, somehow, but agree to get in the ring with him anyway -- Lex spent most of it in the men's locker room, pacing madly and trying not to think about the way her taut teen body had filled out her tight clothing, about the heat in her eyes as she'd let her gaze bore into his, or play all over his muscles as she bit her lip. By the time they'd shaken hands and parted ways again, Lex's cock had been rock hard and he'd been glad of the camouflage his draped robe afforded him.

Barry had looked at him with something like envy as Jonni had headed off to get changed and warm up. He said: "Well, she clearly doesn't object to you at all, man. I guess we'll find out how the crowd feels. You better go finish warming up."

"Right. And what are you gonna do?"

"See if I can talk Phaedra down. Maybe suggest another way she might still earn those extra fees she wanted."

The response was as cryptic as ever and the task didn't sound at all easy. Phaedra had, not to put too fine a point on it, flipped the fuck out when Barry laid out for her the plan to put Lex and Jonni in the ring together -- "he's a fucking bum, are you sure this broken-down old pervert's even changed his goddamned Depends today?!" had to be one of the choicer lines -- raged about how this whole thing was her fucking concept to begin with and how she could pull her fighter any time she wanted, raged even hotter when Barry had asked if that meant she didn't want her initial finder's fee. He'd been holding out the wad of cash as he said it, and Phaedra had stopped for a second... then finally relented and took it, but with venom in her eyes as she spat at both of them, "fuck you motherfuckers and let me tell you something Mister Old-School Fucking Scene Geezer," pointing right at Lex like a bruja casting a curse, "I don't give a fuck what bet she made with Barry, if you fuckin' hurt my bae or lay so much as a finger on her afterwards, I will scratch your fucking eyes out and send them in a goddamned box to your whore of a mother, you get me?!" A faint "this is such bullshit!" was audible as she slammed the door open and flounced.

Which, that had sounded pretty definitive to Lex. But Barry was welcome to try whatever he could with her... after she'd gone and Jonni had arrived, Lex's mind was dominated by his oncoming encounter with Miss Too-Bad. How exactly had she recognized him? Would she guess why he was here, who he was working for?

Did that heat in her eyes mean what he thought it meant?

He paced in the locker room, back and forth and back and forth, practising his hand speed in the seven ounce MMA gloves the gym had loaned him (along with the rest of his fighting attire) and his wrestling lunges -- learned long ago when he'd been on the high school wrestling team, but he figured it was like riding a bike, you never really forgot -- and basically tried to keep his mind blank as other pairs of fighters came in, suited up and left, then came back to shower and joke around with each other after suitable rounds of cheering. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the two front-men from the oi! bands came back from their encounter actually bloodied. They were especially garrulous, and gave Lex a parting "Good luck out there buddy!" as they'd showered and gotten their street clothes back on and headed back out for a beer.

Then someone was popping their head into the locker room. "Lex, it's time, man."

Lex danced his way out to the ring, where Barry was announcing him with fervour. "Our next fighter comes out of the Windy City. Standing six feet and five inches tall, he weighs in at two hundred and forty pounds... and every pound of that is pure Mean, ladies and gentlemen. As at least one member of the local gang community can tell you!" There was some laughter and cheers to greet this -- the story had already been doing the rounds. "Ladies and gentlemen, Romantic Violence is pleased to bring you... the Living Legend, Lex Coleman!"

There was a round of cheers, a few scattered boos and no small amount of confused chatter in the crowd as he came to the ring, accompanied by the strains of the old Derrick Morgan dub classic "Tougher Than Tough," ducking in through the ropes. He shrugged off his robe -- tossed it to the R'n'R man in his corner -- and revealed his borrowed "Tiger Muay Thai" boxing trunks. Looked out into the audience, caught a glimpse of Phaedra looking both intensely cute and incandescent with fury as she glared daggers at him.

"Lex is a surprise contestant in our tournament today," Barry went on. "As you all knew, I was on the card to face our next fighter. But when Lex here took on a rifle-wielding gang-banger with nothing but a set of brass knuckles to help me and my boys out of a sticky situation earlier today... I decided that he deserved this shot." Another round of cheers greeted this, louder this time, along with some stamping and whistling. Those who hadn't heard the story yet were being treated to hasty -- and probably vastly exaggerated -- retellings by their neighbours.

Barry waited for the noise to die down before going on: "This is a unique bout in charity boxing... a battle for the very heart of one of the loveliest spitfires ever to grace our scene. Fighting out of right here in Maywood Beach, ladies and gentlemen! She stands five foot five and weighs one hundred and nine pounds, but don't let her size fool you, she's as deadly as she is beautiful. You know her, you love her! Put your hands together for Jonni "Too-Bad" Wilder!"

Naturally it was the Slickers' classic "Johnny Too Bad" that played her out. She danced nimbly to the ring in her own fighters' robe... but Lex, watching as she leapt onto the apron and threw her fists up to the cheers of the crowd, wasn't prepared for what came next. Johnny pulled off her own robe, whirled it around over her immaculate blonde Chelsea and tossed it into the raucous throng -- and underneath it she wasn't wearing the expected sports bra and spandex trunks. She wasn't even wearing a swimsuit.

No, except for her trainers, knee pads, gloves and what had to be about a gallon and a half of baby oil rubbed lovingly into every inch of her flawless white skin, Jonni Too-Bad was wearing nothing at all.

Phaedra could feel the shockwave that went through the room -- it went through her, too -- when Jonni revealed her hard and gloriously naked body.

