Fight Like A Girl

doodled this one up between commissions. wanted a few things in particular in this fight, which might not be for everyone but hopefully was suitably epic all the same. Came to me when confused by a breast cancer charity with the same slogan on it
Factors: overweight fighters, mature/old fighters, boxing (never did one for myself), and “grossness.”
Gross not being anything beyond some spit and blood, but the tone just being really brutal and rough. The women are out of shape, amateurs, personally HATE eachother, and are too old for this, and things get sweaty and vicious REAL fast.


The final event of Fight Like A Girl was at hand, and the turnout was incredible. The whole thing had been with the best of intentions; to raise awareness and money for breast cancer, the community of Blackstaff, South Dakota had arranged a charity tournament. The men and women around town volunteered to participate in boxing and wrestling matches, as they preferred, sporting pink attire and selling tickets to their bouts. It had been a fair success so far, but it was all coming to a head when Grace Tanner would be throwing down with Francine Bigsby.

Grace and Fran were the big ticket items, and everyone knew it. They believed in the cause, certainly. But they had been mutely bitter rivals for some time, and this event was just a way to settle things between them. They were both active in the community, volunteer events, just about every bakesale or book club or generally organized happening in town. They were also the owners of some of the biggest tits in the area, both known to stretch out their share of sweaters with their mammoth F cup busts.

They were both in their early 50s, Grace with naturally tanned skin, long blond hair, and long legs, though her body was seeing its signs of age and gaining some softness around the middle and particularly in her once sought-after thighs.

Fran was on the pale side, with short, red curly hair to further indicate her Irish heritage. She had wide hips and a bit more weight than Grace, on the chubby side of things and notably a bit shorter.

Neither had much fighting experience, and their bodies had seen better days, but it didn’t keep from their match selling so well that the last few donors had to bring their own seats or stand in the back. The whole thing took place under a carnival-like tent, draped over a traditional second-hand wrestling ring. People knew the bad blood between the two old milfs, and even if their aggression didn’t make the match shine, the sheer amount of jiggling would be more than enough for the male onlookers to get their money’s worth.

The women trotted up in tank tops and boxing shorts, the low-cut shirts drawing their share of catcalls each. Both wore white and pink in matching with the theme of the charity, notably bright pink boxing gloves on each of them. The ladies got into their corners, much jiggling involved squeezing their full figures and fuller racks through the ropes. They loosened up a bit in their corners as they glared daggers at eachother. The charity was really just their excuse to settle this once and for all, the long feud between them.
The ring itself was a bit like the fighters. Big, soft and saggy from years of use. It was also set up inside a tent, as if a carnival attraction, to keep people from seeing without donating. The flaps only went so low, so there was air circulating through the tent, but less so the closer one got to the ring.

The bell rang for the older women to get to it, and Fran and Grace were keen to start. They both made their way out to the middle of the ring, light on their feet as they could manage at their age but clearly unfamiliar with any actual boxing training.

“You are all mine, bitch,” Grace taunted across the ring, losing all pretense of this being a simple game.
Fran straightened her back, thrusting her big tits out further as they approached. “I think I’ll have those beaten jugs of yours mounted when I’m done with you,” she boasted back.
“Like you’ve mounted every man in town already, whore?”
“Better than a dried up twat who couldn’t get laid to save her life!”
Seeming to cross a threshold of rage, Grace reared back a fist and swung a hard blow across Frans’ face. It sent her reeling, face flying back as she lost all footing, her chest bouncing uncontrollably.

Grace followed her closely, taking wide wild swings at her that Fran merely had to raise her arms again to cut off their incoming paths. Their thick arms slapped together audibly along with the thump of connecting gloves, Fran backing up to avoid another headshot. She waited for Grace to start to tire a bit before she shot forward, swinging a glove to slam into the blond's tit. She gave a quick gasp as the jug bashed back into her lungs, giving Fran reach enough to take another pace back and send several more slow, unpracticed jabs into her tits, making them bounce and squash under her gloves as the crowd started to really pick up the volume.

Grace lunged forward herself, grabbing Fran around the neck with her gloved arms, her tan skin clashing with Fran's as their voluptuous bodies mashed into one another. She hung on like she'd seen in the boxing videos she'd watched to prepare for the fight (because fuck exercise and practice), but loosened one arm to reach down and hook it into the side of Fran's flabby belly. The paler woman huffed as the air was beat out of her further, moving her meaty legs to try and break free or shove her loose. Grace hit her in the same soft spot a few more times, but Fran got her gloves around her own shoulders, yanking back on a crude handful of Grace's blond hair before hammering a pair of blows into her chin.

