4 comments/ 140795 views/ 9 favorites Tale of a Lost Bet Ch. 01 By: attorneylady This story is true. All names and Id’s have been altered. The story is, however, quite quite accurate. It involves my very real experience with an online competitor known as Lizspicy. Before I get into it, I should give a little background about myself. In real life, I am 34, divorced, a lawyer in Texas, and someone that if you met on the street or in our corporate offices, would give no indication of this double life. I am always impeccably and conservatively dressed. My hair is just shoulder length and of an ash blonde that I maintain with biweekly trips to the salon. This is a sensitive secret that is betrayed by other hair color contrasts evident when I am undressed. My makeup is always tastefully applied and understated. I am ever the professional, though I know there is a great deal of sexual speculation about me based on my very voluptuous and busty build. I am uncomfortable with that and in an effort to quell it, downplay my figure with wardrobe, and maintain an icy, if not “bitchy” demeanor. This terrifies my counterparts and has most hating me even if they stare or comment behind my back. I don’t want to make myself sound too horrid. These measures are simply defensive measures, and I do not want to imply that men are the most profound offenders. The truth is that when it comes to cruelty, and vindictiveness women are far more talented at taking each other down socially that any man could imagine. So that brings us to my current situation. I was at home one evening with my feet propped on the coffee table, the laptop, where one would expect it by its title, and an old movie on the TV. I was bored, terrifically so. I habitually work long hours and had been spending more of my leisure time pursuing the new horizons of instant messaging and chat. I found it fascinating, the variety of interests openly proclaimed and the virtually unfiltered natures of those “personalities” that could be encountered. On that evening, I came upon the very large interest group related to combative and competitive women. While it was very apparent that some were poor charades by men, some were clearly women like myself. Now I am extremely competitive, and often find myself argumentatively engaged with people, especially other women, and before I know it a situation has escalated to a cut-throat match-up. I had added my yahoo ID to a group featuring “fit executive women”, “women in Mensa”, and one involving “combative women”, specifically women who wrestle each other. I was particularly intrigued by the intensity of the emotion communicated by these groups. I was in the process of browsing a couple of these when a conversation window popped up with an invitation from what turned out to be a very aggressive Asian woman who lived in the Florida Keys. Her opening remarks were rude and challenging. She also had a real issue with blondes. I bantered with her and amused myself with working her into a frenzy before “ignoring” her. It was great. Online you could say whatever you chose, what you really thought, what you really wanted to say in the real world, but never could, at say, the office. In short, one could be brassy, sassy, bold, boastful, and a complete bitch. I loved it immediately! It was about a week later, when I was on again, that another conversation box popped up with the invitation to chat. Her name was Lizspicy. I quickly scanned her profile to see if I even wanted to reply. Almost within seconds I knew I would. The picture showed a pretty, but hostile-looking Latin woman in her late twenties or early thirties. She had opened with a comment that almost literally steamed. It said, “You look like just the perfect patrician type!” Initially I liked her spunkiness in spite of the fact that I did think her a tad rude. We talked about alma maters, personal preferences, and general matters of style, professions, and then she brought it up. Her first comment had to do with something she had read about a little known statistic in Cosmopolitan saying most women born blonde were ultimately brunettes. She added that in her experience, from seeing a lot of “blondes” changing, she found it to be true. She finished by voicing her incredulity about why any woman would want to fake that. I let it go. Then she offered another comment about the effects of hair dye on cells in the body. “Perhaps”, she offered, “that explained the devastating effect on a blonde’s intellect.” Now I am sharp, and part Italian, AND a Leo, and that comment was just too much to tolerate. “Well maybe,” I countered, “the loss of a few brain cells was a small price to play to avoid looking mousy and ordinary, and besides, in my case it still leaves a large enough margin of IQ to out think any brunette.” There was a pause. The response was hot even without the use of capitol letters. “I knew a blonde Leo once,” she wrote. “Roared like a lioness, but was really just a squalling little pussy…cat when push came to shove.” I was boiling! This bitch had gone way over the line. “Well honey,” I wrote, “ this lioness has both claws and fangs…speaking astrologically, what