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Old 23-Apr-13, 06:02
wallycleaverboy wallycleaverboy is offline
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Default Yes, it's unembellished truth. A black eye from my little sister

Getting beaten up by a girl. By age 14, I already knew I liked the idea. I had been fantasizing about it before I knew the words "fantasy" or "sex." I remember in the sixth grade, at 11, wondering what it would be like if the girl who sat next to me in class, Anne Cook (pigtails and hot pants!), punched me in the eye.

When I was 12, my cousin, Maura (13, denim shorts and soooo leggy) accidentally hit me in the mouth while playing tag. I ducked out of the game quickly as much to hide my boner as the embarrassing bloody lip I got.

I began to get fixated on all the silly 60s and 70s comedies that feature a woman beating up a man. By the time the movie, "Herbie Rides Again," came out, I knew I was peculiar that way. In that cheesy kids flick, Stephanie Powers, in a red flight attendant's miniskirt, knocks out Ken Berry with a punch to the jaw. I saw the movie three times.

But fantasizing wasn't enough. I began to seek out "opportunities." The following is no embellishment.

In the long summers when friends went away on trips, my siblings and I sometimes played together. My sister, Tara, and I were fairly close. I was 14 and set to enter the 9th grade. She was 12, going into the seventh. On the last day of school she came home in her Catholic schoolgirl uniform. They were short in those days, not quite miniskirts (the nuns would stroke out), but still an enticing three or four inches above the knee. And, in the style of the day, the girls always wore pantyhose, tights or knee socks. I'm something of a leg, hose and skirt fetishist, in case you haven't noticed.
My sister, like most Catholic schoolgirls of the 70s, often paired her uniform with pantyhose.
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Tara had her pleated skirt (Gawd I love how the hems bounced and flounced on girls' legs) and some nice sheer tan pantyhose. Yeah, she was my sister. But my sexuality was just awakening, and--well--you looked if you were a leg guy. Sometimes, doing homework at the dining room table, I would "oops" drop my pencil repeatedly, just to get a glimpse of those crossed legs. This day, she tossed her books to the floor and came in. Last day! Then she tore off her skirt! The girls frequently wore denim shorts under their skirts so they wouldn't have to change for gym. Denim shorts and tan hose! Any way, on to the masochism!

Tara had been telling me the last few weeks about a mean girl in her grade who was taunting her and her friends. We were in the basement where an old TV blared. I repeated what I had nervously suggested before: she needed to learn how to fight.

"Girls don't fight like that," she told me (this was the 70s--no Buffy or girl power then!).

"Well, what if a guy tries to rape you, or something," I pressed. In short order, I told her she could practice on me. Judo was sort of big in sitcoms then. I pressed her to try shoulder throws. Lacking technique, my sister couldn't really do much that way. But I obliged her (well, really me) by doing a roll as she tried. I began to feel my groin get warm as she squealed in delight, not sure if she had really flipped me.

Then, I told her I would teach her to throw a punch. I didn't really know much myself, beyond what I saw on TV. I hadn't been in many fights. I'm not sure when the plan fully cooked in my brain, but I think I knew I was going to get her to practice her way into accidentally clobbering me. I squatted down to her 5'2" (I was 5'7") and held out my palms like punching mitts. Then, after her first few, tentative and ineffectual jabs, taught how to punch from the shoulder with a jab, and twist her lower body into a hook.

Her form got better, her small, 12-year-old's fists making smacking sounds on my palms. I occasionally chanced a glance at her legs in the tan hose realizing if I couldn't keep my eyes off them, I wouldn't need to plan an "accident."

Tara seemed to like sparring, and I egged her on. "Come on, Tar," you couldn't knock down a second grader with that. Jab, jab, hook." Her punches did get harder, and my breathing got really rapid as I knew I was going to make a move here to satisfy my urge! Then, as she sailed a right hook at my hand, I dropped my palm. Her little fist popped neatly into my left eye socket (no doubt aided by the fact that I leaned forward when I dropped my palm). There was a "fap" sound, not really much like the bad sound effects punches on TV, but no doubt a smack!

