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Description
Mixed foxy boxing POV.

Backstory courtesy of MarshalltheIrish:

After years of dominating the amateur ranks, I was ready to turn pro. At long last, I thought. All those years of relentless grinding, taking my licks and dishing them out, and discipline had taken me so far. I had it all: devilish good looks, chiseled body, hand speed, strong legs, etc. I was ready to make it in the professional realm, just as I had dreamed since the day I took up boxing.

If you had told me then that my first opponent would be a British woman with breasts bigger than her head, I would have giggled rudely. Yet that's exactly how it shook out. When I turned pro, professional boxing between men and women, once laughed off as a mere joke, was now a growing attraction that outsold all-male matches. Mostly because women were winning the majority of fights, adding new stakes to "the battles of the sexes." With that came more money, especially for anyone who could be a "great male hope."

When I told my trainer the idea of scrapping with women, he inevitably gave me an old school lecture about letting my dick get in the way of my better instincts. But the money, plus the primal thrill of squaring off with gorgeous women, was too much to resist. After getting my license, I asked to be placed on a local pro mixed undercard. The promoter obliged, promising to match me up with a local female amateur champion. But when that fell through, I learned my last-minute replacement was Betty Wingham. A British woman from Nottingham, she had developed a reputation as a dirty brawler in the mixed leagues there. I managed to find a YouTube clip of her fighting some male jobber, whom she kneed in the balls, rabbit punched, and shoved his face into her breasts before putting him away in a 2nd round KO. I was aroused, but not intimidated. She had a crude style I knew I would easily pick apart.

Fast forward to the fight day: I arrive at the arena and get dressed in the locker room. I flexed in front of the mirror, my ripped abs and chest finally unencumbered by an amateur jersey. I strode to the ring, saluting the crowd. It was then that I saw Betty step through the ropes and take her robe off. I...wasn't ready for what seemed to be the biggest boob job imaginable. Clearly, she thought it necessary to appeal to male American fans. And to psych out opponents. I immediately felt my breath shorten, my cock pressing against my cup awkwardly. Betty looked at me with a dismissive air. I overheard her say to her trainer, "God, these American men are a joke. I'll put this bum away fast." I was incensed, yet motivated. I realized she had come to play. Soon, we walked to the center of the ring for the ref's instructions. We locked eyes, her oversized boobs pressing up against my pecs. We then retreated to our corners. Dancing on both feet, the bell finally rang.

Description
Mixed foxy boxing POV.

Backstory courtesy of MarshalltheIrish:

After years of dominating the amateur ranks, I was ready to turn pro. At long last, I thought. All those years of relentless grinding, taking my licks and dishing them out, and discipline had taken me so far. I had it all: devilish good looks, chiseled body, hand speed, strong legs, etc. I was ready to make it in the professional realm, just as I had dreamed since the day I took up boxing.

If you had told me then that my first opponent would be a British woman with breasts bigger than her head, I would have giggled rudely. Yet that's exactly how it shook out. When I turned pro, professional boxing between men and women, once laughed off as a mere joke, was now a growing attraction that outsold all-male matches. Mostly because women were winning the majority of fights, adding new stakes to "the battles of the sexes." With that came more money, especially for anyone who could be a "great male hope."

When I told my trainer the idea of scrapping with women, he inevitably gave me an old school lecture about letting my dick get in the way of my better instincts. But the money, plus the primal thrill of squaring off with gorgeous women, was too much to resist. After getting my license, I asked to be placed on a local pro mixed undercard. The promoter obliged, promising to match me up with a local female amateur champion. But when that fell through, I learned my last-minute replacement was Betty Wingham. A British woman from Nottingham, she had developed a reputation as a dirty brawler in the mixed leagues there. I managed to find a YouTube clip of her fighting some male jobber, whom she kneed in the balls, rabbit punched, and shoved his face into her breasts before putting him away in a 2nd round KO. I was aroused, but not intimidated. She had a crude style I knew I would easily pick apart.

Fast forward to the fight day: I arrive at the arena and get dressed in the locker room. I flexed in front of the mirror, my ripped abs and chest finally unencumbered by an amateur jersey. I strode to the ring, saluting the crowd. It was then that I saw Betty step through the ropes and take her robe off. I...wasn't ready for what seemed to be the biggest boob job imaginable. Clearly, she thought it necessary to appeal to male American fans. And to psych out opponents. I immediately felt my breath shorten, my cock pressing against my cup awkwardly. Betty looked at me with a dismissive air. I overheard her say to her trainer, "God, these American men are a joke. I'll put this bum away fast." I was incensed, yet motivated. I realized she had come to play. Soon, we walked to the center of the ring for the ref's instructions. We locked eyes, her oversized boobs pressing up against my pecs. We then retreated to our corners. Dancing on both feet, the bell finally rang.