Dress Off 01: Sasha vs Tara

The earpiece sprang to life. "Hello Tara. Welcome to The Game. We'll be staring proceedings in ten minutes, so why don't you ditch everything you came in, and try on the outfit we've provided."

Tara looked up at the man beside her, who paused for a moment, and then waved vaguely at what looked like a rudimentary changing room.

Tara made her way over to the changing room and, after a little mental pep-talk about the embarrassment about to be handed to Sasha Sinclair, plunged in and started quickly removing her own clothes. Tara's body was a work of art. A 23 year old in peak physical condition and with a natural beauty that had worked on the boys at school even before she'd taken up sports. As Tara stripped off the light blue blouse she'd worn to The Fiddler's Bow, her pert, firm breasts sat beautifully framed in her lacy white bra. Tara knew she was beautiful, always had known it in fact, and she'd learned how to tease the boys just enough to always get what she wanted. Even stripping here in The Fiddler's Bow, with what was on the line and what was soon to come, she subconsciously put on a show for no-one in particular. She eased her jeans over her hips and lowered them to her feet with one graceful bend at the waist. The same move, all those years ago, that had pretty much guaranteed the assistance of the computer geeks at high school. The same computer geeks who had so ably hacked into Sasha's social media accounts during the student body presidency race, and had helped her spread the truth (albeit perhaps liberally edited and conveniently missing some unnecessary context) about little Miss Perfect. The blouse and jeans were dropped on to the floor, and momentarily Tara thought whether she'd seen them again. It was a strange though, and it mildly worried her as she hurriedly undid her bra, and let her small but beautifully formed breasts loiter unrestricted. Her panties were soon down by her ankles, and the worried thoughts led her to unconsciously, and only for a moment, touch herself between her legs and wonder what it meant that last week, she'd decided to shave between her legs for the first time in a fair while. Tara snapped out of is as she realised she was standing stark naked in the changing room of a strange shop, with who knew how many cameras probably hidden around to capture every angle. Tara mentally reprimanded herself for letting her mind wander, and told herself she needed to be on her game for the next few hours if rightful justice was to be delivered.

Tara grabbed the outfit provided, and slipped on the black tight lycra running pants, the baggy yellow running shorts, and the yellow bra. The sleeveless white shirt she at least assumed would be tight and uncomfortable, just to add to the game, but she was surprised when she put it on to find it was baggy like the shorts. Tara still looked gorgeous of course. She could have worn a sack and made it look fetching, but she was oddly disappointed to think that right now, Sasha Sinclair wasn't facing intense embarrassment stepping out into public, even if meant that Tara would at least temporarily share the same fate.

The wrist bands and shoes went on last, and Tara Tennyson emerged from the changing room looking all the world like a woman about to go on a casual jog.

The nondescript man raised an eyebrow, but otherwise remained impassive, and simply stood back and seemed to wait for some signal. Tara noticed a red light over the door she'd come in from off the street, and the earpiece once again crackled into life.

"Looking good Tara. I supposed it would be insulting to remind a woman of your intellect of such basic rules, but just remember that we'll be watching you at all times, and I'll be in your ear to keep you up to speed with the state of the game. Good luck, I suppose, for what it's worth. We'll give you your first clue once you're walking the streets of the city."

Tara closed her eyes, and visualised winning. She tried to visualise what that would mean, what consequence of her victory that Sasha would have to endure. She also tried – unsuccessfully - to block out what it would mean if Sasha beat her to five clues.

The red light changed to green. Tara's eyes opened. She stepped forward, and the city streets and The Game consumed her.

5. The First Clue

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Sasha pace picked up as she walked towards the central business district. The Loaded Parrot was several blocks behind her now, back on the edge of one of the inner city suburbs. Several thoughts were competing in her head for attention, and right now she'd take the false feeling of making progress by getting to pretty much anywhere, over the very real concern that she'd made absolutely no progress on the first clue at all. Sasha fingered the earpiece nervously, and needlessly adjusted her red t-shirt. There was still nothing untoward about it, and the looks she was getting passers-by were the same innocent-enough looks that the beautiful Sasha Sinclair had received her entire life.

