Dress Off 01: Sasha vs Tara

Tara smirked anyway, the anticipation of what was to come overpowering the embarrassment of the memory of feeling her sports shorts melt away in front of a crowd of suddenly very aroused men.

"Of course, with that penalty so swiftly paid, Miss Tennyson was nonetheless able to make her way here with all due speed, and so we find ourselves in this current situation." The voice paused for effect and then continued on, a relish in the voice foreshadowing what was to come "You see Miss Sinclair, you find yourself effectively 4-2 down, and that's a defeat in anyone's books. This also seems to be as good a place as any to pay the final price, and perhaps you'd even welcome this more than some of the destinations that you could have ended up at later."

Sasha closed her eyes, unable to respond, waiting for the inevitable, searching for any viable way out of this. She was in the middle of the city, no other clothes than what have been provided by Decider Enterprises, no places to hide, and with just a bra, tight and ludicrously short pants, and a couple of useless wrist bands for company.

She realised after a few moments of desperate thinking that the voice had stopped. She held her eyes shut, waiting for it to inevitable continue, but it seemed to have died away for the time being. What did that mean? The voice wasn't the only thing to stop though. Her bra had also stopped it's low, constant vibrations as well. She opened one eye and looked down. Still on. Still providing some nominal cover of her ample breasts. Nothing was dissolving, nothing was shrinking. Was this it? Was this the total humiliation that the game offered?

Sasha let herself be overwhelmed by a wild hope, and then just as suddenly felt a small itch. A tiny, almost insignificant itch. It came from her bra, just between her breasts. She looked up at a clearly amused Tara, and then cursed her as she quickly reached into her bra and scratched the itch. Then the itch began to spread. Just a little at first, and Sasha desperately tried to keep up with it. Then the itch began to spread in multiple directions, up the straps, around her breasts, to the back where the bra crossed her shoulder blades. In short time, the itch was everywhere. The itching ramped up from minor irritation to persistent problem, and then swiftly passed through to being an insufferable issue as Sasha tried to soothe it with increasing desperation. The itch wasn't going away though, and Sasha realised in complete defeat that the bra was the sole cause of the unbearable sensation. Sasha stood up straight, stared at Tara with a venomous glare, gave up scratching, and decided that she'd make one last stand in front of her arch-nemesis.

Whether Tara had been told what would happen next, or whether she'd ably guessed from Sasha's performance, Tara returned Sasha's glare with a viciously amused smile. Sasha gritted her teeth and closed her eyes again as the situation reached it's inevitable finale. Eyes tightly closed, trying to ignore her immediate surroundings, or the sure-fire fact that Tara was undoubtedly smirking at her with unrestrained glee, Sasha let out an involuntary cry as the itching finally overwhelmed her ability to resist.

Sasha grabbed the sports bra in both hands, and without any further hesitation, ripped the offending item of her body and threw it on to the floor. Her breasts now completely free, Sasha practically panted in relief as the itching instantly died away. The wonderful sensation of itch-free cleavage momentarily masked the larger problem that Sasha was now completely topless in the middle of her city, with nothing but lycra pants and utterly pointless wrist bands to counter-argue the claim that she was stark-naked in front of the city's grand Cathedral.

Tara chose that precise moment in time to laugh out loud and she broke into mock applause.

"Great tits Sasha. No fair covering up those juicy boobies. Learn to take a compliment!"

Sasha heard gasps from bystanders on the street behind her. Sasha's could feel her face go bright red, and she instinctively covered up her breasts with two hands as the realisation of her predicament sunk in. It was at that point as well that the wristbands revealed their true purpose. Slowly at first, but with a seemingly irresistible force, the wristbands were forcing themselves apart. Magnetic! Damn it, thought Sasha hopelessly, they've got some kind of magnet inside of them. It was too late to try and remove them, as she couldn't force her hands close enough together to rip off the bands from the opposite wrists. At the same time, she also felt the same irresistible force being applied to her shoes and she felt her unwilling feet slowly being pushed further and further apart. Slowly, gracefully, and yet entirely without mercy, her wrists and ankles began to move outwards. She instantly knew that the wrist bands would be repelling the shoes as well, and she sensed the upwards trajectory of her wrists with utter helplessness. The entire process took less than a minute, although it felt like an hour to Sasha, but as gracefully as it started, the entire movement came to an end with Sasha in a perfect X pose. Her arms splayed upwards and outwards, her legs now wide enough apart to make walking a extremely tricky and slow proposition.

