Cut And Thrust

“You’re not half the swordsman I am.”

She said it flatly, as if it were an unquestioned fact that he was meant merely to accept without challenging. It was also, in his informed opinion, ridiculous.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You’re not nearly as good as I am. Look at our awards. The results speak for themselves. I’ve won tournament after tournament, you’ve never won a single one.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his short black curls, and then rubbing the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “We’re just going to ignore the fact that you’re usually competing against the same five or six girls, while I’m in fields of thirty or more? I was training here before you ever picked up a saber or a foil, and I taught you everything you know.”

“You taught me everything you know,” she said with a smirk and a toss of her shoulder-length auburn hair. The way she laughed him off infuriated him. He wanted to wrap his hand in that air and drag her to her knees. “And then I perfected it and learned more. I’m better than you, plain and simple.”

It was true that she won more often than not when they had matches in the studio, but he was the teaching assistant. He had never gone full out against her, always instead trying to present learning opportunities. And, he had to admit, he hoped that as long as she was winning, it would put her in a mood where she might be willing to accept a date with him. Not that he had ever worked up the courage to ask.

He had always thought she realized that he had been working to teach, not fighting her to win. Evidently, that was not the case. Part of him wanted to simply point out the error to her. But something about her mocking tone made him angry enough that he just wanted to put her in her place.

“Are you willing to put your money where your mouth is?” he asked. “A private bout, just you and me. Here in the studio, after we lock up for the night, with no witnesses.”

“Are you afraid of being beaten with the whole class here?” she countered with a smirk. “Everyone here has seen me beat you before.”

“I’m not afraid at all. But I don’t think you’re going to want to have the kind of match I have in mind with anyone else here.”

“What is it you have in mind then?”

“Strip fencing. Each point makes the loser take off a piece of clothing.”

Her eyes widened. He couldn’t possibly be serious about this, could he? But she wasn’t willing to back down.

“And the stakes?”

“Name them,” he replied. “I’ll take stripping you bare as plenty of payment. Along with you no longer making such ridiculous claims about being better than me.”

“Fine. And when I beat you, and you’re sitting there naked, I want pictures and a promise that you’ll tell the Maestro that I should be his new teaching assistant.”

“Done.”

She hesitated. He was far too confident for her liking, and he agreed far too readily. But she wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass. “Tomorrow? That’ll be Saturday. And the studio closes at 7. I’ll be here at 9?” She knew that he had keys and could let them in.

“I’ll see you at 9 o’clock.”

* * *

The next night, she arrived at the studio, fencing gear in hand. She had her favorite rapier, her mask, gloves, and groin protection in a duffle bag. She looked down at what she was wearing. A flannel shirt over a t-shirt, workout pants, athletic shoes, and of course, under that, a sensible pair of panties and a sports bra. She figured it likely that he would be down at least two articles of clothing, since he was unlikely to be wearing two shirts, and of course, had one less piece of underwear to lose.

Not that she planned on losing anything. She knew all of his tricks by now, and all of the openings he tended to leave open. She was confident that she would get him down to his boxers without losing anything of her own, at which point he would call off the bout. And then she would be the Maestro’s new assistant, which would give her plenty of time alone with the older British man with which she could try to seduce him. She had wanted the Maestro since her very first class, but he had never paid any attention to her – except for when she would come back from a tournament with another win.

But first? She had to get rid of Him. The older student had taught her plenty, and sure, he was kind of cute in his own way, but she wanted to be the Maestro’s assistant. So, he had to go.

For his part, he had been waiting for her ever since the last students had left two hours ago. He had two rapiers ready with padded tips, although he fully expected her to want to use her own sword. He had been doing some light calisthenics, trying to keep warmed up and loose without exhausting himself. He had a plan for exactly how to play this out, and he wanted everything to be perfect.

He went to the door right at 9:00, and saw her standing there, gear in hand. He unlocked the door, and opened it with a flourish. “I’m glad you came.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she answered. “What do you have in mind for the ground rules?”

