by Leigh Turner
She was to have some clue on this quite soon. Leaving the others to their chattering, she went out of the room via the open French windows, and went round the outside of the building and through the back door to the toilets, which were situated to either side of the central corridor beyond the kitchen on one side and the surgery on the other.
Coming out, she decided not to use the back door and instead walked toward the entrance hall. Here, on the baize notice board, her curiosity was aroused by a sheet of paper which had recently been added.
She read the top line.
CURRENT SCORES
Below it, a column listed their eight names. Next to it, several other columns, as if on a spreadsheet. The first had a heading on the top Medical Exam. Below it were listed numbers, presumably some sort of score.
In the next column, next to Oliver’s name, the figure -4 was written. An asterisk directed attention to a footnote at the bottom of the sheet. Here an explanation was offered – “deductions for two occasions of insolence to staff”.
There followed a third column with the heading Recognition of a Former Lover. Here, Simon, Greg, Sally and Becky had been awarded five points each, the rest nothing. She surmised this related to the pornographic movie featuring Inez. Had she made love to them all in some way? Sally realised she was one of a crowd … Perhaps, or indeed probably, they had all had experience of intercourse with the racy doctor, if indeed she was a doctor. Sally felt strangely betrayed, a lesbian schoolgirl finding out the object of her crush had played the field.
A final column had Oliver down for two more deducted points. This time the symbol “+” led the eye to the explanation “disrespect to a member of serving staff”. Was this Peter, in his female panties on view to all? Clearly their every move was being scrutinised.
She glanced a last time at the sheet, before returning.
When she re-entered the dining room conversation, such as it was, had lulled.
‘Have any of you seen the notice board out there?’ she asked. ‘We appear to be being marked in some way.’
The others needed no further prompting and headed for the door. Sally had only been alone for a moment when Celia entered, through the French window door.
‘Where are the others?’ she quizzed the young woman.
‘Looking at the notice board.’ Sally replied.
‘Oh. I see. Well, it’s there to be viewed.’
At this, the trio returned, chattering as if raking over questions in a recent exam, seeking meaning in an inexplicable scenario.
‘Girls!’ Celia interrupted. ‘You are required at the lecture hall in ten minutes please.’ With that, she turned and was gone.
No doubt they were deliberately denied a moment’s pause to collect thoughts and pose any questions. Nothing in this place seemed casual or unplanned.
Finishing any remaining drinks and titbits, they drifted across to the lecture theatre, or lecture hall as Celia had termed it.
In here, all was quiet. They sat randomly. Comments and queries came out at intervals.
‘How could you do that, Fiona? How do you feel?’ This from Becky.
‘Fine.’ A smug smile.
‘Tut.’ A huffy look from Liz. Was she secretly jealous?
‘Do you think you earned a bonus or a deduction?’ said Sally. This provoked peals of infectious laughter in all four.
‘Well,’ said Fiona. ‘He wasn’t staff, was he?’
More laughter followed. As it died down, they followed Becky’s gaze as she looked toward the door.
Inez had just entered. Walking down the steps, her confident gait was catlike, her hips swaying gently and rhythmically as she negotiated the slope. She was dressed all in black, in a T-shirt and close fitting slacks along with dark ballet pumps on her bare feet.
Stopping near them, she stared across.
‘Well girls. Nice to see you again. Are you ready for this afternoon’s activities, mes petites?’
‘What might you have planned for us?’ asked Liz. ‘No doubt something exotic.’
Inez laughed. ‘Exotic I do not feel is quite the word, chérie. Perhaps we will test your endurance again, eh?’
She walked up to Liz and extended a hand up to the girl’s cheek. As quickly withdrawing it, she smiled, then the temptress in her was switched off as she spoke curtly to them all.
‘You did not imagine it was only the men who would have to display their athleticism to an audience? We believe in equality here.’
Sally felt her mouth go a little dry at the words. A thought that they would not be spared a similar exhibition to that undergone by their male counterparts had crossed her mind earlier, whereupon she had swiftly consigned it to a less conscious level.
