Bikini Contest
by Greg Ossog - https://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/gossog/www/
This story is part of the Vaughn-Strickland series.
(Warning: this story has villains, kidnapping and rape. If you don't
like to read that, but are still following along the larger V-S story,
skip to the end for a details-free recap.)
It was about one in the afternoon on the last day of her vacation, and
Amy Greenberg was in a glum mood. She walked around listlessly in Inandu
Town, the main tourist shopping area on West Island. The heat was
oppressive, and the shops filled with boring trinkets. Her friends,
Celeste and Kaitlyn, had left her behind, on a trip to a historic
shrine. Though plenty of people were walking about, Amy felt very alone.
Her friends hadn't really abandoned her; in fact, they had invited her
along. But Amy, fatigued from seeing one shrine after another, said
she'd rather walk around downtown. She'd hoped they would cajole her
into staying with them, or even better, stayed in town with her, but
they agreed all too readily to meet her back at the hotel to get ready
for the flight. It was like they didn't need her around. Was this one of
those little separations, the start of good friends drifting apart?
As she trudged along the storefronts, Amy wished she had just gone along
with her friends. Hanging out with them would have been more fun than
this.
It didn't help that in a few hours her vacation would be over; looming
overhead was a 16-hour flight back to the U.S., three days to prepare,
and then her senior year of college. So much for summer. It seemed like
she was wasting valuable time during her last day here. Vacation wasn't
supposed to feel rushed like this.
She had left the main street and was crossing a courtyard ringed with
stores when a window display caught her eye. A mannequin facing wore a
beautiful bikini, daringly cut, and colored a deep cerulean with white
splashes, suggesting all sorts of images: surf and whitecaps; sky and
clouds; or even a (blue) tiger and (white) stripes. The display was
lavish and meticulous, with sand, two figures, a surfboard, bar table,
stools and drinks, and more. Maybe this shop was worth a look.
Tiny bells on the door jingled as Amy stepped inside. It was dark and
chilly compared to the blistering sun outside. And quiet, too; only a
few people were indoors. A woman with short blonde hair and weathered
skin sat behind the counter, reading a book. She seemed to be about 35,
but it was hard to tell. She was dressed much like Amy, in shorts and a
pastel knit shirt.
"Can I help you?" the woman said, curtly.
Amy asked about the bikini in the window.
"All swimwear is around the corner," the woman said, as if repeating
something Amy should have remembered from grade school.
It wasn't obvious where this corner was; Amy stood where she was,
puzzled. "Over there," the woman pointed, impatient.
Amy walked in that direction, unsure of what she'd find, until the rest
of the store opened up to her left. The floor plan was an L-shape, with
one arm on the right, not really visible from the front door, leading
deep into the interior of the building. Here was where all the swimwear
was.
It was an astounding collection. She had never seen so many beautiful
designs. She found the blue and white one and checked the price tag.
Yuck. It was in American dollars -- so much for taking advantage of the
exchange rate -- and cost just as much as it would have back home!
Amy was close to walking back out. West Island was so conservative that
bikinis this revealing were really frowned upon in public; tourists were
cautioned not to dress like that. She guessed the point was to spend the
money here, but wear the merchandise back home. Not that this piety ever
moved the town fathers to close down the bars or brothels, where women
wore a lot less. It was all about money: West Island only tolerated
those immoral tourists because of the hard currency they brought in.
On the other hand, what if she never saw the blue and white bikini
again? It was right here in her hand. She doubted she'd ever return to
West Island. What if this was the only place it was sold? Amy was
already regretting passing up one last afternoon with her friends; she
didn't want to lament this missed opportunity too, simply to spite the
shopkeeper or her country. She decided to try it on; if it fit well,
she'd buy it.
The dressing rooms were on a raised wooden platform in the back,
surrounded by a curtain. Inside were three stalls, each partitioned by
their own curtains. They all hung a foot off the floor, so it seemed if
anyone wanted to snoop, they could peek underneath. But Amy had this
entire section of the shop to herself.
Inside the stall was a wooden bench, a full-length mirror, and a little
sign with a warning in four languages:
Underwear Must Be Worn While Trying On Swimwear
That was stupid, she thought. People don't wear undies under their
swimsuits at the beach; why even try something on if you won't really
know how it'll look? It defeated the purpose.
What the lady up front doesn't know won't hurt her, Amy decided, and she
defiantly stripped off everything, including socks and shoes, folding
them neatly next to her purse on the bench. She shivered a bit; the air
conditioning was cool on her bare skin.
