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There was no wrong way to train for a race: endurance was the name of the game at the end of the day, and though she had plenty of that, Bridgette wanted to diversify her routine without having to head to the local gym.

Her spacious apartment was already equipped with a spare bedroom, but she was giddy as she watched Irving make another addition to the de facto home gym. Next to the exercise bike in the corner and the small collection of rubber weights on the other wall, a heavy bag was being hung from a hook on the ceiling, freshly unwrapped and ready to be struck by her eager fists.

"Just be careful, okay?" he asked, seeing the way she tapped her fist against her open palm. "This thing hasn't been broken in yet, so it's gonna be kinda stiff the first time you hit it..."

WHUMP! She caught him off guard by lacing the side of the bag with a kick, instead: she was tiny enough standing next to Irving, but further, he was holding the back end of a heavy bag that was almost twice her weight.

He couldn't believe that he was able to feel the force of her kick through the other side of it.

"...Don't tell me I've been secretly dating a kickboxer or something..."

"No, but when your older brothers are fans of combat sports, you pick up on a few tricks," Bridgette winked, going right back to being the adorable mouse that he was used to; he wouldn't soon forget, however, that she was more than capable with her legs. "I used to love working the bag at the gym back home, but since I moved to the city, I haven't found a good place to get my strikes in."

She rushed the bag again and threw a flurry of well-executed punches, turning her wrists just at the point of contact and keeping her fists loose until the moment of the strike: she was experienced beyond what she'd revealed, and it wasn't until a minute later that she bashfully wilted her ears.

"...S-sorry...you can stop holding the bag now, if you like. Didn't mean to trap you back there."

Seeing how rapidly the mouse could shift back and forth between a fighting machine and a dainty little programmer, Irving wondered what other secrets she had left about her, but he wouldn't pretend that he wasn't impressed.

That he was slightly turned on was unexpected, but with the bag in front of him, he could keep that much a secret, for a little longer.

"For what it's worth, I was having a lot of fun watching you work," he admitted. "You've got some pretty good moves!"

"I didn't know you were familiar with boxing," Bridgette countered. "Or are you just being a nice boyfriend and flattering me because you like watching me bounce around?"

She was just as skilled a fighter with her tongue as she was with her fists: Irving felt like there was no right answer to give, so he defaulted to honesty as the best policy.

"You're throwing punches in a sports bra and yoga pants...so...is it possible for me to say that I really enjoyed watching you work for the obvious reason, without reducing the level of skill that you honestly have?"

She crossed her arms under her modest bust, intentionally pushing them up toward him; combining that with a narrowed glare made Irving just a little nervous, but she couldn't hold that taunting expression too much longer.

"Your heart is in the right place," she admitted. "Probably wouldn't be the best route if we were strangers in a gym, but as my boyfriend in my place? I think I'd be a little upset if you didn't mention how hot I looked like this."

Irving was a proper gentleman, and to that end, Bridgette knew that he never saw her as just an object or a sexual being: he appreciated her complexity as a person, and she showed her appreciation in turn by adjusting her sports bra just a little bit, letting him catch a flash of the underside of her breasts.

"If you think you can go a few more rounds, I'd be glad to give you more of an exhibition..."

If he moved from around the bag at all, Bridgette would be able to see just how much he was enjoying the display so far. He wasn't sure that he wanted to give her that much of a clue just yet, but he braced against the bag all the same and answered with an encouraging grin.

"Show me what you've got, you little badass."

She was flustered to be called that, but she wore the title well, striking the bag between giggles and showing off a level of skill that proved how well she could handle herself: she dipped and rolled from side to side, throwing impressive combinations and a volume of punches that _should_have been exhausting, but she was doing an incredible job of controlling her breathing.

Just holding the bag steady for her, Irving could feel his arms straining a little bit, but as she went the duration of a proper, three minute round, she tapped her gloves together to signify her break and grinned; she just started breaking a sweat.

"I'm afraid that's all you get for free," she told him. "It's your turn to get a few swings in...least I can offer you since you went to the trouble of hanging this up for me."

Irving was about to point out that he didn't have any wraps to put on his fists, but before he could tell her that, the mouse was bounding over to the corner, to an unmarked box of white, no larger than an ordinary shoe box.

It was perhaps a little too large for the punching mitts that she'd hidden inside, but Irving was delighted by the surprise when she presented the box to him with a wide, cheeky grin.

"...You didn't have to get me anything, dear! I was glad to hang this up for you."