My head snapped back a fair amount, and I almost lost my footing (how embarrassing--and exciting--that would have been). Tara's hands flew to her mouth and her eyes widened. My left hand went reflexively to my eye, which immediately began to burn.

"Are you okay? Gosh, I'm so sorry, Bri. I don't what happened."

Too late to check that impulse! I began to feel regret mingle with my sexual excitement, and I turned away from her, my eye now throbbing. "It's fine," I hastily told my sister. I think I just got some dirt in my eye. I'm gonna go wash it out." I darted into the bathroom and closed the door. I turned on the tap, as if I were going to splash some water on my face, but really I went straight to the mirror. I noticed a small reddened mark, diagonally set beneath my eye. It wasn't black and blue. I didn't really know that they don't tend to be black and blue right away. I also didn't know anything about putting ice on it to minimize swelling, though I had seen Fred Flintstone put a steak on his eye.

As I came out of the bathroom, I almost ran into Tara. She was there, so cute in her tied up school blouse, denim shorts and tan pantyhose, a picture of concern. "Oh, your eye's all red!"

"I was just rubbing too hard to get the dirt out," I hastily explained.

"No, I think it's going to be a black eye," she said, with concern in her voice. "Oh, Bri, I'm so sorry!"

"Girls can't give guys a black eye. They're too weak. Especially a seventh grader," I lamely countered, heading back toward the TV. I flicked it on and sat down. The throbbing hadn't gotten worse, but it persisted. And I began to worry.

"Well, eyes are a delicate thing," she said. "Maybe we should put something on it."

"I'm fine," I snapped. Tara ruefully headed upstairs. I couldn't resist watching her hosed legs as she walked away. What curious mingling of excitement and worry I felt! When the door shut, I was able to drop the couch pillow from my lap. It was hiding a now raging boner. In my confusion, I wasn't sure it was Tara's legs or her punch that excited me more.

I went back to the mirror--still red, maybe redder. I began to panic. I headed out of the house toward my tree fort in the woods. There, I gingerly felt the skin under my eye. It was disconcertingly hot. To my added consternation, I discerned the lid of my eye felt a little hot too. I headed back to my house and locked my self in the bathroom. In the mirror, my fears were confirmed. The lid was definitely red, too, and a little puffy. Under the eye, it seemed angrier. I was watching disaster grow! With my heart in my throat, I suddenly felt a wave of relief: School was over! By the time Tara called me to the phone from upstairs a few minutes later, my mind began to spin out a plan.

"Brian, Tony's on the phone," she called out.

"Tell him I'll call him later," I called back, trying to sound busy. I realized when I snuck back toward the stairs that Tara's head was still peaking around the basement door. She was trying to get a look at me! I realized instantly she was as fixated on my eye as I was! She was wondering if she had given me a shiner... Tara disappeared, and I headed out, my mind still spinning plans. I would go out and sing out over my shoulder that I was going to play baseball. Maybe I could come back later and say I got hit by a pitch. Maybe I say I was spending the night at Tony's and just sleep in the tree house? Would it go away in one night?

I had to get out. I ran up the stairs and could feel Tara's eyes boring into the back of my head, but I steadfastly avoided letting her see my face as I fled the house.

I didn't come back till well after dinner. The street lights were on and it was near dark at 9 p.m. Mom and Dad were busy enough that I sailed through the kitchen, making merry "last day of school" sounds and saying, "I ate over Tony's. Night, Mom. Night, Dad." The only thing I got a clear look at was my sister's face at the kitchen table. She was having a drink of something but her eyes bored right in on my face. In a horror-filled instant, I saw her change from a wondering lip bite to a wide, amused smile.

I bounded up the stairs, but still managed to hear my sister's voice ring out, "Mom, I gave Brian a black eye today."

