Can Do Ep. 11

"Hexagon Consortium?" Melanie asked the desk clerk at the Kampinksi Grand Hotel.

"Sorry, you must have the wrong hotel, Fräulein. There is no such thing at this hotel. Have you tried the Hotel Reine Victoria?" The desk clerk's fixed smile said he wanted them to leave.

Trinity withdrew a black calling card from her opera purse, handing it to the clerk with a supercilious stare and an arched eyebrow. "Try this. I am not used to waiting."

The man took the card, turned it over to read the back. His expression said he thought they were overdressed and searching for 'customers.' An older man passed behind the clerk, saw the card and lifted it from the young man's fingers. His eyes widened as the read the front. He turned it over; his face paled, it looked as if he might faint.

"Mein Damen, meine Entschuldigungen." He stammered to a stop, then began again in English. "My apologies. I was not aware you were here. Your names, please."

"Melanie Gray and Trinity Stone."

The older man scanned a tablet. "Ah, yes, I see this. Which of you is Fräulein Stone?"

"Me." Trinity settled into her best fighters stare, fixed on the young man, who withered.

"I ..." he began.

"Will be having a long talk with your manager after this," she finished for him. "His Grace does not appreciate being kept waiting."

"The Presidential Suite," the older man said firmly. He motioned to a bellhop who obligingly showed them the way. Over her shoulder, Trinity saw the clerk on the receiving end of a one-side conversation with the very unhappy older man.

The foyer didn't look presidential when a large man in a tight suit let them in. There was no furniture; a large tarp covered one wall. Painter's tarps covered the stairs leading to another floor. Yet staff were in the small kitchen setting canapés on plates, pouring wine and champagne into flutes. A boisterous man waving a flute accosted them.

"Trinity, m'dear. And the ever loverly Ms. Gray. You look resplendent I must say."

"Good evening, Your Grace," Melanie said. She nearly curtsied, except Trinity put an elbow in her side.

"Bunny, please, Melanie. My apologies for the kerfuffle at the desk, Trinity. Seems the lad is new and wasn't informed properly. He apparently decided you two were, er, let's say he's had his opinion of you revised upward several notches. I told you the card would come in handy." His good humor was infectious. He shooed them gently toward another room.

"This way. Food and drink await. Please excuse the dilapidated decor. We were able to arrange this large place because of an unfortunate family, er, disagreement last month. As the hotel is makin' repairs, we are allowed to enjoy the spaces at a discounted rate." Bunny winked. Trinity managed to peek behind the tarp on the wall that she found covered large spatters of faded red around several holes the size of her finger.

Family disagreement, yeah, right, Trinity told herself as she walked into the large area: probably the living room. The fireplace and the wall to its right were covered with tarps. A large table was set in the middle of the room, which seemed to be twenty feet square. About twenty people in formal dress talked in small knots. They stopped and stared as Trinity entered the room. Zenova, near the entrance, looked up; her jaw dropped.

Trinity's hair was combed back, much like an early David Bowie style, parted along one side, giving her face an androgynous look. She wore no makeup, except for minimal lip gloss to make her mouth and blue eyes all the more startling. The dress, though, caused immediate and utter silence. Good, Trinity thought, it cost enough. The look on Zenova's face is worth every penny.

The black silk hung nearly to the floor in a graceful expansion from her hips, slit up both thighs to let her long, pale legs show as she swayed into the room on low heels. It was backless and sleeveless, with a strap around her neck holding the two pieces of the plunging neckline against her breasts. The obvious bulge at her crotch made it hard for the guests to look at her face or even her breasts.

"Evening, babe," Trinity purred to Zenova. "You look delicious."

The brunette wore form-hugging red watered silk, slit along one thigh, low sleeves to leave her shoulders bare, and a high neck with an equally plunging neckline nearly to her navel that showed off her very nice, very firm breasts. Her brown hair was piled exotically, making the most of her curls. The bulge in her dress was as prominent as Trinity's, which made keeping her cock manageably flaccid nearly impossible.

"Erm, mon Dieu, Trinity. Je te veux pour le dessert."

"Same here, babe. But, sadly, the only thing you and I'll be eating tonight are the hors d'oeuvres. Which is a real shame, 'cause you look like the cherry on a sundae."