the hell are you?” “Mom of two, happily married, health care professional, Cuban-American, college graduate, member of Mensa, and…. a Scorpio.” “You left out victim of blonde envy.” There was a pause. “I guess push is pretty much coming to shove, then.” She wrote. “Anytime.” I fired back. Tale of a Lost Bet Ch. 02 This is all true. Names, ID's have been changed. "Well if you mean it," she replied, "then maybe the next time my husband and I are in Dallas, we can see just who is the best woman." "Better woman." I corrected. We continued haggling, jabbing at one another verbally until it was time to log off. I realized by the clock that the past four hours had passed like twenty minutes. Even so, I was now more riled than before. I indulged myself with consideration about what I would like to do to the arrogant witch. As I have explained, I have tendency toward a really bitchy streak at times. Whatever ended up happening, "Liz" needed to learn a little something about class structure. That meant embarrassment. For most women, myself included, there are few things that are more demeaning than catty control by another woman, and being exposed. There is something about the shock of having your clothing, your protective shell, representative of financial and social standing, suddenly taken from you, or worse, ripped off in public. It is demotion, disclosure of one's most intimate secrets and the loss of privacy that humiliates more than anything else. That is what I wanted her to experience from the perspective of the underside of my thumb. So a plan began to take form, as I imagined the look on her face when I won. She had, after all, issued nothing less than a challenge, really. We had met online because of a mutual interest in femme competition (wrestling actually), so what I came up with naturally, seemed to follow. She quickly agreed, the next time we logged on. As I am new to the concept of wrestling another woman, I was careful to assure that I would retain the privilege of setting the rules. Liz agreed, but wanted the right to determine wardrobe and stakes. I made sure she understood that there would be no biting, hitting the face, (she agreed, but wanted an allowance for a light slap to be permitted and I agreed) no scratching, and no punching. At her suggestion, we both agreed to stripping, spanking, some slapping, hair pulling, taunting, and that the winner would be determined by a pin or a submission. The match would be decided by the best of three falls. We both agreed that significant others could watch. In fact the count for a pin would have to be made by her husband if she were pinned, and my boyfriend for me. She agreed. I watched as she typed and what popped up in the message bar took me back for a second. The wardrobe, she had written, would consist of string, side-tie, (free tie, no knots) bikinis. She also stipulated that they would be Brazilian bottoms. For those that are not "in-the-know", a "Braz" offers only a little more coverage than a rio style bottom, which offers a little more than a thong. It is also generally a low-rise and can be very low-rise if a side-tie. They are not, generally speaking, my first choice, especially since the narrow back coverage seems to easily get caught in between one's cheeks, as it were. In fact that very phenomenon is known crassly as having one's "Daddy in jail". Still, I had agreed and typed my assurance, even as I planned for a major bikini wax. She continued writing, "And as for the stakes, I think someone could use a lesson in humility, dear." "Funny, I couldn't agree with you more, although I'm sure you don't necessarily have the same pupil in mind that I do." " Well, if you agree, then for stakes, I want you at my beck and call until I leave town. When I win, you are going to follow orders. If I decide you need to revive that seventies tradition of streaking, then you will sprint with your goodies on display until I say stop. You will dress the way I instruct and if I take a sudden notion to do a little garment removal, well, you just might find yourself suddenly without something! So....still game?" I have to admit, I was taken aback. What she was describing was the worst sort of embarrassment that I could imagine. At the same time, it was exactly the sort of thing I wanted to dole out to the bitch. "Well, " I replied, "I assume you are willing to put up the same, when I win?" "Oh, absolutely, Blondie!" "Well then," I wrote, "may I suggest that we do this on a Friday so that I will have all day and night on Saturday to humiliate you." She typed an LOL and agreed. She wanted a hotel suite reserved for the actual match, as it would be a neutral site and the loser could pick up the cost. I am generally very careful, I am a corporate attorney after all, but the opportunity to do this to that cocky wench was just too attractive. We traded phone numbers. I gave an office line for the resident's courtesy line of my condominium complex. Then we agreed upon a time to talk. It was understood that she would provide her cell number after the initial conversation. It was a Saturday, and fortunately that meant that I had a good shot