Martial Arts MILF vs. 4 Young Hoodrats
by Junkie mashafan1@hotmail.com
A young man is rescued by an amazing older woman 


Last summer I was walking home from cricket practice when I was accosted by a
group of no-good street thugs.

When I first saw them on the street corner, I instinctively wanted to turn and 
walk an alternate route. But a voice inside said, "No, you're a grown man now 
and it's time to stop being a wuss." 

As I approached them, my fears were realised as one short, barrel-chested young 
man intercepted my path. As I tried to pass he moved to block my body, stopping 
me in my tracks.

Keeping his head low and disguised by the dark hood, he mumbled, "Wanna buy
some drugs?"

"No thanks, mate." I laughed, trying to keep it friendly.

"What you got in that bag?" he then grunted, still not letting me pass.

"My cricket gear," I replied, backing up slightly as he stood too close for comfort.

"You got a bat in there?" another of gang asked. There were four of them
altogether. Two looked to be around 18/19, buzz-cut hair and wearing hooded
tops (with the hood down). The other looked to be slightly older, maybe 21 or
22, and wore a leather jacket with longer, dark hair, tied in a tight, Steven
Seagal style ponytail, and a visible tattoo on the side of his neck.

"Let's have a look," the stocky kid in front of me demanded, reaching down,
grabbing at my cricket bag.

"Get off! ... No!" I resisted as a brief struggle broke out between us.

"We just want to 'ave a look," one of the younger lads spoke as he came in
and teamed up with his friend.

I meekly gave up as they persisted and let them have it. Maybe if they have a
quick look they'll leave me alone, I optimistically hoped.

Soon my cricket bag was open, my cream sweater and pads sprawled on the
pavement, and they passed my cricket bat around amongst them. I finally got a
look at the stocky guy's face, still slightly obscured by the hood, but he looked 
to be about 21 as well, with short brown hair.

"Nice bat, think I'll keep it." The guy in the leather jacket spoke as he took 
the bat and eyed it up and down.

I finished collecting my gear from the ground, quickly stuffing it back into my bag.

"Come on now, I need to get going," I said as defiantly and seriously as I could.

"Tell you what," he said, "You can have it back if you buy some drugs."

"No!" I whined. "I don't want any drugs."

An awkward silence ensued. The gang shrugged their shoulders and looked at one
another as I just stood there. I'm not a big guy at 5'8", 154lbs (70kg/11stone)
and although I play sports, it's really out of enthusiasm more than being any good.

My heartbeat grew faster as I didn't know what to do. Should I just walk away?
Fear continued to fuel my thoughts as I remembered reading in the newspaper that 
there had been a recent spike in violent crime and anti-social behaviour; gangs 
picking on innocent members of public. A neighbour had recently been hospitalised 
for confronting a gang he caught torturing a cat.

I swallowed a dry gulp and told myself again that I was a man now, and it was
time to stand up for myself.

"Give it back to me!" I growled as menacingly as I could force myself to sound, 
advancing on the leather-jacketed ruffian who held my cricket bat. I quickly 
reached out and took hold of one end and pulled. He did not let go. He was a gangly 
5'11" and I didn't sense that he was a great deal stronger than me. 

I twisted my hip as I continued my attempt to prize my bat out of his grasp. One of 
the younger hoods suddenly joined in and powered a knee into my thigh. Then 
another and another, following up with a punch to my face. I gritted my teeth and 
fought through the pain. My defiance only appeared to fuel their fury as the other 
two advanced and the stocky guy wound up to throw a hard punch. I quickly moved 
to evade, and the one I was tussling with stood on my foot and pushed me back, 
causing me to lose balance and tumble onto my backside.

"YOU WANT ME TO WRAP THIS 'ROUND YOUR FUCKIN' 'EAD!!?" He 
yelled in a fit of rage, cocking the bat over his shoulder as if he was about to 
crack me with it.

My heart pounded harder than I could ever recall and I felt for a brief moment
like I was about to lose control of my bodily functions. Now I know where the
term 'pee your pants/shit yourself' comes from. It was a moment of extreme
terror I hadn't experienced before in my life but, luckily, I somehow managed
to avoid that particular humiliation.

The stocky thug kicked me in the ribs while I was down. "Argh!" I grunted in
pain, rolling onto my side.

