tagExhibitionist & VoyeurDress Off 03: Tess Trueheart

Dress Off 03: Tess Trueheart


[This story is a direct sequel to Dress Off 2: Erica vs Kimberly, and sees Stacey and Erin embark on a personal and important mission that could determine the very survival of Decider Enterprises.]

Dress Off 3: The Capture of Tess Trueheart


The sybian kicked up another level as the interrogator lent back in her chair and crossed her arms. A bemused smile touched the interrogator's lips, as she played idly with the controls of the masturbation device that her latest subject was strapped to. The subject - a curvaceous blonde woman in her mid-thirties, beautiful blue eyes closed tight in a desperate attempt to block out the scenario enveloping her - groaned as she felt the inevitable building up again. The orgasm that was about to wash over her was but only one in a long sequence that she'd already endured, and as she gritted her teeth in preparation for powerful release, she opened her eyes and flashed her tormentor a defiant smile.

The interrogator sighed theatrically, and slowly pushed her seat back from her table. As she hauled herself to her feet, she took a moment to stretch her legs and adjust the hemline of the black knee-length skirt she was sporting. She didn't even bother looking at the blonde woman she had at her mercy, as the sybian did its work and sent another orgasm coursing through the body of her captive.

The captive's moans were getting louder now with each session, and her breathing more erratic as she went limp, her arms shackled overhead to a chain hanging from the ceiling. The interrogator ceased the detailed inspection of her own state of attire, and looked up brightly as the blonde woman finished climaxing noisely. She let a hand wander to the sybian's remote control, sitting unobtrusively on the table that formed 1/3rd of the room's sparse furniture, and paused for a moment as a finger teased the control's single dial. Winking playfully at her blonde companion, the interrogator finally switched the dial to off, and walked slowly but deliberately over to where the captive stood. The interrogator's heels clicked loudly on the metal floor, suddenly the only noise in the otherwise sterile room.

"That was your fifth orgasm. It could be the last one you have to experience in this place, all you have to do is tell me how to decrypt the files."

The blonde regained some measure control of over herself - impressively quickly the interrogator privately admitted - and reinstated the defiant smile she'd modeled before.

"Why? This is just starting to get fun. Don't tell me this thing's running low on batteries already."

The interrogator laughed throatily. She was a woman in her earlier forties, with a sleekness to her physique and attire that spoke of decades of grooming and high personal standards. She wore a white blouse and black skirt that modestly covered the top half of her legs, and the only hint of personality to the otherwise standard business outfit was a pair of small gold earrings and a discreet matching necklace. She regarded the blonde in front of her, and gazed admiringly from head to toe. The captive beauty was almost completely naked, her hands shackled overhead and her feet shackled to rings in the floor, with her ankles sufficiently far apart that a sybian device sitting on a pole could nestle snugly between her legs.

"My dear, I can assure you the sybian you've been having the pleasure of riding is most certainly connected to mains power. Don't worry about the batteries running out, it'll stay in business just as long as you insist on protracting this whole exercise."

The blonde woman on the sybian took the sudden close proximity as an opportunity to spit on her captor, but the woman in the black skirt was too fast and casually slapped the blonde's face away. Other than the shackles, the only other thing to adorn the captive woman's body was a small pair of nipple clamps attached by a thin silver chain. The woman in the black skirt now took hold of these nipple clamps and gave them a decent tug, causing the blonde to gasp and come face to face with her interrogator.

"Now now, prisoners should remember their manners Agent Trueheart. Shall we can continue to do this the hard way, or will you tell me where your employers are based?"

Trueheart experimentally moved her tongue around the inside of her mouth, lightly pushing against the cheek that had just been slapped, while steadfastly ignoring the messages being sent to her by her remarkably sensitive breasts.

"Come on Harrington, you can't tease a lady like this and then threaten to not let her finish."

Harrington smiled, but there was no warmth in her eyes, and her hand maintained an uncomfortable pull on Trueheart's astonishingly sensitive nipples. After what seemed like an eternity, Harrington finally cocked her head to one side.