at privacy during my call. I let myself into the main office from the resident's side found the courtesy phone not in use and waited. As luck would have it, the phone rang just as another resident, a woman I did not know, entered to access the property's request book for maintenance. I had no choice, even though I wasn't thrilled at talking to Liz with others around, so I picked up the receiver. "Hello" I said. "Dianne? It's Liz. Can you talk?" "Uh, actually," I stammered still eyeing the woman who was now writing in the book, " not entirely freely." She chuckled, the bitch. "Oh perfect. Embarrassing isn't it. Uncomfortable, huh? I mumbled an affirmation. "Well, this will be a little taste of what you can expect when you lose." She laughed again. She had a voice that was sort of an alto with a touch of Latin lilt. She was enjoying my inability to fire back fully. The woman finished with the request and left the book on the property manager's desk, and headed out of the office allowing me better expression. "Oh my dear," I said angrily, "you have no idea how I am going to love taking you down." When she spoke next, her tone had changed slightly. It was abundantly clear that there was some serious potential for a major blow-out between us. "Tell ya what" she said, "how about we start the payoff on the stakes the very second the match ends? It will end when Michael and I leave town." "You have a deal." "Now about the hotel, we like luxury, and since you will be ultimately paying...?" "I'll book the Adam's Mark. " I wrote. We settled on the next Friday, six days away. With the both of us comfortable that we were what we claimed, we exchanged "real" phone numbers. Over the next several days, we exchanged taunts, and learned more about each other. The more I learned, the more I realized how much I was going to enjoy embarrassing her. She was really cocky, and emboldened by the fact that often when we spoke, I was at my desk, and because of the proximity to other people, could not fully engage her outrageous boasts and claims. Every morning when I came into work there would be a message waiting with an admonition that time was counting down and "humility" was nearly due. I retaliated by leaving messages on her cell, with predictions about a soccer mom stripped bare in front of "God and everybody". Her next step was to begin the escalating war of email. The messages started off bragging, but soon were accompanied by pictures of brunettes either pinning or, if she was in a particularly nasty mood, stripping a blonde. 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." Tale of a Lost Bet Ch. 04 All names and ID's have been changed. Liz laughed and loosened her hold. As she stood, she reached back and gave my bottom an insulting spank. I got to my feet slowly and noticed that the triangle top I was wearing had shifted so that one of my breasts was exposed. I blushed and tucked it back in the uncooperative top. She noticed and grinned at me. "Losing control in more ways than one, huh?" I glared at her, my temper now building. "One more fall and I own you." she said. I was still breathing hard. The futile struggling I had done with her on my back was still having its effect. My hair was a mess, and I was red-faced. As I had mentioned, I was new to this sort of thing. I am in good shape, but not some extreme hardbody. It was pretty clear that during the previous round I had exerted far more effort than she. Given the extremely low rise of the bottom I was wearing, my belly breathing seemed a bit more exaggerated. Liz saw an opportunity, pointed, and said, "Well, well, maybe you should have gotten in a little better shape before messing with me." It was infuriating, but I was so winded I could not fully respond. She sensed the weakness and announced "Round two." I took a step toward her, cautiously this time. We circled for a second. Then she moved just to my left and quickly darted past. For an instant, I thought it was a curious thing to do. All I could imagine that she was trying to accomplish was to get behind me for another hold. I was having none of that and had just begun to turn when I felt the sharp tug across my hips. I looked down and saw, to my horror, the tie on the side of my bottom under increasing tension. The free end was clamped in her hand and she was pulling for all she was worth. One ear of the loop disappeared and the tiny flap of fabric, that was my only coverage down there, fell away. I gasped and reflexively dropped my hands to grab the escaping material, and to cover what was becoming more public by the microsecond. It was exactly the response Liz had hoped for. "Whoa!" she said in reference to the sudden flash of black-brown that had momentarily shown between my legs, and added, " Someone's got a vicious little secret." Immediately I began trying to gather in the loose ties to refasten them. Because of my desperation, I completely forgot to keep track of what Liz was doing, and I was just beginning to cross the strings, when I felt the horrifyingly familiar tug on the ties of my top at the bas of my neck and middle of my back. Before I could react, the top was untied. I