Nice Nurse Coerced To Wrestle NudebyHot37yrgal©
I am a 42 year old career woman (a head nurse) who had never done anything daring until last year when an “amateur photographer” talked me into posing nude while I was on vacation. I ended up with pictures of me posed like a nude big game trophy posted on his pay web site. That “adventure” was so out of character for me I wrote about it in a previous contribution entitled “How I Was Bagged and Mounted.”
I swore to myself that posing for these pictures would be my final “walk on the wild side.” So I certainly was not looking for more “exposure” when I answered some “feedback on your story” emails from a group of guys commenting on that contribution. But completely “exposed” is exactly how I ended up, and not entirely voluntarily.
Before reading further you should know I am not writing about being forced to do something I found repulsive. In fact it has long been a fantasy of mine to entertain a group of men nude (not as a job, but just for a thrill). I never considered actually doing it for the usual reasons that most people never live out their fantasies (what would my friends say, etc), but also because I didn’t think I was pretty enough. I am 5’ 5”, 128 pounds, pretty blonde hair, 36C chest and I get more than my share of compliments, but I am after all 42 years old. Anyway here is what happened to me when, despite my doubts, I was forced to cross the line from fantasy into the reality of doing exactly that, and ironically it was to save my job and my reputation.
The Trap is Set
This all started when I responded to some of those “feedback on your story” emails that turned out to be from a group of guys who were all from the same lodge (you know, those men-only “secret” societies). I was intrigued because these guys admitted being subscribers to that pay site on which my nude pictures had been posted and they were honest enough to say they enjoyed how the photographer tricked me into posing nude for the site. In these emails one of them casually mentioned that along the same lines their lodge held wrestling matches featuring women just like me.
I made the mistake of asking what the women wore for the matches, and they told me it was bikini underwear covered by lingerie. I commented that it sounded pretty tame. Once I showed even this faint glimmer of interest, however, I got sucked into talking more and more about the matches. Eventually one of them asked if I’d be interested.
To be fair, I did agree to be a contestant, especially since their lodge was nowhere near me. In reality, however, I pretended to agree because I wanted to keep talking about appearing in front of a group of horny guys, without actually doing it. I kept postponing my “match” and making excuses to keep the fantasy going, but my charade came to an end when I gave them a definite date that I figured was impossible for them to make. Without talking to me they rescheduled meetings, rented an expensive mat and canceled another fund raising event, all so they could agree to my date. I felt guilty and confessed that I never intended to participate for real in a match. Needless to say, they were upset.
The Trap Snaps Shut
Then I got a playful but somewhat mean email from the guys. When I clicked on the link in the email I found that they had copied some of the humiliating pictures of me from that pay web site where I was on display and then posted them on a free site. They also gave me a list of other free sites on which they were thinking of posting the pictures and then asked if I wanted to reconsider my decision about doing the wrestling match. I was upset because I had often overheard male technicians at my hospital talking about these kinds of sites, and they apparently visited quite a few.
I emailed the guy I knew best in the group and begged him not to go through with their plan. I said I would do just one match if I could set the rules and if no pictures would be taken. He gave his word that if I did just this one match they would never post any of my pictures. He agreed that no cameras would be allowed, but he said there could be no exceptions to the standard match rules.
The standard rules were not as tame as I had thought. I was to begin the match in lingerie and bikini underwear, as I had been told, but the object was to strip my opponent nude and drag her into a pool of vegetable oil by any means. The match ended only when the one of us was 100% covered in oil. There was no other way to end it. This was not a match you won by pinning your opponent (if you did you only got back a piece of clothing you’d lost). There was no surrender. If you were good you might be able to keep all your clothes on, but if you lost then you would have to entertain the crowd nude and covered in oil while the winner collected her tips. The winner received $300 and tips. The loser received $100 and some “exposure” she would remember for quite a while. I had no choice but to agree to the rules and keep the date; otherwise humiliating nude pictures of me would soon be all over the hospital.
