Semental Challenge 02: a Winning Strea

Author's note: This is another story inspired by the world of staciliv's "Another Really Stupid Bet." This harks back to her original story, "A Really Stupid Bet." (Go read it now!)

Much thanks to kallyreys for editing.

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Marketing communications consulting is bloody shark-infested waters roiling in a teapot. Firms are constantly gobbling each other, while staff jump ship at a moment's notice for higher positions. You either ride your horse to the top of the ladder or fall off never to be seen again.

I have been at Stevens LLC for about three years and I was next in line to join the member ranks or join another firm. The sole woman member was Maggie S--, and everyone knew I wanted her slot, either by retirement or replacement. I was younger, wanted it more and I would do anything to get it.

Both our careers got sidelined when Miller & Associates bought us out. Suddenly we had to recompete for our jobs.

We all sat in the waiting room in our best professional suits with whatever props we thought would help us save our jobs. Even Maggie was included. Everyone thought even if she wasn't rehired, she would have a good parachute or had enough saved up to start her own firm. Every eye was on her as she entered the board room. After a minute, she stormed out of the boardroom, running to the exit in tears. What a loser, I thought.

"Lisa L--," said someone from the board room. Me.

I took a deep breath and entered the board room, ready to give a pitch about my favorite product, me. "I'm a winner and I deserve the best of everything!" I told myself.

Three men sat at the table. I recognized Dave R--, my friend Margo's ex! He looked shocked upon recognizing me.

The man sitting by himself on the right in a tailored gray striped tweed suit stood up and gave his pitch, "My name is Mr. Bill and I'm here representing Miller & Associates. We deal with the most powerful interests in the world. Our reputation is in being NOT known. We leave the Fortune 100 to little fish like Stevens. We decided to acquire this firm because we believed this is the cheapest way to find top tier talent," he said, emphasizing each word at the end.

He continued, "So Ms. L--, I'll be frank, we're looking for those who have the assets and naked ambition to win us business. It's not going to be conventions, and cold calling. You're going to be in the most exclusive circles of power. I don't need the timid, squeamish or any thoughts of propriety. I need to know how far you're willing to go to get the business." He looked at the other man who nodded.

He sat back down. "We're waiting Ms. L--."

I knew what he meant. I tossed my notes on the desk and took off the jacket of my tailored Viggiatore suit. I removed my skirt, and blouse. The men made no comment, although Dave looked wide-eyed and nervous. I continued, removing my Chantilly bra and panties, showing off my neat Brazilian line over my pubes. I took a guess that I wouldn't need to take everything off leaving me with my Wolfheim stockings and Tachona heels.

Not a single man made a move or blinked, not even Dave (although his mouth was open). When I approached Mr. Bill and dropped to my knees in front of him, he stopped me.

"No, Ms. L--, this is not about us. We are only interested in what assets we have available and your level of commitment to winning us business. Your presentation shows promise. Please get dressed and return to your office to complete your current accounts."

I turned away and focused on dressing as quickly as I could to my relief and excitement, and a whole wet wave of arousal. The men waited patiently. The power in this room felt more exciting than my entire three years at Stevens.

Mr. Bill continued after I dressed. "We'd like to invite you to a special cocktail party engagement tonight at a potential client's estate as a means to show your mettle on the field. You and other candidates we select will have the opportunity to represent Miller & Associates. Please do not let us down."

"I won't Mr. Bill!" I exclaimed. I was going straight to work, but already competing against others? I was going to make sure I show them I was worth keeping.

I strolled out of the room, past all the anxious stares to the lift, back to my office. Losers.

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Dave caught up to me near the end of the day. We were both a bit awkward.

"Hey Lisa," he said sheepishly. "I didn't know what the managers were planning. I swear." He continued, "I'll be your escort to the party. This is very private so we're taking a disguised truck. Don't bring your phone or wallet, just your keys. I'm absolutely serious."

"Okay," I said hesitantly.

"This is REALLY elite," whispered Dave conspiratorially. "You have to wear your best next-to-nothing. Looking like a million dollars is going cheap. They won't even let you in the door."

"Don't worry Dave, I got this," I said confidently.

