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Send me Questions on my CuriousCat!



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The stadium was alive with hundreds of bodies and bristled with anticipation. Everyone who was here, packed in tightly under the hot lights, endured the discomfort for one reason. They had come to see a fight. Brenda “The Bombshell” Carter, the current champion, stood in her corner, shoulders thrown back, long blonde hair braided tight against her scalp and a look of murderous intent in her eyes. She, too, was ready for a fight. There was just one problem. Her opponent was nowhere to be found. She growled and looked to the ref who was leaning against the ropes at one end of the ring.

“If she doesn’t arrive, it’s a forfeit,” she said flatly, her voice betraying none of the anger in her posture. It was easy to forget that she was a performer, and it was hard to tell which was the act: the aggressive way she carried herself or the cool and collected way that she spoke to the people around her.

“She still has five minutes,” the ref said, checking his watch. Bombshell nodded, setting her jaw and cracking her neck. Maybe there wouldn’t be a fight tonight, and all of this unpleasantness could be avoided. She kept her eye on the doorway to the locker room, silently daring the other fighter to make an appearance.

There was a roar from the crowd, and Bombshell spun in time to see Juliette “Fury” Rodriguez burst through one of the crowd entrances and come sauntering in, beaming as if she had arrived right on time. She was wearing a leather jacket over a sports bra and biker shorts, and her hair was styled into the iconic bright red mohawk. She took a swig from a bottle of vodka before capping it and tossing the mostly full bottle into the screaming crowd, where it was quickly dog-piled, much to Fury’s apparent amusement. Bombshell stifled another growl. This was just another example of why Fury didn’t deserve the title.

The runner-up made her way through the crowd shaking hands and signing autographs as if everyone was there to see her. She winked at Bombshell as she passed and stripped off her jacket, revealing the sculpted lean muscle beneath.

“You’re late,” her manager said as she reached her corner.

“By, like, ten minutes,” she said, shrugging and presenting her hands to a man who immediately began wrapping her knuckles.

“You’re drunk,” her manager accused.

“Barely took a sip.” She looked at him with a playful but totally sober gaze.

“And you threw alcohol into a crowd that was already demanding blood.”

“They’re that bad, huh?” she asked, turning to look into the throngs of roaring spectators. They stomped and yelled and Fury could feel the rhythm of their anticipation beating against her chest. “Well, I guess I'd better give them a good show.” She smiled again and pulled herself into the ring. The crowd surged again, and she waved, flexing and shooting finger guns at any fans lucky enough to make eye contact with her. She and Bombshell approached each other in the center of the ring.

Fury had a few inches on the champion, but Bombshell had her beat in raw muscle. Fury grinned down at her, projecting an air of complete confidence, but she was well aware that if Bombshell forced her to the ground, she wouldn’t be getting up again.

“You look scared,” Fury lied. She’d never seen Bombshell look anything close to scared. “You sure you’re ready?”

“I’ve been ready for over fifteen minutes,” Bombshell said accusingly.

Fury held up both palms. “Hey, we can call it here if you don’t want to do this. It’ll save you the trouble of tapping out later.”

“Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?” Bombshell growled. Fury nearly took a step back. Christ, had that been real anger? Bombshell, the cool-headed angel of death wasn’t the type to lose her cool. Fury’s taunts had been pretty standard. Surely, they weren’t enough to actually get under the skin.

The ref approached the two women, spelled out the rules while the two fighters started each other down, and blew his whistle. Bombshell erupted with the first punch. A blistering left hook that was aimed for Fury’s jaw but connected with her shoulder. Fury danced away, fighting defensively as she blocked blow after blow away from her vulnerable areas. A punch to the jaw was a good way to get a broken hand. It was also the fastest way to score a knockout. Bombshell was’t playing around.

She smiled as she pressed further and further into Fury’s guard. She wouldn't be able to maintain this pace, but it would only take one good hit on Fury to bring her to the floor. If she could take her out in the first round, that would be humiliation enough. She wouldn’t need to bother with her real plan. She saw her opening and dropped her right arm for a powerful uppercut only to be greeted with a shin to the face. She spun, momentarily taken off balance by Fury’s lightning fast kick, but that left her opponent plenty of time to go on the offensive. True to her name, Fury began assailing Bombshell with a barrage of jabs about the ribs and gut. Bombshell raised her guard too late as she was pushed into one corner and pulled against one of the posts.

The ref moved in, blowing his whistle and separating the two women, sending them back to their corners. Bombshell sat on the stool set out for her, glowering as she was attended to by her team. For all of her posturing, she hadn’t gotten a single good hit in while Fury had it her with a roundhouse and half a dozen punches. The woman may be a punk who made a mockery of the sport, but damn could she fight. Bombshell almost felt bad for what they were about to do to her.