She stepped into the bottom half of the bikini, cinching it up. It was a
very brief cut, low on the hips; but at least it wasn't a thong. She
couldn't stand those. It looked great in the mirror, and Amy had to
smile. Imagine walking out on the beach like this, among all these
money-grubbing hypocrites. What a scandal that would be: a woman going
topless on a tropical island.
Amy posed in the mirror, with a bit of a smirk. She had never walked
around topless, but with a nice body like hers, she got enough attention
in a bikini. She had been blessed with good looks without having to live
in the gym or watch everything she ate. There were probably a dozen
little flaws that would keep her from the cover of Vogue; but she
enjoyed a tall, trim build, a cute face, streaky blond hair down to her
shoulders, and nice bouyant breasts.
Kaitlyn had gotten implants just about a year ago, and often got more
attention because they were prominent on her smaller frame; but Amy
fared just about as well for free. Kaitlyn sometimes joked about "just
keeping up with the Amy's".
And when she counted up her blessings, she slowly realized she had
little reason to be so grumpy. Bad days come by every once in a while.
But she had good looks, brains, a comfortable life, an intact, loving
family, good friends, and a bright future.
"Things are pretty good," she said, satisfied.
I can't believe I said that out loud, she thought. That must sound
silly, especially in a dressing room.
But no one answered, or snickered, or gave any sign of life. Still no
one around. I'm such a girl, she thought. Trying on clothes turns my
mood right around.
It was pretty cold in the changing area; goosebumps were forming on her
skin. Time to try on the top, see if that looked good on her (rarely a
problem) and then get dressed. She turned around to pick it up from
where it lay on the bench.
But the bench was empty. The top was gone.
Her clothes and purse were gone, too.
Amy's heart leapt in her throat. They had been taken right out from
under her!
Surely that couldn't be the case, she thought after a moment; how could
someone have gotten in here without her knowing? Her stuff must have
just fallen off. But when she dropped to her hands and knees, she saw
nothing. "Oh no!" she said, softly. Her passport, wallet, and plane
tickets were in the purse. She absolutely had to get them back.
"Hello?" she called, hesitantly. After no response, she repeated it
louder, but still no answer. What could she do? She really didn't want
to leave the dressing room wearing only half a bikini; but the more she
waited, the more remote her chances of getting her things back. Covering
her bare breasts with an arm, she eased the curtain aside and peered
outside. Nobody was in this wing of the store at all. "Hello? Can
someone help me?"
Still no response.
I can't stay here, Amy thought; who knows how long I'd wait until
someone noticed? The only choice was to go get help. She gingerly
tiptoed down the wooden stairs onto the shop floor. The carpet felt
funny on her bare feet; she hoped it was clean. "Hello? Anyone?"
It was even a little spooky now, in the darkened corners. What looked
like a boogeyman at first glance was just a full-length wetsuit, hanging
from a display.
It was scary enough that her purse was gone, with her money and
passport. But someone had sneaked into her dressing room while she was
naked without her noticing. The thought of what else could have happened
was terrifying. This place was not safe. The sooner she got her things
back and returned to the hotel, the better. She could read a book in the
lobby until her friends returned.
She had nearly reached the part of the store where the swimwear wing
emptied out into the main section. She noticed a video camera at the
ceiling, discreetly pointed her way. Was someone watching? The store was
still silent. Hiding behind a rack of tops, she peeked into the front
section of the store. What sort of attention would she get, dressed only
in half a bikini?
But the front of the store appeared to be deserted as well. Sunlight
filtered in through the windows and displays. The cashier's post was
empty. Could the owners have gone on a break, and forgotten to check the
dressing rooms before they closed up? It was a little after one; maybe
they were having lunch.
Perhaps her possessions had been turned in by a customer to lost and
found, and they were neatly stacked in a box behind the counter. This
really made a lot of sense, and in her mind, she could see this just as
if it were true. With renewed hope, she sidled behind an aisle of diving
equipment, to hide herself from any window shoppers, and then sprinted
to the space in back of the counter.
Nothing was there. No box, no clothes. She felt crushed. "Is anybody
here?" she said, nearly in tears. "My things have been stolen!"
The store was silent, mocking. She scanned the rest of the store,
looking for other rooms, an office, anything. She noticed a closed door,
hidden behind a display of surfboards and hammocks. Maybe that was the
office. Rehearsing an apology in her mind, she walked over and knocked.
No answer. She jiggled the doorknob, and tried to force it open. Locked.
"Shit!" she cried, slapping the door and sinking to her knees. What now?
