Lennard sighed as he slowly, lost in thought, pushed close the door that said 'Coaches'. He took his time to turn around, walk to the bench of the dressing room. At least, he thought, Lara had been disqualified soon enough from the competition so he had this room—shower included—to himself. For a little while, anyway.
Sitting down on the bench, he hid his head in the hood of his gym's signature hoodie, pulling it down as if to veil his face. He let out a deep breath through his nose and sighed, “Gaaah, what am I just supposed to do with her?” into his hands.
He went through her fight for the thousandth time.
***
"Fighters ready?“ the referee asked rhetorically, his hand between the fighters. "Shake hands... Fight!“
As soon as the ref had removed his hand, Lara stepped forward throwing two immediate jabs to her opponent's face, followed by a punch in the stomach, a dodge to the left, a left uppercut to the kidney, using her body's momentum as a preparation for a right hook straight to the plexus. Only this last blow mattered; the others were just preparation to force the adversary to open her defense and leave the body open.
She had trained this simple, yet effective drill enough to etch it into her reptile brain—a guaranteed win since a first hit in the plexus left a discouraging first impression in any fight. Psychological warfare. Only, this time, her rival came prepared: instead of blocking the first two, usually surprisingly fast, jabs, she dodged them easily and countered Lara's forward movement with a punch directly to her nose.
Not having foreseen this turn of events and having practically walked into that punch herself, Lara's ego took the crack she'd planned on inflicting on her combattant. Keeping her poker face, however, she decided to play dirty—really dirty. Anything to win a fight. It was the ticket to the world cup, after all.
"Stay focused, Lara!“ Lennard shouted. "We've been over this! We've studied her! Stick to our tactics!“
Why had she chosen her habitual start? Hadn't they established on a long rigmarole how this adversary required less predictable combinations? Lennard began to feel a bit nervous when Lara took another easy hit, putting her two points behind.
"What are you doing, Lara?“ Lennard asked, audibly irritated. "Stay focused. Do as we've trained!“
When he looked into her eyes, he knew she was deliberately ignoring his advice, having a scheme of her own in mind. She was studying her opponent, waiting for the right moment to pull her tricks as inconspicuously as possible.
Since her rival seemed so dominant and much to Lennard's lament, the first round wasn't even halfway over as the fight seemed already decided, dangerously close to technical K.O.—in disfavor of Lara. She was making it easy, too easy. Lennard couldn't believe his eyes when he saw how easily his best student was getting defeated.
Suddenly, he saw Lara throw one very characteristic jab of hers. One so easy to dodge, leaving her entire left side of her body exposed—an explicit invitation for a counter punch. Yet, when she retracted her arm incompletely, leaving her elbow in front, even slightly pushing her shoulder forward for resistance and to reach further, her opponent took the elbow right to the eye when shuffling forward to counter. Only Lennard who's seen, and hated, Lara doing so on many occasions knew this move had by no means been by accident and only served the purpose of hurting the opponent.
Her adversary stumbled back, shocked by receiving an elbow to the face. The referee immediately interrupted the round and told Lara to turn around—standard procedure when a fight is interrupted because one fighter's suffered an incident. Lara did so, a wide smirk on her face as she stood in front of her coach, her back to her rival who was now fighting against bursting in tears, trying to convince the referee it had been foul play with a heavy, whiny voice.
The round went on a few minutes later and ended as an easy, yet tight win for Lara. Her adversary, since bristling with anger and frustration, made it way too simple for Lara to dodge and counter the little more than tentative and rather uncontrolled kicks and punches.
***
Lennard raised his head from between his hands and started to undress. He needed a shower. A long, steamy shower. And some time to revisit his prime student's fight—and where he had failed her as her coach, or worse even, as her lover in his dreams. Was this the punishment for overtly ogling her?
***
During the first break, her victorious grin while stepping to the edge of the ring told Lennard she was not really aiming at winning this fight at all cost anymore; she was primed to be a disobedient student and make him look bad in front of the referees and the audience.
"What the hell, Lara?“ Lennard hissed at her, trying to keep his voice down. "Do you wanna get disqualified? Do you know how this makes me look?“
"Are you mad now, Daddy?“ she shot back in a naïve, childish voice low enough only he could hear. „I'm so sorry, Daddy.“ Naturally, the mouth guard slurred her words and emphasized her infantile tonality even more.