Match Day Arrives
On the agreed upon date the lodge sent a limousine to pick me up at a local store (I did not want to give my address) to take me to the lodge. The limo was first class with a bar which I took full advantage of. My strategy was to wear an outfit for the match that would be hard to remove. I planned to get my opponent on the mat and as we tussled I’d be able to pull her clothes off one by one while my tight, clingy clothing would get stuck on me. In fact I had a hard time getting this outfit off even when I wanted to!
For my lingerie I chose a one-piece, red summer dress with thin spaghetti straps that showed off some cleavage and could pass for night wear if no one looked closely. It came down to my knees and had a lot of very tight elastic around the top that not only gave a nice shape to my chest but also made the dress very clingy and hard to take off. For my underwear I chose a white, seamless bandeau bra with no straps, hooks, latches or wires that looked like a running bra except it was a bigger and tighter because it had no straps and was held up by wide strips of elastic around the entire top and bottom. My panties were also hard to remove, “high-cut” briefs that clung to me like a second skin, while giving maximum coverage both back and front.
The outfit was carefully planned to be classy and sexy but very hard to remove. It gave me the most coverage I could get under the rules. I wanted to control how much of me the guys would get to see. Since I had to be barefoot, I had my toenails and fingernails manicured and painted to match my dress. I also had my hair done up in a very young looking style. I added a pair of large sunglasses so that I could make sure there was no one there who knew me before revealing my face completely.
It Becomes Real
After changing into my outfit, I went up a set of stairs to meet the referee who was to escort me to the mat. As I emerged into the hall the whole thing became real for the first time. In the center of the hall they had put down a huge, official looking wrestling mat with a big circle on it and just off to the right was a rectangular child’s swimming pool which I guessed contained the oil. Large lights were set up on tripods along each wall about 10 feet from the mat (or pool) so there was no seating to the right or left of the mat. I counted a total of about 80 men. Half sat on my side of the mat and half on the other side from where I stood, with each side divided by a wide center aisle.
I pulled my sunglasses down and checked for anyone I knew. No one looked even remotely familiar. I began to get excited. This was a perfect setting to live out my fantasy. I could not believe it was really going to happen.
As I started walking down the center isle to the mat area, 1980’s rock music came onto the PA system as if I were a professional wrestler making an entrance. I was introduced on the PA as “Nurse Nipples” (the name that pay web site put with my nude pictures). I realized then that if I were going to enjoy this I had to stop thinking of myself as a nurse and a mother and become a mindless blonde bimbo. On my way to the mat I pulled my top down to flash the men on the isle, and then repeated the process in the opposite direction. Each whoop and whistle from the crowd brought another wave of hormones splashing across my brain and soon these waves washed the career woman right out of me. I gradually became a mindless sex object whose only purpose was to be admired and desired. Honestly, I was getting aroused.
I was the first to come out and had to pace around on the mat while the referee went to get my opponent. He said my sunglasses were not allowed and took them. The mat felt spongy beneath my bare feet and I had trouble keeping my balance. One of the men called out “Hey Nipples, loved your pictures.” I put my arms up in the air and shook my chest in his direction like a stripper, which got a group of them screaming. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it didn’t matter. I had turned a bunch of men into salivating animals by merely shaking my breasts in their direction and I loved it.
The music came up louder as my opponent, Wanda, was introduced. She was about my age, a few inches taller and much less endowed than me on top. She had wide hips and big thighs and a noticeable belly. At one time she had been pretty but now the only thing going for her was her long red hair. No offense to people who live in trailer parks, but she looked like a piece of trailer park trash who really needed the money.
She was trying to look sexy in her mostly see-through black, body-stocking outfit with a cheap leopard skin thong bikini underneath. The see-through was a bad fashion choice given her odd figure and several visible scars. One side of her hair was all frizzed out as if she had just passed by static electricity. As she took her position on the mat, I noticed she probably hadn’t done her finger or toe nails in a year except by chewing them. Her red-orange lipstick was smeared over the edges of her lips as if she were drunk when she put it on. She was wearing gloves that ran up to her elbow.