“Typical rules for targeting – no going for the other person’s crotch. A thrust or draw cut will count as a touch. Both socks count as one article of clothing, same with shoes. Jewelry and watches don’t count as clothes. Neither does your cup – it goes with the underwear. Groin protection obviously has to go last, but otherwise, the person who lost the point can choose what to remove.” He looked her up and down, noticing her flannel shirt over her tee, unlike the simple shirt he was wearing. “I guess that gives you a two item advantage over me,” he said while shrugging.

“I can lose the shirt if you think it’s unfair,” she said, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be willing to admit he wanted to reduce her advantage.

“No, that’s fine. Keep the shirt – at least until I make you lose it.”

From the arrogance in his response, she was really looking forward to humiliating him. “Alright. Let’s go.”

With no further words, they put on their masks and gloves, and grabbed their rapiers. The stood, facing each other and saluted, before giving a slight bow.

“Begin,” he said.

They slowly started circling one another, she keeping her rapier tip towards him, while he left his arms akimbo. A few thrusts from her were used to to probe his defenses, and she noted that he was relying entirely on using his left hand to swat away her rapier instead of bringing his own blade into play. The smug bastard was toying with her. Well, she knew how to handle that. A quick thrust towards his mask proved to be a feint, and as he moved to push her blade aside, her point dipped low under her arm, and she quickly placed her blade and pulled back, cutting against his ribs.

“My point,” she said under her mask, starting to feel the sweat build up. He was quick on his feet, and while the first point went to her easily enough, he was moving around the room enough that she was already starting to perspire. Was it hotter than normal in the studio?

He nodded in concession and stepped back. She looked on, expecting to see him reach down to remove his shoes, and was surprised when he reached down to his waist, grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it up and over his mask.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice full of surprise.

“Removing my first article of clothing, per the rules,” he said, smirking beneath his mask. “We never set rules for what order the loser has to remove their clothing – just that it was their choice, and groin protection would be last.”

“Right, but I figured…”

“You figured wrong. Are you ready to go again?”

She nodded, even as she looked him over. He looked better without a shirt than she had expected. He was in decent shape, even if he had the slightest bit of a belly. His pecs and arms had nice definition, and he was hairier than she had guessed, but his chest hair was still not too thick. Just the way she liked her men. If the stakes weren’t what they were, she wouldn’t mind admiring his bare chest longer. But she mentally shook her head, focusing on her objective.

The next pass went similar, although now he was keeping his blade up and engaged with hers. He was clearly making an effort to guard his chest, because blunted tips or not, a thrust to bare flesh would hurt, and a draw cut would sting. She took advantage of his focus, making only the barest of feints against his chest before making a quick reversal and thrusting straight into the face of his mask.

“Second point is mine too,” she laughed as she stepped back. “Are you sure you don’t want to just give up?” He wasn’t even giving up limbs – if this was a tournament, both of her hits would have been “kills,” winning the bout outright.

Under his mask, he chuckled. Things were working exactly as he expected. “Not at all,” he said as he stepped back. “Beginners luck.” He reached down, and before she could say anything, grabbed the waistband of his pants and shucked them down his legs, leaving him in only a cup and groin protector, and his socks and shoes. She noted that he wasn’t even wearing boxers or briefs under the athletic supporter, and from her angle she could see a flash of bare ass cheek.

“But… but…” she stammered. “Your shoes?”

“I’d rather keep those on,” he said, nonplussed. He turned away from her to toss his pants against the wall, and she confirmed that he was, in fact, completely nude under the athletic protector. His butt cheeks were nicely shaped, highlighted by the straps of his protective gear. His legs were nicely muscled, and also coated in a light sheen of body hair.

He turned back to face her, and she was glad that her mask concealed how intently she had been staring. “Are you ready to go again?” he asked as he gave her another salute with his rapier.