Suddenly a loud car horn split the air. The four gang members and myself looked 
up, startled, to see a silver Lexus pull up. I was hoping to see some big, muscle-
bound gorilla step out and chase off these thugs, but to my surprise, as the driver's 
door popped open, a pair of white high-heels came into view. Then a pair of black 
flip-flops from the passenger side, with red-painted toenails. Two forty-something 
women came into full view, one blonde, one auburn haired.

"What's the problem here?" the blonde spoke up confidently. "Bleep, bleep" 
sounded as she closed her car door and put the keys into her black leather handbag. 
She wore white heels and a pair of smart-casual Capri-jeans, light blue and tight, 
showcasing her long, shapely legs. She was tall, about six feet, and wore a low-cut, 
strappy white halter top with the straps forming an X-pattern in the back. She was 
in great shape, probably worked out or ran several times a week. Her skin had a 
healthy summer tan. Tall, blonde and beautiful with bright blue eyes. I guessed she 
was about 40ish, but could've been older.

Her friend was also very attractive. She looked a little older, maybe 45, and was 
much shorter at about 5'5". Her short auburn hair flicking out at the back. She wore 
a slinky, black silk trouser-suit, and was slim and in great shape, too. 

One of the gang wolf whistled as the women approached, the blonde's heels click-
clacking as she confidently strutted towards the gang. As I shuffled back, still on 
the ground, the auburn haired lady crouched down beside me. "Are you OK?" she 
warmly asked.

"Yeah," I sighed, not wanting to look too pathetic in front of the women but still 
feeling the affect of being punched and kicked, and nursing a wrist slightly sprained 
from the fall.

"What's this all about? Why are four of you ganging up on him?" the blonde 
inquired as she positioned herself between me and the gang. I was in a great 
position to admire her heart-shaped butt and impressive calf muscles in her tight 
Capri-jeans, cut just below the knee.

"They took my cricket bat, I just wanted it back." I said in a frustrated voice as I 
slowly got back to my feet.

The blonde turned back to the gang. "Well, give it back to him, if it's not yours. 
You don't look like cricket players to me!" She said. There were flashes of French-
manicured fingernails and delicate silver bracelets as she rested one hand on her 
wide, feminine hips.

"Who the fuck are you, his Mum?" the leather-jacketed punk spat, still holding
onto my cricket bat. "Get the fuck outta here."

"Either you give it back, or I'm going to the police." She gave him the ultimatum.

"Suck my dick, bitch!" he crudely spat in response.

The blonde was a woman that would intimidate most men with her beauty alone 
and, like the gang, she was clearly not used to people defying her. But unlike them, 
she didn't rely on strength in numbers.

"You'll never be that lucky. I'll leave that for one of your boyfriends here later 
tonight," she patronised him with a cocky smirk. "Now give me the bat."

The gang looked at each other, dumbfounded at first, but then laughed.

"Fucking smart-mouthed bitch," he snarled. "I was gonna give it back as well,
but now I know what I'm gonna do with it. I'll teach you to diss me." He took
the bat over to the blonde's car, swung, and smashed out her right headlight.

"Right!" The blonde snapped, steaming mad. She took a phone out of her bag and
began dialing -- for the police, I could only imagine. Before she could press more 
than one digit however, the stocky hood snatched it away from her.

At that moment, seeing the gang getting physical with this beautiful statuesque 
woman, a new spark lit inside me. A deep seated sense of right and wrong, coupled 
with male pride perhaps, wanting to come to the woman's defence like she had 
come to mine, and I leapt into action. I tackled the stocky thug and we wrestled for 
the woman's phone.

I had been in a drunken scuffle once or twice, but never what I'd call a fight, while 
I guess this punk went looking for one every night. He was fast and strong; he threw 
me to the ground, pinned me down, and was soon raining down wild hard punches. 
I covered up as he got back to his feet. The guy holding the cricket bat then 
advanced on me. I reached out and grabbed the bat, but I wasn't fully back to my 
feet, and didn't have any leverage. He jammed the bat into my chest, winding me 
and knocking me back down. He wound up and swung the bat. All I could do to 
stop him smashing my skull in was to block it with my arm. I felt my arm break as 
the hard wooden bat impacted it and I cried out in excruciating pain.

As I shuffled along the ground, the auburn haired lady frantically grabbing and 
pulling at my shirt.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE! LEAVE HIM ALONE!" She pleaded with fear in her voice. "Get in the 
car," she said to me. "Come on Katrina, it's not worth it, let's go," she then pleaded 
with her blonde friend.

