Jim’s sister-in-law demonstrates her self-defence skills from the
lessons he brought her and destroys a yuletide burglar
This is one of my favourites. Based upon my sister in-law, Marianne and some of the moves based upon some self-defence classes I saw. It was always my intention to do more stories featuring Marianne
(c )JIM P 1996
Let me tell you about my sister-in-law. When I was dating her older sister, about ten years ago, I didn’t pay much attention to Marianne. She was a geeky, gangly nineteen year old, about 5’9″ with a lean, almost skinny, body with long arms and legs and hardly any breasts to speak of. Her hair was very short cropped and varied between sandy blonde in the summer and mousy brown in the winter. A long, thin, small face graced with high cheekbones and a long, pointed nose. Small blue eyes in narrow eye slits gave the impression that she was always squinting although these were made larger by the cheap glasses that she wore that seemed to add to her mousy image. A narrow, pointed jaw seemed to exaggerate her small mouth and thin lips, making it look like she had too many teeth. Despite her gangly arms and legs, she had relatively large hands and feet on the ends of them – size eight feet and long slender hands with long slim fingers. As I have already said, she was a bit geeky looking – small face, long nose, narrow jaw and a small mouth with too many teeth. She was the sort of girl that men wouldn’t usually give a second glance to, however she was a pleasant young woman and easy to get along with. Wearing jeans, t-shirts and baggy jumpers didn’t particularly help either.
Leaving school early due to bullying about her looks, she took up farm work -milking cows, collecting eggs, that sort of thing. She cycled almost three miles to work daily along a busy dual-carriageway – quite perilous and not the sort of thing I would be brave enough to do.
After I got more serious with her sister, Marianne seemed to feel left out in some way and started going out with Kurt for fear of being “left on the shelf.” Kurt was trouble, a tall, lanky, cocky young man who could never hold down a full-time job. He was a loud-mouthed racist who liked making up excuses to beat up innocent Pakistanis or Indians. (“‘ere you’ve picked my parking space!” Thump! “Oi! You were looking up my girlfriend’s skirt.” Wallop!, etc.) Nobody approved of Kurt and even I didn’t think he was suitable for Marianne. He thought nothing of shoplifting or stealing and was always getting into trouble with the police. Then he got her pregnant and pressure from both his family and my in-laws forced them to get married.
Kurt went through a number of menial full-time jobs, which never lasted more than a few months at most. In truth, he didn’t like being told what to do and decided to be self-employed. His main job was as a window cleaner supplemented by a series of unsuccessful ventures such as selling goods at open air markets or car boot sales. He fiddled his tax and lived mainly off social benefit. Most of the time he spent sitting at home, watching satellite TV (with a pirated smart card) too lazy to go out and do any work.
Kurt came from a long tradition of large families where ten or eleven children were not unheard of. He turned Marianne into a baby producing machine, despite the fact that they didn’t have the finances to support them. After having four kids, she put her foot down and told him that enough was enough.
One of the benefits motherhood gave Marianne was that she put on more weight. Her skinny, gangly body became tall and slender. Her face filled out. This made her look more attractive; though still a bit geeky looking at first glance. The short hair and glasses now suited her (better looking glasses making her small blue eyes larger and more appealing.) Pigeon breasts filled out to a pleasing 36″ chest which was very apparent because she often did not wear a bra letting them bounce around as she walked. On one occasion I was helping her adjust a wheel on a kid’s bike. I was kneeling down, working on the wheel, when she bent over in front of me to pass me a spanner. Unfortunately for her, she was wearing a loose top and, when I looked up to take the spanner from her, I found myself looking down the front of her top at a nice pair of dangling breasts and her nipples. I was too surprised to look away and gawked at the pleasant display. She didn’t seem to notice, yet that image kept replaying itself in my mind for weeks afterwards. That’s when I really noticed how attractive her body had become.
The next thing to catch my attention, and her best asset by far, were her long legs which I noticed had become rather shapely and sexy. There was slight muscularity in her calves with good muscle tone that was particularly evident when she wore high heels, climbed stairs or stepped over baby gates. At Kurt’s insistence she took to wearing short mini skirts or skin tight leggings that really showed off her fantastic legs and gave me plenty of opportunity for admiration and secret longing.