I complained to the referee that her gloves were unfair because they were something extra I had to strip from her to win. The referee agreed and made her take them off. She got mad and began swearing at me as she threw them in my face. This scared me, but the men loved the spectacle. I could barely hear the referee over my opponent’s cursing and the crowd’s clamoring for Wanda to “rip my boobs off.” I felt like a gladiator after the lions had been let loose. There I was: a professional head nurse with her summer cocktail dress and cute matching red toenails, trimmed blonde hair and spa treated skin; facing off against Welfare Wanda who looked as if she had spent the last few nights sleeping in a cardboard box, and who only needed to cram my broken nude body into a pool of oil to get more money than she’d ever seen before in her life.
Things Don’t Go As Planned
When the match started I put my plan into motion. I ducked under Wanda’s arms and grabbed her calf trying to pull her off balance, but she dug her foot into the mat and her leg was too strong for me to dislodge. She kneed me in the head with her free leg and I lost my hold. Then she bent over my back and grabbed the bottom of my dress and tried to pull it off over my head. The tight elastic from my dress got stuck in my bra and around my chest and shoulders as planned, but now I was bent over at my waist with the bottom of my dress pulled over my head so I couldn’t see. This was not what I planned. Worse yet the dress pinned my arms straight out over my head so I couldn’t move them. We began a comical dance that had all the men laughing and making comments about my rear end. She was swinging me around in circles by the bottom of my inside-out dress and I was bent over with the rear of my exposed panties facing the audience.
This went on for a while as I tried to keep my footing, but I got dizzy and the mat was so bouncy that I lost my footing and fell flat on my back. I couldn’t see or use my arms while that dress stayed on me, so all I could think of was wiggling out of it. I didn’t even think about how most of my body was lying exposed on the mat. Suddenly I felt Wanda’s knee land with full force on my solar plexus as if she had jumped into the air before coming down on this very vulnerable area.
She knocked the wind out of me and I doubled over and turned on my side struggling to breathe. She stepped on my dress which kept my arms pinned and then pulled and tugged at my panties. She got me on my back with my legs in the air and after some yanking and tugging she managed to work my panties off. I was too busy trying to breathe to be able to put up much resistance. Although I couldn’t see, from the huge shout that went up, I think she must have thrown my panties into the crowd.
Then she dragged me all over the mat on my back using her hold on my inside-out dress. I still was struggling to breathe normally again. The men were making fun of me and cheering as she dragged my bottomless body past each of the front rows. I tried to escape by bending my knees, planting my feet and arching my back and the crowd shouted things like “whoo, give us more pink baby.” I then realized what I must be showing in my bottomless state, but surprisingly the comments gave me distinct thrill.
Finally my dress came off over my head as Wanda pulled. I was left laid out on the mat wearing just my bra and gasping like a fish out of water. Wanting to avoid another knee drop I flipped over on my stomach as Wanda circled back. She then stood with one foot on my naked rear and one foot on my head, driving my face into the mat. She twirled my dress over her head several times and then flung it into the audience.
She then dropped herself down hard on my back, straddling me and facing my rear end. She began spanking my exposed cheeks in rhythm to the music that was playing on the PA as if she were playing two bongo drums. I wiggled and kicked trying to escape, but she had me pinned down. The more I cried and thrashed my legs and arms the more the crowd squealed with a sadistic glee. I heard one guy yell “Hey Nipples, I like your bright red ass better than your bright red dress,” so I guess my cheeks looked as sore as they felt. It was at this point I admitted to myself that I could not win. Perhaps more perplexing, however, I admitted to myself for the first time that I was getting a distinct sexual charge out of my role as a helpless loser.
After turning my backside bright red, my opponent must have sensed that the audience had become bored with the spanking thing. So she turned herself around, grabbed the back of my bra and stood up with her legs planted on either side of me. When my bra refused to come off as she expected, she used it to pull me around the mat instead. As she pulled the back of my bra toward my head it caught like a huge rubber band under my armpits so that my arms were pushed forward and dangling uselessly. I mostly crawled on my knees as she pulled me along, with my arms dangling in the air, but when I slipped she just kept dragging me around by my lycra bra. The men near the mat were all taunting me mercilessly as I crawled or was dragged by them in Wanda’s grasp, helplessly wiggling my trapped arms in a futile attempt to stop her.