Now it resurfaced, the nervous unease associated with performance, as Inez climbed to the platform and made her way to the side of the stage. As she pressed a button near the proscenium pillar, the full curtains in the aperture drew back automatically from the centre, to fold away at the side. The Frenchwoman then threw a large red handle, at which brilliant lights blazed at once, illuminating a full-sized roped square in the centre of the stage area.
‘You are afforded more civilized surroundings than those sand-covered males,’ she proclaimed. ‘But the rest of the task is the same. Now, step up here Liz and Becky. You are selected for the first bout.’
There was no suggestion of choice, as though the thought of the eventual prize held them in thrall. Liz nevertheless asked the question.
‘I don’t suppose we have an option to decline?’
‘Mais non. Vite, vite, step up. Do not lose your points. Jane will be here soon; she does not like to see resistance to the programme.’
A strange choice of word, Sally thought. Resistance. She tried to contemplate its significance, but her state of anticipation scrambled her thought processes and she watched as Becky was surprisingly the first of the two girls to overcome her diffidence, stepping up and moving toward the stage.
Liz, not to be outdone, followed, projecting a determined manner as she walked. Sally, sensing a movement behind, turned, to see the audience entering. The lads, minus Steven, freshly showered and back in their robes. Jane and Nick. Even Lena from the kitchen, in skirt and brightly patterned blouse, with Max the chauffeur, casual in shirtsleeves. Down the aisle came Celia, the efficient secretary in her blouse and pencil skirt. She was followed by Vanessa and Peter, whom she directed toward the stage before taking her own seat amongst the viewers.
The two serving staff carried trays on which were several bottles of isotonic sports drinks with their characteristic nippled tops. How Sally wished to reach out for one as the inevitability of her situation turned her saliva to ashes. It would be all she could do to enter the arena. Any thought of being strong-willed enough to simply walk away and escape from the eyes of so many would be all but impossible.
Only now did it dawn on her that Vanessa’s and Peter’s attire had yet again decreased. This time the waitress wore the same small apron, barely covering her breasts with its top part. Her skirt, though, was now entirely dispensed with, and all were treated to the sight of her plump arse and generous thighs in nothing but full white briefs, white suspenders and the black stockings. Peter, meanwhile, was no longer wearing the page boy top but was completely bare from the waist up. This emphasised his predicament all the more, for aside from his little black boots, his only garment was now in full view … a high-waisted white panty-girdle.
While this exhibitionist procession of two took their places at the side of the ring, placing the trays on tables nearby, Inez had been talking to the two contestants. Having instructed them, she climbed through the ropes and stationed herself in the centre of the ring.
Liz and Becky had begun to undress after listening to Inez, and stood in panties, suspenders, stockings, and pumps, waiting.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Inez loudly, ‘I give you Liz, our first contestant, currently with ten points in our programme.
Wi
th a smattering of applause and whoops of appreciation from Oliver and Simon, the dark-haired girl stepped through the ropes and into the ring. She stood, all in black underwear, what there was of it, hands on hips.
Becky was announced in a similar manner. She apparently had seven points in the “programme”. Her demeanour was less confident than the other girl’s as she looked around her, quick glances at the gazing faces betraying her nervousness.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, you know the rules, as do the contestants. Two falls, two submissions, one knockout to decide. Interference with underwear not subject to penalty.’ Inez stepped back from the two girls positioned opposite each other. ‘Wrestle!’
Becky appeared frozen like a deer in headlights as Liz rushed her. She was almost in a headlock as she realised she should resist, and her arms began to flail, thrashing randomly at her attacker. Liz, moving behind her, soon engineered a Full Nelson hold and levered the willowy girl toward the mat. Twisting under her, she managed to press Becky’s left arm with her legs, while her arms held Becky’s right arm against the canvas. The girl could only arch her back over her opponent, who kept her hold tight for a count of three from Inez. The audience was treated to a lewd view of Becky’s white-knickered crotch, up in the air between legs spread wide as her feet struggled to remain on the ground.