But the earpiece was playing on her mind. The voice in the earpiece had given her the first clue only minutes after leaving The Loaded Parrot. "There is sporting enterprise in the original sin. Go to where you might fit in.". The man had already thrust a map of the city into her hand as she'd left, and now she was searching the map for anything that might offer an answer. It hadn't just been the clue that the earpiece had left her to ponder though. As the voice had signed off, it had finished with a simple warning. Unless she'd won the entire game, then the next time Sasha heard from the voice, it would mean that she'd been penalised, or Tara had found a clue. Either way, that wouldn't be good for Sasha. It had been then that the enormity of just what she was part of finally struck home. Sasha was out on the streets of her city, in an outfit that was – for lack of a better phrase – booby trapped. Right now, her nemesis was out there, maybe already with the first clue figured out, heading towards wherever the next clue was hidden. Maybe Sasha was only moments away from hearing a voice in her ear, a voice that would mean that Sasha was about to suffer some unknown, unwanted embarrassment. Losing was not an option. Not. An. Option.

What did the clue mean? Where was she supposed to go? As Sasha walked past the pedestrians on the street, and the idle afternoon conversations of her fellow city dwellers continued around her, she began to get rather twitchy.

Tara Tennyson looked around her as she crossed the street. Even in baggy yellow shorts and a baggy sleeveless white t-shirt, she was attracting a few looks. She didn't have to use too much imagination to know that those looks were going to get a whole lot more frequent and rewarding for the men around her if she didn't get to the sports shop on Eden Street ahead of Sasha.

At least the first clue had been fairly easy, although it worried Tara that Sasha may have started closer to Eden St than her and might already be on the shop's doorstep.

As Tara rounded the corner on Eden St, she could see the sports shop ahead of her, full of people not dressed too dissimilarly to herself, at least for the time being. She quickly strained her eyes, glancing around at the surrounding side streets, ahead to the concrete pavement outside the shop entrance. No sign of Sasha yet. Did that mean she hadn't figured out the clue? Did it mean she was already inside? What, in fact, was Tara even looking for? She knew the clue had told her to go to the shop, and that the next clue was probably in or around the shop, but surely it wasn't hidden away somewhere in such a large building? Tara broke out into a jog again, dodging pedestrians in the increasingly crowded footpaths, and occasionally cursing the odd bike courier who zoomed past her a little too close for comfort. As Tara came to the wide sliding double doors, something in her periphery caught her attention. An advertisement attached to the glass wall beside the doors, for a shop she'd never heard off: "DE Fashions: 50% of all dresses". Odd for a sports shop to be advertising a clothing shop. A grin broke out over Tara's face for the first time today, as she reached forward and tore the advert off the wall.

6. A First Malfunction

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"Hello Miss Sinclair." the pleasant greeting from the voice in the earpiece immediately sent a cold shiver down Sasha's spine. "We trust you're enjoying our game. I've got some good news for you."

An impossible hope suddenly shot through Sasha, had Tara really forfeited already? Had her nerve given out this soon?

"The good news is that Tara Tennyson is most definitely still in the game.".

"How the hell is that good news?!" demanded Sasha quietly, throwing a weak smile to a couple of passers-by who looked at her oddly, seemingly talking to herself.

"Well, we know that a competitive woman such as yourself would want a final victory to be earned, and not merely from somebody else's weak-minded capitulation. Think of the satisfaction when, well, if you win, and you know that you did what happened to Miss Tennyson. Something to look forward to I'm sure, and perhaps a thought you should hold on to for a moment longer, because there is a slight bit of bad news. You see, here's your next clue Sasha Sinclair, courtesy of Tara who so ably found it. Which brings us of course to..." the voice trailed off for a moment, and Sasha shut her eyes tightly but still couldn't help envision someone at the end of the comms channel savouring what they were about to say.

"Which brings us of course to the small matter of a penalty, a fee for the next clue as it were."

Sasha screwed her eyes shut even more, and noticed she was holding her breath.

