Gang rape female boxer

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

(Bangkok, Thailand, an underground boxing ring)

"Basari! Go!"

"Basari! Hit her, beat her up!"

Like molten iron boiling in a blast furnace, the excited crowd lit up the entire stands with their enthusiasm. The high-spirited crowd cheered, raising their arms and roaring towards the only bright spot in the center of the ring.

This was the final match of an underground Muay Thai fight, with a local Thai female boxer named Basari facing off against an opponent from Ukraine.

Currently, the crowd was overwhelmingly supporting Basari. Besides the fact that Basari was a local, more importantly, their betting tickets—almost everyone had placed bets on Basari to win.

Basari was the highest-level boxer in the local underground ring, having defeated countless strong opponents. Whether it was a tall, imposing European or a physically stronger Black fighter, or even a lightweight male boxer, Basari had never disappointed the audience's high expectations.

Furthermore, Basari's outstanding looks and stunning figure naturally attracted the attention of the predominantly male audience—it's said that Basari never had a man by her side, not even her sparring partners.

In the local area, underground boxing wasn't just a pastime for gamblers or the poor; its audience included many wealthy and powerful individuals. Many tried to woo Basari—but no matter how hard they tried offstage, none ever succeeded.

Once again dodging her opponent's high kick, Basari launched a barrage of short punches, nearly rendering her opponent defenseless—unfortunately, the bell rang at the inopportune moment to signal the end of the third round.

A chorus of boos erupted from the audience, but their mood was clearly good. It was obvious that the next round would be Basari's victory.

The boos gradually subsided, and the audience, along with Basari, awaited the start of the fourth round.

Contrary to the overwhelming confidence in the outcome, Basari herself was experiencing a surge of emotions.
"Fourth round, remember, you have to fight to the fourth round, and then lose the match."

This was the "boss's" order.

The "boss" was Basari's benefactor. Without him, there would be no Basari today.

In fact, Basari might not even be alive.

Basari always obeyed the "boss's" words without question.

He was both the best coach—the boxing techniques he taught were exquisite and fierce, many of which even current Muay Thai champions had never used.

At the same time, he was also Basari's benefactor—when Basari was six years old, her parents, friends, and home were all destroyed in an armed attack. He found Basari in the ruins of her village and raised her.

In the years since becoming a boxer, although they had only a few phone calls, in Basari's heart, the "boss" was everything to her.

Unlike other women, she never went shopping or dressed up. She always kept her hair short, saving time to train her stamina and boxing skills—this woman, who rejected ordinary happiness, only wanted to fight well for that person. Each

brief reunion backstage after a match was Basari's happiest time.

But today, his usual seat was empty. Basari didn't deny being affected—otherwise, she might have knocked out an opponent of this caliber in two rounds.

The enthusiastic audience—and on the other side, her benefactor.

What had happened? For the first time, Basari wavered between her own life's purpose and her "boss."

The bell rang, and Basari made a resolute decision—she chose to become a boxer.

Perhaps her "boss" would respect this choice, because he undeniably loved Basari's boxing.
After the match, after a brief thank you to the audience and coach, Basari happily ran backstage.

That was where her "boss" always met briefly with her, encouraged her, and embraced her.

Pushing open the small door leading to the parking lot, "the boss's" car was there as always.

Facing "the boss," Basari lowered her head guiltily, waiting for his encouragement and embrace, or—this time, would he scold me? Basari wondered.

To her surprise, "the boss" grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. Completely different from the usual polite embrace, this time, he held Basari's hips and pulled her into the car.

"Come back with me."

Basari nodded.

Back at the villa in the mountains on the outskirts of the city, "the boss" said nothing. He led Basari straight to the spacious bathroom.

Pushing Basari against the wall, "the boss" slapped her, then ripped open her sports bra—Basari offered no resistance.

"The boss" paused, then tentatively grabbed Basari's shoulders and brought his lips close to her cheek.
Basari blushed and returned the kiss with her lips—the "boss" nodded, as if suddenly realizing something, and coldly accepted Basari's first kiss.

Everything went smoothly afterward.

They bathed together—in the large bathtub, the "boss" couldn't wait to deflower Basari, taking away her virginity that she had guarded for him for so many years.

Even when she was treated roughly, pushed down on the edge of the tub like an animal and violated from behind; or when the "boss" impulsively pressed Basari's mouth and nose above the water and made her perform oral sex, Basari didn't complain.