Dave's expression changed to a pained schoolboy. "How's Margo?" he asked.

Chicks before dicks, but Dave really looked sad. "She's hurting Dave, she's drinking and crying all night," I said.

Dave winced, "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened to her. Once we were both heading to the top, and then it felt like she was dragging me down. You know the feeling?"

I DID know the feeling. Margo was staying with me. I was coming home to her drunken mess nightly. Dave was a winner like me.

"I'll see you tonight Dave." I sent Dave off so I could concentrate on booking an emergency trip to the stylist.

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In perfect hair and makeup, I put on my best cocktail dress & heels, took my clutch and waited. A large delivery truck pulled up to the curb. Splashed across the van walls was a picture of a bucking horse and 'Semental Properties. Fresh Meat and Produce.'

The van door rolled up and the ramp dropped. Dave stepped out and waved to me in his cut Tonbo silk suit. He looked yummy. (Sorry Margo!) He waved. "Your carriage awaits milady," he said with dramatic sarcasm.

I stuck my tongue at him. "A literal meat wagon. How romantic," I said. I really shouldn't be flirting with Dave with Margo weeping into her wine inside. I guiltily looked back at the apartment.

Dave got the message and put his finger to his lips and waved me into the van of the truck. There were about a dozen of us, nine women all dressed (or undressed!) and men in jackets. I recognized Cindy and Tina from work, but none of the other women.

Cindy was the last intern we hired before we got acquired. She was a long-legged, really young woman of Korean ancestry, I thought. She wore a tacky gold backless Shelah dress that showed off her legs. As skimpy as her dress was, she was the most covered of all of us.

Everyone knew Tina. She was the ebony goddess of Accounting. She had the looks and drive to be in Sales and Marketing, like myself, but I guess she didn't want to compete with the sharks. Tina's near-bald scalp glowed in the dim van light and she had a one-shoulder Revoluza. (How did she afford that on an Accountant's salary?) It draped so low she had to tape her nipples. I should have gone as bold as her! She accessorized with strings of Bina wooden beads.

The van had some sort of A/C to circulate the air, but otherwise, it was a dozen people standing in an enclosed space and dim light. Loops hung from the ceiling, like the ones you find on a train or metro. Hooks hung from the right side of the van as you entered it.

We all stood and chatted in small groups, hanging on our own loop. Dave came up to me and we shared the loop. He looked me over and frowned.

"Not risque enough?" I asked, "It's a $1,800 Lumina." I glanced at Cindy in comparison.

Dave shrugged. "I've seen more and less. I've only been to a few of these since I joined the Ares Society." He thought for a moment. "Hey, give me your clutch," he said.

"You don't trust me?" I asked archly.

"Well," he started sheepishly, "I WILL check, but they usually take away everything a woman has in the dressing room. I'm not really sure how you get your stuff back."

"What about cards or notes?" I asked

Dave shook his head. "This is social business. It's all about seeing and being seen. There are no speeches or presentations to worry about."

I gave Dave my clutch. He opened it in front of me, took a quick glance and put it into his coat pocket.

We stood together silently in the truck for a while.

"Did you ever bring Margo?" I whispered.

"No," Dave said, shaking his head. "This is really for work and besides," he paused, "She wouldn't be up for the crowd. You'll see." I thought this was totally unfair. Margo was far from frumpy when she wasn't a crying mess. We were all lookers when it was girls' night out.

The truck arrived and the door swung open, and the ramp lowered. This was an estate! A large mansion and grounds sprawled before us. We were at some sort of service entrance on a lower level. Men in black vests guided us down the ramp, politely holding out their arms in white gloves. The men were guided to the left and the women to the right.

"I'll catch up with you," shouted Dave, just before we were separated.

We were led into a large room that resembled a costume room. Makeup tables were along the right wall, long rows of coats and furs were in the center and shelves of shoes were on the left. The servants left us with the wardrobe manager.

"Yes. No. Give her a touch up. Good evening Madame, please go ahead." The manager in a custom cut silk suit conducted the flow of feminine guests. He went through our group sending us in different directions.

