It doesn't start well, but you keep your panties up

Once you're on the stage and within the practice circle the presiding Knight waves you toward a rack of wooden swords. Pre-occupied with your panty problem you hardly pay attention to the choice of weapons. It isn't until you've turn back to the circle that you really notice the weapon you've grabbed.

While most swords have a knob at the bottom this sword's pommel has not one but two large balls, side-by-side at the bottom. Above them your hand strains to make it two-thirds of the way around the long, thick grip. Atop that is an even thicker mushroom-like shape from which the cross-guard sprouts. Or spurts, more likely, as it reminds you of a fountain with copious amounts of liquid spurting messily in every direction.

The blade itself is long and thin, more like a rapier than a proper sword. You've never even heard of a knight using a weapon like this, only roguish scoundrels. Over-all you wonder why anyone would have designed a sword like this. The bottom is heavy and unwieldy while the top is light and flimsy. Then it occurs to you that it must be deliberately challenging so that the student develops a better grip while learning to compensate for poorly balance weapons.

Stepping into the circle you face the senior student-knight who will be lightly sparring with you. Though you trade salutes he smirks, his eyes travelling up and down your body, and grinning openly as he takes in your choice of sword.

"Begin," the presiding Knight intones gravely, like this was a vastly important ceremony. Your nervousness ratchets up even more, and your sweaty palm nearly loses its grip on the sword as you try to counter a cat-quick strike from your opponent.

Without a full grasp of your sword you're too slow, and his heavy sword hits your breastplate right next to the metal nipple. The strike vibrates through the top, making you realize that that the chest armor is more for show than actual protection. With the way that the breast-plate conforms to your body its a perfect representation of what you look like underneath. The plate feels like clamps pinching your nipples and squeezes your breasts like a hand. The vibrations thrum against the flesh of your breast before seeming to sink into your left nipple.

Startled by the sensations you merely gape at him and moan, giving him the perfect chance to do the same to your right breast.

Realizing you have to do something or be branded an utter novice you manage to dodge the next blow, but feel the panties shift downward upon your quick movement. You instinctively clap your left hand to you hip, pulling up the panties. Unfortunately if also pulls up the side of the skirt, showing the entirety of your long slim leg.

Your opponent spares a glance for your upper thigh, and realizing that you might be able to distract him you keep the skirt pulled up, allowing you to preserve your modesty (or at least your panties) and gain an advantage over him at the same time.

Unfortunately, your tenuous grip on the sword, excaberated by your sweaty palms, makes your attempt at a strike turn into a fumble that he parries with ****, knocking your sword to the floor with a clatter.

Laughter from the watchers mortifies you, and red-faced with embarrassment you lunge downward, legs spread and knees locked.

At first you think you've avoided his next attack with your speedy lunge. You hear the whoosh of his sword, feel the breeze of it behind your buttocks, followed by the light touch of fabric upon your lower back. The truth dawns on you and you look back with wide eyes at the audience, who are cheering and laughing at the sight of you bent over, your ass pointing toward them with your skirt over your waist and the two glowy green hands upon your panties.

Your opponent wastes no time bringing the flat of his blade down upon your cheeks once, twice, then a third time. When you left home you thought you'd left being spanked behind, yet here you are, being humiliated in front of a crowd as you scramble for your sword.