Katrina, the tall blonde, squared up to the gang leader again. "So fucking tough, 
aren't you; hitting people for no reason with a cricket bat, wrecking my car. You're 
going to pay for that you know. Where do you live? I'll see to it that you stand in 
front of a judge!"

"Oh shut the FUCK UP, you fucking stuck up blonde bimbo!" he angrily roared.

"Go on, get the fuck outta here!" He grabbed her arm and tried to swing her out of 
his way.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" She angrily screamed back at him, shoving his hands off 
her and starring him down.

"I'll fucking do what I want!" He spat and grabbed at her arm once more, still 
carrying the bat in his other hand.

Again, she fiercely shrugged him off, this time however, jumping into a fighting 
stance. Her left arm slanted at shoulder height, her hand open and straight, long 
fingers and manicured nails standing to full attention. Her right hand was lower, 
balled into a fist at sternum height. Her eyes wide and locked to his, her full red 
lips conveying her sternness. She would not back down.

The thug looked at her. His face changed, expressionless for a moment; was that a 
hint anxiousness? He looked over at his three buddies who all looked equally 
bemused. Finally he broke out into a rather fake laugh and the three others followed 
suit.

"Gimme a fuckin' break!" He waved dismissively, backing away slightly.

The seriousness in her penetrating blue eyes however remained fixed on her enemy, 
like a wild animal. She advanced on him, closing the distance once more, still in 
her fighting stance.

Despite hating this guy's guts, I momentarily put myself into his shoes.

Without words, the sub-conscious message she sent was of huge significance. Not 
only was she showing that she was not afraid, but she was now directly challenging 
him. If he were alone, it may have been a different story, but if he backed down 
now, he would look weak in front of his gang. A guy in his early twenties -- the 
prime of his life -- was being given the message by a woman old enough to be his 
mother, that she was superior to him and was so confident of that fact that she was 
prepared to fight him, woman to man. I guess his male ego simply could not accept 
backing down to a woman.

"Alright you whore, if you want equality... think you can take me, let's see,"
he said with a wry, but vicious grin. "I don't need this." He tossed the bat over to 
one of the younger hoods.

"This is gonna be fun," he snickered, putting up his hands like a boxer and 
advancing on her. "I'll knock you the fuck out, you stuck up bitch."

With her knees slightly bent and hands still primed for action, her wild eyes stayed 
locked to his as he began to circle the taller blonde. I had to take a second to admire 
her again, those long legs, perfect bone-structure and shoulder-length blonde hair 
flowing in the light summer evening breeze.

The thug finally struck out first, jabbing at her attractive face. The first jab was 
somewhat of a warning, the second with more violent intent.

In a shocking display of power and skill, she blocked his punch with her left, and 
powered an open-handed palm strike into the centre of his face. "Ki-YAAAAA!" 
she screamed in feminine fury as she sent him reeling, crashing to the hard street.

He scrambled back, a look of pain, then humiliation in his face as he looked over at 
his gang, whose expressions mirrored his own. He grunted, bringing a hand to his 
bloodied, broken nose.

"ARRGH!!" He raged through gritted teeth, his expression turning to frustration, 
then anger.

"Fuhin' twy tha' again!" His broken nose impeding his speech as he rose to his feet.

Still all business, Katrina anticipated his next move. With a battle cry, he charged at 
her.

"Oufff..." was the next we heard from him, as she met his charge with the base of 
her palm ploughing into his chest this time, knocking every bit of air from his lungs.

He staggered back, defenceless, one arm covering his chest as he fought for breath, 
the other waving out, feebly gesturing for mercy. He continued to back up, she 
stalked him slowly, one high-heel slowly, menacingly after the next. Finally he was 
backed up against a wall, shaking in fear.

She looked so much bigger than him now. "Here, hold this for me." She looked at 
her friend, taking off her purse and tossing it over to her.

The young man winced, a look of mercy in his eye. She gave him none, however,
as she came in to finish him.

"HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiii!!!" She screamed again in ruthless fury, slamming the knife-
edge of her hand into his neck with a powerful chop. His spine went numb, leaving 
only his brain to fear what was coming next -- and it wasn't over.