"Almost," said the manager approaching Tina. He reached through her beads and gently removed the tape covering her nipples. "We're all adults here," he said. He reached out his hand and an attendant handed him a domino mask. The manager gently covered Tina's face and smiled, "Enjoy your evening miss." Tina was led away.

The man looked at Cindy's ensemble in disgust. He grabbed her purse and motioned for two attendants to approach. "See if we can find a use for her," he instructed the attendants who drew her off in a direction hidden by a coat rack. Cindy stumbled off with the men looking confused. The manager tossed her purse in a corner and I was thankful Dave held my clutch.

The manager stopped and scrutinized me. "Delightful figure in awful packaging," he said. He reached up to my neck and ripped my dress off! He tore it away so I would have to step out of it. He looked down at my feet. "We'll save the shoes for clubbing. Come with me." I followed him in my Vivi thong to the wall of shoes.

The manager looked around and found a pair of buckled high heels and led me to a chair, handing me off to an attendant and returning to the center of the room. I rolled on a pair of knee highs. The attendant knelt near me and helped me switch out my shoes, buckling my feet into the heels. I had a feeling these shoes were custom-made. The attendant led me back to the wardrobe manager.

The manager draped some long strings of various wooden trinkets around my neck. They did nothing to hide my breasts. The embarrassment and excitement at being stripped hardened my nipples, now pointy hard tips. The necklaces draped between my breasts down past my belly button just above my thong. The manager gently parted my hair and placed a bright-blue domino mask over my eyes.

"Good luck!" The manager smiled and handed me off to an attendant who led me through the main door to a small lift room. We took the lift down.

We exited the lift into a huge gymnasium. It must have been the size of a soccer field! The center of the room was a wooden-floor track with a high domed ceiling spanned by a spiderweb of pulleys and tack. Along the perimeter of the track ran a space where the guests gathered. It had a lower ceiling than the track, further divided by columns and arches running along the edges of the track.

Along the two lengths of the track, chained to each column was a near-naked masked woman in buckled heels like mine. They were all topless, or perhaps had a demi-cup harness in the case of the well-endowed, and a tiny thong. Each had a length of chain running from a hook high on the column to a collar, loose enough for them to sit against their respective post. The women stood or crouched in various positions, like animated decorations. I counted 23 women, with one conspicuously "empty" column.

I walked up to Dave who seemed startled at first, not recognizing me.

"I might have to borrow your jacket on the way home," I whispered in his ear. His gaze ran up and down my nearly nude form and I could easily see the want before Dave caught himself. I noted he had stopped wearing his wedding ring and his "band tan" was nearly gone.

"Let's catch up to the others," Dave said quickly and guided me over to an obvious masked Mr. Bill and the other man who did the interviews today. Tina was already there, champagne flute in hand.

Mr. Bill nodded with approval. "Come, let's circulate," he declared.

Our group mingled with the crowd. You might think two near-naked women would stand out in the crowd, but we fitted in perfectly. There were other women who were completely nude except for jewelry. There were women completely dressed in clothes that magazine cover models could only dream about. A few women (I think) wore those black Middle Eastern burqas. Two grande dames wore elegant dresses with a walker and wheelchair.

Surprisingly you could tell who the servers were because they were fully dressed and unmasked. The men wore white shirts, white gloves with black vests and slacks. The women wore conservative French maid uniforms: black knee-length dresses with white trim, white gloves with sleeve garters. They even had those silly frilly white headbands to keep their hair in place. To my shock, I thought I spotted Cindy among them, looking frightened with her tray collecting and serving small plates of food and drinks.

Mr. Bill led us through the crowd, pausing to greet various people. They were a myriad of ages and nationalities. Some spoke through quiet interpreters. No names were spoken and no matter how carefully I tried to follow the conversation, I could not fathom what businesses or industry the various people were in. All I could do was try not to stare too long at the cut of clothes and jewelry.

After we strolled for some time, Mr. Bill turned to us. "Excellent work everyone. I think we made a good impression. We should have a line or two out. Feel free to enjoy yourselves and the entertainment."

Dave and I split off from the other three. We grabbed a few plates and drinks and strolled. We saw teams of people move up to the chained women, removing them stumbling awkwardly from their posts. We suddenly found ourselves surrounded by servants.