I didn't hear a whole lot of what followed, as my head filled with a huge blush of shame and embarrassment. But there was something in there of a parental admonishment about "hitting your brother," and a Tara reply about "accident." It got worse. My eye felt even more throbby. When I dreadfully walked over to my dresser mirror and peered at myself, I saw a very real blackened left eye staring back at me, stricken. It was bluish underneath, and the lid was a slightly swollen and reddish-purple. Oh, my God. A shiner. A shiner from my 12-year-old sister.

Then my mind went instantly and insistently back to her pleated short skirt and tan pantyhose. The front of my pants was dramatically tented, and my groin was as hot as my eye.
A knock at the door.

"Brian, are you alright?" It was Mom.

"I'm fine, Mom. I'm sleeping."

"Is your eye okay? Honey, let me just look at it."

"It's fine mom. Tara's just making a whole lot of nothing."

"I just want to come in and see."

At this point I had to get as vociferous as an obedient, good boy can be. "Mom, will you just let me sleep?" I half barked.
I guess Mom had gauged it was more important to leave me be than to get some first aid. At any rate, I was finally alone. I stupidly realized my hand was on my knob.

Now, I was a little bit of a late bloomer, sexually. While I first experienced the curious phenomenon of a boner awhile back, I hadn't connected it with girls till a few months ago, when a feverish dream about Anne Cook in her white hot pants lead to this millky white stuff on my dick. I had awakened that, buzzing and glowing with this amazing feeling that must have had a heaven-sent love for Anne. Now, in my bed, my thoughts tortured me. My little sister had popped me one. My little sister had that swishy pleated skirt and tan hose....and before I knew it, I had exploded in cum over these tortured mixed thoughts of embarrassment and excitement. I drifted off to a miserable sleep, with fearful scenarios of my sister glibly telling all her little 12-year-old girl friends that she had beaten up her brother. Or worse! Telling Tony!!

The morning, we're told, things will look better. My eye did not. Tara didn't close my eye with that punch, but she came close. With my heart down in my shoes, I surveyed my half-closed lid, drooping in purple, matched in splendor by the blue bruise beneath my eye. Within a minute or two, there was a timid knock. "May I come in?" It was Tara. I sighed deeply and realized there would be no hiding this. I opened the door and walked back toward my bed. I could see Tara craning her neck, trying to see my face.

When I turned, her hands again flew to her mouth. But that wasn't a gasp. She stifled a girlish laugh! Ooh, was angry! (and simultaneously thrilled. I could feel my groin stirring again, to my shame). Before I could say a word, my sister rushed forward.

"Please, Brian...I didn't mean it. I mean, to laugh. And I won't tell anybody. I mean, I won't tell anyone I gave you a black eye....I...we'll say it was a rock, or something."

Curiously, that soothed my anger right away. I was safe from that predicament. I peevishly noticed, though, that Tara was surveying her handiwork, er, fistiwork.

"Wow! It really works," she said, looking suddenly at her right fist in wonder. "Your eye is really black!"

The sweet girlishness and femininity in her voice was only serving to heighten my embarrassment. I blushed bright red, my face hot. "Oh, don't worry, Brian. It just means you're a good boxing teacher," she added, ever the kind Tara. "Of course, ya better not teach me too much," she teased, cocking her fists. She no sooner said this then she had an epiphany about the fragility of male egos that are bested by the "weaker sex." She realized she had humiliated me supremely. The sorrys poured out of her some more, and I shooed her out of my room, closing the door. Suspcious, I cracked it back open, my ears fixed on the hall. I knew it. As she walked away, I could see she had the back of one hand over her mouth, her shoulders heaving as she stifled giggles.