abandoned the thought of retying the bottoms, holding it in place with one hand, while grabbed to keep my breasts from being completely bared. My efforts were not completely successful. My top was yanked away and tossed to the far end of the room. If I had a smaller bust, I might have been able to cover, but with my anatomy it was impossible. My breasts were in full view and my hugging at them only made for a ridiculously jiggling presentation. The cool air hit my thick nipples and they reacted. I blushed furiously as Liz's husband laughed and hooted and said, "My God, Palominos!" What was worse was that it elicited a laugh from my boyfriend. I have to say, that at this point, wrestling was the farthest thing from my mind. It was, however, precisely what Liz was thinking about. Even as I was struggling with the losing options of modesty, she was lining up for the kill. A well-placed kick to the back of my knees, pitched me face forward toward the carpet. I caught myself with my hands, but the forceful landing onto all fours, made a humiliatingly bouncy display of my chest. Remembering the last outcome and forgetting my dignity, I scrambled out of the prone position, turning to face her while still on my knees. The move played straight into her hands. She moved on me, forcing me onto my back. Swiftly she shifted so the she was lying across my body. In that position I was flat on my back with one leg twisted behind me. I lunged up to swing it free, and she caught it with an arm. Her other arm encircled my neck. Before I could react, she locked hands, bending me into a pretzel. The worst part was that one leg was pulled upward almost to my chin, while the other was still stretched out. She rolled me onto my shoulderblades, and I felt the bikini bottom slip from between my legs. There was a sudden draft, and I realized that she had me in a spread pose beyond my control. I heard laughter and an exclamation of "Jesus". I closed my eyes as I heard her husband counting the pin. I struggled weakly as he counted, "One, two……three" and then she let go. I slumped back into a slightly less open posture and then started to sit up. She stopped me with a foot against my chest. I looked up at her and it occurred to me that she was not even breathing hard. She was also still completely dressed. It had been a total rout. I felt defeated, and couldn't imagine that it could not have been a worse defeat, until she spoke those four words, that if I live to be a hundred, I will never forget. "Now, about our bet." I drew a breath, devastated, wondering what ever she could have in store for me. "Yes," I said, "you won." I thought if I made my declaration of loss dignified, like a good concession speech, she might just take that as enough and not push the issue. "I know I won." She laughed. "Now what does that mean?" I was suddenly incredibly aware that I was the only one undressed in the room. The thermostat had kicked in a new round of air conditioning, and that may have had something to do with it. I realized what she wanted from me. "I have to do as you say." "As I ORDER." She corrected. "As you order." I said. "Okay, you can stand up." She stepped back. I stood up and tied the bottoms. The top was a step or two away and I picked it up before gathering myself into the flimsy cloth cups and tied behind my neck and under my left arm. There wasn't much to the suit, but somehow having those arts covered again, made me feel better. She left me standing there as she wandered back into the bedroom. "I'm going to change into something a little more appropriate. This really is way too revealing, you know." She said shooting me a derisive look. I went completely red and stood there, as she was gone, for what seemed forever. When she returned, she was wearing pale blue cotton pants and a sleeveless button up shirt. It was stylish, casual, and conservative. Seeing her dressed just heightened my awareness at the lack of clothing I had on. What was far more disturbing was the look on her face and my gaping bag, that held the outfit she would have been forced to wear and the ping-pong paddle, in her left hand. She had an empty ice bucket in her right. Her left eyebrow rose effectively. "Well, well, well, interesting contents in the bag. Seems you had something really terrible planned for me." A shiver of dread passed through me. "And now," she continued, "it looks like you're the one that will be on the receiving end, won't you?" She waited for an answer. "Yes." I said. "Uh huh, well, right now, I'm thirsty. You didn't really make me work too hard, but I want a drink anyway. And we don't have any ice." She held out the ice bucket toward me. I took it dreading what was coming, hoping I was wrong. "Be a good little, jiggling pet and get us a bucket of ice." I cringed at the term pet. It held to many unpleasant connotations. She walked over and gave me a push toward the door. I couldn't really believe that I was going to have to walk out into the hall and hunt for the ice machine in that obscene bikini. I would be jiggling, and so much of me would be bouncing, wobbling, and giving evidence of every move, that I almost