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Her hatred and desire to castrate her brother for his right to take the throne, caused her to secretly train in fencing. Christine could not wear full armor (it was too heavy for a young lady), but her light training suit, which looked like a steel leotard with long sleeves, gave her a speed and freedom of movement, and it reliably protected her maiden body. Her overknee boots with stiletto heels were made from the same metallic material as leotard, and spurs attached to them turned her long slim legs into deadly weapon. The combat outfit of the young Princess and her long sword was hidden in her bedroom. Innocent and feminine, she was the first to learn sword fighting wearing high heels. She eagerly waited for the right moment to pierce her brother's most sensitive area and thereby deprive him of the right to inherit the throne. She was jealous of the fact that he had a cock and balls and she didn’t. Christine felt that if she couldn’t castrate her brother, she could at least do something to him. And she well did.
Today was the 18th birthday of both twins, and coronation day of the new King, her brother. It was painful. Christine had waited a long time for a chance to prevent her brother's coronation, and finally this chance presented itself to her. Now or never. She watched her brother running down to the empty beach outside of castle walls. He decided to have a swim before coronation evening, and she decided to meet him on the deserted beach armed with a long sword. Let them have a fight, and she would prove that SHE must be a Queen, and not he the King!
She went to her bedroom and into the large walk-in closet. She smiled as she brought out her intended playsuit for the fight. It was a shiny silver metallic leotard. Though very tight and consequently revealing,it was still extremely comfortable and gave her a level of support and mobility she had never experienced anything close to. This outfit was obviously designed to allow freedom of motion. Even the boots weighed nothing. She smiled as she pulled it on and felt a sexual thrill knowing that she would be getting satisfied tonight whether her brother wanted to do it or not. What he wanted was not important anymore. She had lusts to be slaked, and slaked they would be.
She liked high heels, because they force you to stand up straighter and thus make some women feel more powerful and in command; high heels make your calves look better and more toned, and, of course, make a woman taller.
She knew that most men also love the aesthetic image of heels on women's feet. To some, they suggested dominance over men.
Honestly, wearing heels made her feel SEXY, STRONG, POWERFUL and CONFIDENT!
Putting them on, and looking at the completed outfit in the mirror, she thought: “Ooh. Shoes really do make an outfit. I feel tall.”
Then she figured out a plan. "He's still in late adolescence. I can use this outfit to my advantage" she thought.
Carrying a sword was, of course, unusual for a women. A woman clad in steel armor and carrying a long sword would be looked upon with suspicion. That's why Christine concealed them on her person. Christine was going to be a Queen, not as a castle guard or one of the soldiers. Openly carrying a weapon would be weird for a lady. So, she chose a hidden way to the beach, to keep her intentions secret.
As she approached beach, she fantasized about how the confrontation would go. She saw herself tormenting her brother, toying with him. This made her shiver with delight. Nothing aroused her more than the gradual destruction of the male ego. She loved to watch the change in a man’s eyes as he realized he was beaten, realized he was hopeless and helpless against a beautiful girl, realized he was at her mercy, realized that everything he had ever thought about his identity as a male was wrong, that that identity was gone. She imagined what she would do to mess with her brother’s ego as she was messing with his body. She imagined turning her back on him and still fighting him off. That would REALLY mess with his head. She imagined fixing her hair and adjusting her clothes, behaving in typical girly-girl ways, reminding him that it was a girl who was destroying him, showing him that she could do that even while she fussed about her appearance just as a lady would keep it, showing him that he couldn’t so much as make her look like she was in a fight. The more she fantasized, the more eager she was for the fight to begin. She couldn’t wait.
Her brother wasn’t worried only about his nakedness. He knew his sister was unimpressed with him. He knew she took great pride in her own skills. He knew she resented him. But how far would she take this? How far COULD she take this? And would anybody see them? Suppose she pulled some dirty trick and somehow got an advantage, and somebody saw that. Would the word spread? Would he be mortally embarrassed and undermined even before he took office? Would people gossip about how his sister could beat him up? She might have been looking forward to the confrontation, but he definitely was not. No good could come of it for him.
She liked a certain double standard. She liked like to see women being able to enjoy something that's possible for them just because they are women. Concerning nudity, the double standard seems to be ingrained in most societies and throughout history. In our time one can mention the obligatory, and sometimes forced, nude swimming for boys and men, while girls wore swimsuits, as in schools and other places.