My sister is a kind person. But as the years passed, she still gently teases me from time to time about that day. Once, in our 20s, she feigned anger over a trifle, held up her feminine fist and warned me, "You'll be needing your steak raw again tonight." Even then, in private I jacked off furiously over the reminder. I did the same a few years later when she remarked about a "beautiful bunch of flowers...Black-Eyed Brians." But these teases are never in the company of others. I've never thought of incestuous sex with my two older sisters. It seems just so wrong. But I have to admit I still daydream over Tara's still lovely legs and wonder would it would be like to have her punch my eye now and tease me over it. And I still cum to it and the thought of her short-skirted legs crossed in sheer pantyhose.

Last edited by wallycleaverboy; 23-Sep-13 at 05:21. Reason: mistake
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  #2  
Old 24-Apr-13, 06:52
carl brown carl brown is offline
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Default Re: Yes, it's unembellished truth. A black eye from my little sister

Wally great story...different but great nontheless. Just wondering though. Was that the last altercation you and your younger sister have. Or was that the shot of confidence she needed to further test herself. Against you or anyone else.

Last edited by carl brown; 24-Apr-13 at 06:53. Reason: error
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Old 24-Apr-13, 07:17
Tim k Tim k is offline
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Default Re: Yes, it's unembellished truth. A black eye from my little sister

You think getting a black eye from your sis is embarrassing be glad you didn't get kneed in the face ending up with a broken nose and 2 black eyes from your sister, which is what happend to a kid I used to know!
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  #4  
Old 24-Apr-13, 14:09
wallycleaverboy wallycleaverboy is offline
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Default Re: Yes, it's unembellished truth. A black eye from my little sister

Carl,
Unfortunately, it's the last--though I can always hope!
I saw her last week, wearing a little a-line dress and black tights. She's now a graceful and athletic 5'8". And even as a middle-aged woman, her legs are still dynamite. I know she's my sister, but I would LOVE going down o her after she dished out another black eye to me, and maybe a few knockdown punches to the jaw!

I'm going to be seeing her this weekend. I wonder if I dare "accidentally" bring up that memory? What would she say about it today? I have a feeling just her amusement over it would still make me hard

Last edited by wallycleaverboy; 24-Apr-13 at 14:27.
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Old 24-Apr-13, 14:53
carl brown carl brown is offline
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Default Re: Yes, it's unembellished truth. A black eye from my little sister

You may want to consider taking a pair of boxing gloves and see if she wouldn't mind giving you a rematch. At this stage of your lives I don't know how willing she would be in using her barefist against you, but a pair of gloves may get a different response. And if you wouldn't mind Wally....what is the approximate size difference between you two??
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  #6  
Old 24-Apr-13, 15:01
wallycleaverboy wallycleaverboy is offline
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Default Re: Yes, it's unembellished truth. A black eye from my little sister

Alright, this part is pure fiction. Here's the way I dream it will go....

After reminiscing about our childhood, I slyly prompt her..."Yeah, we really had it pretty good. We all got along pretty well, never got into any major fights.

Tara smiles. "Except for that time I walloped you! Do you remember that?" she said, then with a little eye roll, answered her own question, "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure a guy doesn't forget getting punched out by his sister."

I answer with half feigned embarrassment, "It wasn't that big a deal."

"Come on," she presses with amused skepticism. "A black eye from your sister...your LITTLE sister? That was a nasty shiner. It didn't go away till nearly two weeks, and you wouldn't look at me the whole time!"

Now at this point, I could brush the whole thing off, but instead I keep the embers glowing...

"Serves me right for trying to help you out," I say with mock irritation.

"Well..." she starts, hesitating, "I always got the feeling you didn't mind it so much. I mean, I know you were embarrassed--heck, you were mortified. But sometimes I think you let me hit you. You sort of liked it..." her voice trailed off, but her eyebrow arched and she kept her tongue between her teeth, considering it. "Bri, do you...do you like getting hit by women?"

I blush, furiously, and again, she answers her own question, softly. "You do get off on it, don't you," she says, studying my face. I always thought you were hiding a boner that day. Oh, my God," she says, amused and puzzled.