Sasha stood before her victor, black tight pants protecting the last of her modesty, unable to cover up, unable to really move, and completely able to fully imagine how all this must look.

"Well Ladies", their earpieces announced, "it would appear we have reached the final end state of our game. Tara Tennyson, Sasha Sinclair, it is with great pleasure that Decided Enterprises has supported two upstanding citizens as yourselves work out their differences."

"Wait a minute" Tara interjected, "what part of 'total humiliation' involves Sasha keeping her pants on?"

"Screw you bitch" Sasha shouted, as she tried to ignore the small crowd of astonished people slowly gathering in size around them.

"Well", the voice continued, "it's certainly true that while all great feuds must come to an end, there is always some choice as to how they end, even in a game such as our own. Miss Tennyson, you would be entirely within your rights to simply walk away now, never to see Miss Sinclair again, content in the knowledge of your complete victory. You of course also have on your person a tight white top, perhaps surplus to needs. I must say that shirt offers a variety of options. I must confess on more than one occasion in the past, victors have shown mercy on the vanquished by removing their own shirts and wrapping them around the breasts of those unfortunately on display. A touching sentiment, and one that has brought a tear to my eye as victor and vanquished part on what might almost be considered good terms. Others," and the voice lingered for a moment over this word, " have taken a slightly different direction and interpretation of our rules..."

Tara stared at Sasha as the defeated Sasha tried to look away from the cameras that were now being produced. Coming from all directions though, Sasha quickly discovered there was nowhere to hide. As Sasha defiantly looked at Tara one last time, she was filled with impossible hope when Tara suddenly showed a pitying smile, and removed her skin-tight white top. Some of the cameras suddenly found themselves pointing at the perky breasts beautifully framed in a yellow sports bra, and Tara parted the audience as she stepped forward to stand directly in front of Sasha.

"Sasha, we've known each other for too long to end it like this, and we've shared too much of a history for me to be happy with how you are now. Sasha, I'll always remember our time together, and this," Tara indicated the white shirt in her hand as Sasha felt tears of gratitude well up in her eyes, " this I give up willingly."

Tara smiled serenely, and reached out to touch Sasha's face and wipe away a single tear that was running down her cheek. "This I give up willingly. As penalty for this!" With a sudden movement that caught Sasha completely unawares, Tara grabbed the front and back of Sasha's pants and pulled with all her might. As Tara had suspected, the lycra pants were made of the same less-than-reliable material as the shirts, and ripped apart in her hands as Sasha realised the consequence of what Tara had just done.

In an X pose, and completely exposed, Sasha stood there in shock at her predicament.

Tara glanced down at the torn lycra pants lying next to her own white shirt that she had tossed to the ground moments ago, and said to the voice in her earpiece "Consider the shirt my penalty payment for interfering with your damn outfits".

"As you wish, Miss Tennyson. I believe this is our business concluded, good luck for your future endeavours, and I hope you consider us again for all your feud-ending needs." The voice signed off with an upbeat tone, ending with "Miss Sinclair, we'll be in touch shortly to arrange your exciting new life."

Tara stood in front of Sasha for the last time, staring up and down Sasha's completely naked body. Sasha was perfectly toned, and her body was such a work of art that this almost might not even have be considered pornographic in the basest sense. Almost. Sasha had only recently shaved down below, and her embarrassment-enhanced senses could feel even the slightest breeze on evidence today gently flowing unimpeded between her completely naked thighs. The sunlight was now touching every part of her body, and while Sasha had never been exactly prudish in her choice of beach or running attire, there were certainly some areas that had not seen direct sunlight in a very long time. Had anyone cared to look at Sasha's otherwise beautiful brown hair, they'd have also noticed the way it glistened in the warm afternoon air. Nobody did notice that however. There were plenty of other attractions to contend with further down the exhibit that was Sasha Sinclair, and those attractions were having an opening matinee performance destined for rapturous reviews.