"Hey, Edward!" a voice of his sister caught him off guard
"Oh no", he thought, as he turned back to see Christine in steel armored leotard, high-heel, over-the-knee boots and sharp spurs, holding her sword. Edward froze, stunned by the aggression in her voice. She is pleased with herself for catching him naked, with no place to hide and no way to cover up. As she looks him over, he can see that she is feeling a little mean, and is eager to have some fun with him. Being forced to strip naked, or getting stripped naked, in front of the opposite gender always involves abject humiliation, which for many men can be very erotic. Edward frankly had to admit that he found the current situation arousing.
He wondered if that arousal would show. Would she see it and mock him? Would somebody else see it? Aroused or not, he wanted this all to be over.
She could sense his discomfort, and she loved it. She said, “What’s the matter, Eddie? You’re not afraid, are you? Afraid of a girl? You are. I can tell. I can smell it. My goodness. How humiliating it must be for you to be afraid of a girl.”
He said, with no conviction whatsoever, “I’m not afraid of you.”
She said, “No? Then what IS that I smell?” He gave her a look that said she should cut the nonsense. She laughed at him. He couldn’t help but be struck by how utterly confident she was, like she had not a care in the world about how this would turn out. She seemed to consider herself totally superior to him.
She moved in close. Her nose caressing his, her brown eyes gazing through blonde eyelashes seemed to hold his entire body in subjection. Warm breath against his cheekbones had his attention. With the sword in her hand, it was the only thing that kept him from moving away.
She thought, "I enjoy the vulnerability of man while a woman feels a sense of security and control. It's even better when I can exploit that vulnerability for my own enjoyment! For men, the situation should be one of psychological tension, i.e., this is SO unfair that it is, well, kind of exciting. That makes is very exciting that it is so exciting for the beneficiaries of the unfairness. For the women, it should be ‘Ha! I win!’ The more that women feel that, the better it is for men. The more that men feel vulnerability and even frustration, the bigger the win for the women."
She was turning herself on. Her brother was shocked by such talk. That turned her one all the more. He was flustered, almost speechless. He was trying to get hold of himself, to keep his nerves from showing. He wondered if his was visibly shaking, not from fear alone, but from the combination of that and sexual tension.
He said, "Are you sure that you can have real a duel with experienced male fighter? Really, fighting with sharpened swords is dangerous and stupid. Remember, even in the first-blood duels of the middle ages, many people died. These swords were created to do serious harm, and even if that's not necessary, some bad luck is game-over for you."
Her: "Don't worry, I have enough experience of fencing with my trainer and young male slaves. We fought usually in fancy, full protective equipment (gloves, mask, protective leotard), for girls and nothing for our ‘opponent’. (Since they usually were boys it was mostly for fun, and the girl almost always won...)"
Him: "But girls should never beat guys in anything competitive, it's just wrong!"
She pushed him with the tip of the sword towards the beach, saying:
"Think what it is to a boy, to grow up to manhood in the belief that, without any merit or any exertion of his own, though he may be the most frivolous and empty or the most ignorant and stolid of mankind, by the mere fact of being born a male he is by right the superior of all and every one of an entire half of the human race: including probably some whose real superiority to himself he has daily or hourly occasion to feel; but even if in his whole conduct he habitually follows a woman's guidance, still, if he is a fool, he thinks that of course she is not, and cannot be, equal in ability and judgment to himself; and if he is not a fool, he does worse — he sees that she is superior to him, and believes that, notwithstanding her superiority, he is entitled to command and she is bound to obey.
“But, really, in complete freedom, men suffer. These men suffer in complete freedom. Life is not fulfilling. Something is missing. In their hearts, men know they must submit to women.
“Men crave to obey. They hope for a woman who will control and discipline them. Men must kneel and kowtow when encountering the superior gender. Men naturally need to grovel, worship and adore women. Males instantly intuit their wives’ and girlfriends’ superiority. Most men can never admit this truth. They lie to themselves. Much misery comes from men refusing to accept the natural order of the genders. Men suffer more from this deliberate refusal to accept female superiority than they do from Mistresses’ whips. So, I've decided to come here myself to teach you a lesson as to why I'm superior to you and why I'll rule our country. Your only chance: to be obedient. Every man requires supervision of a Mistress Owner. He must serve a woman who will teach him humility and obedience. Many sisters enslave their brothers."