I am silent and looking down. Ever considerate, Tara says abruptly. "I'm sorry, I'm embarrassing you again. Ya know, it's okay. We all do some weird things as teenagers when you're just beginning to, ya know, explore your sexuality and stuff. Well...I mean, I don't mean to pry, but...do you still like it?" she says with apparent fascination.

I barely breathe, unable to look at her, but nod slowly.

"Well, don't feel bad. I mean, I sort of like it, too. And you're not the only guy that likes it. I mean, Christ, there's whole S&M, Fifty shades of gray culture out there," she prattles on, filling the embarrassing void. "Carl (her ex-husband) used to like me to sit on him and call him 'bad boy.'" she said, bemused. "You know, when I hit you," she said, her eyes far away, "I think it was the first time I ever got wet."

Then Tara looks abruptly straight at me. "Do you want me to do it again?"

Last edited by wallycleaverboy; 24-Apr-13 at 18:02.
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Old 24-Apr-13, 15:06
wallycleaverboy wallycleaverboy is offline
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Default Re: Yes, it's unembellished truth. A black eye from my little sister

Carl,
She's 5'8" and a very nicely toned 130 lbs or so. Athletic. She does runs half marathons and goes to a fitness gym. I think she did cardio kick boxing a few years back.

Tara has green eyes and dark brown hair and, as I've said, really great legs. She once told me, half irritated/half pleased, that she once got a job because the recruiter liked her legs. She is an inveterate short dress/skirt wearer and doesn't go bare-legged as so many do nowadays. Hose or tights are always part of her wardrobe.

I'm 6'3" and run about 215 lbs.

More forthcoming!

Last edited by wallycleaverboy; 24-Apr-13 at 18:03.
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Old 24-Apr-13, 15:20
wallycleaverboy wallycleaverboy is offline
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Default Re: Yes, it's unembellished truth. A black eye from my little sister

At this point, Tara sits back and crosses her legs. Tara is a leg cross pro and she's wearing a purple dress that's not immodest for a middle-aged woman, but still glides a nice two inches above her lovely jet black, pantyhosed knees. The skirt hem slides all the higher when she crosses her legs.

"Do you want me to do it again?" Her question is still hovering in the air. I shake my head, rattling out my fantasy cobwebs. She doesn't wait for me. But the veil has dropped now, completely. "You know, even at 12 I could tell you got off on that. I knew you used to look at me, at my legs when I had my St. Anne's (Catholic school) skirt on. You used to drop your pencil an awful lot when we did homework at the table," she says, laughing. "Especially when I crossed my legs..."

At this point, my self control has vanished. I reach my hand out and put my hand on my sister's (my sister's!) pantyhosed knee."

She removes it, laughing and rising. "Whoa,Tiger. We're not middle schoolers. And that would be just a little weird. Still, I can give ya something you may like," she adds, holding up her right fist and twisting it back and forth." She sits back down, again crossing her long legs with a hiss of nylon. And she doesn't seem to mind that I am now openly ogling her legs! In fact, I'm sure that shoe dangle was meant for me.

"If, you think you can handle it," she says, still brandishing her right fist.

I am barely breathing at this point, staring stupidly down at her with my gaze alternating between her fist and her legs. Then, my heart pounding through my chest, I wordless go to a box behind my couch. I withdraw two pink boxing gloves--eight ounces for maximum protecting of her knuckles and minimum protection of my (hopefully) glass jaw. Tara stands, her eyes wide and her mouth opening in a suprised "oh..." Her face lights with a wicked smile. She takes the gloves from me.

More to come.

Last edited by wallycleaverboy; 24-Apr-13 at 18:04.
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Old 24-Apr-13, 16:49
wallycleaverboy wallycleaverboy is offline
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Default Re: Yes, it's unembellished truth. A black eye from my little sister

At this point, I can tell Tara is as excited as I am. I help her put on the gloves. She is looking at the gloves then at my face. "You're sure you want me to do this?" I still can hardly breathe, but can nod.