Then through all the noise came an organized chant of “Wanda, Wanda, Wanda” from a group of men in one corner of the mat. She dragged me over to that corner and turned my body to face them. She dug her foot into the small of my back and pulled my bra back in one hand and my hair back in the other. This curved my back and lifted my chest way off the mat. My breasts suddenly popped out of what partial coverage they had and the bra sprung up on my arms and under my neck, pinning my arms up near my ears. My fully exposed breasts were now inches from the knees of the men in one of the front rows and my chin was practically on their laps with my arms trapped up over my head.
One of the men in the front row grabbed my face by the cheek as if I were a naughty child. “Do you know what we do with losers like you Nipples?” he taunted, using my cheek to shake my head side to side. Meanwhile his friend sitting next to him reached down and pinched one of my nipples (now quite erect) between his fingers and used it to wiggle my breast wildly from side to side and then up and down, to the delight of everyone around him. “You belong to us now Nipples,” he chimed in, “these luscious titties are ours now, right?” His friend then made my head nod up and down in a “Yes” motion by pulling my cheek. It was against the rules for the men to touch me but everyone I saw was too busy enjoying my plight to put a stop to this degrading little play.
The rest of the crowd was now screaming for my bra. So my opponent pulled me away from my tormentors and flipped me over on my back. Holding my elbows on the mat, she repeatedly bounced on my armpits with her knees. I could not believe how this stunned me. Each time she hit my underarms, it sent shock waves through my whole body, my legs jolted into the air by reflex and I squealed. Some of the audience began to imitate my helpless squeal to make fun of me and the rest demanded more punishment. Finally, when Wanda saw I was unable to put up any more resistance, she got off me, came around and yanked my bra over my head and off my motionless arms.
She put a foot on one of my breasts while twirling my bra over her head, but this time she did not toss it into the crowd. Instead, she was so confident she began to walk around the edges of the mat twirling my bra in the air and working the crowd into frenzy as everyone was begging for her to toss it in their direction. I just laid there spread eagle on the mat stunned and barely moving while the men alternated between begging Wanda for my bra and asking her to drag my helpless body closer to them.
Wanda came back, grabbed one of my wrists, pulled me up to my feet and twisted my arm behind my back, thrusting my chest out toward the crowd. She then twisted my arm higher as she walked me slowly around the outside of the mat, and up and down the two center aisles, putting me on display for the crowd. The men were on their feet now straining their necks to view the completely nude loser. As I was paraded by them they made propositions about what they wanted to do with me and gave the “thumbs down” signal. If I had enjoyed being a helpless loser before, I had plenty to enjoy now!
My opponent took a few more victory laps around the edge of the mat with me squirming nude and helpless in her grasp. She paused occasionally to entertain the crowd by wiggling select parts of my captive body in front of them, and sometimes rubbing my breasts up against some of the men seated in the front rows. The impatient crowd then began the chant of “Dunk her, dunk her, oil her up, oil her up.”
Wanda then escorted me by my twisted arm over to the pool of oil and the audience began to edge toward the pool to get a glimpse of my final humiliation. She pushed me down on my knees, and with my arm still twisted behind me, grabbed my hair and dunked my head into the oil holding my face under for what seemed like forever. When she finally let me up I gasped for air and no sooner had I gotten a breath then she pushed my head back under the oil again and this time for a longer stay.
Once she had done this a few times she jumped back and screamed that she had gotten oil on her and if it happened again she was going to drown me. To avoid her wrath I slowly crawled into the pool on my own so she wouldn’t have to get oil on her by dragging me in. As my legs passed over the edge of the pool, Wanda picked up my ankles and pushed me down head first into the oil. When my head popped back up she began barking orders. “Roll over bitch. Roll yourself in that slime like the rich pig you are.” I rolled my nude body over and over again in the oil, to the absolute delight of the men. Wanda stood victoriously by the pool with her arms in the air exalting the crowd to “Look at the pathetic loser rolling her own self in the oil! And I ain’t even touching her!”