"Well, yeah...you're a total sweetheart like that, but there's no way I could have gotten that thing up to the ceiling on my own, and I wasn't gonna pay to have a pair of goofballs come and install it for me, so...I figured I'd take what I saved and put it back into the guy that was nice enough to come and do this for me."

She'd been forced to guess on the size, but Irving was so quick to open the box and rip off the tags that it was only good fortune that left them at the right size: they were perfectly snug, covering up to the knuckles as they were supposed to and going just past the wrist for the extra, needed support.

The older canine was still taking very good care of his body, and with the gloves on and his torso exposed, he looked like a genuine fighter...and Bridgette was an immediate fan of the way he wore the role.

"These are really nice, Bridgette. How much did they cost you?"

"Don't worry about that," she answered, gazing aside and hoping that he might forget to ask again. "A lot less than the install would have been, anyway...so don't worry about it, really. Do you like them?"

"I love'em," he immediately confessed. He threw a few punches at the air, feeling a surge of energy just from wearing the tight, gripping gloves, and Bridgette was squirming in place as she saw him embracing a new, greater level of confidence. "You sure you don't mind if I go ahead and break them in?"

"I insist that you do," she offered, letting her gaze slide down from the gloves, across the toned valley of his torso and to the subtle bulge in his shorts; she knew he was enjoying watching her, but seeing that, she wanted to watch him blow off some proper steam...and hitting the bag wasn't going to be enough.

Keeping quiet about what she'd noticed, Bridgette gave a rapid nod and tapped the bag toward him. "Go ahead and help me soften this guy up," she said. "It is still a little stiff to the touch, isn't it?"

Anyone who'd ever broken in a fresh heavy bag knew that the materials within had a tendency to settle, making the first few workouts feel more like punching concrete than punching wrapped sand. It would take time to get it to the point that they could comfortably work the sides without a little residual soreness, but Bridgette was shocked by what she saw from the usually gentle giant that was her boyfriend.

A sharpness took his gaze, as if he were cutting into the side of the bag with a glance. The first punch he threw followed with such speed that Bridgette was genuinely impressed, and then shocked by the straight punch that followed.

A tight, compact hook came right after that, giving the bag no chance to properly recoil, but he still landed his strike true, and his fists were right back in his face thereafter with a proper, defensive stance.

"...Not bad..."

Her words were soft, but the fact that she gave any approval and encouragement was enough for Irving: a few brief flicker jabs came from his left paw, before a pair of body shots jostled the bag. Chains jangled up above as it bounced around, putting the new fasteners in the ceiling to the test, but even after a full haymaker blow, everything was still in place.

He didn't quite have Bridgette's quickness or endurance, but she still gulped as she watched, dazzled by the sheer force that his blows could generate...in the pit of her chest, she could feel those impacts, and with each punch he threw, he kept an impressive amount of force in his strikes.

His technique was better than she anticipated, and his strength kept her attention, but he was truly in the zone: he hadn't even noticed that one of her arms was wrapped around the bicep of the other, and down below, her fingertips were resting right between her legs, drawing a tiny circle on her crotch.

She wasn't going to make it so easy on him as putting her fingertips into her yoga pants, but resisting that urge was getting harder and harder as she watched, until she was determined to show him just how much she appreciated his little demonstration.

"Not bad at all , big guy...turns out you're not such a big softie after all, are you?"

His punches slowed, but there was a level of aggression that escaped him when he worked himself into a frenzy: he needed to bleed off just a little more intensity before he could properly answer her, but when he turned to face her again, he was the one caught off guard.

"Guess I was really getting into it," he admitted, wishing that he would have caught his breath already...but seeing what he did, he didn't have enough gathered to let out the gasp that Bridgette deserved. "And so were you, by the look of it..."

"I was wondering when you'd notice," she teased, pulling her fingertips away from herself and gesturing at the bulge in his shorts. "Or when you'd tell me about that."

He was so caught up in watching the flurry of blows that she'd thrown that Irving couldn't remember how long he'd been stiff for, but it was plenty long enough that he should have known she'd catch a glimpse of it. "Thought I'd throw in a little something extra for you to look at while I worked," he joked. "I'm glad you enjoyed my creative interpretation."

"Quite a lot," she admitted, "But you and I both know that you were just caught up in the moment; not that I mind, of course."

"You sure?"

"Well, it does leave me with a bit of a predicament, actually. You and I are supposed to be training for a race, remember?"

"That we are."

"And you can't really keep working the bag if that thing starts getting in your way, can you?"