Grace's head rocked from the hits, staggering back a bit drunkenly before Fran wound up and hurled a hearty blow right into the fleshy meat of Fran's lower belly. "AUHHHH!" she blurted wordlessly as she grabbed at her stomach with one gloved hand, losing her balance and calling to her knees and one supporting arm. The ref at ringside started counting, Fran hopping up and down on her feet as her breasts bounced wildly, raising her  gloves proudly to the crowd.

1! 2! 3!
Grace coughed out a few hard breaths before pushing herself up, Fran too busy flexing and jiggling for the crowd. She still heard the count stop, turning to face Grace but with the blond having already lines up a shot at her sideboob. Both of Grace's gloves arced in and smashed into the sides of either tit, sandwiching them together with enough force to make Fran scream out in pain, the big, lightly veined orbs mangled between the gloves. Grace went as far as twisting her gloves, grinding the leather into the envied orbs.

"Let's see the silicone pop out of those ugly things!" Grace insisted, but despite the pain it left Fran quite an opening. She raised her glove and spiked its knuckles into Grace's breast bone, coughing hard as she tried to block her upper chest. Fran just moved in, using her lower height to arc and uppercut right into Grace's tit. This got a huge reaction as the tit flew up high enough to almost hit her in the face, crashing painfully into the redhead's nipple and dragging it up by it. The one breast popped free of her top, entangling Grace’s arm a bit and Fran unwilling to let the opportunity pass her by.

Fran moved in, wrapping an arm around Grace's exposed tit as if trying to get it in a headlock. Grace screamed in surprise and shoved at Fran's face with her gloves, the fat orb swelling a bit until the hard nipple poked out and her areola stretched from the squeeze. Fran ignored the shoving and drive her fist straight into Grace’s nipple, smashing it into her jug like she was trying to invert it. Labored grunts came from Grace with each hit, the nipple hardening from the attention only to be bashed in again.
Grace thrashed and shoved, finally breaking free with the shirt catching on Fran’s arm. Rather than try to free herself, she wrapped her arm around the top and pulled back, ripping it a bit before completely pulling off Grace’s top. The blonde's big, red and bruised breasts sprang free, confirming her lack of a bra for this fight. Grace was too furious to respond at first, but at last a bell rang. Fran dropped the shirt as they both went to their corners, the ref pausing a moment before sliding in to retrieve the shirt. It was gone now.

The women plopped into their stools, breathing heavily and showing some clear sweating in their hair and clothes, their age showing quickly as they stopped brawling for just a moment. As Fran’s 20-something son gave her water and used a wet cloth to towel her off, he checked her face. “She got  you good on that first shot,” he warned. “But not as bad as these.” He indicated the two swollen tits, irritated and red on the sides from the grinding attack.
“I know, they ache like crazy,” she groaned as her boy reached under her top to massage her chest muscles. She winced as they bounced with his rubbing, making a vague motion with her glove. “I can’t take it. Cut me open, baby.” Her son took the cue to take the straps of her top and pull them up, getting more hoots and catcalls as her F-cups bounced into view to match Grace’s.
Grace laid back in her corner, her husband massaging her various muscles and rubbing ointment over her plentiful scrapes and bruises. “Don’t let her get to you, hon,” he advised as his lotioned hand ran against her hard nipples and got a twitch and a hiss from the mature beauty. “You fight stupid when you’re angry. Make her move at your pace and cream the fat bitch. Think about winning, not just about hurting her.”
The way Grace glared across at Fran as she removed her top and received more catcalls didn’t convince him she was listening. The bell rang all the same, the women lugging themselves back up. Their age was becoming more immediately apparent, not from the wrinkles and stretch marks so much as the clear ache and fatigue in their worn muscles was visible, along with the husky grunts that went with their mere standing as well as any further thrown punches and absorbed hits.

