Tale of a Lost Bet Ch. 03

True story; names and ID's changed.

The letters coming from both of us continued with more and more threats about taking tops and bottoms as "trophies", or the loser becoming "very well known", or they simply elaborated on the dreaded orders. I have to say that in the war of words, I gave as, good as I received. I found that I was thinking more and more about what would be a great victory, and during the week purchased a small ping pong paddle, which would come in handy, and in a moment of real genius, I bought a wraparound skirt that I imagined would be easy for me to untie so that she could let it drop in front of a crowd "accidentally".

On Tuesday, after having considered the minimal coverage of the Brazilian bottom, I scheduled an appointment with a salon for a wax. I explained to the technician that I would be wearing a Brazilian bottom. She asked if I wanted a true Brazilian, meaning everything gone, a marginal, or a partial. There was a reference diagram showing that a "marginal" involved removing the hair just inside the edge of the coverage of the bathing suit bottom. A partial left a wedge pattern or a "landing strip" of varying length and removed everything from the labia backward. Considering how repulsive hair peaking out from the edge could be, I opted for the partial. I also settled on a trimmed narrow wedge on top. It took almost the entire evening to recover. At first it stung a little, but afterward I delighted in not having to shave.

I booked a lighter schedule at the office that Friday before heading over to the Adam's Mark to make final arrangements and check out the suite. The reservation was stipulated for an upper floor facing the city. The clerk had put it on the eleventh floor. That was lucky, I thought. 11 had always been a lucky number for me. The clerk accompanied me and led me into the main room, where I discovered a very tastefully decorated suite with master bedroom and a living/anteroom all walled by a panoramic expanse of the city. It would be, I thought, a fitting place to take my triumph from Liz.

They were due to arrive at five o'clock. We would meet then and have a chance to discuss any last minute issues before changing into our suits and starting. I quickly left and headed home to get my things. I was just arriving, when my cell phone rang. It was Liz.

"I'm ready to learn just how red your face can be when I'm finished whipping your behind." That was how I answered the phone.

She laughed and told me that the feeling was mutual, and that they had already arrive. They were going to check in and would be waiting when I felt nervy. I laughed. I was really ready to do it.

I found myself hurriedly excited as I put the paddle in my bag. I added the wraparound skirt along with a size-smaller-than-her-stated white cotton baby T. That was all she was going to get, when I was done. I almost giggled at the thought. I dialed my boyfriend and told him that I was headed to the hotel. He was beside himself.

He really was the reason I had even looked into wrestling with another woman. I was in his house one afternoon and found some videos, which featured scantily clad combatants. He was pretty sheepish, when he learned that I had found them, but told me how erotic two women going at it was to him. We had talked a couple of times about it and I asked if he fantasized about me doing something like that. The answer was an enthusiastic, yes.

He met me in the lobby. Liz and her husband, Michael, had already picked up the key and were in the suite. We entered the elevator and I pressed the lucky 11.

" I think you are going to like this." I said.

"I almost feel sorry for her." He said.

We walked to the door and after a deep breath I knocked. The door opened and Liz's husband, Michael, opened it with a big smile on his face. He was tall, slender, and looked like a doctor. He was olive-complected, wearing wire-framed glasses, and had very short hair close-cropped to detract from his male pattern baldness. "Come in." he said smiling.

We entered and shook hands. I noticed that the door to the bedroom was closed. It opened suddenly and Liz breezed in making her entrance. She was 5-4, about 110. She had on a butter-colored pair of drawstring lounge pants, and a camisole top. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her brown eyes sparkled. She smiled, but there was a clear touch of menace. She looked me over and seemed surprisingly unalarmed.

"Well, Dianne," she said and sashayed toward me, "at last we meet." There was a litheness about her body and when she finished speaking, she looked at her husband as if they were sharing a secret joke.

She gave a nod as though we should all sit. I sat, but I did not like that she was assuming the role of host. She asked if I were still in agreement regarding the understandings of the match. I haughtily replied that I did, then with a smile she reiterated the rules, the stakes, the length of time of service, and finally she mentioned the fight attire.