"I think I see where you're going with this."

Her thumbs dipped into the waistline of her yoga pants, sliding the fabric down a little at a time, letting the widening of her grin match that sensual pace. "Goodness...I've become predictable already, haven't I?"

"To be honest, I didn't see this coming," Irving confessed. "But I'm not sure there's anywhere else you could go with this, if you're taking your pants off."

"Is that right?"

A tiny bit of sweat was evident on the fabric of her clothing, but that was from the genuine effort she put into her workout: the damp spot at the crotch of her panties was another kind of natural lubrication, and it lingered on her petals as she approached the bag once more, wrapping her arms around the lower end of it.

"I never said we were done working the bag, love. I just thought we'd try a different approach...that's all."

Her long, slender tail lifted over her backside, tickling along the inside of Irving's thigh as it moved. There was no accident in her approach, and no mistake about her intentions, but Irving was still caught off guard by just how quickly she'd flipped the script on the afternoon.

He would have been a fool to complain about it, but he could see that she was looking for him to keep up his earlier level of intensity until he was spent, and he knew how enduring she could be.

"You know, we're actually gonna have to go twelve rounds with this thing, one of these days," Irving suggested. "Doesn't really count as training if we do this every time, does it?"

"Well, we won't do it every time, but what better way is there to christen this thing?"

"I'd recommend punching it."

"...You are such a fucking dork..."

"Emphasis on fucking, hopefully?" he asked, unable to keep his snickering silent.

She answered by pushing back into his covered bulge and leaving a delicate strand of her natural arousal against his shorts, encouraging him to slide them off if he was going to keep standing there: she wasn't afraid to get creative and take matters into her own paws, and he knew that...but he liked the playful attitude she was bringing into the proverbial ring.

"Better be," she answered, grinding firmly against his thigh. "Now get back in there, big guy...you've got at least one round left in you!"

He'd never envisioned Bridgette as his own personal trainer, and if she'd actually been getting monetary payment for what was about to happen, there would have been quite a conflict of interest...but in the confines of their relationship, in a role of pure fantasy, he couldn't deny being _painfully_turned on by the idea of pounding his boxing coach from behind.

He knew she was able to hide her dominant streaks, but when they came out, he was all too happy to oblige her and push down the waistband of his shorts, eager to feel the bare, eager warmth of her petals against the tip of his length.

"You've got a lot of confidence in me, coach. I'd hate to let you down."

There was a variety of techniques to be had in a boxing ring, and when it came to their sensual antics, Irving was an encyclopedia of different kinks and approached, but Bridgette was no slouch: she was just as varied, and every bit as skilled at bringing her partner to climax, but this was going to be a first for her.

As much time as she spent in yoga pants, she'd never quite indulged in a form of play that took her passion for the heavy bag and mingled it with her passion for the massive canine that stood behind her...and a single press of his tip against her eager mound told her that it was something he'd be just as happy to revisit.

"Good...g-good, champ...start slow, then...you don't want to b-burn yourself out in the first round...you've gotta wear m- I mean wear this guy down...outlast him..."

He knew she wasn't trying to be adorable when she stuck to her role, but he couldn't help thinking that she was being exactly that: he was glad that she'd looked away from his softened grin and brief chuckle, wanting her to know that he still took her seriously...but he just couldn't help that gentle smile.

He was a kindly champion, to say the least.

"Won't be easy, but if you think I can do it, I'll give it my best, coach."

The tip of his canine length eased her folds apart as he pumped down, thrusting into her tiny body and forcing the heavy bag to rock forth with her tight, controlling grip. "I know you will, champ...j-just keep pushing...t-that's the only way you're gonna win this thing!"

The punching gloves on her fingertips ended up being a blessing in disguise: they kept her tiny, stubby claws from marring the sides of the brand new punching bag, but that lack of grip forced her to spread her legs just a little bit wider when her boyfriend came down on her tiny frame with his proper weight.

She was an atomweight, in the ring with a proper heavyweight...it was fortunate that she was in the role of his coach, instead of his opponent.

"You know I'll g-give it everything I've got for you, b- I mean...c-coach..."

Even she was starting to chuckle at how dedicated they were staying to their roles, but pushing back against his hips and encouraging him to go a little deeper, she made it clear that she was going to make this romp double as their cardio for the day, no matter how much laughter snuck into the act.

"You damn well better," she answered, looking back over her shoulder and admiring the intensity that remained in his gaze. "We've trained too hard for this to quit now, champ. Give it everything you've got...r-really lay into me!"