He was more stunned that ever. He said, “That’s not true.” She said, “Oh, no? Why do you think Princess Samantha always walks in front of her brother, even though he’s older? I saw her once push him into an empty closet, then go in after him. A few minutes later she came out with all his clothes, leaving him in there naked.”
He said, “I don’t believe you.” She said, “Well, I know one thing: Now that I’ve told you about that, you’ll never mess with her. You’ll be too afraid.”
She have a great time messing with her brother’s head.
She said, “Awe, you thought I would be kind to you? Don't worry. I will throw in a few taps with my sexy steel high heels as I slowly destroy your nuts.
"Does that mean you won't cut off my balls if I'd give up the throne in your favor?"
She ignored him, letting him wonder about that. She said. "You could never get girls like me in real life. The best you can do is to get kicked in your pathetic balls!"
She faked a movement at his crotch, and he jumped back. She laughed and brushed a wisp of hair off her face. She said, “I feel like I’m taking control of you even before the action begins. This is what superiority looks like. You should get used to me being superior to you, because I’m going to be for the rest of your life, and I’m never going to let you forget it. You’re a loser, and I’m a winner, and you know it.” She could see the agony in his eyes as he pondered the truth in her words. She was floating on air. It was finally happening!
She wore a long sleeved leotard cut high on hips. At the time, it was the first of the most comfortable type of combat clothes: all the others were not so provocative. So, it seemed like her leotard was a sort of "suit of armour." Very appropriate for girls who use their beauty to turn male fighters into aroused and weak preys of sexy amazons.
"Why you still dressed when I'm naked?"
Christine had a fetish for dominance over men almost all her life. She particularly enjoyed exposing and humiliating men. In her life, it was a repetitive theme with guys. With the right manipulation, she could get them to do a lot of things. This was her early experience and it continued to work beautifully.
"Because I'm a girl. My modesty must be protected, but there is no reason to hide male bodies!"
"But what kind of clothes? You look like a brothel whore!"
With an evil smile Christine answered "I like to be aggressive, and I like to play dirty. My long legs allows me to go up for your balls!"
Christine was satisfied to see that her brother was as impressed with her outfit as she thought he would be.
She slapped his face nearly knocking him off his feet "What did you call me?” Shock and pain made him jerk after her small hand slapped his face. "Call me Queen!"
"Well, then," she moved her sword up and watched it as she talked. "Procure yourself a lovely brothel lady, and use that fire with that you have between your legs." She pointed the weapon’s end to his crotch, stopping just millimetres away.
Edward tried to jump backwards startled, causing a smug grin from the blonde girl. She just smiled and, with a deft movement hooking up his foreskin with the tip of her sword, she caused him to scream in pain. She was quite precise with her sword, almost like she had done this plenty of times before. His gaze focused on the tip of her sword.
"We will use our swords in duel to decide who will get a throne!” she said. Christine raised her sword and took the starting position in front of Edward, "Let’s fight!".
"All right, but I don’t see any need for it," smiled the Prince,”You are not suited for it.”
"A vain delusion. Come on and fight me," she said, raising her sword.
He struck first. Low and tentative. She beat it back. He crossed left, throwing out another short sequence. Predictable. If she took the offensive, she could beat him.
Christine was beating off his strokes smiling. Gradually the fight became faster-paced. Christine moved quickly, easily and was skillfully defeating the Prince’s attacks.
Finally Edward said:
“Not bad. Your hand is not strong enough, but you are quite smart, move lightly and react skilfully.”
Her: “My trainer tells me the same. The most thing important in fighting is not the strength itself but rather the ability to be skillful and flexible.
She felt in control, as she knew she would be. His sword seemed always to be pushing back at hers, separating her sword from his body, rather than really mustering an attack on her. This was her winning. He knew it and she knew it, and she loved the fact that he knew it. Her smile told him how much she enjoyed his discomfort, his realization that he was in for a tough time. At one point, she fell onto her back, and he thought just maybe he had her. But he couldn’t take advantage of the situation, couldn’t get through her defenses. She lay on her back beating off his attacks. Finally, she got brought a leg into the fight, kicking him off her. As she rose, he knew he had lost a great chance, that she had beaten him even when he had the advantage. Something sank within him. Now, again, he was mainly fighting her off, struggling to keep his sword between hers and his body. Here he was locked in desperate combat with his own beautiful sister, and it was not going well. He didn’t think anybody was watching, but he couldn’t take the time to look around and be certain. He hoped desperately that if anybody was watching, they wouldn’t know that he was on the defensive. And sacred. He hoped they would think the royal siblings were just sparring.