"Here's the next clue Sasha Sinclair, and best wishes on evening the ledger. 'A far away land filled with romantic power, three floors and few doors to a famous old tower. Before you go there, a chat may be due, and rest assured you'll find your next clue.'".

With that, Sasha opened one eye, looked around her, and quickly checked the essentials. Top, still on, check. Shorts, still on, check. Sasha opened her other eye and noticed she was getting strange looks from those around her, but gradually realised that might have more to do with her standing stock still on the footpath, arms rigidly by her side, her face scrunched up almost waiting for a slap. As she relaxed, the voice idly said "Oh, and Sasha, start moving dear. Standing still is a penalisable offense, and I'm afraid you just picked up your first penalty for the game. I wouldn't recommend transgressing again."

Sasha experimentally put one foot out in front of her, and then the other, and then picked up the pace as she realised her shoes weren't about to explode on her. So, umm, that was it? Had that been a simple warning shot across her bows, did she get one "get out of jail free" card to warm her into the game? The second clue, Sasha told herself, focus on that.

"A far away land filled with romantic power, three floors and few doors to a famous old tower. Before you go there, a chat may be due, and rest assured you'll find your next clue."

As Sasha walked along the streets, mulling over the possibilities, she began to notice a sensation against her stomach. Her white sleeveless shirt was beginning to ride up a little, and wasn't hanging so loose any more. Sasha eyed it suspiciously as she tried to keep up the pace while not colliding with anything or anyone. The shirt still hung there, seemingly giving her ample coverage, but as she looked it, she had to convince herself that the stitching wasn't moving under it's own power. Sasha's pace picked up, and tried to refocus herself on the second clue. No way in hell was she going to go down 2-0 to Tara Tennyson. A few minutes of wandering later, Sasha's train of thought was interrupted again by the feeling of rubbing under her armpits, and a breeze against her skin. She looked down again, and gasped in surprise. The baggy white shirt was now baggy no longer. The bottom of the shirt, which previously had sat comfortable halfway down her beautiful posterior, now rested at her navel, and the shirt was now noticeably tightening around her sides, arms, breasts and back. In fact, her gasp of surprise had caused her to breathe in sharply again, and with that the shirt contracted even more and suddenly Sasha found herself wearing a skin tight top that hid none of the curves of her athletic chest.

Sasha instinctively threw up her hands to cover her chest, only for the earpiece to quickly interject with "now, now, Sasha, no interfering with the good folks' view. I would hate to have to award a second penalty so soon." Sasha forced her hands back down by her side, and stared steadfastly ahead, trying to ignore the fact that several guys who had just walked past were now straining their necks to check her out. Truth be told, even as skin tight as the white sleeveless shirt now was, it wasn't a radical departure from what Sasha had worn in the past when trying to attract attention. But this was different. This was just the start of something much worse, and she was having a hard time stopping the thought of that turning her nipples rock hard. Sasha kept forcing herself to move forward, reminding herself that if she acted like everything was normal, then no-one else around her need know any differently.

It was at that point that she began to also notice a tingling sensation across her breasts. At first she put it down to the short, but a quick inspection revealed that the shirt had now stopped contracting and seemed perfectly happy in it's current shape and form, exposing the perfection of her breasts and cleavage for the world's inspection. The tingling sensation continued though, and Sasha soon realised that her shirt wasn't the only thing getting in on the act. Her red, form-hugging bra, clearly outlined beneath her shirt, was vibrating quietly away, and Sasha watched with slowly dawning horror. She suddenly realised that any hope of at least keeping her nipples from being rock hard, any hope of making sure they didn't stand out like beacons in her skin-tight shirt, were well and truly dashed. Commanded by her bra, Sasha let out an involuntary, barely audible moan, as her nipples went as hard and as large as she'd ever seen them, and pressed prominently through the material of her shirt.

Sasha closed her eyes again, shut out the noise around her, opened her eyes, fixed them straight ahead, and swore on all that was sacred to her that she'd see Tara Tennyson naked, red-faced and defeated on these city streets before too long.