Both women came out swinging, on a full offensive as their gloves swung at eachother in quick and wild jabs and arcs. Gloves thumped into eachother on intersecting paths, but never intentionally guarding anything. A few leathery smacks sounded as the crowd cheered and urged them on, finally a pink glove landing with a dense THUP into Fran's eye. The pale redhead stumbled as her legs almost gave out, the area around her eye reddening and showing early signs of swelling right away.
"How about a fat lip to match that fat ass?!" Grace growled, sending another vengeful fist smashing across Fran's face. Her head whipped unnaturally to one side as her spittle sprayed from her mouth, getting a cheer from the bloodthirsty crowd as the front couple of rows were surprised to have not seen a "you will get wet" sign around them.
Fran stumbled drunkenly to one side, slinging her meaty arms over the top rope to stay standing as her legs gave out beneath her. She groaned and tried pushing herself back up, wheezing as her huge bare chest and belly heaved with the effort of getting her muscles and brains back in place.
Grace did not give her that courtesy. As the ropes began digging into her belly fat and breasts, Fran pushed off to turn around and face the middle of the ring. Grace appeared before her blurred eyes and smashed her in the belly, spraying more spittle over her lips to mix with the heavy sweat that Grace had already worked up.

"The head, baby! Work the head!" her husband called, but Grace too infuriated to stop the beating around of her belly fat, letting the other mature amateur jiggle under her storm of fists. Fran pawed at the ropes with her gloves before she was forced to drop to the mat, her arms too weak and clumsy to hold on and falling. Fran moved as if to continue the beating before remembering the pretense of rules in this fight and pulling back, leaving her to groan in a daze on the mat.

1!2!3!
The count started up on Fran for the first time, though the stout redhead slower to rise than Grace had been. The exhaustion of the first round had sunk into her old muscles, and her right eye was throbbing. The crowd roared incoherently at the takedown, cheering one grandmother or another, and reached a new peak as Fran managed to raise a glove and grabbed the bottom rope. It was at 6 by the time she pulled herself up to her feet, leaning on the ropes wheezing as the mat was stained by the sweat and drool where she'd landed.

"Should have stayed down, you great white whale!" Grace snarled as she stormed after her, though a bit sluggish from her own fatigue and sweat-matted hair. It gave Fran a moment to crouch down and raise her gloves to shield her face, Grace's gloves soaked up by the leathery guardians but ringing a dull ache through her weary arms. Fran stooped down lower, Grace sneering madly down at her to think that her attack was smashing through her defense like a big-titted bulldozer. She was unaware that the crouching was fully intentional, and Fran suddenly rose up while smashing her glove upward into Grace's pussy.

A huge "OH!" from the crowd went off at the blunt smacking noise, Grace bending double instantly and mouth hanging open in an expression of stupefied pain. It hadn't come up before in the matches to declare it a foul or not, so nobody put a stop to it as Fran pulled herself back upright, leaning on the ropes a bit before sending another uppercut into her jaw. Grace flew back in a wild stagger, back pedaling like mad until she hit the opposite ropes, bouncing off them wearily just as the bell rang for round 2 to cease.

Both women had to be led to their stools by their men, looking about ready to pass out on their feet. Grace's husband checked her jaw with some light pressing and squeezing, but she couldn't stop groaning either way. "Does it hurt?" he pried, but she shook her head wearily.
"My pussy! Ohhh, god, I think she broke it!"
"Focus, hon! You almost had her!"
"I can't take it! It hurts so bad!"
"You got to. She's dead in the water. Look at her wobbling over there. You've been dyin' for this for months, now you can finally get her."

Fran was hardly better. She was slumped back into her stool, leaning over the ropes with her arms as her son pressed the ice pack on her badly swelling eye. He ran another wet cloth over his mother's curves, clearing out the irritating sweat from under her breasts and her softer regions.
"Just a little more, mom," he urged quietly but firmly. "You can win this."
"I know, I know, I just can't think straight."
"Don't think, just fight. She's almost down, just don't take any more big shots like that."
"Right, right," she muttered, looking wearily across the ring.
"Mom, stay with us," her son insisted, snapping his fingers. "You've got an audience for the fight you've been flipping out about for ages. Make it happen!"

Fran thumped her gloves together in reply, but with far less intensity than she might have 5 minutes ago. Both women lugged themselves up, looking like a stiff breeze could take them out at the right angle. Apparently, though a stiff breeze was stronger than the punches they were throwing now.

Fran moved in first to pepper Grace's cheeks with a few pink gloves, her chubby features jiggling with each snaking hit before she stomped onto Fran's foot. She yelped in surprise more than anything, but it cut her off and held her still enough for Grace to wind up and give a HUGE blow to Fran's face. By the time the glove moved to show her face again, her eyes were crossed as she fell to the mats, tits and belly crushed under her bodyweight as she splayed out on the mats.