“Uhmmm. Yes. Yes, of course,” she said as she returned the salute and adopted a fighting stance.

She wasn’t distracted. She wasn’t staring at his crotch. She absolutely was not letting herself fall into that trap. And yet, as soon as they engaged, he swatted away her rapier blade and thrust into her chest, stabbing right into her left boob, moving faster than she could even notice. He laughed as he stepped back. “I guess that point is mine.”

“Yeah… ouch,” she said as she rubbed her breast, ignoring that she could feel her nipples beginning to get hard. Was she getting turned on from watching him fence her nearly nude? She turned away from him, bending over to unlace her shoes, and he admired her shapely ass through her workout pants. He smiled, and felt himself start to get slightly stiff under his cup, but he turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand before she turned back around to face him, her feet now clad only in a pair of cute, white ankle socks.

“Let’s go,” she said, determined that she wasn’t going to lose another piece of clothing.

She didn’t even bother with a salute before she approached him, her thrusts aimed at his chest, feinting, probing for a weak spot in his defenses. With so much exposed skin, he had to be scared of taking another cut to pretty much anywhere on his body, but he was effortlessly avoiding her attacks, and as her frustration mounted, she completely lost track of his blade. Before she realized it, she felt his rapier against her inner thigh, and then felt him draw it back, scoring a cut.

“I suppose your socks are mine now?” he said, completely failing to conceal the laughter in his voice.

She wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but knew he wouldn’t see it. She had planned to keep her flannel on, but decided to go against his expectations, and quickly peeled it off. She was getting warm in it anyhow, the t-shirt alone would feel better. She ignored that her undershirt was practically sticking to her like a second skin, emphasizing her flat tummy, but more significantly, the full breasts held tight under her sports bra.

Whirling back to face him, she gave a quick salute, and then rushed him, hoping to catch him off guard. A series of feints to his mask gave her the opening she wanted, and she lunged, her long legs sending her forward in a move that should have driven the tip of her blade right into his ribs – a thrust that would have had enough force behind it to leave a nasty bruise even if he had been wearing protective gear.

Or that’s how it should have worked, but her cotton socks slipped against the mat, and she overextended, sliding forward completely off-balance. He almost seemed embarrassed as he brought the tip of his blade down, lightly scoring a touch on her left ass-cheek.

“Point,” he said as he stepped away from her.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to yell at him. She wanted to walk away from this match. But pride wouldn’t allow her to do so. She wanted to win. She knew she was better than he was. And she wanted to be the Maestro’s assistant.

Reclaiming what dignity she could, she got back to her feet, reaching down to remove the socks from her sweaty feet. If nothing else, at least the tackiness of her sweat would give her more secure footing, and keep her from having the same kind of opening again.

She stepped back, warily, giving him a salute and then adopting a more defensive stance. She needed to reassess the flow of this fight. She no longer had any “safe” points to lose. Another touch would cost her either her t-shirt or her pants, and while she had her underwear to go after that, she had no desire to be that exposed to him – even if he was prancing around practically naked except for his protective gear and shoes and socks. He could “safely” lose two more points without being any more exposed than he already was. And he didn’t seem to have any shame about being so close to nude.

Not that he had much to be shamed about. If she was going to be completely honest, she was really enjoying the sight – and in any other circumstances, she would enjoy seeing the play of his muscles and the light sheen of sweat on his skin. The way he moved now was so much more fluid and graceful than it ever had been in class, and it made her wonder how he would move in bed…

She shook the cobwebs from her head and began to circle around him, fighting defensively, waiting to see if he would make a mistake and give her an opening. He made several thrusts that were obviously feints, and she ignored them, refusing to be goaded into making an error. A cut at her leg brought her left hand into play, and she swatted at the blade – which suddenly wasn’t there. Faster than her eye could see, he had slipped it under her arm, and then she felt a draw cut right beneath her armpit.

“You’re dead,” he said. “What will it be? Pants or shirt?”