Afterward, they had dinner together—in the "boss's" room, Basari sat naked facing the "boss" as they ate together.

Basari was a little embarrassed, but the "boss" seemed very casual, so she didn't say anything.

After the meal, the "boss" pushed Basari onto the bed and once again enjoyed her strong yet shapely body—among lightweight boxers, Basari had the best figure; aside from her height, her physique was almost comparable to a model.

This time, the "boss's" methods were even more brutal. He would even grab Basari's hair, forcefully slap her buttocks, hold her head down, and thrust his thick, long penis into her esophagus.

Basari still did not resist; she wholeheartedly offered herself to the "boss"—she had imagined this day but never believed it would come true.

However, Basari felt a vague unease; beneath the "boss," her face appeared somewhat ferocious and cruel.

Putting this unease aside, Basari brushed the hair from her mouth and became even more engrossed in giving the "boss" oral sex.

Basari was a virgin, though her hymen had been destroyed in the match. She wanted to explain to the "boss," but then decided against it—because the boss didn't seem to mind.

Knowing she lacked sexual experience, she tried to envelop the "boss's" penis with her breasts, which were a bit too full for a boxer, attempting to give him "pleasure."

After ejaculating into Basari's mouth again, the "boss" nodded, gesturing for her to change positions and lean towards the window.

As night fell, the seemingly tireless "boss" took two pairs of boxing gloves from the wardrobe and led Basari to the gym in the basement of his mansion.

The "boss's" gym was fully equipped, even including a standard boxing ring.

This scene should have been familiar to Basari, but the moment she stepped into the gym, her hair stood on end. She looked at the "boss," only to see him toss a pair of boxing gloves at her and then glance towards the ring.
Instinct made the choice for Basari; she put on the gloves and stood on the ring.

Opposite her, "the boss" had also donned his boxing gloves and climbed over the ropes.

Unlike any match Basari had ever fought, this was the first time she stood in a ring without spotlights—allowing her to clearly see the whistling crowd.

A large group of shirtless, muscular men surrounded the ring, watching the spectacle she was about to put on, naked except for her gloves.

She hesitated, looking at her opponent—but "the boss's" fist was already in front of her.

Basari instinctively dodged to the side and retaliated—his punch landing squarely on "the boss's" upper abdomen.

Before she could say anything, "the boss's" offensive continued relentlessly, punch after punch, all the moves he had taught her.

Her professional boxing experience helped Basari concentrate; she momentarily forgot the lewd looks and shouts from the men below, focusing solely on the fight before her.

There was no round bell; this round lasted almost two normal rounds.
In the end, Basari clearly had the upper hand.

A poorly controlled left hook sent "the boss" sprawling to the ground.

A chorus of boos erupted from the men of various skin colors. Basari, realizing their presence, tried to help "the boss" up, but he shoved her aside.

"Damn it."

This was the first time Basari had heard "the boss" swear.

"Your turn."

The boxing gloves were tossed to an Asian man—clearly not Thai.

Basari watched in disbelief as "the boss," rubbing his cheek, tumbled off the ring, sat down, and glared at her.
Without hesitation, Basari's next opponent was a muscular man a head taller than her, at least one weight class higher.

Facing his heavy punches, Basari was immediately at a disadvantage. She couldn't defend her upper body—perhaps out of contempt, the man hadn't yet used kicks—Basari could only dodge.

After about three rounds, the man began to show signs of impatience against Basari's agile footwork. He began to move with large strides, focusing on powerful forehand strikes while neglecting his defense.

With a simple feint, Basari created an opening, and the man fell for it. The missed strike was seized by Basari, who unleashed a combination attack plus two rapid roundhouse kicks—his shin and side abdomen struck.

The man lost consciousness, and Basari collapsed to her knees, exhausted.

The surrounding men burst into laughter.

Basari looked up at the distance, but the "boss" paid no attention to her gaze.

"Your turn."

This time it was a black man nearly two meters tall.

Heavyweight—the difference was no longer apparent; this black man was a super heavyweight.

At this point, Basari felt somewhat relieved. She was fearless, took a deep breath, stood up, and met the attack.

Within a single round, Basari understood one thing.

The reason the previous man hadn't used kicks was probably simply because he was a boxer.

This black man, however, was using a style that blended wrestling and street fighting—the men in this gym seemed to each possess different fighting techniques.

Time ticked by, and Basari felt increasingly powerless.

Her punches were almost ineffective, and her kicks were completely useless—her opponent's vital areas were far higher than the height of her kicks.