Then one day, some bastard broke into my office during the daytime whilst I was out and attempted to rape Marianne. Luckily she managed to fight him off, kneeing him in the groin before getting away. However the event had unsettled her and she was very upset. In a way I felt responsible because it was my office that the guy had broken into and if it hadn’t been for that, then Marianne wouldn’t have been attacked.
I visited her quite a bit following the attack, trying to reassure her and wanting to make up in some way. She told me that she was scared of going out now, even in daylight. I suggested to her that she should perhaps take self-defence lessons which would not only help her defend herself if some creep tried again in the future. But that it would also help boost her self-confidence. She didn’t seem too keen at first, but I persisted thinking it was a good idea. Finally she agreed, but Kurt didn’t like it saying that he could teach her himself having recently taken up jujitsu (so he could beat up bigger Asians!) Marianne didn’t like his idea and I had to agree that she would be better off being trained properly by qualified instructors. Miffed, Kurt refused to pay for her to take any lessons. Still feeling somehow responsible, I promised Marianne to pay for her course as an early Christmas present (three months early in fact!) The fact that the idea of my sexy legged, though slightly geeky looking sister-in-law becoming a man destroying Amazon appealed to me was also a deciding factor! Marianne wrapped her long arms around my neck and gave me a long kiss of thanks with her small but kissable mouth that aroused feelings down below. Luckily, Kurt was not around to notice.
A few days later, she came around the office to see me with the details of the course she had found. I met her at the door and she entered wearing a short blue jacket, matching mini skirt, thick black tights and high heeled shoes. My office is actually over a Chinese take-away, so as she climbed up the stairs that led to the first floor where my office space was, I followed gazing lustfully at the way her calves bulged and the slight shapeliness of her hams. At the top of the stairs, she bent down to remove her shoes to rest her feet. I’m afraid all I could do was stand there, unable to tear my eyes away from the back of her legs and the short skirt rising up towards her small firm backside. Finally she stood up straight and walked over to the old sofa I had brought from home to make clients feel more comfortable. As she did so, I noticed the slight bulge of slender muscles running up the outside of her slender legs. Then she sat down on the sofa, her short skirt riding up as she sat back and stretched out her long legs. Trying unsuccessfully not to keep staring at the vast amount of leg on show, I sat next to her and listened as she told me that she had found a course at a nearby town. The only thing was that it ran for two ten-week terms, twice as long as all the other courses offered elsewhere. “I want the best. Please, Jim,” she begged. How could I refuse, with those long legs turning me on? Taking a chance I put my hand on her thigh, getting excited at how firm it felt. “Of course, Marianne, for you I’ll do anything, I said. She gave me quite a long lingering kiss of thanks that stirred things that really oughtn’t. That was nearly three months ago.
We went over to Marianne’s house on Boxing Day. It was quite an old semi-detached council house at the top of a long steep hill on the outskirts of a small town three miles away. On one side of the road, set a long way back, were the houses. On the other side and at the back was open farm land. At this time of year it was a very bleak and desolate place, dark too due to the lack of street lighting to save the council money (no doubt to pay for former Councillor Cole’s long “business trips” to the Bahamas.)
Marianne wore a red top and matching knee length skirt with black nylon tights. After the meal, I managed to get her alone in the kitchen and asked her how she was getting on now that she was halfway through the self-defence course. She told me how the course was run by two women in karate gear, one a black belt, the other a purple belt, 5th Dan or something. They were taught all sorts of punches, blocks and blows, working out on punch bags, with particular attention to kicks given a woman’s relatively stronger lower body strength and flexibility. “Go on, show me something,” I goaded her until she agreed.
Standing in the middle of the kitchen with her legs slightly apart and arms out slightly from her side, she seemed to concentrate on her breathing, her arms tensing as she did so. She seemed to be all arms and legs as she prepared. Suddenly she bent her arms in by her sides, fists clenched facing toward me. With a sharp intake of breath, her left arm shot out in front of her in a swift straight punch at head height, it was quickly pulled back and, with another sharp intake of breath, her right fist shot out to take its place. She repeated the swift punches several times. I felt highly aroused as I watched this ordinary young woman punch the air with blows that looked like they could knock my block off. Then she unleashed a series of swift high kicks that cut the air in rapid quick moves. Her skirt billowed up as her long legs kicked out, giving me brief glimpses of her knickers. For a moment she was no longer my placid sister-in-law, but a deadly fighting machine, her face stern and full of concentration, her body emanating raw power, and her arms and legs lethal weapons. “What do you think?” she asked. I hadn’t noticed she had finished. I was highly aroused. “Impressive,” I answered her honestly.