After more rounds of fencing, her outfit began to take its intended effect. His blood rushed to a certain area, which meant less oxygen for his tiring muscles. His movements began to slow and his focus became fixed to her figure and not her attacks. More of her blows were landing, but he was still shaking them off. A huge erection revealed the cause of his slowing movements and Christine took notice.
"Its working" she thought. "Time for an attack he can't shrug off." And with his blood flow diverted from oxygenating his muscles and his attention on her figure, she made her move. She swung her right leg back and then with everything she had, she reeled her foot up between his legs. He screamed as he fell to his knees clutching his pair of writhing organs. The tables had turned and turned far. The fight was in her control now, and she took a moment to rest as she enjoyed that feeling of satisfaction. He wouldn't be going anywhere fast anyway.
"I've got those boots to break in on your balls," Christine announced to her brother, as she gaves a fast, forceful kick that had the toe of her high heels making a lovely pop as it speared his balls. After her kick, he doubled over and then forced himself to stand up, as Christine laugh at the agony she was inflicting.
He had no answer to her legs. She seemed to be able to bring them into the fight at will, to kick him away or to stagger him with kicks to the head, not to mention other parts of his body. He didn’t know how to deal with this. They males he trained and fought with didn’t have this ability. He was frightened of his hugely confident sister’s legs, and yet he had to worry more about her sword, which made her legs all the more effective. They were driving him nuts. She said, “I can see you’re obsessed with my legs, Brother. I can’t say I blame you. You’re not the first male to be blown away by them.” She danced away from him.
He decided to try to attack her legs with his sword. But it turned out that she could not only use her legs to kick, but to jump. She let him come at her again and again, only to find her legs not where they were when he began his stroke. She was toying with him, letting him be the aggressor, but still beating him. Easily.
Then, to his complete mystification, she combined her kicking and jumping ability into one move. She jumped into the air higher than he thought possible and kicked him hard in the chest. He had no defense. He hardly even knew what was happening. He fell to his back helpless, and his lithe sister came down on his chest, her sword at his throat, separated from it only by his sword. He was fighting out of instinct now. He was amazed at his sister. And, though he wouldn’t want to admit it, in awe of her. He knew he couldn’t have done that move she did if he had a million years to practice it.
Desperately, he punched her. She was amused. So like a guy: a slug in the face. But she had to admit it was effective. She did a back flip off him. And they squared off again.
That was when she turned her back on him. She let him come after her from behind one shoulder, then the other. She parried with her sword, and she ducked and twisted and twirled. He could simply do no damage. Now, sometimes turning to face him, she let him come at her. He was crazed with a desire to do damage. But she was cool, and he was not, and he could not connect. His sister had an answer for everything the would-be king tried. She was showing him that his struggle was useless. And yet she didn’t want it to end. It was the most fun she had ever had. She wanted him to keep coming at her, so she could keep beating. She mixed a chop to his neck into the action, and, at one point, she grabbed him around the neck and forced him to his knees, where she wrapped a beautiful leg around his face. She was showing him that she was way too much for him, that she had more methods of attack that he had defenses, and that his attacks were increasingly useless.
With him now on his back, Christine watched Edward’s face intently, her ruby lips pressed into a pout and her liquid brown eyes penetrating him. She ran her tongue over her teeth, savoring Edward’s expressions. Her high cut silver steel leotard squeaked around her perfect hips as she shifted her weight from one of his hands to the other, watching her red toenails spread in the straps of her red high heels as she pressed his hands flat beneath them. “It is so amazing, the variety of faces they made when they’re in pain,” she thought. Like snowflakes – no two facial expressions exactly alike! And she liked giving them pain, she mused. Oh yes, she liked that a lot! We all like giving them pain, she thought. So much drama! So much entertainment! Every time you stepped on them; every time you kicked them; every single time you tore their skin or broke a bone or raked their genitals with your fingernails and made them bleed; no matter how many times you did it to them, they always gave you a show! They were so much fun to watch! All the thrashing back and forth, and the begging, and the whimpering and moaning. She really liked the moaning! It was so forlorn, so hopeless, so pathetic, she mused with a slight smile!