A member of Fury’s entourage handed her a water bottle, which Fury accepted eagerly. Bombshell looked to her manager and nodded toward the water bottle as Fury drank from it greedily. He gave her a thumbs up in return, and Bombshell felt an evil smile spread across her lips. Fury looked over, concerned. That was the second time tonight that Bombshell had shown uncharacteristic emotion, and Fury didn’t like it. She was the undisputed winner of the first round, but she wasn’t an idiot. If Bombshell had landed even one of those heavy punches, the fight would have been over before it started.

The two women stood and made their way into the ring as the next round started. Fury played it defensively, ready for another set of jackhammer punches, but Bombshell only gave a few dancing jabs. Had she wore herself out in the first round? Fury sent out an experimental punch, and Bombshell played it safe, dancing back and blocking passively. Emboldened, Fury attacked again, aiming high with some stiff jabs of her own. This left her open for a punch to the gut, and Fury flexed her abdominals as Bombshell ducked down for a low punch. The hit connected, but not the way she expected.

She shock of it was enough to thow of Fury’s rhythm, but not from pain. Instead of the satisfying crack of skin against skin that she’d been waiting for, the hit had landed with a dull slap. It wasn’t the kind of sound produced by an impact with washboard abs. She stepped back examining herself, trying to determine what had happened, only for the problem to become all too obvious. Below her breasts sat a soft gut that pooched out over the waistband of her shorts and wobbled slightly with each step. There was a red circle just to the left of her navel from where Bombshells hit had connected, and it rose and fell with her heavy breathing.

“Well, well, well…” Bombshell taunted from the other end of the ring. “Is all that booze finally catching up to you?” Fury looked up, horrified by both her bloated body and the cheerful teasing voice of her opponent. Bombshell sported a huge grin as she approached Fury deliberate step after deliberate step. “Doesn’t look like you’re quite done growing yet.”



As if in response, Fury was met with a sickening tearing sound as her expanding thighs began to burst the seams of her biker shorts. She gasped as she watched her hips flare outwards. Her belly, which now obscured her view of her toes, had distracted her from her ass and thighs, which she now realized were taking the brunt of the new weight. She shifted her thighs apart in an attempt to prevent them from touching, but she only succeeded in shredding her shorts further and causing more flesh to bubble up through the holes. Her heart raced as Bombshell advanced.

“As if I’d let someone like you--” she threw a punch, but Fury deflected it. “--Take the title--” another punch; another clumsy block. “--From someone like me.” She feigned left, and Fury fell for her trap, giving Bombshell ample time to bring her leg up into a tremendous roundhouse delivered to Fury’s ribs. Fury had enough time to realize her mistake and braced for the hit that would inevitably bring her to the ground. There was silence for a moment as the shocked crowd waited for the expanded fighter to hit the ground, but the crash never came.

Bombshell looked on, shocked as a very angry Fury locked her leg under one pudgy arm. The kick had connected perfectly and it had hurt like hell, but Fury was much more bottom-heavy than she’d been a moment before, and the other fighter hadn’t accounted for the change in her center of gravity. Bombshell tried to pull her leg away but Fury wouldn't let go. The now titanic fighter pressed forward, her well-muscled legs now buried in fat forcing Bombshell backward as they flexed, ripping away what was left of the biker shorts from her bean bag chair-sized booty. Fury had always been taller than Bombshell, but now she outweighed the other fighter nearly three times over.

With each step she picked up speed, barreling forward with all the force of a locomotive. Eventually, it became too much for Bombshell to keep up. She fell backward onto the mat, and Fury spun to land on top of her with all of the weight of her enormous behind. There was another loud plop as Fury landed atop her prey, pinning her under soft, pillowy flesh. Bombshell struggled and fought and writhed, beating at Fury’s flank with her free hand, but was met with only plush, yielding flesh. She sighed as she finally gave in and tapped out.

The crowd cheered as the ref approached, holding one of Fury’s pudgy arms aloft. In her anger, Fury had nearly forgotten what she had been competing for. She had won! Maybe not in the way she had intended, but she was champion of the world!

“Hey, Fury!” Shouted one of the spectators. Fury turned and a glass bottle was flung toward her from the audience. She caught the nearly empty bottle of vodka and uncapped it, downing the last swig as reporters approached.

“In a stunning upset, Juliette ‘Fury’ Rodriguez brings an end to Bombshell’s reign of terror. But is this the end for Fury’s career as well?” The reporter shoved a microphone into her face as they awaited her response.

“Hell no!” Fury yelled, grabbing the microphone and throwing her other fist into the air, the empty bottle flashing under the spotlight. She paused for a moment before admitting, “Though, I may need to upgrade to a different weight class.”