She also told me how they taught her limbering and stretching exercises to increase her flexibility. To demonstrate she got down on the floor and did the splits in front of me, turning her torso from one side to the other, leaning forward to touch her toes. I had never seen her look so alive and vibrant. I could tell she was really getting into showing off her new skills to me.
As she stood up, she proudly told me that her instructors praised her for her kicks and told her to concentrate on these as her best form of defence. She explained how her legs were quite strong from cycling three miles to work before she got married and from walking several miles a day up steep hills to take the kids to school, play group, nursery, etc. not to mention shopping. Not only was their house on top of a steep hill, but she had to walk down the hill into the town centre and then climb up another hill to the school.
I’m afraid I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. “Let me feel,” I said. Without giving her a chance to answer, I bent down and ran my hands over her nylon clad thighs. They actually felt firmer and stronger than before, probably the result of the exercises she had to do. “Not bad. Those kicks looked like they could demolish a man,” I said in appreciation, enjoying the feel of her legs. My hands probably out stayed their welcome at that point, because she grabbed my right hand and pulled it into an arm lock. One of her arms was wrapped around the base of my arm at the shoulder whilst her other hand pulled my hand up whilst keeping my arm straight by putting pressure the wrong way on my elbow. She forced me to stand bent at right angles while she kept me in the arm lock. “I could break your arm if I wanted to,” she told me. “I could make you do anything I wanted you to do.” She paraded me around the kitchen toying with me for the next ten minutes before releasing me.
She leaned against the kitchen units and stretched out her long legs. “So you like my legs, do you?” she asked. “Actually, they put Mark in the hospital.” One night she was walking home from the bus stop following a class. It was fairly dark as she climbed the poorly lit hill to her house. Suddenly she was aware of footsteps following behind her, walking fast and catching up with her. Marianne suppressed the panic that threatened to build up inside of her. Maybe it was just someone else walking home in a hurry. The person was getting closer, almost behind her. She tensed her body just in case. All of a sudden a pair of hands came around from the back to cover her eyes. Before he could say “guess who?” she let out a shout and rammed her elbow back into his chest. “Hai!” Then she kicked back where his knee should be and felt the kneecap slide off to the side eliciting a scream of pain. Spinning around, she lifted her leg high and snapped out a kick to her assailant’s jaw before she realized it was her younger brother (very impressive given that he is well over six feet tall.) His head snapped back hard and the rest of his body seemed to follow as he fell down backwards. It was unclear whether he was knocked out by the kick or from hitting the pavement, but he didn’t come around until he reached the hospital
“Wow, I bet you feel really confident now about handling a real attacker,” I said impressed. “Oh, but I have,” she replied. Then she started telling me what had happened on the night of Christmas Eve.
Actually, it was very early Christmas morning, about three AM. Marianne was a light sleeper and thought she heard someone moving about downstairs. At first she thought that perhaps she had imagined it and lay very still straining to listen. There it was again! There was someone down there. Thinking it was probably one of the kids looking at what Santa had left under the tree, she reluctantly got out of her nice warm bed.
Grabbing her glasses and creeping quietly downstairs in the short white night-shirt she usually wore (very short with slits up either side) she opened the door to the living room and turned on the light. Expecting to see one or more of the children, she was surprised to see a well-built middle-aged man dressed in jeans and a black jumper at the far end of the room rifling through the presents under the tree and putting them in a large bag.
The man whirled around and saw Marianne standing in the doorway. “Git lost,” he spat. She was outraged. Her lazy husband brought in little enough money as it was and she was determined to let the kids have a good Christmas to make up for the bad times the rest of the year round. “Leave those presents and get out now before I call the Police,” Marianne demanded. She could see the man looking at her legs. “Not bad! Shame about the face, great legs though,” he muttered to himself. He got up and approached her slowly, still looking at her legs. “Hullo, darlin’. I’m Father Christmas and I’m going to give you your present,” he said his intent clear.