"Have it your way then Agent Trueheart."

Harrington suddenly let go of the nipple clamps' chain, turned abruptly on her heels, and marched to the only exit in the room, grabbing the Sybian's remote control in her right hand as she strode past the table. With her heel strikes still resounding through the room, she tapped the security code that caused the door to slide open, and turned to face her prisoner one last time.

"You know Agent Trueheart, on a professional level I still truly admire your spirit and courage. You are a worthy adversary, and one should never be afraid to acknowledge that. And on a personal level, I do so hate to disappoint those so worthy of respect. Never let it be said that I don't indulge my guest's desires."

With that final comment still ringing in Trueheart's ears, Harrington pointed the remote control at the sybian between her legs, turned the dial up to maximum power, and walked out of the room.


The sound of the eight ball nestling into the corner pocket reverberated around the pool hall, or at the very least it would have seemed that way to the ashen-faced opponent who had watched the ball roll with grim certainty towards it's target.

"I believe I called that pocket, darling." The sardonically smiling, striking brunette who'd played the shot didn't radiate friendliness. The pool hall was quiet, but not through lack of business. There was only one game on in the hall, and a sizeable audience had already built up to watch the two women slug it out. This was Michelle Ridge's home territory, and she wasn't in the mood to take prisoners, especially now that she had that winning feeling. She looked at the blonde woman who was her opposition, and casually gestured at her blouse with her cue stick.

"I believe you owe us something, sweetheart." Michelle said, glancing over to her companion who was enjoying an uninterrupted view of the scene from the comfort of a nearby table. The companion, also a brunette and also easy on the eye, hopped off her stool and strolled over with an exaggerated calm.

"I think this is a salutary lesson regarding what happens to blonde bitches who come into our pool hall and start making claims to greatness, wouldn't you say Michelle?"

"Claire, I couldn't of said it better myself." Michelle replied, and looked expectantly at the blonde woman. Both of the players had already lost their skirts, with a seething Michelle having to show off her red panties after the very first game, due to what Michelle was now comfortably chalking down to beginner's luck on the part of her soon to be blouse-less foe.

The blonde woman didn't look as cocky and confident as she had when she'd walked into the pool hall thirty minutes ago, challenging any woman to beat her in a fair game. Looking nervously at the growing audience around them, she fumbled at the first button of her blouse, and then paused to take into a deep breath. Knowing there was no other way out of this than to walk out in disgrace, she quickly undid the remaining buttons, slid the blouse of her shoulders, and ungraciously flung it at Michelle. Michelle caught the blouse cleanly, and made a show of inspecting the material.

"Nice." she said, and then waved the cue stick again at the now visible white bra that the blonde was making an attempt of covering with her right arm. "So the choices are: play on, or walk on out of here in that rather fetching ensemble."

"Hey! I never said anything about you keeping my clothing after this game!" the blonde woman replied indignantly.

"Well sure, and if you see this through to completion I'm sure Claire and I will be merciful and let you have it back before you slink back to whatever hole you crawled out of. But quitters don't get squat around here, so you might want to keep that in mind after our next game when that bra of yours is resting on my friend's table over there."

The blonde woman seemed for a second to have a look of panic in her eyes, but she was enough of a player to regain some composure and look defiantly at Michelle.

"Fine, rack them up." she muttered. "My break."

Michelle broadened her smile even more, and signalled to Claire to return to her seat, indicating with a nod of her head that this was now well under control and that the show was only going to get better from here on in.


Ten minutes and one game later, a white bra unceremoniously joined the blouse on Claire's table, and both Claire and Michelle took a moment to openly laugh at the predicament their opponent find themselves in.

"Sweetheart, this isn't your night, and this certainly isn't your pool hall. What's your name, bitch? Who do we have the pleasure of stripping tonight?"

The blonde looked at the two women and at the increasingly large pile of her clothes sitting on her table.

"Bree." She half-whispered. One arm was covering her nipples from the penetrating stares of every man in the pool hall, while the other arm was already protecting the only item of clothing she had left on - a pair of silky white panties that matched the brassiere perfectly.