"If the contest were who wore the more stunning dress, I'd have to call it a draw," Bunny said, his face swallowed by a wide smile. "It's been a rollickin' ride to this point; the two of you did not disappoint in any fight. Consortium patrons have gushed volumes t' me about how each of you has exceeded their wildest dreams. Yet, here, standing in front of you with an empty glass, I find m'self speechless." He bowed as a waiter filled his flute from a discreetly covered bottle. The rest of the room applauded, nodding their heads.

"Have some food, some wine, m'dears, bask in the awe of your admirers. After which we get down to brass tacks. May I have the honor?" Bunny offered each woman an arm. Zenova licked her lips at Trinity, who puckered her lips back. It seemed to be a good night.

"You are both familiar with the new rules?" The man known as Eric sat at the head of the table. Trinity and Zenova sat at the opposite end. Six people sat in the middle. Bunny sat on a chair in the corner nursing the soda water in his flute and talking with a buxom woman who nearly wore her dress very well. The other guests were waiting in the foyer.

Trinity nodded; Zenova the same. They'd known about the rule changes since the semi-final matches. Eric read from a manila folder before him, making notes.

"You have objections?"

"Would it make any difference at this point?" Trinity asked. She was prepared to be sent home. She saw Zenova was not and remained silent. Eric had the good taste to look embarrassed.

"The rules were changed well in advance of the final match, but I admit it could have been done in a more diplomatic and less confrontational manner." Eric's fingers wandered along the paper in front of him. From the corner, Bunny snorted in amusement. Eric started, then looked at Bunny with a mixture of annoyance and fear.

"Sorry," Bunny said, pointing to the woman next to him. "Very amusin' joke. Must tell it to you later."

Eric cleared his throat. "As there are no objections, I will review the rules to make sure all is clear. The championship now consists of three separate contests: two tests and the final match. There will be no winner decided in the tests, which are fifteen minutes each. Points are awarded based on skill, inventiveness, and the ability to make an opponent reach orgasm. The woman with the most total points over the two tests is given the advantage at the beginning of the final match. The final has no time limit. A five-minute rest period is given every ten minutes, which is standard for Consortium contests. The object of the match is sexual domination of one woman by another. The winner is conscious and erect, regardless of physical condition. Fists or other similar means to disable an opponent are grounds for disqualification. The decision of the referee is final in all cases. The fights are held on three consecutive days. The first test is tomorrow the twenty-ninth at 20 hours, followed by the second test on the thirtieth at 20 hours, and the final match on the thirty-first at 21 hours. Ms. de Crie, do you have any final questions or objections?"

Zenova stared at Trinity, or rather the place where Trinity sat. The blonde knew what she was thinking. They'd commiserated for nearly a month over the Consortium's decision to extend the final to three days, wondering if they'd be able to stand at the end. Zenova believed there was no choice, she was a loyal employee. She shook her head.

"Ms. Stone, do you have any final questions or objections?"

Trinity had thought about declining and giving the championship to her lover in forfeit, but decided it was worse than winning it. She owed Zenova the final match, regardless of what she thought of the Consortium. She shook her head. Melanie bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed.

Eric scanned the six people at the table, who had the good sense not to look at either fighter. "We are done, then. The first test is tomorrow. Fighters, please be here by 19 hours; formal attire is neither expected nor desired."

The meeting ended--less than ten minutes--with only Eric speaking. Trinity stood next to Zenova as the other guests entered the room again for more food and drink. "This is it, I guess," she said.

"Yes, what I have dreamed of for several years." Zenova took Trinity's hand. "You look wonderful. Delectable. If only we could spend the night together."

"A round of celibacy for my friends," Trinity joked, though she saw nothing funny in it.

Bunny appeared between them again, his buxom companion a few steps behind. "I want actual food. Would the three of you care to join Gretchen and me for a quiet meal and some conversation? I am not prepared to hear no."

"In that case, Your Grace, I accept." Trinity said, smiling and meaning it. The man took her and Zenova by the arm, leading them from the room, followed by Melanie and Gretchen, who, it turned out spoke only Czech, which made it a long, silent walk for the manager, wondering how the man heard a joke in a language he probably didn't speak.