The hold was broken with Inez’s help. Barely had Becky raised herself to a standing position, from her sprawled state after the pinfall was announced, before Inez gave the command to “wrestle”, and the waiting Liz was able to pounce.
This time the dishevelled Becky was subjected to a grip at the front of her crotch by Liz’s right hand. Grabbing the back of the white panties with her left, Liz pulled them upward, exerting pressure on her cunt and arse cracks.
With Becky gasping, hands at her front offering little retaliation, Liz played to the crowd and announced, ‘She’s soaking.’
Her laughter sent a shiver through Sally’s being. A deep, forbidden thrill as she witnessed Becky’s demise.
They could see Liz’s middle finger working. The clitty would be feeling its insistent movement through the silky material. Becky’s eyes had closed. There was no question of retaliation. A matter of time alone. Briefly, she seemed to regain a sense of reality, eyes opening as the finger paused. Liz eased the panty gusset aside and resumed her ministrations, this time with circular movements around the bare and exposed clitoris. Sally felt her own gusset also now awash; it was all she could do to avoid fingering herself in disgrace as Becky’s eyes closed in acceptance, her features contorted into a grimace of pure lust while her body shuddered with orgasms as she pressed Liz’s hand onto her fanny. Then her knees gave way and she slumped downward onto them as Liz stepped back. Inez raised the arm of the victor high as she basked in the applause.
Sally had to endure a further five minutes of anticipation while a dazed Becky was helped away from the ring toward the wings of the stage by Inez and Vanessa.
Unable to wait, she moved up to the stage and at last swigged a drink. Fiona followed suit. The ripples of applause and ribald murmurs from the lads were a blur in Sally’s mind. She felt at once the target of a thousand eyes, yet distant in a universe of her own, a butterfly behind glass.
At last Inez was back and both girls nodded their acceptance of the rules. Watching Fiona strip to her panties and suspenders, it occurred to Sally that she must do the same. She took off the blouse and skirt. Feeling freer, she felt some fighting spirit stir within her. Was it an illusion, though? Would she crumble like Becky in the harsh reality of the ring?
Fiona was announced as having six points so far, as she made her way across the ring, a spectacle in her scarlet panties. Sally followed. Thirteen points, it was said. Not many more at this rate, she thought. Come on! Be positive.
She heard Inez go through the spiel. Soon, it would come. And as it came, Sally reflected that she had no plan. Whatsoever.
‘Wrestle!’
Determined not to be surprised as Becky had been, she met the Irish girl halfway, in the centre of the ring. Fiona circled her and tried to pounce, but Sally reacted and moved backward and sideways.
A lunge by the redhead was too quick to avoid and they came to grips. They were both fierce, each stoking the other’s resistance, but amateurish, and neither gained an advantage.
They broke, took a breath, and rejoined. And broke again. Flailed arms like sumos. The crowd murmured, interested.
Then one of Fiona’s surges was more successful. Pushing Sally a little off balance, she had her against the ropes. Forcing her onto the ropes with body weight left her a free hand and suddenly Sally felt the dreaded fanny hold and saw Fiona’s smile as her opponent felt the dampness.
Retaliating, Sally encircled Fiona’s midriff and pulled her red panties up, tight into her arse. She saw from Fiona’s face that it was having an effect.
But now Fiona’s finger had found its target and the waves of pleasure began to build. Many of the viewers seemed to Sally to be on their feet, as she stared from the bright crucible into the darkness. Her hold on Fiona’s panties was tight, yet now more to support herself in her weakness than to affect her opponent. With a last throw of the dice she tried to find a way up to Fiona’s cunt hole with one hand, yet it remained protected by the panties that she herself had made ride up there. As she weakened with further pleasure she heard Inez’s voice.
‘Do you give? Chérie?’
Of course. Her only chance.
‘Yes. Yes, I submit.’