Moreover, her evasions weren't entirely successful. The limited space of the ring restricted her footwork. The black man even grabbed her several times, or pulled her legs, putting her to the ground, but each time she was forced back by Basari's timely counterattacks to his face.

Time—Basari herself lost count of how many rounds had passed; she only felt her arms growing heavier and heavier.
Suddenly, Basari remembered something. It was an interesting experience from a long time ago when she was learning boxing from "the boss."

Lost in thought, the black man roared and lunged at her, and Basari was already backed against the ropes, with no way to avoid it.
Basari laughed, she leaped backward, and miraculously stood on the ropes—this required exceptional balance—then grabbed her opponent's head, and flipped over his body.

The burly black man, his head being pulled, was prone forward, contrary to the direction Basari was pulling her head.

Amidst the gasps of the crowd, Basari narrowly won her third match.

She looked at her "boss" with a joyful expression, wanting to see his reaction to the unusual techniques she had previously taught her.
"Damn it! A bunch of trash! All of you, come at me!"

Amidst the curses, the bewildered men, some excited, some impatient, climbed onto the ring one after another.

Basari, however, was instantly plunged into confusion and despair.

She suddenly understood that everything her "boss" had done to her that night was punishment.

All for her to win that match.

Looking at the men surrounding her, she considered giving up, but out of a boxer's instinct, she raised her arms.

Like a pack of cats attacking a mouse, the men shoved Basari around, occasionally landing heavy punches to her abdomen or whipping her groin with their legs. The men, averaging over 1.9 meters tall, surrounded her, making Basari appear petite and delicate. She was kicked to the ground several times, punched in the back and abdomen, but always struggled to her feet, adopting a defensive stance to protect her head and waiting for a chance to counterattack.
Initially, the men seemed to enjoy her repeated struggles, but under the "boss's" urging, they finally gave in to the fallen Basari.

Curled up on the ground, the men rained down punches and kicks on her, ending the siege in less than two rounds.

Two white men, one on each side, restrained her arms, pulled her up, and dragged her to the "boss" who had stepped onto the ring.

The "boss" twisted his neck, then delivered a powerful punch to Basari's undefended chest, followed by a knee strike to her abdomen.

"You're really good at fighting—how did I manage to train such a good student?"

He anxiously clutched his head, took a few steps back, circled twice, and then delivered another straight kick to Basari.

"Do you know how much this fight cost me!"

A low roundhouse kick struck Basari's lower body, sending her entire lower body dangling into the air—compared to the tall men around her, Basari's body was far too slender, like a willow in a storm. Because she was being held by the men, her upper body remained in its original position, only her breasts swaying incessantly.
"Five hundred million! US dollars!"

He removed his boxing gloves, switching to bare fists, and delivered several consecutive blows to Basari's abdomen.

"You stinking woman, I forgot, you're very resilient."

Wiping the sweat from his brow from front to back, looking at Basari, who was covered in bruises and bleeding from the nose, the "boss" waved to the people around him.

"This woman's name is Basari, she's yours."

"Yay! Basari!" Cheers erupted—Basari, whose consciousness was already fading, suddenly felt that the voice was somewhat familiar, yet also strange.

A large number of shorts were tossed into the air, and the men used this to kick off this feast.

After a brief discussion, they paired up, one in front and one behind, sandwiching Basari's body between them.
Supporting Basari's exhausted and powerless body, the two men wrapped their arms around her waist, supporting her round, firm buttocks, leering as they counted "one, two, three" before simultaneously thrusting their thick penises into her—they had likely used this vicious method to ravage more than one woman.

The girl's lower limbs, trapped between the men's crotches, appeared weak and frail, the thick penises cruelly tearing and carving a path deep inside.

The girl's tight flesh was stretched and swollen; visibly, Basari's belly expanded to more than twice its original size. The penis of one of the black men, in particular, was terrifyingly large. Basari, inexperienced and without foreplay, couldn't accommodate such a size, and she cried out in pain.

As the men manipulated her alluring body, a disgusting lumps of flesh swelled on Basari's lower abdomen, which convulsed in extreme pain, writhing and contracting within her.

The men laughed, enjoying the scene. They knew all too well the effect of this near-torture method of intercourse on a young girl's body—there was no more direct way to extract pleasure from a young woman's body, even if she was physically strong and resilient.
No, rather, it was precisely because the woman being cruelly violated was someone who had once dared to resist them, even fight back, that these brutal men found pleasure in this torment.
In fact, in the previous two sexual encounters, the "boss" had intended to thoroughly torture Basari, deliberately using extremely rough methods during intercourse. An ordinary woman would probably have begged for mercy long ago. Even with Basari's body being stronger than most, her vagina inevitably suffered several small cuts and abrasions. Only out of her infatuation with "the boss" did she not resist, gritting her teeth and enduring it.