"Here's 24, but she's not ready," said one of the men. Before I could say anything, I felt my beads being removed and a collar locked around my neck with a leash jingling around my collarbone. "Let's get you prepared," said the man who held my leash, drawing me away from Dave.

Dave started to protest, when I heard someone say to him, "Don't worry, you can participate as one of the beaters in the qualifiers." Then I lost sight of him. I was too busy trying to keep up with my handler in my heels to look around.

I was dragged back to the dressing room with the other women. A different wardrobe manager fussed over us, wiping a sweaty body here, demanding a touch up there. We were all fitted with leather harnesses, which crisscrossed between the breasts down to a ring at the small of the back. A tight leather belt went around my waist. My thong was removed and a strap went between my legs over my Brazilian line, between my lower lips, up my crack to hook to the ring in the back. It was a little stimulating to move in, but the harness actually helped keep my posture straight. Leather garters went around my thighs with small chains connecting to the belt. Everything was tightened to the point where I could barely breathe in it. Finally matching ankle and wrist cuffs completed this new ensemble.

After everyone was strapped in, we were divided into groups of six. I was added to the fourth group. Once we were arranged in two rows of twelve across the room another man, addressed us.

"Thank you, ladies, for participating in the first round of this season's races. Every season brings more competitors, every round gets more stringent. The rules are simple: two laps around the track. The first three of the heat to pass their finish marker move onto the next round."

They rearranged the lines into our heats, taking the first group to the track. I thought about complaining, telling them I wasn't competing, but I wasn't sure how that would reflect on Miller & Associates. Besides, all I had to do was beat three of these girls and I could laugh about it afterwards. I stood looking at my competition, who moved nervously. I was the tallest, which meant I had a longer stride. Two of the girls looked like this was their first time in heels, while I'd sprinted across airports in heels as high as these. By this time I was used to the nudity, almost reveling in it. I had a knockout body and everyone would know it.

About 15 minutes later, the second heat left a few minutes before the women in the first heat returned, sweaty, breathless but excited. Attendants swarmed over them with towels and drew them off to the side. The third heat was moved to the entrance, then the racers were ushered out of sight. A few minutes later the second heat returned.

I waited impatiently near the door. We started getting anxious, even I started stomping in place. Someone peeked through the door and nodded.

A pair of attendants led each of us through the door to a lane on the wooden track. I was lead to a starting place. The attendants hooked my harness to bungie cords hanging above me.

"This will prevent you from falling too hard, but don't lean too much and be careful not to get entangled with the other girls," instructed one of the attendants. The attendant linked my wrist cuffs to the belt with about two feet of light chain. That allowed me to swing my arms naturally, but I couldn't bring them above my head. I knew this meant this race was a fast walk, not a run.

I was in the middle of the group on the starting line. I saw the girl on the outside track crouch like she was going to sprint. That was stupid in heels. I kicked my feet a bit to relax and straightened up. "I'm a winner and I deserve the best of everything," I thought. I told myself this was going to be just a brisk walk.

The announcer walked to the center of the track. "All right ladies, this is a qualifier, you must be one of the first three to cross your finish marker on the second lap. Stay in your lane. Rewards are based on place, but only the first three will move on!" My ears perked up at the idea of a reward. I almost missed the announcer say, "Ready? Set! Go!"

Sure enough, Miss Track-Star stumbled, saved from nose-diving into the floor of the track by her harness. She hung and spun, knocking the girl next to her. I deftly sidestepped and started my walk. I imagined it was a Black Friday sale, or speed walking to a connecting flight.

I kept myself straight and my hips loose, concentrating on placing each foot in front of me. I soon had a long lead ahead of the others. I could hear the clacking of their heels behind me.

"Second lap!" I heard the announcer from the center of the track. I didn't lose my cool, I kept my pace, panting lightly. I was far enough ahead I could see Miss Track Star stumbling at the rear of the group.

I never quite caught up to her before I crossed the finish line into the arms of my attendants. They led me back to the changing room while I was slowly coming down from that adrenaline high. They quickly removed the harness, cuffs and collar, and wrapped me in a towel. I didn't realize I was so winded and sweaty.