Inez must have a soft spot for me, thought Sally. She was given time to gather herself, obtain a drink, while the submission was announced to the crowd. A further drink washed the ashen feeling of defeat away and she turned, ready. She was still in a spot, tingling from the stimulation.
Perhaps a gesture would throw Fiona off the scent. Raising her hand, she asked Inez for one minute. Then, while the referee mused on her impartiality, Sally put her hands to her hips and stepped out of her white panties. Picking them up, she whirled them around above her head before throwing them into the audience to great applause.
Fiona looked annoyed. As she frowned at Inez, the referee was prompted to reactivate the contest.
‘Wrestle!’
This time Sally was ready and charged in. Pushing Fiona back, she attempted to grip her crotch. The stocky girl resisted strongly, grabbing Sally’s arm. Feeling her advantage slipping away, Sally reached round behind Fiona and, with desperation, got her arm round her opponent’s. Together with a step behind her and a leg hooked around hers, she was able, summoning all her strength, to pitch the Irish girl forward.
Fiona scrambled to her knees but not before Sally had gripped her crotch again, wrapping her hand around. She knelt behind the girl, whose red-pantied arse was in front of her. How she wished for a strap-on dildo at this moment, to subdue this little spitfire.
The thought gave her an idea and she pushed the panties aside with her left hand, maintaining pressure with her right on the clitoral area, while Fiona tried to shuffle forward on her knees. Eventually she gained the ropes at the side as Sally shuffled with her.
‘Ropes, ref, ropes,’ panted Fiona.
‘So?’ said Inez, impassive.
As they had shuffled across the ring Sally had pressed home her advantage, literally. She rubbed Fiona’s clitoris through her panties with her right forefingers, but had also pulled the material aside at the rear and now had two fingers of her left hand inserted into a wet cunt which was getting wetter.
Fiona clung to the middle and bottom ropes with each hand.
‘Bitch,’ she spat. ‘Bitch. Oooh. Bitches. Yes. OK. I submit.’
Inez seemed to have been the target of Fiona’s bile as much as Sally, and adopted a severe stare toward the girl on her knees before her as she announced, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the equalising submission goes to Sally.’
Sally had broken her grasp at Inez’s announcement, and now stood back. A palpable buzz of excitement emanated fro
m the audience.
Sally watched Fiona intently. The other girl was slow to rise, carefully adjusting her panties, slyly maximising recovery time. Inez stepped toward her.
‘If you are not ready, you will be counted.’
Fiona continued to kneel, one hand on the ropes.
‘Very well. I will count to ten. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven …’
Suddenly the redhead sprung up and launched herself toward Sally, who was caught by surprise, thinking that Fiona would rise only at nine. She cursed her foolishness at being outwitted as the charge forced her backward, off balance as Fiona made contact.
Finding a hold by wrapping her arms around Sally’s waist, Fiona pressed her advantage and soon Sally was once more against the ropes with her back, side on to the audience. Sally held on to Fiona’s upper arms as she realised that this time her vagina was bare without even the skimpy briefs over it. No doubt her assailant would soon be targeting that most vulnerable area.
However, she was to be surprised again as Fiona pushed upward with her left arm and, forcing Sally’s right arm up and back, clenched her hand round Sally’s wrist. She then forced it over the top rope and down. Switching hands, Fiona grasped the wrist tightly with her right. With her left hand she reached over the top rope, and, leaning forward on her toes, pulled the middle rope up and over Sally’s elbow, leaving her arm clasped between the overfolded upper two ropes. The middle rope was not stretched tight enough to cause great pain, yet exerted enough elasticity to ensure Sally’s right arm was pinioned securely.
Sally, expecting an assault on another area of her body, had not mustered enough resistance, and the enormity of her plight began to dawn on her. She twisted to her right, to look at how she might free the arm, but Fiona now reasserted a left arm grip on the trapped wrist, moving her own right hand down. Quickly, her middle finger slid between the labia under their hairy shield, pushing upward with firm pressure.