She didn't bother correcting herself, that time: she could sense the weight of the thrust that was coming, knowing she wouldn't be able to say much more than the impassioned squeak that was forced from her lungs.

"You always bring out the best in me, coach."

His tease was met with another whimper, and his hips were finally met with the rounded flesh of her backside, crashing her body into the bag and forcing her to turn and lay her cheek into the side of it. Under her own power, it was tough to stand and take the brunt of everything that Irving could offer, but she could already feel his length throbbing within her.

She knew he wouldn't be able to last forever if he _really_gave it his all, but she wanted to prove that she was up to the task, just as much as he was.

"Then you'd better get back to putting t-that best into me, champ... all of it."

Bracing against the bag the best that she could wasn't enough: she still had to cry out again when his hips crashed upon her once more, but it was the full weight of his shaft, spreading her vaginal passage and bringing a fresh tremble to her knees that pushed her past the point of whimpering.

Anything less than singing his praises would leave her lungs feeling burdened.

"Yes...t-that's the way, champ! Nice, deep swings... hard swings...put e-everything you've got into every single one...d-don't you fucking dare pull any punches on me!"

She was so good at playing her role that Irving could imagine the scene around them: a crowd in absolute awe that a boxer and his coach decided to throw away the match in favor of having it out with each other in a public arena was a wild daydream, but one that he couldn't escape from, as she tried to lock eyes with him again.

Her face was still scrunched against the side of the heavy bag, and even then, she was the perfect blend of sensuality and adorable antics; one look below her neck would prove the former to be true, but the fact that she was trying to give him an intense and encouraging gaze when she was being smashed into the bag was cute, no matter how Irving tried to pretend otherwise.

It was fortunate that the blend of those two characteristics created such a fulfilling experience, especially in Irving's opinion.

"I'm not...I'd never ," he finally argued, trying to pace his thrusts and his breathing to last as long as Bridgette would, but it almost always proved a vain effort. His length was pulsing so thoroughly that he could see the twitch expanding through Bridgette's body, but she was twitching in her own right and seizing on his length, trying to slow him down.

It was a sure sign that she was closer than she wanted to be, and seeing a chance for the knockout, Irving refused to let her slow his approach.

"Careful, champ...y-you...you're going kind fast..."

"That's the plan."

Panting heavily and looking back with a hint of concern in her eyes, Bridgette was already prepping for the soreness that would come the next day, but she never expected him to lift her thigh up and to the side, hiking it up over his torso, until she was doing a standing split against him.

That wide spread of her legs forced her to wince, but she was flexible enough to take it...and the new, exciting position allowed for something that would be a guaranteed knockout; the weight of his knot was just what she was after, and thanks to that subtle turn in her stance, she could look back and watch as it pounded against her petals.

"Oh...f-fuck... fine then...you wanna be reckless like that? You better make the most of t-this opportunity," she told him, barely able to manage a smirk any longer. "Bring it...o-on..."

Wrapping his paws around her leg and thrusting against her new posture, Irving could feel Bridgette reaching climax on the very next thrust, but he wasn't going to slow his pace until her body was utterly coated, inside and out, with the yield of his seed.

"Always biting off more than you can chew...that's why you make the b-best coach," Irving complimented her efforts, but as she squeaked and squealed against the bag, he wasn't easing up on her at all. He _redoubled_his efforts and pushed, feeling her petals stretch against his knot, and with an adjusting step, half of the impressive bulge was buried within her entrance. "No challenge is t-too much for you, is it...?"

She shook her head and panted, but she was at a loss for words: she held the bag, knowing she'd collapsed without it, as excess juices poured from her sex and soaked the knot...but it pushed all of them right back into her as the knot sealed between them with a quiet schlip and an overt jingling from the chains above the bag.

"I hope to have t-that kind of resilience someday...c-coach..._fucking hell..._c-can't...s-stop cumming!"

Gritting his fangs and thrusting into her body even when his knot was buried fully into her womanhood, Irving nearly tugged Bridgette from her gripping posture and down to the ground, but when it came to their final clash, she held on just long enough to outlast him.

Her reward was the sweating, panting weight of his body against her, and the fulfilling volume of his cum, spreading her womb little by little and testing the literal capacity of her smaller body.

"Don't b-bother...trying to stop..."

He blinked, shocked that she could still find the words to address him when his own mind was blank with orgasmic release...but after all of that, after such a rigorous session...she was still finding a way to grin.

"That was just the first round, big guy..."