With a look of furious hatred and 100% effort, she took hold of his jacket with one 
hand, yanking him towards her, while simultaneously stepping in and smashing his 
jaw with a brutal elbow strike. Blood erupted from his mouth like lava being spat 
from a volcano.

He slumped back to the wall -- clearly the only thing keeping him standing.

She thumped another cruel palm into his chest as blood continued to spill from his 
mouth like a waterfall. This was just torture now.

"HIIii, HIIii, HIIIIIIIiii" She sent three more vicious chops and palm-strikes into his 
face, further fracturing, breaking and shattering his jaw, cheek and orbital bones, 
such was the power and intensity of her strikes.

She finally took hold of his jacket once more; her right hand formed a fist for the 
first time. With her tight denim Capri jeans-encased legs in a wide stance to ensure 
maximum force, she cocked her fist back and drove an uncompromisingly brutal 
PUNCH into his beaten face.

The audible sound of a wet tree branch snapping sounded upon impact. He slumped 
unceremoniously to the ground like a piece of old sailing rope, deep in the realm of 
unconsciousness.

Katrina still focused her full attention on him, catching her breath before her lips 
formed the satisfied hint of a smile as he lie motionless, blood still seeping from his 
nose and mouth.

Finally she turned to the three remaining gang members, who stood slack-jawed
and stunned at what they had just seen.

"Show's over boys. Now give this gentleman his cricket bat back and give me back 
my phone. NOW."

"Come on, man, do what she says," one of the young thugs quickly suggested to the 
stocky one, who still held her phone and the bat.

"Let's get out of here," the other youngster then suggested rather nervously as the 
blonde single-handedly starred down the three of them.

I stayed slumped on my ass, nursing my broken arm and equally stunned, while the 
other woman stayed at my side.

"I'm waiting," Katrina said, power-posing and resting her hand on her hip, her 
fingers dancing a Mexican wave in a display of her impatience.

It was an order, plain and simple. But once again a direct challenge to his male 
psyche and manhood. He, too, clearly did not want to look weak in front of the 
younger gang members either, especially against a woman.

He grabbed one of the youngsters by the collar. "We ain't going nowhere," he
grunted into his ear.

He then tucked Katrina's phone into his pocket and drew back the bat. "Come on,
you fucking cunt. Think your Bitch-Fu can do anything about a cricket bat?"

He advanced on her, swinging the bat, grunting in effort and mocking her "Ki-
Yaaa's" as he swung for the fences. She stayed light on her feet, a hot, tall and 
gorgeous woman attempting to mince her way out of danger in high heels, making 
it a ridiculous sight as the hoodlum menacingly pursued her several yards down the 
street. It made me boil with anger and I wanted to get up and get involved again. 
"No." The woman beside me held me down. "Let her deal with him."

She continued to evade the club as she was backed up onto a grassy patch at the 
side of the road.

"Wait... Wait," she said with a surprisingly warm smile all of a sudden. "Let me 
take these off." She leaned back and slipped off one of her high-heeled pumps, 
exposing her bare foot. I noted her orange-painted toenails and a small Chinese 
symbol tattooed on the inside of her ankle.

When an attractive woman asks a guy to do something, he invariably feels 
compelled to oblige her. It's just the way it is. Even though they were in the middle 
of a fight, where this punk-ass hood was attempting to bash her beautiful face in, he 
briefly must have forgotten himself and backed up several paces. It was to be to his 
detriment.

In a flash, Katrina screamed out in effort -- "HIIIIIiii" -- and flicked out her right 
leg. A white blur flew from her right foot across the distance between her and the 
hooded thug, her other shoe whacking him in the head. His arms came up in natural 
defence, but it was too late as the flying shoe nailed him on the forehead.

In the blink of an eye, before the thug could even get his head around what just 
happened, Katrina stepped up to him. Her long leg flew up high, and her bare foot 
slapped him square in the chops. She made it look effortless -- and it probably was 
for the six-foot blonde to kick the smaller, much younger man, who stood no taller 
than my own 5'8", in the face. He collapsed to the ground, groaning and barely 
keeping hold of the cricket bat.

She seized her opportunity to disarm him as he reared up from his back. She stood 
on the bat and kicked him in the face again. He crashed back down, fully stretched 
out on his back as she stood over him. He released the bat and rolled over onto his 
side, writhing in agony. She picked up the bat and seemed to drink in her aura of 
superiority as he squirmed in fear.

"My phone," she reminded him, raising her eyebrows in an ever-so-slightly
condescending manner.

