The Truth about Sword Fighting in Metal Bikinis

red-sonja-by-mark-miller
Picture by Mark S. Miller

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is my first flash fiction story ever.  Hope you enjoy it, but be warned! This is definitely a rated-R story, and why not, given the title …

The chain links on Sonya’s bra clinked together like chimes blowing in a heavy wind, her fleshy breasts bouncing happily underneath them. She adjusted her hips so that the links on her panties could harmonize in time with those on her bra. The prostitute beneath her moaned in delight as she shifted her weight on top of him. She smiled, rejoicing in the warm tingles from her loins and the harmonic tones that filled the room, feeling her climax getting closer as she rode him.

Without warning the wooden door burst open and five armored men stormed in each with a long sword and a menacing scowl on his face. The sixth man strode in, a large, burly hulk covered with armored plates and a massive sword in his hand. “At last, Sonya,” he growled. “I get to kill you.”

Sonya sighed, shifting her hips again. “Oh, Drogan, you old … oh, yeah right there, keep going just like that … do you really think that you … OH … easy, boy … do you think you can kill me so …. mmmm … easily?” She snarled down at the prostitute, her teeth bared through a tight grin.

Drogan snorted a deep, think laugh. “You have no weapons, pretty girl. No armor but those tiny, little chains.” He lifted his sword. “My family’s cleaver shall be the last thing you will ever see. At last I will have justice and my revenge.” With a loud roar he charged forward, the great sword high up over his head. As Sonya climaxed, she squealed and raised her left arm above her head. The sword came down, connected with her bare arm and stopped, a loud clang of metal resounded through the air.

“You … always were … an idiot … Drogan,” she said, gasping for breath as her entire body prickled from the orgasm. “I am my armor and my weapon.” With a quick move she dropped her left arm and brought her hands up on either side of the blade, smacking it between her palms. She flexed her arms with enough strength to pull the sword down to the side and yank it out of Drogan’s hands. She threw her arms up and released the sword, allowing momentum to launch it upwards into her waiting hands.

“Get her!” Drogan bellowed taking a few steps back towards the door. The five armored men each raised their swords and charged at her. Sonya pivoted to the left, cleaving through the first man’s sword and his head behind it. Two of the men on her right each swung their sword down onto her. The first sword hit the edge of her chainmail bra and then careened off and through the nose and brain of the whore. (She couldn’t remember his name, or even if she’d bothered to ask for it.) The second struck her abdomen but bounced off leaving only a small red welt in its wake.

Sonya swung back to the right just in time to parry the second man’s incoming blade with enough force to careen it to the right and through the head of one of his comrades. Then she flattened the great sword in the air, grasped the handle with both hands, and thrust it straight through the second man’s left eye, popping it out the other side of his head. As she pulled the sword back out through his face, the third man brought his sword straight down onto her forearm with a loud roar. When the sword connected, it split at the point of contact, the tip of the blade clattering to the floor as the soldier gawked at the remnant of his weapon.   Sonya swung the great sword in a sweeping arc that finished through the middle of the soldier’s head, splitting it in two like a ripe melon. The last soldier took a step away from her shifting his sword back and forth between his hands.

“Ah,” she sighed, patting the whore’s bloody chest, “thank you. That was nice.” She pulled herself off the stiff cock and swung her legs up and over the table. Her bare feet slapped against the wood floor, pools of thick blood inching closer from the fresh corpses. She twirled the handle of the massive sword in one hand effortlessly using the other hand to adjust her panties back over her groin, and pulled the lace out of her butt. Then she swung the sword around and clasped it with both hands in a menacing battle stance.

“You know, that’s the problem with armored underwear,” she said. With a smooth, swift thrust she lunged and plunged the tip of the sword through the chest of the remaining soldier before he could respond. His eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open in the revelation that he had just been killed. She yanked the blade back out, taking small chunks of bone and red tissue with it, and the fifth soldier fell to the floor. “They always ride up in the back. Now how am I supposed to protect my ass with that?”

Drogan staggered back until he was trapped against the wall, his face flush with fear. “So, Drogan. You’ve come for justice and revenge? You’ve become ambitious lately. Good for you. I like a man with some balls. Let’s have a look at them!” She whisked the sword up over his waist slicing through the leather belt that held up his pants and armored leg pads. They crashed to the floor. With another sweep, she slipped the tip of the blade up the side of his chest cutting through the leather ties that bound the front and rear chest plates together as well as through the undershirt beneath. She reached out with her free hand and yanked the clothes off, tossing them behind her. Drogan stood aloof dressed only in his briefs, and his legs began to quiver. “Tisk, tisk, tisk. No armor on your skivvies? Too bad.” She plunged the great sword into his groin, pulled it upward and pushed it through his back pining his body to the wall. “Metal underwear can save you if you have the right kind.” She put the tip of her pinkie to her lower lip and curtseyed. “Like me!”

With an impish giggle she skipped out through the open door delighting in the death moans from the men behind her as they blended with the melodic chimes from her metallic lingerie.