Dress Off Sasha vs Tara Part 1
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Dress Off: Sasha Vs Tara (Part 2) free porn video
Tara finally reached the public toilets in a bad mood, worrying the entire way that Sasha had worked out the clue before her. Tara had already passed this way before but stupidly hadn’t made the connection, a fact she berated herself at length about until a wave of satisfaction overcame her as she spotted the DE logo on a cleaning notice by the entrance to the public toilets. Tara had taken the lead in the clues now, and she quietly savoured the thought that she was halfway to humiliating Sasha Sinclair and finally winning this feud once and for all. She even stopped worrying about her breasts for a moment, even though they were so obviously poking out of her top and had already caused one man to walk into a postbox while craning his neck to get a better view. This game wasn’t so bad so far, and Tara was sure that Sasha was suffering worse than her. She scanned over the next clue.
“Clue number 4 may even the score, or leave someone in the nude. Whatever it be, make haste to see where one should never be so rude.”
Tara started jogging away in a random direction, temporarily lost as to any idea as to where to go next. Within a minute, she heard a short crackle in her earpiece that heralded the voice. What the hell? Sasha could only have received the clue less than thirty seconds ago. How could she have reached the next clue already? Tara was damn sure she hadn’t run afoul of the penalty system again. Surely enlisting the help of the hapless Robert hadn’t helped her actively solve the clue. Pedantic assholes!
“Miss Tennyson, you may be interested to learn that Miss Sinclair has, regretfully, suffered her second penalty. This effectively makes you three to one up in the clues. A lady so quick on the arithmetic as yourself will undoubtedly realise you are precisely one clue away from victory. Of course, fight-backs have been known to happen, Miss Tennyson, so I wouldn’t get carried away too much just yet.” The voice disappeared as quickly as it had come, before Tara had even had a chance to reply.
Tara felt a thrill of exhilaration. One clue to go! If only she could figure this one out, Sasha “Slut” Sinclair would be down for the count. Hell, it would almost be worth... Tara slowly smiled as a devious thought jumped to the forefront of her mind. She turned towards the biggest crowd of men she could see on the streets, readjusted her already skin-tight top to best show off her remarkable assets, and flashed her most outgoing smile. Tara was just full of good ideas today.
*****
Sasha couldn’t help let out a small shriek of horror as her anguished mind tried to process what was happening. Only moments after the voice had cheerfully broken the bad news of Tara’s recent success, and solemnly relayed the details of the next clue, her white top had once again begun to shrink. Last time, it had shrunk from decently baggy to indecently tight. Now, however, there was no more slack for it to take up around her taut upper body, and Sasha watched on helplessly as the shirt constricted around the chest, torso and back. Around her, pedestrians at the crossing looked on in surprise as this young woman seemed to contort as the pressure of the shirt made her double over, suddenly finding it difficult to breath. However, the shirt’s stitching was no match for Sasha’s beautifully formed athletic body, and Sasha’s breathing soon returned to normal. The terrible price for that relief though, was the inevitable tearing of the material over the shoulders and down her sides. With the twin fears of exposure versus being penalised for interfering with the outfit both competing for Sasha’s attention, the shirt finally broke and slid gracefully down to the pavement at Sasha’s feet. Sasha involuntarily let out a yelp as her red sports bra, nipples still blatantly poking through, was revealed to the entire viewing public. The embarrassment was even worse as cars began to honk as they drove past, with more than a few whistles joining the general background noise of the city streets.
Some pedestrians couldn’t help letting out a nervous titter, others just pointed and stared, and more than a few mobile phones were whipped out, cameras engaged. Sasha didn’t even bother waiting for the green pedestrian light, but dashed across the street in the next break in traffic, trying to focus on the next clue ahead and ignore the fact that she was now bouncing down the street in what may have been bra and panties for all the discretion they provided.
Sasha now knew that she had to get to the next clue first. Anything else would be game over, and as acute embarrassment welled up inside of her, she couldn’t help but contemplate what could possibly be worse than this.