Bree was a woman in her mid twenties, but her height was the only thing average about her. While her breasts might have been considered small by those who bothered to measure such things, there was absolutely no doubting that Bree made up for a slight lack of quantity with absolute perfection when it came to quality. It was a matter of accepted scientific fact in the area where Bree had grown up that you could simply tell someone's sexual orientation by whether they could, after twenty minutes in a conversation with Bree, tell you what colour her eyes were, whether she wore glasses, or anything about the topic of the conversation.

"Well Bree, I see this bra and those panties are a set, so it seems a real shame to separate them." Michelle picked up the bra again and twirled it around her fingers, before passing it back to Claire for her to further inspect.

"Given how you play, Bree, I'm guessing that you must have to take this off on a fairly regular basis. I'm surprised the clasp wasn't a worn-out bit of velcro..." Claire raised the trophy to the onlooking men and women in the audience, and the brunette felt a wave of exhilaration as the audience's appreciation visibly caused the now topless Bree even more discomfort. Bree looked like the kind of woman more used to teasing men behind a tight white top, than to brazenly having them out on display for any bystander to ogle.

"So Bree, we once again reach a cross roads. One more game, and the good news is that you get your clothes back. Of course, there's the small matter of you having to take those panties off and doing a little show for us all. But you get to lose with - well, let's not lie and call it 'dignity' - but at least you get to lose and recover your losses. Or you can decide that you'd rather not have every man in this room have the sight of your fully naked and perfectly displayed body imprinted on their memories for the rest of their lives. You can take those rather saucy white panties of yours, and you can pretend that by covering your rather impressive breasts with your arm that you have retained some measure of self-respect, and you can march right out of that door."

Michelle was loving this as she saw Claire's words rain down like body blows on what seemed to be left of Bree's self-assurance. It wasn't even worrying her that her own tightly defined legs were on full display, with her blouse not even fully covering her red panties when she was standing up. She knew what the sight would be when she leaned over. The men in the audience hadn't even bothered to be discrete about better positioning themselves to stare at her barely covered ass as she'd played the second game. The reward of seeing Bree's discomfort was a wonderful tonic though. However, that said, she couldn't help but credit Bree for not having completely broken down yet. A lesser woman would have had tears in her eyes now. Instead, Bree shot back a defiant look again, and seemed to hesitate before opening her mouth to reply.

"I want..." the high pitch in her voice betrayed her nervousness, and she grimaced as she corrected herself.

"I want one final game. I'm changing the stakes though." She looked at both Claire and Michelle. "If I win this next game, you take of your blouses and bras, and we all stand here for these guys to gawk at."

Michelle and Claire exchanged looks that mixed amusement with amazement. Michelle found her voice first.

"Why the hell, dear little Bree, would we want to risk that. You're down to your panties. Last time I checked, you had to use two hands to hold a cue stick. So, unless you've got some magical talent that you've so far hidden very well, you've not got much more to give us that you aren't going to have to give up anyway. I'm almost afraid some of the guys are going to get a headache just trying to decide whether to watch you from behind or from the front. 'Do I stare at her ass, framed in tiny white panties as she bends over, or do I stare at her tits as she tries to aim?' It's a hell of a dilemma. I'm sorry, but if by some miracle you fluke another game, these fine gentleman will get to see that my bra indeed matches my panties. And. Nothing. More."

"What if I offered something else?" Bree persisted.

"Like what? We aren't short of money, sweetie, and you aren't a good enough player to have any money anyway."

"I'll do a forfeit." Bree countered. The audience around them was completely silent as the drama unfolded in front of them.

Michelle started to scoff when Claire cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"Wait up Michelle," Claire interjected, "let's see now. We don't want to be ungracious hosts. Bree here is in a spot of bother and sees a way out of it. A good samaritan would help out a lost soul when they find one."