Nobody in the crowd around them was doing much to help either, crowds can be like that of course. It did occur to Tara though that the wedding party on the other side of the Cathedral doors should really be informed of this unseemly disturbance. Tara stepped back, savouring every moment of Sasha's complete, stark naked humiliation, before banging loudly with a fist on the Cathedral doors, and then nonchalantly walking away, whistling a tune as she contemplated what to do with the rest of her now perfect afternoon.

Sasha tried to move her legs one small step at a time, constrained by her inability to bring her feet closer together, and she looked at the crowd for any assistance whatsoever. None was forthcoming, and the crowd was already wondering why this beautiful but shameless woman didn't simply close her legs and cover her breasts, unable to see the irresistible electromagnetism at play. As she tried to edge her way from the Cathedral entrance, she heard the great doors swing open in response to Tara's knocking, and then immediately after the cries of surprise from the wedding guests within that announced the arrival on to the steps outside of the highest and mightiest of the City's elite.

Sasha Sinclair, topless, bottomless, unable to cover anything, felt herself pass over the embarrassment event horizon into a world she never knew existed. With a simple helpless, nervous smile on her face, she looked out at her admiring audience. "Ah. Hi everyone! Well, at least I haven't out-dressed the bride"

13. Epilogue

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Stacey Shackleton arrived back at her apartment at 7:00pm, dumping the groceries she'd bought on the kitchen counter. Kicking off her shoes, she threw herself onto her new couch, still trying to find the most comfortable spot on it after nearly a week of ownership. Stacey sighed as the efforts of the day slowly faded away, and she contemplated switching on the television to take in some junk viewing. She also thought that she should probably get out and about - as a newcomer to a new city she should really be scouting out the local nightspots and finding the in-crowd. It was fair to say though that Stacey Shackleton had had more than enough of being out in public of late.

It was as she was toying with the idea of reaching for the TV remote that she noticed the slim black laptop hidden in plain sight on the black coffee table in front of her. She looked at the laptop for a long time, before she slowly reached forward and flipped the lid up. The screen flashed into life as she fixed it in position, and the splash screen simply revealed the letters "D E".

Decider Enterprises. Stacey Shackleton was not unfamiliar with their work. She smiled grimly, but without humour, at the understatement pervading that thought.

The splash screen shortly gave way to a video-conference system, and the black background mostly obscured a shadowy figure at a desk. She knew that figure, or at least the voice attached to that figure.

"Good evening my dear Stacey, and I do so hope I find Miss Stacey Shackleton in fine health and high spirits on such a glorious night."

Stacey didn't bother replying. That voice was bringing back some memories. It had been two months now since she'd last heard that voice, shortly after "someone" had mysteriously paid the inevitable fines resulting from her arrest. The voice had then come to her via an untraceable call on her mobile phone, cheerfully walking her through her new identity and future abode, as if they were a glorified travel agent excited for their client on a particularly exotic upcoming vacation. She'd had no choice but to comply of course. Her previous life had been untenable after the show she'd put on for the entire city, and the Internet being what it was, there was no point trying to cover up the incriminating evidence, so to speak. A mysterious amount of money had appeared in her bank account very shortly afterwards. "For an award-winning performance" had been the reference on her bank statement when she tried to find where it had come from. A new life. A new name. A new place to call home. A little play money to perhaps make the crushing embarrassment and uncontrollable fury at losing ever so slightly more palatable.

"Of course, we were all very impressed with so many different aspects of your performance. Can I say in particular that we were very taken with your discretion regarding the police's somewhat hysterical questioning as to your motivations." Stacey barely shrugged. How the hell they got away with this was going to be one of life's little unsolved mysteries. The police had been most interested in learning if anyone else was involved, but any incriminating pictures of her partner in crime had mysteriously vanished before the police could get to the happy snappers. Stacey had seriously considered dumping everything she knew into a confession, but after a night of seething in a holding cell, she realised the resulting pointlessness of that. That part of her life was now closed, irrevocably, and nothing she said or did was going to make people un-see what they'd seen.

"And it's that kind of discretion that impresses the right people in the right places. We're aware Miss Shackleton that you haven't yet settled on a career, we do so like to follow the ongoing exploits are our star attractions. Needless to say, Decider Enterprises are always on the look out for young go-getters with an eye for risk."

Stacey Shackleton leant forward towards the screen and for the first time, graced the mysterious speaker with the faintest of half-smiles.

"Miss Shackleton, welcome to the firm!"