He rummaged in his pocket and spewed out the phone. As she bent down, he crawled 
quickly on his knees to tackle her. But she was too quick, and like a flash of 
lightening delivered another short, sharp and humiliating soccer kick to his face. 
He rolled back onto his side again, screaming in pain.

Katrina sighed in mock frustration as she began dialing again. "Police" She spoke, 
before reporting the whole incident.

"FUCKING HELL, DON'T JUST STAND THERE, GET HER!" The thug on the 
ground cried out to the two remaining hoodlums.

Gingerly they advanced, seemingly following his orders. They circled her.

She drew breath in anticipation. "Like I need this!" She tossed the bat away towards 
me, it landed not more than 5-6 feet away and the handle broke. "Hey, that's my 
bat!" I thought.

"GET HER!!!" The guy on the ground roared through gritted teeth once again.

>>From opposite sides, they both charged at her. She took one look to her left and one 
to her right... and jumped. Her insanely long legs came up high on either side as she 
performed a perfect mid-air split-kick. With an amazing display of power, skill, and 
flexibility, she kicked both boys in the face at the same time. Both were knocked 
out instantly by the blonde bombshell's beautiful and lethal bare feet. Their bodies 
crashed to the ground as she landed gracefully.

"WOW!" She complimented herself, checking from side to side as both of her
attackers lie motionless. The remaining hood gasped in obvious fear.

She addressed him, fully in control now. "So, you've got two choices, young man. 
Either wait for the cops to arrive," she held up her one index finer with surprisingly 
no blood on her hands. "Or two, you can join your friends in La La Land."

She stepped back momentarily, her eyes rolling in thought. "You know what... fuck 
being so nice. Scum like you need someone to teach you a real lesson. You don't 
steal people's things, you don't vandalise people's property... and you don't fuck 
with women that are bigger than you!"

In a moment of desperation, he reached out and grabbed one of her discarded high-
heel shoes and scrambled back to his feet.

"I think you're gonna need a lot more than that, don't you?" she snickered.

"Uh oh, here she comes..." she teased, advancing on him.

He came at her too, and drew back the shoe, but again she was too quick for him.

She stepped in close and bent over forwards. All he saw was a high wave of blonde 
hair before him and, behind the tsunami of blonde, the sole of her bare foot 
followed, crashing violently into his face with a loud smack. With another display 
of great flexibility and skill, she had executed a perfect scorpion kick!

He staggered back, dazed, eyes rolling comically, before glazing over as he
collapsed back to the ground.

She looked over at her friend and me with a child-like "what did you think of that?" 
expression.

He was down but still not out. She mercilessly turned her attention back to him, 
stomping her foot on his face. Still unable to put him out, she remembered what else 
she had in her arsenal that would almost certainly finish him.

"Say good night, bitch!" She grinned evilly and extended her long leg high in a 
standing split as she prepared for an axe kick.

She fired her bare foot down. The sheer torque and acceleration she got into her 
axe-kick scuppered her aim somewhat and she missed her target -- his head -- 
by a few inches. Instead, the wrecking ball that was her bare heel crash-landed and 
obliterated his collar bone. He screamed out in pain that would probably make my 
broken arm feel like a pin prick.

She came down onto one knee above him as he continued to writhe in agony.

"KI-YAAAAaaaaah!" She screamed, driving the base of her palm into his jaw,
sending jarring shock waves through his neurons, silencing him and shutting down 
his senses, as he too was knocked unconscious by the Victorious Blonde!

A second later, a cop car -- and shortly after that an ambulance -- were on the scene. 
We began making statements as Katrina slipped her white heels back on.

We all agreed that she had acted purely in self-defence. Katrina and her friend, 
whose name I later learned to be Cheryl, came with me to the hospital to get my 
broken arm tended to. Katrina was the first to sign my cast!

She's a Solicitor! Divorced Mother of two young girls. Unbeknownst to me, her 
seven-year-old twin girls sat in her car all along together with Cheryl's young son, 
Chase.

Katrina insisted she drive me home from the hospital, and on the way back the girls 
couldn't stop buzzing about their Mom kicking ass! They teased little Chase that 
'girls were better than boys' and bragged about how good they were becoming at 
martial arts too, just like their mother.

Katrina also said that she ran a self-defence class every Tuesday night and that I 
should check it out once my arm gets better.