In the front window, to which Amy had a clear line of sight, a little
boy stared in, wide-eyed; she thought to go talk to him, but before she
could stand up he laughed and ran off. She realized why: with both arms
dropped at her sides, her breasts had been uncovered. She covered up
with a forearm.
It occurred to her that maybe her things were inside the counter
cabinet, behind the register. A natural place for lost and found items.
She hadn't checked that. She returned there and crouched next to the
chair the blonde woman had been using not very long ago. There were two
cabinet doors here. But they were both locked. Frustrated, she pulled
again at each one, even with both hands, but they didn't budge.
Amy was running out of options. She walked around the entire shop,
looking for other hidden rooms or doors, but found nothing. She would
have to gather up the courage to go outside and brave going in public.
Where was a police station? Or a consulate? Maybe a bank could help her?
She'd have to figure that out. Maybe she could take her chances with the
shop next door.
The front door beckoned; warmth, and people, many of them tourists like
her, someone who should be able to help. Hopefully someone who would
understand her situation.
But it was still a risk. It took a few moments for Amy to steel herself
up to walk outside. Once there, she'd have to keep to busy areas, and
look for someone she could trust to help; better to be embarrassed in a
crowd than in real danger in a deserted area.
That was another thought... this store was really unsafe! How could any
woman feel safe if someone could get into the dressing room so easily?
What if she had been raped? Or killed?
Determined, Amy covered up with a forearm, walked briskly up to the
front door, pushed; and stumbled, because this door was locked too. She
was locked in. What the hell was going on? She looked for a lever to
unlock the door, but only saw a key slot. Why would someone lock the
door from the inside with a key? It didn't make sense. Anyway, there
appeared to be no way out.
She stared out the window, making sure to cover her breasts with an arm,
trying to think. She would have to break a window or something. It
wasn't right to just lock people inside; what if there was a fire? In
America, this would be totally illegal.
A man and woman walked by, window shopping. The woman didn't see her in
the doorway, but the man did a double-take and kept walking.
Amy turned around, and then gasped. The cashier lady was standing there,
right beside her. "Where- where did you come from?" Amy said. "You
scared the hell out of me!"
The cashier's expression was grim. She was a few inches shorter than
Amy. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I was in the dressing room, and somebody stole my things, and I went
out to look for them, and nobody was here. I wasn't sure if you had
closed up or something. So I was going to try to find somebody who could
help."
"Help what?"
"Help me get my things!" Amy said. "My purse and clothes were stolen.
Khaki shorts and green shirt. Or missing. Has somebody turned them in?
Lost and found?"
"I haven't seen any," the woman said. She turned and called out:
"William? Has anybody turned in some lost possessions? Clothes and a
purse?"
A large dark man, of island blood, stepped out from behind a display. He
had a weightlifter's build, and wore white terrycloth shorts that were
bright against his walnut skin. "No, ma'am," said William, in a deep
baritone. "Nobody's turned anything in."
Amy wasn't happy to have a man around when she was half undressed. He
had looked her up and down. Even with an arm covering, she was showing
cleavage and a lot of skin in general. She folded both arms over her
breasts and turned to face the woman, away from him. "Well, I have to
call the police then. Somebody's stolen them," Amy said.
"You said you were trying this on," the woman said, pointing to Amy's
bikini bottoms. "Where's your underwear?"
"What? It was stolen, all my things were stolen!" Keep up with me, Amy
thought. You're no help at all!
"You're supposed to keep your underclothes on when trying on swimwear.
Surely you saw the signs. And by the way, where's the top to this
bikini?"
Amy couldn't believe what she was hearing. "That was stolen, too. Don't
you understand? They took everything!"
The woman wasn't about to be deterred. "We don't know where your things
are, and that's not our responsibility. But we have missing merchandise
that you were seen with last, and now it's unaccounted for."
"Please, just let me call the police," Amy said. "We'll get everything
sorted out when we get my stuff back."
"I don't think you want to call the police, ma'am," said William.
"Police here, it's miss Jessa's word against yours. And she's well
respected in the community. You, it looks like you walk in here and try
to walk out with one of our bikinis, like a shoplifter."
"This is ridiculous!" Amy cried. "Do you really think I walked in here
naked, put on half a bikini, and intended to walk out?"
"That's what it looks like," Jessa said. "Also on video we have you
trying to break into the cash register."
The cabinet, Amy thought, not the register. And I was just trying to
find my clothes! This was looking more and more scary. She didn't know
what to do next. What if the cops would not be on her side?