She smiles in amusement at me again. "What are you going to tell your friends about your black eye this time?" she says, stepping out of her heels, hosed feet on my carpet. That you walked into a door? Stepped on a rake? No, I know...you got mugged by these really huge tough guys. Cause it couldn't be possibly that you got beaten up by your dainty little sister!"

I blurt, "I've got two weeks vacation..."

With those last syllables, Tara steps quickly forward and sinks her gloved right fist deep into my belly. The air whooshes out of me, and I double over with an "oof." The next moment is epic confusion. I'm on the floor, on my back. How did I get here? The soreness in my right jaw brings the horrifying conclusion zooming to my brain. My sister's (probably) left hook did this. My sister decked me!!

As the fuzz clears, I realize my sister is standing over me, looking every bit as confused as I am. A massive wave of blushing embarrassment washes over me. Decked! My sister knocked me down with a punch! Incongruously, my eyes fix on those sheer pantyhosed legs, and some of the hotness abandons my face for my groin.

My sister, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, explodes into laugh. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God!" She is now laughing uncontrollably, a pink boxing glove over her mouth in amazement. As she recovers, she helps me to my feet, still laughing. "I...I...I didn't know I could do that," her words began to pour out. "I mean, a black eye is easy--eyes are delicate, but...oh, my God...I flattened you!"

We are silent for a moment; our eyes lock, and Tara says sweetly, "Want some more?" I nod ever so slowly and emphatically. We both seem to notice my boner simultaneously. "Well, we ARE liking this, aren't we, brother?"

Tara begins to circle me. A right jab smacks my head back. Another, then a left hook hits my jaw. Without the benefit of surprise, Tara has a hard time dropping my again so easily. A wild left hook only grazes my jaw. She begins to get more aggressive, wanting to knock me down again and maybe a little peeved that these punches aren't quite as dramatic as the first two. A left jab smacks my nose, watering my eyes. A straight right to the chin snaps my head back, and, as I'm right in front of the couch now, drops me to my butt.

"Come on, you," she says, fully juiced now, "I'm not done with you yet."

I stand, and Tara punches my belly with a left, then a right. A straight left smacks into my nose. I stagger, but keep on my feet. My nose, however, begins to bleed, slowly at first, then more insistently. Tara raises both mitts, and says, "Whooo! Ya got your nose bloodied by your little sister," she says in a sing-song voice. I grab a wad Kleenexes and motion at her to wait. "Wanna borrow a tampon, Bri," she says, teasingly. Tara sits and crosses her legs.

I've gotten a wet, cold wash cloth for my nose, but even so engaged, Tara doesn't miss that I'm ogling her legs. "Better get a good look at 'em now, Bri," she says. "You won't be able to see them with two black eyes."

"Hmm," Tara stands and considers me as I finish my first aid. "I've been neglecting your eyes, and that was sort of the whole point, wasn't it, Sweetie?"

I flinch a bit as Tara walks toward me, and Tara laughs. But she doesn't punch my eye. Instead she has hit my belly again. Again, I double over in pain and surprise. And again, I am on my back! Whether it was a straight right or left, I don't know, but my lower lip is bleeding profusely. "Oh, Brian's got a fat lip from a girl," Tara taunts. "And knocked down again. How does it feel to be decked by your little sister?" she says, in a mockingly sweet voice.

In the midst of this, I notice Tara seems every bit as excited as me. She is breathing hard,not from exertion, but excitement. Her eyes glow. Pow! A straight right to my eye, just as I stand up. Her follow up left hook to my jaw drops me yet again, and this time, I feel my head getting punchy fuzzy. "Right on the button!" Tara exults. "Or should I say, 'left?'"

