Punching Bag Book Novels & Stories

Hi, guys! Author here, I made a mistake with the numbering, but be rest assured, the chapters are intact. KOL The punching bag in front of me sways, making a squeaky sound as I punch it repeatedly, sweating my eyes out because I want a release. My fists go in and out, sweat trickling down my chin, my boots squeaking against the tiles as I duck my head, then rise again, punching the bag at a constant rhythm.

A reminder that my hands were still mine. The heavy bag hung where it always had, swaying slightly in the morning breeze. I stared at it for a long second before stepping forward. First punch landed clean. Second one didn’t. I adjusted my stance and tried again. There was a rhythm to hitting something that hit back. Even when it didn’t move. Especially when it didn’t move. The bag didn’t flinch. Didn’t judge. Didn’t look at me like I was something that might break if handled wrong. It just absorbed. I liked that.

“You see that punching bag there?” He asked and I looked to the side. I nodded and went towards it. Fortunately, Grace had put some gloves that would fit me on the side so I wore them before I started hitting the huge ass punching bag. At first, my hands reached it clumsily and I could not even move the stupid bag. "Focus" He ordered. I let out an exasperated sigh and tried again. Even this time, my hit felt more like a caress to the bag's surface. "Keep going"

Kaida Pov “One!” I punched out immediately I heard the order, my fist swinging at the punching bag tied in the middle of the hall. But— Just like always, the punch didn’t carry any weight. It was like my fist only brushed it. I frowned. I knew what was coming next, and just as I expected, Benson’s cold voice sounded again. “Do it again. Two punches.” I took a deep breath, tried to gather what little strength I had, then swung my right fist, followed by my left—

Once I was done with two rounds and still having twenty minutes left before my alarm was supposed to go off, I headed towards the punching bag and got into the punching protective gloves before starting to punch away in the next instance. I got lost in my head as I punched at the punching bag like it was an enemy I was trying to kill off with my fists. Sweat was literally pouring off my whole body and matting my curls to the back of my throat but I ignored it and continued to deliver harsh punch upon punch until the alarm went off.

It's a Pandora's box full of pain and hurt. I started punching the bag, which is hanging in front of me. I can feel myself getting calmer by the second my fist touched the bag, every emotion which I have felt pouring out of my body in the form of sweat. After punching and killing the bag for an hour, I started doing pushups, planks, and other exercises so the burn will be replaced by the ache Ricardo left inside me. “Wow! I have never seen a lady work out this rigorously.” A deep accented voice drawled out from behind me, snapping my attention.

JAXON PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! I sent heavy punches at the punching bag, causing it to fly backwards at the weight of my heavy blows. My knuckles were starting to hurt and my wrists were aching so badly, but I wasn't ready to stop punching the bag. All I wanted to do was vent my pent-up anger and frustration into the bag because that was the main reason it was there in the first place. I increased the weight and strength of my punches, delivering heavy blows to the bag. Non-stop.

My fists were burning and my feet loved the rhythm that the punching bag created every time I hit it. I was so overwhelmed that the punching bag fell to the floor after my last kick. There was a loud bang when it fell down like an explosion from a ticking bomb. I was bathing myself with sweat as I slumped to the floor while catching my breath. “You did twenty-nine punches and twenty-six kicks in five minutes, not bad,” Wagner said as he stood in front of me. “You counted my moves? You’re too sharp.” He smirked and handed me a bottle of water. I sat down and drank it.

His punches and kicks landed on the makeshift bag with terrifying force, each impact echoing across the quiet grounds like thunder. It wasn’t the usual disciplined workout. There was something personal in the way his muscles coiled and released, like he was fighting demons no one else could see. He threw a spinning back kick that made the entire bag jolt violently. I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. Even from this distance, it looked like the thing had slouched under the assault, as if it were alive and begging for mercy. I frowned, curiosity twisting into something sharper. Do punching bags even do that? And why did this one look so… off? The shape wasn’t quite right. Too soft. Too weird

His punch was not directed at Matthew, but at the iron-filled punching bag that weighed close to 360 kilograms. Earlier, Stephen had mentioned that only two people had been able to make this Treasure of Hidden Vanguard Boxing Gym move. One was the Iron Boxing Master of Riverville City, who managed to make it move by three meters. And the other was Matthew Collins, who managed to make it move by half a meter. Meanwhile, Tyr managed to break the punching bag apart with a single punch. It was as if his single punch packed the force of an exploding bomb. Boom… As the punching bag broke apart, the iron filling began flowing out of it.