Without thinking, Marianne moved into a fighting stance. Taking the initiative, her long right leg kicked out in a blur of motion to be rewarded with a solid thud and a loud onrush of air as her size eight foot slammed into his gut. Without returning her right foot to the ground, she brought back her leg raised high bent at the knee and in an instant fired off a kick to the man’s face. His head snapped back as if it were on elastic. Marianne spun around on her right leg, lifting her left leg up high to smash her foot into the side of his head.
All this took only a couple of seconds and the man fell to the floor in a daze. Still angry, Marianne knelt down, grabbed his right arm and twisted it savagely behind his back. Shoving her knee into the pit of his back, she pulled his head back sharply by the hair. Leaning over him she looked him in the face and told him, “people like you make me sick, ruining people’s Christmas. Well, you’re not going to ruin it for my kids.” “Get off, bitch, or you’ll be in trouble,” he replied, then gave a cry of pain as Marianne wrenched his arm much higher, his arm hurting from the unusual position. “You’re the one in trouble. I’ve been taking self-defence lessons and I can certainly handle the likes of you, she said. She pulled harder on his hair forcing his head and upper body to bend further back. The man moaned as he felt her bony knee dig into the small of his back in painful opposition to the move. “I’ll kill you for this, bitch. Arghh!” he cried as she turned her attention back to his arm yanking it past the limits of his flexibility increasing the pain in his shoulder. “Not if I kill you first,” she replied. “Please please stop it,” he begged as the lanky blonde viciously drove his arm with higher and higher pressure. In one quick move she let go of his hair and wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled back hard. The sudden movement yanked his arm higher still. He screamed as he felt the tendons in his shoulder tear. “Are you going to stay put or do I have to break it?” she asked. “OK! OK! Anything! Just let go please!” he begged. Marianne felt totally in control. She loved the way he was begging for mercy. She wanted to hurt him some more, to totally pour it on, but decided she’d better leave him to the Police. Releasing his arm, she stood up and walked across the room to the coffee table where the telephone sat.
Foolishly, Marianne turned her back to the man as she dialled the Police. Footsteps padded by the thin wearing carpet alerted her. She turned, but it was too late. He grabbed the phone out of her hand and wrenched the wire out of the socket. For a moment, Marianne just froze not knowing what to do. Suddenly he had his hands around her throat, visibly wincing at the pain in his right shoulder. Then he squeezed tight, strangling her throat. “I told you I’d kill you, bitch. You won’t be the first,” he said.
Marianne knew what to do. They had practised this in class. Pulling her head down into her body and tensing her neck expanded her neck, forcing his hands apart enough to breathe. She tensed her arms, and then fired them upwards knocking his hands away from her neck. Before he had a chance to react, her hard bony knee drove into his groin. “Yahhh!” she yelled as she put everything she had into the ball-crushing blow. For a moment he just stood there looking stunned, his mouth moving silently in total agony. Marianne raised her right across her body so that her hand was over her left shoulder. Then in a flash, her arm slashed out, her long slender hands with long fingers chopping into the arteries on the right side of his neck. A yelp of pain and the man fell to the ground, curling up and trying to retch. But thankfully for her, who would have had to clean it up, nothing came up.
For a while Marianne just stood there watching with her hands on her hips, impressed at how easily she had disabled him. It was so simple. Men didn’t have a chance against women like her. They were wimps when it came down to it. Walking back to the coffee table, she bent over to retrieve the phone lead and plug it back in the socket that was behind the table. The touch of cool air on her buttocks reminded her that she was only wearing a short night-dress which must have ridden up. Watching out of the corner of her eyes, she saw that he was staring at her backside and her legs with a look of lust on his face. Straightening up again she noticed he was still staring at her legs, a tell-tale bulge in his trousers. Obviously she hadn’t crushed his balls hard enough.
“You’re in big trouble, darling,” he said. “I can have you for assault.” He was right. She remembered reading only the other week about a ninety-two year old man who had tried to defend his home from a teenaged burglar and hit the boy with his walking stick. The old man got ten years in jail and the youth got two months community service. The man got to his feet. “They’ll throw you in jail and take away your kids.” He paused looking at her legs. “Of course, I might be willing to forget it, if you’re nice to me.”