I get slowly to my feet, my back now against the living room wall. Tara moves straight toward me, dress hemline swishing. She tilts her head and looks sweetly at me, smiling. She puts her glove on my chest, holding me back to the wall. Right hook to the jaw. Left hook. Right hook. The last blow staggers me back away from the wall. She jabs my belly. Surprisingly, this time I see her combo punch, perhaps because Tara does a flamboyant little flourish before she launches the right uppercut to my chin. She knocks me flat on my back.

I hear her squeal with delight, and she begins to count, "One...two.." My head lifts, groggily, for a moment, then, darkness.

What? Where. I am dimly aware that I am on my living room carpet. My head is ringing. I get up on my elbows. Tara is sitting on my couch, sipping a cup of tea with her spectacular legs crossed away from me.

"Sorry, we didn't get to your eyes, Bri." she says. "I didn't think I was going to knock you out so easily. You know, you only lasted a few minutes."

My whole body is tingling with a curious mixture of abject humiliation and sexual ecstasy. My sister, seven inches shorter and 75 pounds less than me, has knocked me out cold. Oh, those legs...

"Still looking at my legs," she says, arching an eyebrow. "Well, we're going to have to settle that." She uncrosses her legs and walks over to me, helping me to my feet. This time she is in her 3-inch, open toe heels, and so is able to look a bit more directly into my eyes. Tara picks the gloves up from the couch and dons them. "One lump or two?" she asks sweetly.

"Two," I gurgle out, stupidly. The word scarcely left my fattened lips when I saw Tara wind up and pop a left hook to my face. It was a good punch, and I felt the stinging high on my right cheekbone beneath the eye. A right jab crashed into my other eye. And again. And again. I'm on my back on the couch suddenly, my left eye is throbbing.

"Up, big brother," Tara says helping me to my feet. "Gad, it only took me one punch when I was 12, and I almost closed your eye. Wait. I know." And Tara removes her gloves and steadies me with her left hand on my shoulder. She rears back, twisting her pretty hips and buries a bare-fisted right cross into my eye socket. It explodes in pain, and once again I have descended into unconsciousness.

Stupidly, I arouse to Tara lightly slapping my face. She is straddling my chest, the hemline of her dress pulled up far enough that I can see the control top panels of her pantyhose as I lift my head groggily off the carpet. "Sorry, bro, one more to go." Tara pops her bare left fist into my right eye. Confused, I brush her away and stagger to my feet. But Tara has grabbed my shirt. She jabs successively, one, two, three, her left fist into my eye again. A fourth jab to my chin knocks me down again, though I am not out. I've never heard of someone decking someone with just a jab, but my sister has just done it to me a second time. Tara gently helps me to my feet and walks me toward the couch. "Time for a nap, poor boy. Nighty night, honey." Her left hook meets my jaw, knocking me neatly on to the couch, out cold again.

Huh? Where am I? Throbbing. I can feel both eyes throbbing. I realize that my left eye--which Tara had hit with that one dramatic right cross, was nearly closed, swollen shut. I had little doubt the left, courtesy of those multiple jabs, would soon join it. Through the haze I felt, I presently discerned Tara was sitting with her legs crossed in the armchair near me, laughing uncontrollably in her high, girlish voice.

Before I know it, Tara is kneeling next to the couch. She puts ice packs on each eye gently. "Want your steak raw tonight, Bri?" she says, with a clear teasing tone. "Oh, look. I broke a nail," she adds, even more sweetly, and my erection tents my pants furiously. With all the surprises I have endured today, I am still more amazed that Tara's hand has dropped to my pants. She strokes my boner gently and kisses my lips. "Ohh! Sorry!" she exclaims when the pain on my fat lip jolts me. "Poor baby."