Claire paused and looked up and down at Bree, lingering over the topless body, and then deliberately and slowly walking around her. Claire reached out and touched Bree's back, and then ran a single finger down to the top of her panties. She could feel Bree involuntarily pull away slightly from her touch , and she let her finger follow the beautiful blonde's backside, playfully chasing her ass as it shifted uncomfortably.

"It goes without saying," Claire said in a suddenly soft, almost comforting voice, "that if you lose then these come off."

Claire paused again as she came around to face Bree. She placed two hands on the blonde woman's shoulders, and delicately ran each hand down her arms, until they were holding hands. She had perfect skin, and a surprisingly strong physique. No matter of physical strength would help her in this predicament though. She stared at Bree's downcast eyes, until Bree finally met her gaze.

"It goes without saying," Claire seemed to whisper, in a way that inexplicably carried to everyone in the room, "that if you lose then these hands of yours will be bound behind your back."

Claire let go of Bree's soft trembling hands, and maintained eye contact as she then backed away slowly. She reached a support pillar in the room. Without breaking her gaze into Bree's eyes, she ran a hand fondly down the pillar, which was situated the nearest to the front door of the pool hall.

"It goes without saying," Claire now raised her voice mockingly, "that you will be bound to this pillar, facing that door, for the rest of the night."

Claire looked across at Michelle, who seemed to intuitively know where she was going with this, and reached over to a bag from where she pulled a pen.

"And it goes without saying," Claire finished, now staring admiringly at the pen for no apparent reason, "that we'll all sign your body with exactly what we think of you, as a memento of your time here." Claire switched her focus back to Bree, and let the full weight of her words settle in.

Bree inhaled deeply a few times as she appeared to consider her options, eyes closed as if to block out the distraction of a crowd of men and women ogling her exquisite assets. Her chest rose and fell in a way that almost hypnotised the audience, before she opened her eyes, and simply said "Yes."

Claire opened her mouth slightly as she quickly masked her surprise. She'd actually expected Bree to surrender. A quick glance at Michelle as she industriously worked on her cue stick was all the reassurance she needed though. Keeping her focus firmly on Bree, she called out to her gobsmacked audience.

"Boys. This is going to be your lucky night."


The men in the crowd stood stock still in amazement at the sight in front of them. Three women. Three beautiful, amazing women. Topless and desperately trying to resist the urge to cover up as they slowly but surely turned around for the entire audience to soak in the view. Michelle's red panties and Claire's black panties stood as a colourful contrast to Bree's white panties, and as Bree had been topless now for an entire game, she was almost becoming immune to the sense that there were dozens of eyes glued to every sway and movement of her nipples. The same could not be said of Michelle and Claire. The former was still wondering how she managed to lose that last game, how the blonde outsider had managed to suddenly find a run of form despite surely being distracted by the leering looks from a crowd silently willing Michelle to victory. The latter was seething at the apparent incompetence of the former.

It would be worse for Claire and Michelle of course. This was their home, they'd have to return knowing what everyone had seen. The little blonde bitch would probably move on, disappear into folklore, and never have to worry about seeing the never-ending smirks of those around them.

The hall had never been this quiet while open, as the audience just privately meditated over the beauty on display in front of them. Only the occasional wolf whistle and scattered applause broke the silence, until suddenly, out of nowhere a series of beeps started, as if from a pager. Bree suddenly looked up brightly, and reached over for her bag at a nearby table. She held up a finger for everyone to hold on a moment as she rummaged through, before triumphantly pulling it out and holding it up for the world in general to behold. Bree's demeanour seemed to switch suddenly, and a calm confidence now visibly showed in her body language that seemed completely at odds with the state of her clothing.

"Ladies, thanks for the game. It was an excellent way to kill the time necessary for a little project of mine. Now, if you don't mind following me."

Michelle and Claire opened their mouths, but hadn't seemed to have thought through a reply, and so closed them again.

Bree stared blankly at them for a moment, and then clicked her fingers.

"Sorry, yes, of course. How could I forget."

Bree drew herself up to her full height, and extended her hands out in front of her, before twitching her nose and waggling her fingers like a stage magician.

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