Grace paced and breathed heavily through her lips, wiping her arm at the swollen cheeks. She looked to see that she must have bitten her tongue or something, since she saw some blood coming from her lips. Her posture and breathing showed her sudden fury as she moved after Fran, sluggishly pushing herself from the mats at 5. Not caring about the count, Grace grabbed onto Fran's shorts and pulled, baring her big ass for the crowd. The count stopped with Grace's interference, despite the cheering, and Fran could only wave her arms most uselessly back at her opponent as she tried to ride and fix her boxing shorts. Grace ignored her and wound up, backing up a pace before swinging her foot forward again.

Fran howled and twisted on the mats as Grace's boot buried its toe in her loose, aged pussy, spiking into her womanhood as she made inhuman noises in reaction to the pain. She beat the mat with her gloves and boots in reaction as the crowd "OH"'d even louder than the last cunt shot, Fran shedding tears and screaming until her drooled over the mats, clutching at her pussy with her glove. Grace paced around Fran and spit on her back, the redhead in too much agony and already sticky with sweat and bruises too much to care.

"Dirty fighting cunt! See how you like it!? That enoug to fill that slut pussy of yours, cow!? Get up! Get up, you fucking whore so I can kill you in this ring like a fucking dog! Or lay there and squeal like the pig queen you are before I finish you off!"

The crowd stomped and clapped in excitement, cheering as much for either fighter as just the continuing of the fight. Grace didn't strike at Fran again, though she took more than her ten-count catching her breath from the cheap shot and pulling up her trunks. She met eyes with her son and managed to drag herself to all fours, dry heaving there a moment before she forced herself to rise. Grace was waiting with her gloves up, but looked nearly hypervenalating herself. Grandmothers did not box for a reason, it so happened.

Both women jiggled as they danced awkwardly towards eachother, Fran fighting carefully as her blubbery thighs rubbed against her pained, throbbing pussy with nearly every move. Fran kept pace with her, throwing a swing for her hanging tits but Fran quick enough to evade it and send her own shot into her ribs. Grace jerked at the blow, trying a second shot just for Fran to evade it and strike her again in the same spot. Grace tried to cover and hit again, but Fran was finally fighting smart, pounding that same rib with the same quick shot as she'd found a weak spot in her defenses. There were honestly probably a few given her amateur fighting, but she found her sweet spot and kept hitting away. Fran growled and dove in after her, trying to exploit her cuntbreaking kick from earlier and gave a huge swing at her head. Fran ducked and winced in pain as she forced herself to rush past her, smashing into the rib with a running blow this time. There was a sharp crunch heard by the women and their corner boys, but merely a lound hard thud to those outside their reach.
Grace still went wide-eyed and clutched her side as she stumbled past Fran, mouth popping open as she felt her rib break. Her mind throbbed in pain as she struggled to stay standing.
"Break your hip, you hag?" Fran hissed, punching the spot again. It sent a horrible jolt of pain up Grace's body, paralyzing her a moment for Fran to smash a blow into her face that sent a trickle of blood over Grace's breasts in its wake, fresh from her lip. However, she managed to get a clumsy grip on Fran's arm and glove. She held it to her side, keeping her from hitting it again as she threw several punches into her face, rocking Fran's head back and forth like a lazy speedbag.
Fran groaned as in return for the bloody lip and puffy cheeks, her eye was swollen nearly closed. She soaked up the first four hits to her face, moaning dizzily before deciding to go for broke. She grabbed Grace's incoming arm, stopping her swing and trusting her ancestry as she leaned back and threw a vicious headbutt into Grace's skull. She guessed it worked better in the movies, because her own throbbing head couldn't take it. Both went down to the mats, laying side by side like concusssed, elderly lovers. The crowd was utterly insane as both women appeared unconscious, no count starting but both down for at least ten seconds together. They stomped and cheered and begged for more, and finally Grace's leg twitched. The cheers got louder, as if savages thinking that their voices brought her back to life like some kind of big titted, kickass Tinkerbell.

Fran's arm pawed at the air shortly after, and both women started to rise. Both hissed as they turned too sharply, breasts bumping together and already sweaty and sore from eachother's beatings. Hard nipples brushed together like daring fencers as Fran plopped into a sitting position, the best she could manage as her treetrunk legs felt so numb. Grace soon matched her pace a moment later, both clearly punchdrunk and exhausted as they finally met eyes. Not even fully risen, Grace threw a punch into Fran's tits. The big pale milk jugs jiggled and Fran nearly fell just from that, catching herself on the mat and turning back to jab Grace in the face.