She felt herself getting wet. And, God was it easy! I mean, they were so weak! You just picked a spot and squeezed or crushed, and they’d come apart! Use your thighs and you could crush the very marrow out of them! She loved humiliating them, abusing them, toying with them – breaking their spirits – then watching as they lost their own identity and then lost all hope. And she especially loved using her beauty. She knew what it did to them to look at her. She saw the longing in their eyes at the sight of her perfect body, her toned legs and flawless face, with her pouting lips and haunting eyes; the despair on their faces as they gazed at her in something like her combat leotard and knew they could never have her.
Simultaneously, she dug her spurs into his flanks and grabbed his wrist, forcing his sword down.
The muscles rippled on her bare thighs as she dug her spurs into his heaving sides.
"Riding horses is fine I like to do that too. But nothing gives me a thrill like riding on the body of another human being who’s in my power!"
Edward’s wails filled the afternoon air, as he struggled under the continuous torture of the Christine’s spurs, her weight crushing into him. She threw her head back and laughed into the sun.
He could no longer fight. His flesh was ripped and bleeding from the beautiful girl’s spurs digging into him.
Christine smiled straight down at Edward’s bare hips as she said, “Have I told you how much I hate you Edward?” Then, making even Edward cry out in anguish, she simultaneously slammed both her spurs as hard as she could into the flesh at the sides of Edward’s rump, driving the spinners fully through his skin, cutting it horribly, as they penetrated into his flesh and up to the hilt as if they were cutting through butter.
Then she said, “You want to fight some more, loser? Come on. Just let me do this.”
He stood painfully. Now it looked like she was not so much fighting as dancing. Celebrating. Demonstrating. Flaunting. Teasing. Wallowing in her victory, her superiority. Again her beautiful leg came up to his face, a move she could now do at will. He was dazed. He was hers. The male was lost, defeated. But he couldn’t come to terms with it. He came at her wildly, desperately, viciously, his sword raised above his head. He had visions of severing her head from her body. But that was not where his sword should be. Before he could bring it down, hers was at his crotch. Now even he knew it was over. She had taken his masculinity in every other way. Now she could take it physically, literally, at her pleasure. It was hers to do with as she pleased. She put him on his back, making him await her decision as to what was next.
She delighted in her unlimited authority. If he had once bullied her and was a nuisance, she now took her revenge.
Defeating a formerly macho brother diminishes his male ego, she thought. She was crushing his masculine egotism. Being a man is not an advantage. It is a shame.
"Poor, weak men" she scoffed. "I guess I'll be taking this now. If you would have just listened, you wouldn't be on the ground right now. Oh well, at least it was fun."
She was smiling more broadly ever. Celebrating. Everything she had dreamed of was coming to pass, just as she had dreamed it, just as she wanted it. She had done all the moves she had fantasized about doing. She had seen all the expression on her brother’s face that she had long dreamed of seeing. She knew she had changed who he was, changed what was in his head, changed how he saw the world and his place it. And she had changed how the world would see him – and her. He was hers now, this male who was supposed to the powerful one. She owned him, as she would soon own so much more.
She walked over and placed her boot on his chest, looking down on him almost fondly.
"Don't flatter yourself too much, Edward. If this ends well you could be my pet. I always need someone to be humiliated and serve to me."
"Lots of people think that no serious injury come from getting stabbed or wacked in the penis or the testicles. That's kind of silly. The testicles are enclosed in a baggy sack oftentimes known as the scrotum. If you have, have handled, or seen a scrotum, you realized it's very easy to catch a scrotum with a point.
We're just rather startled by watching someone otherwise quite hardy writhing on the ground, clutching himself and moaning because he refuses to protect a vulnerable spot.
Guys can do what they wish in terms of protecting their boys, but then don't turn around and resent me when you get nailed - your choice is not my fault.
I'm not saying you aren't going to complain that it hurts, but don't yip at me, because it’s not my fault that you made the active choice not to wear something that could, so I'm told, protect you from some of that pain. When I have hit a guy, I am always happy that it happened because it is my intent to double my opponent over in pain. I’ve practiced for a long time aiming at a guy’s jewels, and it is not my fault when you can't defend yourself and end up on the floor. If you can't defend even your little balls,that means you can't defend our big country. Now you see: I was right when I decided to prevent your coronation and take the throne myself".
Finally he was lying on the floor with the stiletto heel of his sister's boot on his throat, begging her to not pierce his balls with her sword again. She was holding a razor-sharp heel against his carotid artery. And she was merciful as a real Queen, piercing his neck with her stiletto heel.