Lennard couldn't believe his ears. Her words made him furious but he had to keep it together in order not to lose his face in front of the national referees.
"Pull yourself together, you hear me?“ he scolded his student. "And will you just wipe that smirk off your face while I'm talking to you?“
She closed her mouth but Lennard could tell she was just suppressing a burst of laughter. "Just fight fair on the next round, okay? Her morale's broken. You can make this. Just focus, you hear me?“
She approached her face to his ear. The faint breeze of her whispering against his neck sent shivers down his spine. "Or what, Daddy?“ she sheepishly asked. "Will you punish me?“
He gulped as she stepped back with a sultry expression on her face. She followed the referee's call for the second round, turned around and stepped back to the middle of the ring.
***
Lennard took the shower stall furthest away from the benches, hoping the relatively remote location from the door would provide enough privacy and solitude in the event someone else was to come in. As the competition was still in full swing, this was rather likely.
He adjusted the stream to a comfy heat and just stood under the rain of water. Arms stretched out, he rested the weight of his body on his hands against the wall and looked to the floor, letting the water fall from his nose and chin. He could hardly breathe from the amount of water running over his face. He sighed loudly enough to hear his voice resonate against the tiles of the stall. Why did she have to be like that? Why was she being so hard or him? So disobedient? And why did she have to have such large tits and such a luscious ass? ...and that hip swing in those loose synthetic fighting pants when she was walking back into the ring...
***
During the second round, her opponent had somewhat gained control over her shock and aggression. It was still obvious that she was bristling with anger but she was a lot calmer than she'd been before. However, Lara, maintaining her constant provocative smile, even when punched directly in the face, only fueled her adversary's frustration.
To that, she added a few dirty, albeit legal, moves until for a reason Lennard failed to understand, she decided to go full-dirty despite her easy advantage. It started with a left hook which she obviously targeted to wrap her arm around her rival's neck in order to push her down against a right uppercut—a red rag for the referees.
The match was immediately interrupted and Lara penalized. One point was taken from her score which was insignificant, given she was ahead by six points. It earned her and, to his greatest chagrin, Lennard a few questioning glances from the referees as well as the audience. He hadn't taught her to fight like that but did these people care? Being her coach, he was as good a scapegoat as anyone. For all they knew, he was the one teaching his students these tricks.
During the five-seconds interruption, Lara threw her coach a knowing sneer. She was not fighting to win anymore, she was provoking him and only he could see it.
Lara's next move was to raise her knee to feign a roundhouse kick but instead, she thrust her hips forward to park her knee unerringly into her rival's groin. She wasn't even trying to be subtle about it. Groin guard or not, this was extremely painful and was highly illegal. The fight was interrupted anew and Lara was penalized again; this time with two minus points. Additionally, last warning before disqualification plus a short, strongly phrased lecture on sportsmanship.
The murmurs were getting louder. Lennard saw people throwing him evil glances, whispering to each other, coaches from other schools shaking their heads while Lara turned the fight into a cat-and-mouse game. She took advantage of her adversary's renewed frustration, aggression and the loss of control that it brought along. Aptly, she kept moving, always out of reach and easily scoring single points here and there by placing well-timed jabs.
End second round. Match almost settled with just one point short of a technical K.O. in favor of Lara. Her ticket to the world cup seemed secure.
***
The shower worked wonders on Lennard's mood, allowing him to relax a bit. Yet, his mind was still fully consumed by the events and questions about what to do with his student. She could have won so easily. The third round had gone so well: started off with a clinch, both immediately let go and Lara landed a perfect jab on her opponent's forehead.
Technical K.O.; match stopped. The referees had ordered a stop, at least, but Lara had just ignored it and kept throwing her punches at the poor girl taking a protective fetal position. With that, Lara's chances at an international tournament had been thrown away, immediate disqualification being the result.
Suddenly, Lennard felt something poking his shoulder. Startled, he turned around to almost jump in shock and shriek like a girl. In the same stall, just half a foot away from him stood Lara, the girl of his wildest dreams—and most recent nightmares—naked in all her glory.
He gasped, took a step back and winced again when feeling the cool tiles against his shoulders. Mouth agape, he drank in her beauty: her large breasts, the luscious curve of her midriff, her hips that even seen from the front held the promise of a derrière men—and some women—were drooling over.