"You end up in jail," said William casually, "you probably wish you had
taken your own life. The women's jails have male guards. Cute girl like
you, they'll have you stay as long as they want. Until you're used up."
Now Amy was terrified. It was hard to breathe. They really meant it.
They thought they knew what happened and they weren't going to listen to
her. She had to have someone else help. A cop, anyone!
"William, take her hands," Jessa said, and he easily forced Amy's hands
behind her back, then clasped them both with one hand of his. She
shrieked and struggled, her breasts bobbing, but had nowhere to go.
"It's less painful if you don't struggle," Jessa said, but Amy was
running out of strength anyway.
"You can't do this," she said, starting to sob. William was behind her,
but probably staring down at her bare chest.
"Oh, yes, of course, you're an American citizen," Jessa said
sarcastically. "You have rights. I've heard this before. But all you've
done since you walked in here is disobey the rules, flout our culture,
and break the law."
"I'm sorry, please!" Amy said, trying anything to improve the situation.
"This will have to come off," said Jessa. She wrinkled her nose in
disgust. "We'll have to launder it, too."
Amy knew what Jessa meant. "No!" she screamed, struggling, trying to
turn away, but William twisted her wrists and the pain made her stop.
"No, no, no," she cried as Jessa pulled the bikini down and off, leaving
her naked and feeling completely powerless. These two had locked her
inside, threatened her, and now stripped her; what was in store next?
"Now I don't know or care where you go from here, lady, but I'll have to
ask you to leave the store," Jessa said. "You can take your chances
outdoors. You probably won't make it far. Good luck."
Amy's hopes brightened. Even running outside naked, to the nearest place
that could help, was better than being stuck inside with these psychos.
Her stolen things, she'd worry about once she was safe. First priority
was to get out of here.
But William wasn't letting her go. "Wait," he said. "The top, it's still
missing. She owes us for that."
Amy's heart sank. He can't be serious! This is insane!
"You're right, William, you're right," Jessa said. "We can't let her
leave until she settles things with us. That's hard to do, with nothing
to her name."
"I can think of a few things," said William, fondling Amy's breast with
his free hand. "She is a beautiful woman."
Oh my god, Amy thought, I'm going to be raped. Anything for this to be
over, to be able to escape. Safety was only a few feet away, on the
other side of the door. It seemed so far away.
"William, stop that." Jessa slapped his hand away.
Amy was thankful the woman was there, instead of just William. Maybe no
rape after all? or just right now? What was going to happen?
"I know one thing," Jenna said to William. "The bikini contest."
"Where? Today?" William said.
"Stagg's Bar. It's this afternoon. Cash prize. If this woman wins the
prize, she can pay us back, get some clothes, and be off."
"Good idea, Jess," he said. "I think it's already started. But she could
be a last-minute entry."
"She's an American and blonde. It'll be a novelty. She's sure to win."
"And a hot body, too." William patted Amy's behind. Please don't go
fondling me there, she thought. "But we can make sure she's chosen."
Amy tried to follow this conversation, but it was so strange, both of
them talking past her like she was in another room, but of course
William was still restraining her. And then Jessa addressed her.
"So that's the plan, blondie. You've got the body; you look good naked,
so you'll look good in a suit. Isn't it worth a try?"
Amy nodded. After all, what was the alternative? Perhaps at the contest
she could get free and get someone to help. Better than being locked in
here.
"William, let go of her," the woman said. "We need to get her an
outfit."
Suddenly Jessa was a changed woman: cheerful, encouraging. She asked
Amy's name, and where she was from; and made other small talk as they
picked out an outfit for her. It was bizarre compared to the mood just a
few minutes ago. William was silent unless Jessa spoke to him, and
mainly stood to the side, hands behind his back.
Amy was relieved to have clothes again, even though it was made clear
she was just borrowing them: a racy green bikini, sandals, and a large
white T-shirt with a palm tree.
They led her out through the mysterious office that had been locked, to
a back door and into a silver Mercedes. The side and back windows were
tinted almost dark. William drove, Jessa rode shotgun, and Amy had the
back seat to herself. "Now the back doors can't be unlocked from
inside," Jessa advised. "Can't have our contestant running off early."
But Amy kept up hope. At some point they would have to let her out and
be among other people.
William turned onto the main street. There were throngs of people, and
they seemed to pay the car no attention; in any case, they probably
couldn't see inside.