“Augh!” she exclaimed as she weighed her options. Pants were somehow a lot scarier to remove – she felt much more exposed that way. But her t-shirt was long enough that it would still cover her crotch and her ass most of the time. And if he was going to be distracted by the sight of her bare legs, and trying to get a glimpse of her panties, maybe that would give her the opening she needed.

Turning away from him, she reached down to grab the waistband of her workout pants, and she shimmied her way out of them, letting them pool at her feet. She was glad that her mask hid the blush she knew was developing, and hoped that she could pass the flushed skin off as being a result of exertion.

“Nice tattoo,” he commented, referencing the butterfly on the back of her right calf.

She turned back to face him. “Enjoy the look. Because that’s all you’re going to see of it. Or me.”

He chuckled. “Any more ink? Are there surprises there waiting for me under your shirt?”

“You’ll never know,” she said as she once more got into a ready stance. “Come at me.”

She instantly regretted her choice of words, because as soon as she spoke, he was up on her, fighting in close proximity – too close for her to easily maneuver her blade. He was right up inside her reach, and before she could adapt and wrap her blade around him, she felt the cold steel of his blade between her legs, and inevitably the pull back of the cut. The edge of his blade was smooth, but still it stung where he drew it back, and her skin swelled up, angry and red in the wake of his act.

“Your shirt. Now.”

His voice was rigid, like steel, and she felt a dampness between her legs as he ordered her to strip for him. She often was low-key turned on after fighting, but the eroticism of this fight, the sight of his body, and the fact that she was soon going to be exposed to him were all getting her turned on. She was going to need a long session with her favorite vibrating toy when she got back to her apartment. She just was no longer sure if she was going to be thinking about the Maestro – or if she was going to be thinking about him.

She stepped away from him, wanting distance between them, and not to feel the heat radiating from his body. She knew she wouldn’t be able to remove her shirt without also taking off her mask, so she first slipped it off her head. Her hair was sweaty and matted to her head, and her face was flushed. He had never seen her looking sexier, and as she pulled the t-shirt over her head, he delighted in seeing the swell of her breasts trying to escape her navy blue sports bra.

He also noticed that there was the tail of a lizard or a dragon poking out from the bottom part of the bra, and unless he was deeply mistaken, there was the tell-tale sign of a pair of barbells in her nipples, visible through the sports fabric. Looking lower, there was a piercing in her navel as well, and she wore an athletic protector over a pair of sensible light-blue cotton panties. There was nothing “sexy” about the underwear itself, but her legs were long and lightly-muscled, and the view was incredibly alluring.

She glared at him, daring him to speak, and he wisely held his tongue as she replaced her mask.

“You could concede now,” he offered, as she took a fighting stance and stalked towards him.

“No. Chance,” she said as she threw a quick salute at him. He returned it, and before he could get his blade back into an en garde position, she unleashed a flurry of attacks at him, and he felt a sharp pain as the tip of her blade dug into his upper thigh.

He yelped in pain, unprepared for the amount of force she put behind her thrust, and he hopped back, unsure if she was going to make a follow-up attack before they set-up again. Refusing to take his eyes off of her, or to disengage his blade, he held her back at point as he kicked his shoes off.

“You still have nothing else ‘safe’ to lose to me,” he warned. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stop now?”

She shook her head defiantly as she saluted him again. “I’m not stopping until I’ve won and you’re buck-ass nude and humiliated,” she said. “You’re as close to losing as I am.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded as he returned her salute. “Begin.”

This time they were both cautious as they engaged, circling around each other slowly, attacking hesitantly, feinting more often than they attacked, and defenses staying conservative. As they circled, she saw it –  a tiny weakness of his step on that left leg where her thrust bruised his thigh. She advanced on him, and as he retreated back on his left, a slight stagger gave her the opening she wanted and then a quick clean thrust tagged him just below the collarbone on his right side.

“My point,” she declared.

He nodded mutely, reached down and pulled off his socks, tossing them to the side of the room.