Now, without any lubrication, and with the sweat pooling on her groin, the men forcibly penetrated Basari's body. The coarse pubic hair, soaked with sweat, rubbed violently against her vaginal opening during the thrusting motion, repeatedly grinding against the tender skin, leaving the most vulnerable part of the young girl's body riddled with holes. As the salt in the sweat seeped in, the pain intensified, and Basari cried out in agony. She wanted to call out "the boss's" name, but her mouth was blocked by a large black mouth—then a disgusting, wet, hot tongue shoved into her mouth. In utter

despair and rage, Basari had no choice. With a determined heart, she pushed her jaw down forcefully.

The black man roared, and blood gushed from both his mouth and Basari's lower body—it was unclear whether Basari had bitten his tongue due to the excessive force, or whether she had bitten his tongue first, causing him to lose control of his strength.

With a muffled thud, the enraged black man opened his arm, swung it straight, and delivered a powerful punch to Basari's side.

Basari coughed up blood, her body falling to the side from the pain and the force of the blow. The penis, deeply inserted into her anus, was twisted at an awkward angle, and the man behind Basari cried out in pain, quickly straightening her body—while simultaneously pinching her inner thigh hard in revenge.

The black man, recovering from the pain, spat out a small amount of blood. After confirming that his tongue was alright, he grabbed Basari's hair, pulled her head back to the side, forcing her to tilt her head back—this way, the taller black man could look down at her pained expression and fuck her with the same force as before.
"Little girl, you're not bad!" Speaking broken Thai, the resentful black man grabbed one of Basari's legs around his waist, making it easier for his lower body to penetrate. This allowed each thrust to hit her cervix hard, making her arch her body upward with his penetration, and then he would take the opportunity to press her head down, giving her a direct head-on collision with his rapidly pounding penis.

Basari felt like her body was about to be torn apart, and she had no chance to escape or struggle. In the double pain of her vagina and anus being torn apart at the same time, she fainted for a moment—only to be awakened by the loud slap the man gave her.

"Haha, thanks a lot, boss! The girls in your place are all hot!" A man thanked the "boss" in Cantonese, while simultaneously squeezing between the men in front of and behind Basali and roughly kneading her breasts.

The men spoke different languages and accents, but they could all speak a little English, so communication was relatively smooth. They chattered about Basali's figure and appearance, discussing whether they could tie her to a table or some exercise equipment next—that way they could make full use of her upper body, such as her full breasts and her lips and mouth. Looking in

Basali's direction—surrounded by more than a dozen burly men, the "boss" could only see one arm struggling to extend from the crowd—the "boss" applied an ice pack to his sore spot and sat aside, angrily watching everything.

After a while, even that arm went limp and fell into the crowd—only then did the "boss" lose interest.

"Don't kill her. After you're done, take her to the basement and hand her over to Ah Hu."

With that, the "boss" turned and left the gym without looking back, heading back to the private bathroom on the second floor.

In the bathroom, the "boss," soaking in the whirlpool, rested his head on the edge of the tub, eyes closed.

He recalled Basari's reaction when he had pinned her down and penetrated her from behind, and sneered.
"Everyone says you're such an innocent woman, turns out you've been eyeing me all along."

Suddenly, he sat up, listening intently—even though the basement gym was quite far away, he felt he could faintly hear shouts coming from there.

Perhaps it was a hallucination—when he closed his eyes and lay back down, the sound returned.

The anger and lust that had just subsided surged again, and the "boss" shook the bell he used to call his servants—his bodyguards immediately appeared at the door.

"What is it, 'boss'?"

The "boss," undecided for a moment, thought for a while before finally remembering a woman he wanted to sleep with.

"Bring that useless bitch who lost to Basari today—" Thinking of Basari's appearance, the "boss" paused for a moment, "—and tell her to dress up nicely."

After years of maneuvering, the entire Bangkok underground boxing circle—the arenas, the referees, the fighters—was practically his. But at the most crucial moment, he'd stumbled badly over this woman.
"Damn it, you filthy bitch—you have to earn back that five hundred million dollars for me,"

he muttered viciously to himself.

[The End]

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