couldn't stand the thought. I hated her. She was enjoying this too much, the bitch. I had vowed to myself to keep my mouth shut, but she was so smug. "Fine." I said with all the defiance, I could muster. It did not last. She opened the door and I saw the hallway, the vastness of it, the distance I would have to travel. The reality of the situation poured in as if from outside, and I faltered. In spite of my pride, I was overcome. "Please," I said. "I can't go out there in this. Someone could see me and I would just die." I hated myself for begging her, but the idea of anyone seeing me in next to nothing would be too much. She shocked me. Her voice changed. "I understand." she said sympathetically. "It is next-to-nothing. Let's see. I know what we can do about the bikini." In a sudden move she grabbed the ties and whipped it off my body. All of the sudden, I was facing the hallway holding an ice bucket completely in the raw. I was too stunned too move. "There." She said happily, "Now you don't have to worry about being seen in it." She gave me a quick shove out into the foyer as the door closed and the sound of her laughter muffled behind it. Tale of a Lost Bet Ch. 06 I have to tell you that it has been rather embarrassing and difficult for me to tell this story. It was an experiment in indulging the curiosity about wrestling another woman and went wildly awry. Given how many of you have asked, yes, it happened, and I do have to tell everything. With that said, here is the aftermath. I crawled into the hotel room my breasts swinging and swaying back and forth as I progressed. In that position their full weight was even more evident than normal. I burned with shame. Worse still, I could not crawl smoothly across the carpet and every move was translated to jiggling motion in my chest and completely exposed bottom. "Honey, you need to firm up a little there. No wonder I won so easily." Said Liz. She walked around and stood in front of me, one hand on her hip. It was such a superior stance. I simply could not look up at her for long and kept my head down. "I mean really!" She licked her lips and grinned. When she spoke it was in a modified baby talk like she was talking to her dog. "All that jiggle...Oh honey!" She stepped around me as if inspecting and paused behind me. "Maybe it just seems there is so much of you because, there is just...so...little hair." She giggled. "Of course, what is there, is so... telling." I hated her and there was nothing I could do but endure it. My pride wanted to fire back immediately and tell her where she could go, but the recent taste of what she was capable of making me do was a great deterrent. I held my tongue. The one thing I did not dare do was provoke this Latin monster. "Now, I want you to turn toward Michael and give him a little waggle." Her voice was musical with delight. I crawled around to face him, but only just got started when she stopped me with an outburst. No, you ditz. Jesus, maybe you are a blond down deep despite that black muff." She said the nest sentence viciously spacing the words. "Turn your pussy toward Michael and give him a little waggle." I blushed. Another deliberate accentuation of my very-waxed kitty and more. I moved around so that he had a completely open view of my most private area, and then after a preparatory breath, swiveled my hips. I heard a chuckle and then her voice again saying, "Well, my little pet can really wag her tail." From my vantage point I could just see my own boyfriend from the perspective of the beltline down. It was evident that my denigration was making him hard. I looked up at him. He was smiling and blushing at the same time. I knew what it was. He had only known me as the very together, socially dominant, established, respectable attorney. I am from an established and powerful family. I was the original princess on a pedestal as far as he had ever known. Now I was stark naked, out of control, and at the mercy of a disrespectful and dangerously imaginative woman. I wondered what impact the rest of this evening would have on our relationship. I did not have long to consider it. She knelt down in front of me so that she could see my face, and realized I had looked at my boyfriend. From her squatting position she looked back over her shoulder at him and then back at me. There was a terrible light of inspiration on her face. "You know, that little romp in the hallway was just a little, teeny, tiny sample of what you are going to do." I think I may have actually looked away from her face at that. I know I blushed even more deeply. As a professional negotiator, I knew that I had betrayed a critical weakness in doing so, but she had touched upon my deepest fear and greatest potential for humiliation. She read it perfectly, and worse she was smarter than I had anticipated. I looked back in time to see her look at her husband and smile and wink. "I could be convinced to show you mercy. I could just let you get up so that your tits aren't hanging nearly to the carpet, and let you get up and put on something to cover up your own little liar's carpet down there, and you could go back to your superior little