Slowly he moved towards her. Marianne turned to face the centre of the room. The man came closer. “Don’t be stupid, love. Be a shame to lock up a nice pair of legs like that. Bet you look great in a mini skirt, high heels and stockings and suspenders. Got any, love?” Suddenly he seemed to realize the danger he was in, maybe it was the slight tension in Marianne’s arms. He tried to move away, but it was too late. In one fluid motion, Marianne brought her hands together against the sides of his head with such force that he staggered backwards holding his ears. “If I’m going to jail for assault, then I’d better make it worthwhile,” she told him.
Marianne followed up by tensing her arms in front of her body, taking a deep breath and then she struck with a punch. “Hai!” Her right fist landed square on his jaw with a resounding thud. He staggered backward, his eyes looking glazed. Pivoting anticlockwise on her left foot, she delivered a fast side kick with her right leg straight and hard into his stomach. “Orppph!” the air rushed out of his mouth and he stepped back starting to bend double. Without missing a beat, Marianne placed her right foot on the floor, stepped forward, pivoted clockwise and delivered a lightning fast kick with her left leg, her size eight foot smashing hard into his already winded gut. “Urgghh!” Again he was forced to step back and start to crumple.
Placing her left foot on the floor, she stepped forward, turned and hammered her right foot with even more force into his ruined stomach. A small grunt, he was too badly winded as he stepped back. Repeating the move, her left leg lashed out in a blur of motion driving the man to the middle of the room. She knew she was giving him a good view of her bare crotch as she lifted her legs, but knew he wasn’t in a position to enjoy it.
Knowing that she had him, she concentrated on putting more power as her right leg kicked out burying her foot deep into his stomach. He staggered back and looked as if he would collapse there and then, no that would be too soon. She stepped forward, twisted and drove her left leg into his gut forcing him further back.
His eyes reflected his agony and he visibly struggled to catch his breath. Marianne stepped forward, pivoted and lashed out a kick more powerful than before. “Urgghh!” Despite his badly winded state, a wail of pain escaped his lips. His legs looked like they were made of rubber and he almost looked out on his feet. Another side kick with the left foot drove his back against the wall.
It had taken eight gut-stomping kicks to drive the man from one end of the room to the other. Each kick stronger and more powerful as she gained more confidence and her will to inflict more pain increased.
She poured everything she had into the final kick. “Hai!” she cried as her long right leg kicked out high. The sole of her foot hammered hard into his face with a resounding slap. She felt his nose break under her sole and his teeth against her foot. The man seemed to lift up off his feet several inches and then slam against the wall with a loud thud. Slowly he slid down the wall towards the floor. He sat on the floor, back against the wall, out cold.
Marianne, with her legs astride put her hands on her hips and looked down at him. She felt wonderful, so powerful, so completely in control and she wanted more. However, the man did not stir. Somewhat reluctantly, she went to phone the Police. He was still out when they turned up half an hour later.
After she had finished telling me her tale, I was hard with excitement. Spotting some mistletoe, I grabbed my sister-in-law and kissed her passionately. With my hands on her backside, I pulled her closer. She must have been able to feel my erection pressing against her.
Suddenly aware of what I was doing, I let her go. “I’m sorry, Marianne, really sorry. The thought of what you did to that man really turned me on,” I apologized.
“Well, you just wait and see what I can do to a man once I’ve finished my course,” she said. Smiling, she put her arms around my neck and pulled me close. “Maybe I’ll give you a personal demonstration,” she whispered. Before I could react, she got me into another arm lock with me standing, bent at the waist at right angles looking at the floor. Suddenly her knee came rushing up at my face. I felt a surge of fright at the thought of what that bony knee could do to my face. At the last inch it stopped dead. She repeated the move several times and then bent my arm higher up whilst pressing on my shoulder blades forcing me to the floor.
Rolling me onto my back, she hitched her skirt up and sat down on my face. Her crotch covered by the tights she wore pressed against my nose and mouth suffocating me. “Just think. My husband and your wife and our kids are in the other room. Shall I shout out for them to come in here and see me sitting on your face?” she asked. I tried to say no, but her crotch smothered my mouth. “Ooh! That felt nice! You come back when I’ve finished my self-defence course you hear and we’ll finish this,” she instructed.