Her pantyhose thighs next to me on the couch, are rubbing my body. I am hugely stiff. The sex that followed is easily the best of my life. Tara was on top, straddling me. Her clear amusement at my battered face hardens me all the more. Incongruously, I study my memory and reckon Tara has knocked me down with punches at least eight times and knocked me out three times. She has bloodied my nose, fattened my lip and blackened both of my eyes. Yet she is no bulked up she-male, no martial arts pro. She is a registered nurse and is half my size! She stops even younger men dead in their tracks when her skirt hem is just few inches over her hosed knees. I have been beaten up, thoroughly and completely by my pretty, little sister, using only her fists. Nnnnnhhhhhhhhh! Spectacular cum.

Epilogue to follow

Last edited by wallycleaverboy; 24-Apr-13 at 18:12. Reason: additional info
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Old 24-Apr-13, 17:26
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Default Re: Yes, it's unembellished truth. A black eye from my little sister

"So where did all that come from?" I tentatively asked Tara, as we sat on our couch, warm with post-sex glow, sipping tea.

"Keep that ice pack on, Bri" she admonished me. "Or you won't be looking at my legs for a week." Tara considered my question. "Well, if you mean my Hulk out...part of it was me thinking of you as Carl (her ex-husband) or one of the crappy doctors I work with. I can't tell you the number of times I wanted to sock them. And partly it's...it's, well, I've always kind of liked being the boss. You know, in S&M, they always have dominatrixes using a little whip or spanking men. And in the movies, a female super hero always knows karate or some trick stuff. But when you get down to it, what is more humiliating to a man than beating him at his own game, with fists," she said, her face still glowing at the memory.

"I wasn't planning on having sex with you, bro" she said, looking down. "I mean, I always used to know you were looking at my legs when I wore short skirts as a kid, but...that's just guys. You're always horny."

"I didn't know this," Tara looks at her bruised fist, "Was going to make me as horny as it did you. When I knocked you down with that first punch, I was totally surprised. I didn't think I could do that to a man your size. It made me wet," she says, looking down sheepishly.

"I don't know if I could do that do any guy, bro," she added, teasingly. "I think you may have a glass jaw." She light touched my chin, withdrawing it when I winced. "Sorry." The she begins to laugh and laugh. "Oh, my God, Bri," she gasps between laughs. "I can't believe how I clocked you. I can't believe I knocked you out cold. Three times! I totally kicked your ass!"
Tara laughs even harder when she saw I was again getting an erection.

"Let me borrow one of those ice packs, bro" she said, putting it on her right knuckles. "I shouldn't have taken off the gloves, but I wanted to give you a shiner so badly! And the really cool thing? When I hit you barefisted in the jaw, it made a smacking sound almost like you hear in the movies. And you went down like a shot when I hit you without gloves. I wanna do it again." Then Tara looked at my face and gently probes the skin under one of my swollen eyes with her thumb. "Well, maybe after you've had a month or so to recover, bro."

Tara laughed again, and this time I couldn't help saying, with a trace of irritation, "What?"

"Sorry," she says. "I just can't decide whether you look more like a raccoon or a panda bear with those black eyes." Grinning malevolently, Tara puts her red lipsticked lips close to my face and softly kisses me. She has pulled out her lipstick case, and before I know it, she is writing on my forehead.

I look at her, with a little chagrin and go over to the mirror. It's not hard to read backwards in the mirror. My forehead is emblazoned in red lipstick with the word, "Pussy."

Tara wards off my reaction, "Sorry, bro," but that's the dominatrix in me. "And I'll make it up to you. You know, I still have that St. Anne's little pleated skirt you used to like so much. And you always really perked up when I wore it with the navy hose. I'm going to get that for you, and you get to suck my toes!"

Tara is fulled dressed now and is making toward the door. I am frantic, fully erect once again and wanting her. "Sorry, Bri. You'll have to wait for next time. Keep those ice packs on, Raccoon Boy. And behave yourself. You wouldn't want the world to find out just how you got those shiners, now would you?" and she laughed again, her short dress swishing as she walks out the door.

Last edited by wallycleaverboy; 24-Apr-13 at 18:00. Reason: add info
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black eye, legs, pantyhose, punch, short skirts, sister, teen girl

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