""Yes." I said.

"Well," she paused, "I already have mine on." She reached into a very, very small bag that I had not noticed next to her, and retrieved a neon pink bikini. She dangled it from one hand as though daring me to try and grab it, and said, "You're what we are waiting on, dear."

I stood and grabbed at it. She was quick in snatching it away, and laughed at my attempt. I reacted by not following with more effort and simply offered her a patiently upturned open palm, and an expectantly cocked eyebrow. She smiled and gently dropped the minimal garment in my hand. I turned, left them all in the anteroom and retired to change.

Once separated from the rest of them, I paused for a moment. I was bout to take on something I had never considered. I slipped my blazer off my shoulders and unbuttoned my blouse. I slipped it off and unzipped my skirt. Taking the plunge I took off my bra and panties. It was at that moment, that I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror inside the open closet door. I had not had a real honest look at myself since I had gotten the waxing. The black wedge of hair ended just above a barely evident bud between two obviously smooth lips. I felt more naked at that moment than I had ever before in my life. Even though it was as minimal a bikini as I had feared, I suddenly wanted all the coverage it could give me. I picked up the bottoms and tied one side over my thigh, before pulling it up and tying the other side. I made another adjustment to the original tie and assessed the situation. It was as minimal a bottom as I had feared; low-rise and the ties fastened just under my hip-bones. I picked up the top, and tied it just under my breasts, turning it so the loops were in the back. Then I tied the upper straps behind my neck. There was absolutely no support and I realized it would not take a lot to uncover a breast. I looked at myself in the mirror. As I have stated, I am 34, and in that unforgiving suit I had just the faintest, tiniest, hint of a tummy. I gathered my breasts in and stretched the material over each one, as far as it would go. The result was immodest, but reasonable. I twisted my hair into a short, tight single braid and turned to go back into the living-room.

They were already in the process of moving the furniture out of the way to make room for the match when I returned. To one side, Liz stood, already out of the lounge pants and t-shirt. She was two inches taller than me, and about five pounds lighter. I saw her looking me over and reflexively sucked in my tummy. I noticed a look of amusement on her face. She was leaner than I, but I figured that I was probably stronger. If I got a hold on her, it would all be over. With the room ready, the guys took their seats and Liz and I faced each other.

"Okay,," she said, "last chance to reconsider."

"I was just going to offer that myself."

"Let's go then, girl." She said.

I made a move toward her grabbing at her arrogant head. As I had anticipated, she was fast, but still faster than I could have imagined. She ducked and moved to my left. I grabbed an armful of air and my momentum carried me forward a step. I probably would have been okay, but I felt her foot deliver a swift kick to my behind. I fell, landing clumsily. From my face down position, I heard her laugh. I started to scramble back to my feet, feeling one side of my Brazilian bottom slip into the cleft between my cheeks.

I had risen to my hands and almost had my knees under me, when I heard her admonishing, "Oh no, honey." I suddenly felt Liz pressing down on me from behind. She was heavier than I thought, and I struggled, but her arms slipped under mine and I felt her hands close behind my neck. She flexed and I pitched face-forward into the carpet. At first I struggled, thrashing about. She had me in an awful position, and was taunting me with statements about giving up.

I responded with a muffled cry and tried to lunge upward several times. It did little good and simply exhausted me. Finally, panting and sweating, I collapsed face down on the carpet.

"Oh, come on now. You can't have given up already. That was way, way too easy. Even for a spoiled, elitist little bitch like you. I mean, I know you are kind of soft, there, honey, but, even you could have put up more of a fight than that."

I roared and struggled with the last of my strength. I hated her, and her demeaning remarks. But I could not unseat her. My thighs burned from the isotonic strain, and ultimately I was back where I started. I could sense the inevitable, and loathing, her the situation, and what I had to do, I turned my head to the side and spat out, "you win."