There was just a split second of collective awe, and various emotions akin to it, that held the crowd spellbound for a moment, watching the play of the light on Jonni's oiled-up, muscular but still feminine curves, the big pink nipples stiff in the open air on her perky little breasts, her shaven slit there to be seen in all its glory as she swung nimbly over the top rope and alighted in the ring with her pert bottom jiggling. There was the shock of the 'byrds -- mostly conservative about their fashion, really -- at her brazenness. The shock of many of the skins who'd only dared fantasize about seeing her naked. The visible shock of Barry himself as he stared slack-jawed at her... and of her massive opponent, the mysterious "Living Legend" Lex Coleman, who did likewise with a visible and equally massive hard-on tenting his trunks.

Phaedra stayed frozen inside that cone of shock as the rest of the room exploded back into cheering: the women appreciating Jonni's ballsy eroticism, the men whistling and stamping in delight at the unexpected but surely not unwelcome display of sexy pulchritude. Jonni did a circuit of the ring -- flipping a two-fingered hooligan salute at her opponent (and only a few people saw the naughty wink that accompanied it) -- before she took up her corner, pedalling her feet with an accustomed aplomb.

All Phaedra could think was: I should have seen it. Jonni was a balls-out attention whore to a degree she'd never even dreamed of. All of Phaedra's plotting to publicly shame her was in vain; Jonni was the kind of beauty who was more than just shameless, but who could effortlessly transmute her shamelessness into acclaim, become a conduit of raucous desire for any audience... and the pale brunette 'byrd was cursing herself for not having worked it out earlier. No matter what happened here -- and it was clear now that almost anything could happen here -- Jonni's scene-queen status would only be magnified, herself only more eclipsed. The whole idea had been futile.

Bitch. She projected the thought venomously at the barely-legal beauty she'd abruptly decided was her former lover. Dirty, filthy little attention-whore bitch. Fucking skeezer. Fucking SLUT. But there was a sinking feeling in her stomach, a sense of vertigo and dread in her whirling mind. How on Earth could she recover the spotlight now? She was irked that Jonni didn't even seem to notice her lover's eyes burning into her with hatred.

Barry finally rediscovered his voice. "Uh... yeah, how 'bout it, everyone! Jonni Too-Bad, living up to her name!" He gave a grand gesture with one hand, and the cheers grew deafening. He waited a moment for them to quiet back down and then went on: "This is a unique bout, ladies and gentlemen. If Jonni wins, our friend the Living Legend here is on the hook for a Valentine's dinner for her and the lovely Phaedra sitting right here in the audience." As faces swung toward her, Phaedra did her best to replace her expression of wrathful hate with a winning smile. "But the thing is... Jonni has to book that win in thirty seconds. Because she's betting her opponent won't last more than thirty seconds against her. If he does last more than thirty seconds... he gets to take Jonni home for some sweet, sweet love."

Jonni grinned at the cheering crowd, making stagy motions at her opponent and giving a thumbs-down that said it was never going to happen. But Phaedra could read the tell-tale flush in her skin, the look of hunger in those bright blue eyes. And suddenly she understood something else with crystalline, awful clarity: Jesus. Jonni doesn't even want to fucking win. She wants him. That old grey-bearded pervo has-been fucker. That... that NIGGER. She wants LEX!

Glaring daggers at the big black skinhead who was still staring dumbfounded at her Jonni with the prodigious visible evidence of his pervy lust outlined in his trunks -- leaving nothing to the imagination, she could even tell that he was circumcised -- Phaedra felt her wrath crest to new heights. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands with the effort of restraining herself from launching herself at that fucker in that very moment. Her whole body was shaking.

"In other words, boys and 'byrds," Barry declared: "You're about to witness the most fateful thirty seconds ever to happen at a charity boxing event. This is our main event!" And digging deep for his inner Michael Buffer he called out: "Let's get ready to RUM-BLLLE!"

The noise from the crowd was deafening as the R'n'R droog assigned to referee the fight -- he was actually wearing a striped shirt with his boots and braces -- went through the pantomime of instructing the fighters. No eye in the room could miss the electricity of the gaze that passed between Lex and Jonni as he was talking... nor could they miss the way big Lex's breath quickened after the ref was done talking, and she said something of her own to her opponent, inaudible, that made his enormous prick twitch in his trunks. They paused a moment more before they touched gloves and danced away from each other, each to their respective corners. Jonni gave an extra little wiggle of her oiled-up, naked ass to the corner of the room behind her, which predictably erupted in ribald cheers.

The crowd only grew louder. The fix was clearly in, and the audience clearly didn't care. They were waiting now for a very different sort of spectacle -- and in her guts, Phaedra could sense what it was. Could sense how far Jonni was willing to go in pursuit of pleasure and attention. And a shaft of cold terror went through her as her mind ran in a thousand different directions at once, wondering what to do.

Then, just before the bell, she found Barry in the seat next to her, and froze. Just before the action started, he leaned in close and murmured: "You know, Phaedra... there's a way you can still get those extra 'managerial fees' you talked to me about. And a way you can still get what you really want. You interested?"

She didn't say no, and he kept murmuring as the bell rang and the fighters came bouncing out of their corners... and as he murmured, Phaedra held still and listened. She listened very closely indeed.

Jonni's heart hammered in her ears at the delicious madness of what she was doing, of what she'd decided to do. As the bell rang, timed seemed to slow down.

Her whole body was tingling with arousal. Thinking about Lex's hard muscles, that enormous thing in his trunks, the stories she'd heard about him back in their hometown, the way his deep voice had seemed to resonate somewhere inside her and his dark eyes looked right into her and the immense, gentle strength in the hand that had shaken hers -- it had been a potent cocktail. As she'd left that office, her earlier determination to seek Phaedra out had evaporated, replaced by the new objective of getting into the showers and ferociously stuffing her fingers up her tight little cunt as she muffled her squeals and fantasized about how his cock would feel inside her.