*****
The Cathedral! Of course, a place where someone should never be rude! The realisation struck Sasha Sinclair like a thunderbolt as she racked her mind for the millionth time about the last clue. Of course, it could be any old Church, Synagogue or Mosque, but Sasha was getting the sense that Decider Enterprises didn’t do things by half, and the Cathedral was the largest place of worship in the City. Sasha also knew exactly where it was, and raced on, her red bra announcing her imminent passage to everyone she passed from at least a block away. Sasha was even beginning to gather an entourage of fellow runners, who were doing well to both run and point their mobile phone cameras at Sasha’s tight ass as it sped along the streets.
Sasha was completely on edge now. Not just because of her misbehaving, vibrating bra, and the incredibly self-conscious nature of her beautiful derriere, but because she was aching to get to the Cathedral before the earpiece broke into life one last, fateful time.
As she turned a corner, she saw the spire of the Cathedral straining towards the sky, slightly out of place amongst the far more modern skyscrapers that surrounded it. There was a limousine parked outside, and that was just one of a number of very expensive vehicles scattered around it. Sasha dashed on, compelling her now tired legs to one last exertion, to keep her in the game one clue longer.
No sign of Tara! No sign of that smug bitch! No self-satisfied announcements from the earpiece as she arrived at the Cathedral steps. A wedding was clearly in progress inside, and Sasha desperately cast around the outside for something that looked like the next clue. She couldn’t help but steal the occasional glance over her shoulder to see if Tara was hot on her heels, and when she couldn’t see her coming down the street in either direction, Sasha permitted herself a slight feeling of calmness. There was still the matter of finding the clue, and still the undeniable fact that she was standing outside a prominent religious landmark in a sports bra and glorified panties. But she was about to even up the ledger a little, and Sasha pushed on determinedly.
It was then that she noticed the figure hanging back in the shadows of an alcove by the entrance to the Cathedral. A figure that looked all the world like a twenty-odd year old female. It was then that she heard a voice come from the figure, a voice that she instantly recognised with absolute, undiluted dread.
“Hey Sasha. Short time, no see. Of course, now I’m seeing more than enough of you to make up for those precious few minutes of together time we missed out on!”
Tara Tennyson stepped out of the shadows, smirking.
As Sasha began to grasp what she was seeing, she couldn’t help but notice that Tara had also lost her yellow baggy shorts, and was now wearing the skin tight shirt and pants that Sasha herself had sported an entire clue back. That outfit now looked positively prudish to Sasha, even though a mere fifteen minutes ago it had been the cause of acute self-consciousness.
The voice once again sprang into life, this time in both Sasha and Tara’s earpieces.
“Ladies. Well played both of you. Sasha, I’m sure you’re wondering about Tara’s predicament clothing-wise, and perhaps slightly more on how she beat you to the clue. Well, it turns out, Miss Sinclair, that you were entirely right to consider Miss Tennyson a blatant cheat, and she is certainly one of the most devious players of this game that we’ve ever had the pleasure of penalising. Please rest assured, Miss Sinclair, that Miss Tennyson was greatly reprimanded for asking a group of innocent bystanders to solve the latest clue for her, and that her yellow sports shorts were consigned to the scrap heap without delay!”
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 down four to two, 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 its inevitable finale. Eyes tightly closed, trying to ignore her immediate surroundings - and 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 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. She 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 were 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 move, really - but 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 helped two such upstanding citizens as yourselves to 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 gaining 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. With them 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 that our business is 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 been 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 guests within that announced the arrival onto the steps outside of the highest and mightiest of the City’s elite.
Sasha Sinclair, topless, bottomless, unable to cover anything, and now with a simple helpless, nervous smile on her face, looked out at her admiring audience. “Ah. Hi everyone!”
*****
Stacey Shackleton arrived back at her apartment at 7:00 p.m., 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 is always on the lookout 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!”
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