7. The Race to Paris

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Tara Tennyson was a woman on a mission. She held on to the advert in her left hand, the second clue carefully written on the back. She broke into jog again, as she racked her mind as to where the French consulate could be. The damn map neglected to mention where the consulates were, a fact she'd already bitterly cursed after the initial euphoria of guessing that the clue was referring to the Eiffel Tower and the need to talk to the French government about any visa requirements. Tara had never really thought about visiting France before, and her sole knowledge of the French consulate was that it existed somewhere, leaving her a mere four square miles of likely ground to cover. Tara at least had the satisfaction that Sasha would be somewhere out there, suffering her first wardrobe malfunction. However, Tara also knew Sasha would have the clue by now, and the bitch had played the French government in the Model UN some years back. It would be just like her to be undeservedly lucky and remember where the consulate is based.

As Tara raced down one street and then the next, she realised she was looking for a needle in a haystack. The consulate wouldn't be that large, and her only hope was to spot the French flag down some side-street as she hastened along. Equally likely though, would be the scenario where she looked in the wrong direction at the wrong time and raced right past it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Tara slowed down to a walking pace, realising that she was now only seeing half of what she passed, and that she'd have to be a bit more methodical than this. It was at exactly that point, as she looked down yet another side-street, that she inadvertently walked into a tourist gazing forlornly at their own map. Tara went to let out a curse and berate the tourist for standing still on a busy side-walk, when she noticed that the map the tourist had was different to her own. Different, and far more detailed. Tara went from mid-frown to welcoming-smile in a split second, and looked straight into the tourist's eyes. The tourist was male, perhaps early 30s, and - Tara noted with interest - was now staring at her in a line that would be fairer to describe as chest-height than eye-height.

"Excuse me sir, can I help?" Tara was all sweetness and kindness, and she'd also chosen only moments before - by sheer coincidence of course - to take a big breath in, with the entirely unintended consequence of inflating her chest out even further.

The tourist gulped, and hesitantly used broken english to stammer a request as to where "Hotel Cyrian" might possibly be located. Tara knew the answer already, but took the tourist's map out of his hands and stepped closer in. Making a great pretense of looking for the hotel, she quickly scanned the map for the French consulate, and felt a surge of triumph as she spotted it just off Mercury Boulevard. She indulged the tourist with another smile, leant in far closer than would be considered decent, and gently pushed the tourist off in the direction of the hotel, a mere two blocks from here.

Tara then set off again. She was at least seven blocks away, and an interminable number of pedestrian crossings to negotiate before she reached her destination. She hadn't even reached the first of these though, before her ear-piece crackled into life.

"Miss Tennyson, interesting encounter you had there, good to see you helping visitors to our fair city. I'm sure the tourism board would love to have you front their campaigns, what with you having such a welcoming and charitable demeanour."

Tara remained silent, not wanting to tempt fate by acknowledging the compliment.

"Of course", the voice continued, "I couldn't help but notice that helping your fellow man seems to have provided you an insight as to your next clue - an insight that a less charitable mind might say was caused by your looking at his map. That could be construed as external help Miss Tennyson, and that is mostly certainly your first penalty offense."

Tara gulped inwardly, and pressed on towards the consulate. One free penalty, that's what she remembered of the rules. One free penalty, and then after that, the wardrobe malfunctions start to role in. Tara was now only four blocks from the consulate now, and picking up speed as the foot traffic around her slowly dwindled away. Three blocks away. Two blocks away. One block away. In the distance, she could see a French flag fluttering in the light wind that whipped through the streets. And underneath that flag, stood Sasha Sinclair.

8. The White Knight Strikes

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Sasha Sinclair looked on with grim satisfaction as she saw Tara in the distance, across a street and several buildings away, wear an expression of shock on her face. Even from this distance, Sasha could tell from Tara's body language that Tara's t-shirt and bra were now betraying her, just as Sasha's already had an entire clue ago. Luckily, Sasha had remembered enough from her Model UN days to know just where to go, once she'd belatedly remembered that the Eiffel Tower only had three floors. The next clue had been on a notice outside the consulate, and she was already walking towards the central business district again as she tried to decipher it.