Back and forth they traded their hits, too broken and exhausted to attack quickly enough to get two in a row. Grace crushed Fran's chin, sending her almost flopping to her side, seemingly only stopped by the weight of her broad ass on the mats. "Fucking witch! I'll bury you!" Grace raved at her as she wheezed, trying to get the strength to flex her arm for a second blow.
By then Fran punched hard into Grace's belly, fist sinking in a few inches as Grace gurgled and foaming saliva poured over her lips, holding her stomach weakly. "You don't have the guts for it, pig cunt! You're gonna be nothing but a stain on the ring!"
She had to pant and wipe sweat from her forehead, arm brushing her sore eye when Grace's glove went under her chubby chin to crush into her throat. Fran coughed and held her neck as best one glove could, choking and coughing wildly. "If that's what it took to shut your big mouth up, I'd have done that years ago! That or told you they were giving away free dick at the biker bar to shove something in there!"
She wiped her face to smear the spittle on her arm off her chin, Fran leaning on both arms and spitting a large foamy ball of saliva to the mats, shaking her head as her eyes teared into a foul mess beneath them, their bodily juices and sweat pooling together.
"I.. I am NOT A WHORE!" she roared, swinging both fists forward to crush into Grace's eyes like a brutal Three Stooges maneuver. Grace gurgled and fell back, twisting dizzily from the blow and landing on the side of her face. She drooled over the mat, and even in her position, her swollen face was clearly and instantly worse as everything on her was a bruised and ugly mess. The crowd went wild as she laid perfectly still, Fran taking several long seconds of sobbing from the agony, sweat running down her every hair and feature and womanly curve. Nothing on her wasn't sticky or bruised or both, and her eye was a puffy mess as she grabbed the nearby ropes, leaning into them on her knees and crying softly. "Come on, mom," hissed her boy nearby, clapping for her to rise while Grace was still down and in dreamland. She shook her head no, as if refusing the pain in her legs and hips that refused to let her stand. Her pussy was still swollen in agony, and she staggered just to get to one awkwardly bent leg, ready to collapse under her weight.

Grace suddenly grabbed her leg, dragging herself towards her. Fran let out a shriek of horror as if attacked by a dead woman, Grace apparently too weak to stand or swing, just lurch along the mats like a bruised slug. Even her eyes were horrifically puffy now, half blind in her pawing for Grace. Still she leaned in, face smearing blood over her boots before she managed to bite into the flesh just above it, getting a blood curdling screech from Grace as she fell again. She thrashed wildly on the mat, jerking her leg away as Grace held on with her one arm and teeth, all she seemed to have left in her. Like a victim in a horror movie, Fran writhed and howled and cried. "OH GOD! FUCK! NO, NO NO SHE'S EATING ME ALIVE! FUCK, MAKE HER STOP! I HATE, I FUCKING HATE YOU PSYCHO CUNT! MAN-EATING PIG! HATE YOU HATE YOU FUUUUUCK!"
Fran smeared more of her sweat and drool over the mats as she thrashed and screamed, too weak to break free. Grace dragged herself up her like a crippled assailent, dead set on ruining her as she raised her head to bite into her cottage cheese thigh. Fran howled and sobbed some more, Grace growling through her mouthful of pale flesh.
"Your... pussy... is mine... next," she breathed wetly, drooling over her as she heaved in air desperately. Fran looked at her in horror and disgust as Grace fought like a woman possessed, swinging to punch her in the hatefully glaring eyes. Grace's mouth fell open in surprise, and Fran kept on swinging until blood ran from her nose and she fell like a rag doll at her side. Even then, she gave her a half dozen more punches until her arm felt ready to fall off.

The crowd was quiet at last, only the old womens' labored breathing coming from them. Grace was alive, if out cold, but clearly Fran didn't care either way. She grabbed the ropes with both arms, hissing as her one felt nearly broken with the effort of beating in Grace's face, laboring to heave herself up to her knees. She had to catch her breath for another minute or so from there, fighting back tears from her bloody ankle but leaning on the ropes to put all her weight on another fat leg.
At last the big redhead was able to stand under her own power, leaning on the ropes and sobbing even as her son took her arm to raise her glove in triumph as the final count went down. She cried and hugged her son, ignoring that she was topless, who hugged her back all the same, even when she shivered and cried a bit more from the light hug around her fat sore body.

From the way the cheers came in from the crowd when the outside ref hit 10, you'd have thought their fight had singlehandedly beat cancer.