life and pretend none of this ever happened, but..." She hesitated for effect. "...that will all depend on how good a boyfriend you have there." I looked up at her uncertain. I shot a glance at my boyfriend who seemed stunned as well. The answer came soon enough. "Someone is going to have to be humiliated. Someone is going to have to learn the ultimate humility. Either it is going to continue to be you and your soon to be famous tits and waxed asshole and pussy, or...your boyfriend there can get down on his knees and blow Michael." There it was. I was stunned. I looked at my boyfriend. The expression on his face was one of shock as well. What he did not know was that it was a bluff. That explained the wink, I had seen. It was a test. If he agreed to do it, she would be able to laugh at him and his sexuality would be questioned. If he refused then she would accuse him of contributing to my treatment, which I now realized, based on her thought processes, was going to be unrelenting and terrible. John looked at her. His jaw dropped and he was clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed. Seconds passed and he did not say a thing. "Well, big guy, what is your answer? You going to suck cock or is Miss Big Tits...Miss...Udders, going to have to do whatever I say in front of anybody?" It was masterful, awful, but masterful. He looked at me apologetically and the down as he shook his head. "Oh no, sugar. Not that easy. You have to say, Miss Udders has to do it." He looked at me and without saying anything, his eyes spoke the apology. "Miss Big...Miss Udders has to do it." She grinned and stood up. "Okay...well sweetie..." I heard her walk around behind me and rummage in a bag. "...stand up and face the window." I climbed to my feet and turned. There before me was the city, I in many ways held some dominion over, at least professionally, spread out below me. The only difference was that I was stripped of both my power and clothing as I faced it. Liz walked around in front of me and smiled. Between her fingers she was twirling the ping pong paddle. "This was not going to be used for ping-pong. I know you planned to use it on me in front of my husband and your boyfriend. Well, bitch, guess what?" I almost gasped. Before I had time to say a thing, she gave an order. "Okay, feet shoulder's width apart." I accommodated her. "Now, bend over and grab your ankles. And keep those knees perfectly straight." Numbly I lowered the upper part of my body and reached down to grasp around my ankles. "That's right," she said, "just like the view you gave those people in the hall." It was all I could do to stifle the groan. The gust of the air conditioner suddenly made me aware of how proffered my bare lips really were. Liz walked up behind me and I felt the rubbery surface of the paddle pressed firmly against my bottom. Liz rocked it and it pressed against my lips as well. It was disturbing and powerfully sexual. "Now, you be a good girl and do exactly as I say, or it will go on and on. Understand?" she whispered. I nodded that I did. "Good, now seeing as how those tits of yours are so big. When I give you a swat, I want you to...moo." I nearly stood up then and there. That was too much. I might have had to take her abuse, but I was not about to contribute to the degradation as if spontaneously. "Please!" I said. "Don't make me do that." "Oh yes." She hissed. "Every swat...you will give out a little moo, and who knows, I'll be looking back here. Maybe there will be a little cream?" I hated her and was even more alarmed. I did not have a lot of time to consider the situation, however. The first swat landed and almost made me let go of my ankles and jump. It was not extraordinarily hard, but I am not used to abuse back there. In spite of myself, I heard my own voice producing the pathetic response." "Moo." A crescendo of laughter followed from the two of them. It was worse than I could have imagined. I braced myself as the next blow landed. Smack My bottom jiggled under the paddle, and Liz made a point of pointing that out "Moo." I responded. Smack "Moo." Smack "Moo." It went on for a full minute. I waited for the next to land only to be kept waiting. Then to my utter shock and horror, I felt her fingers slip along my lips. Se leaned down so that she was almost eye to eye with me. A crooked smile was across her face. She was rubbing her fingers against each other. "Uh huh." was all she said. She stood up and disappeared then. More rummaging came from behind me and then I heard the order. "Stand up, sugar." I straightened and turned around. My backside was warm but not on fire and I really think that my face was far more reddened. In one hand Liz was holding the wraparound skirt that I had brought in the bag. In the other she had a short sleeved white shirt that had a belly tie. The only problem was that it was obviously designed not to cover much of the belly. I also noticed that it only had one button above the tie. She tossed them across the room so that they landed at my feet. "Time to get ready, Dear. We have so many adventures planned tonight and I think this will be all you will need to put on."