“Again.”

Her confidence had returned. She could do this. One more point. It was even worth making a sacrifice play if she needed to – a double-kill would still leave him naked while she was in her panties. He’d get to see her tits, sure. But she would win.

She looked him up and down as they engaged, trying to gauge where the best line of attack would be when she noticed it. Beneath his athletic protector – it was impossible to ignore that it wasn’t quite flush with his skin. He was aroused by this – he was getting hard. And while the cup made it impossible to gauge the size of his erection, it had to be sizable enough to push the protective equipment aside.

That moment of distraction was all he needed though. As she was looking at his package, he made a quick step to the side, sending the tip of his blade right at her chest. Somehow he managed to aim it precisely enough that it went under the strap of her sports bra, and as he drew the cut back, she realized that if his blade had actually been sharp, the strap would have been severed, leaving one breast exposed to his gaze.

“And this point is mine,” he said. The desire and arousal in his voice, even muffled by his mask, was unmistakable. And her own arousal was becoming equally impossible to ignore. Even more so as she struggled to remove the sports bra, and as her breasts bounced free, her nipples were rock-hard, the barbell piercings proudly exposed, a green scaly dragon wrapped around the underside of her right breast.

She took a deep breath as she brought her blade back up. They both knew what this final point meant. They each had only a single item of clothing left to lose. Each of them was breathing hard, and she was the first to move, attacking fiercely, creating a wall of steel that was impossible for him to get past.

Except somehow he did, he was back inside her reach. Almost as if in slow motion, she saw his blade descending towards her outer thigh, and she did the only thing she could think to do, knowing she couldn’t possibly get her own blade back around in time.

She punched him. Hard. Right in the face, the leather of her glove making a harsh sound against the screen of his mask. His head rocked back, and she moved. The blow was against the rules, she knew it, but she also knew that she was going to take this final point, and it would be her blade that made the final cut.

She lunged at him, but he wasn’t there, stepping to the side, grabbing her sword hand with his off hand, and wrapping it around her, pressing himself against her bare back. His blade came up, right under her throat, and he placed it on her, the edge against her skin. Her blade hand was completely under his control and she couldn’t move.

Time stopped, and she was acutely aware of everything in that moment. The heat of his body, the slick sweat of their skin, the prickle of his body hair against her smooth flesh. The bulge of his cup against her buttocks, and the unyielding strength of his arms as he held her.

Slowly he drew the blade against her chest, and she knew she was defeated. He had won. Her grip released from her sword, and she surrendered against his grip. He released her, but she stayed there, motionless.

“Take your prize,” she said in a small voice.

His hands came down to her hips, fingers gently sliding under both the athletic protector and her panties, and he pulled them down past the swell of her thighs. As the garments made their way over her knees, he released them, and they fell the remainder of the way to the floor.

As he stood back up, he pressed himself against her, and she realized that he must have removed his cup, because she felt the hard swell of his cock nestled between the cheeks of her ass. His hands came up, the right one taking her breast in hand, his fingers playing with the hardware in her nipple as the other continued its ascent and pulled her mask from her head.

She turned to face him, defeat visible in her eyes, but his own mask was still in place.

“Take me,” she begged. Her own, smaller hands came up to remove the mask from his face, and when she did so, the eyes that she saw looking at her were kindly, even as they shone with hunger and desire.

“I shall.”

And without another word, they were moving down, her back against the mat, and with one final thrust of his weapon, the match was sealed, although from the triumphant sounds escaping both their throats, it would be difficult to say definitively who had won.

About the Author

Broken Unicorn has been a writer since he was a child, starting off writing decidedly non-erotic stories about superheroes. As he got older, he started writing erotica about superheroes, before eventually discovering his kinky side and writing about people who could live in the real world. He lives in the midwest, and is happy to live in a very full house that includes four humans and two dogs. He can be found under the profile Broken_Unicorn https://fetlife.com/users/8765084