"We're doing a couple things to better your odds," said Jessa. "First,
William can probably join the judges and put in for you. Second, I'll be
coaching you through your routine with this wireless earphone." Jessa
handed Amy what looked like a small hearing aid. "Put it inside."
The device was hardly noticeable in Amy's ear. Jessa tried whispering
into the mike and Amy heard it clearly. It was strange: Jessa and
William seemed well-prepared for the seemingly spur-of-the-moment
decision to enter her in the contest. There was still something very
dubious about the whole situation.
Stagg's was a big resort on the outskirts of town. William drove up a
long circular driveway lined with palms and fountains. A valet opened
the doors, helped them out, and parked the car. The heat was torrid
compared to the interior of the car and the store, but Amy welcomed the
sunshine and fresh air.
As they walked into the lobby, it seemed that most of the people passing
by knew William and Jessa. How could they be so popular as just a couple
of shopowners? And eccentric ones at that. The sooner this contest was
over with, the better. And then she'd be on a plane leaving this island,
never to come back.
"Don't try anything silly like running off," Jessa warned. "Security
will pick you up and you'll be in even more trouble than now."
Amy gulped. No, it would be best to do the contest and get out like they
had discussed. Play it safe.
A thumping rock beat and cheering crowd, faint at first, grew louder as
they passed through the lobby and down a paved path. Around a cabana,
Amy saw the pool area and crowd for the first time. There were hundreds
of cheering men, an announcer, and a bikini-clad girl waving to the
crowd. "Let's hear it for Koko, number 17!" the announcer shouted. The
crowd hooted and roared as Koko walked offstage.
The realization that Amy would soon be up there filled her with stage
fright.
Jessa led her to a spare table, cordoned off by ropes. There was a good
view of everything. William walked up to a row of three men seated in
the front row by the pool deck. He spoke to them for a few moments, and
then a seat was made available for him. Those must be the judges, Amy
thought.
The announcer called out number 18, Picha. She was native, dark-skinned,
and looked about 18 or so, with a small body. She wore not a bikini, but
small white panties and a thin white T-shirt. The shirt had a
head-and-antlers design which Amy recognized as the Stagg logo. A man
sprayed her with water, soaking the shirt and making it nearly
transparent. The girl wore no bra. The men watching cheered as she
started to dance.
This didn't make Amy happy. "Is this a bikini contest or wet t-shirt?"
Jessa's reply was the first scolding dished out since they had worked
out their deal at the front door of the shop. "Not everyone is a rich
tourist like you. They can't afford designer swimwear. These girls do
the best with what they have."
Amy saw no purpose in arguing the point and watched the rest of the
routine in silence. Picha didn't have much grace or rhythm, but the men
appreciated the suggestive way she danced. She started to pull up her
soaked shirt, exposing her belly, and encouraging the watching men who
no doubt wanted her to pull the whole thing off. But as the song ended,
she let it drop again, and stood smiling as the announcer congratulated
her.
Number 19 ("Ploy") wore a flower-print bikini, and her routine was more
a series of struts and poses, showing off her lean body,
moderately-sized breasts and long flowing hair. Amy felt reassured:
certainly she could handle this. It wasn't much worse that walking out
onto the beach, past all the guys that are checking you out. As the girl
continued, Amy started analyzing her moves and planning what she would
do when her turn came up.
As Ploy's routine came to an end, however, she unclasped her bikini in
back and let the cups rest loosely on her breasts as she swayed and
preened. The men cheered louder. Then she pulled the top off, giving the
men a quick peek at her bare breasts before covering up. "How about
that!" the announcer crowed, and the spectators roared. Amy stared at
Jessa, with a questioning look.
"Surely, she'll be disqualified," Jessa said. "That's against the rules.
I think you'll see at the end that she won't be eligible to win."
Amy felt a little better at that. Hopefully there would be no more
surprises.
Number 20, Doreng, walked out in a T-shirt and cutoff jeans. She had
short styled hair, brown skin and large breasts. Perhaps her bikini was
underneath, Amy thought as the routine started.
But when Doreng pulled off her shirt, she wore nothing underneath. The
crowd loved it. She danced just like Amy thought a stripper would:
thrusting, swaying, arms up, jiggling her boobs. Not a single move she
made was not sexually suggestive. Come to think of it, Amy realized, all
these contestants might be bar girls. She had pictured competing against
some other college students, but that didn't seem to be the case here.
When the girl moved closer, Amy could see her jeans were half-unzipped,
a bit of pubic hair peeking out. This wasn't a swimsuit contestant at
all, but Amy saw no signs of protest or disapproval from the judges or
the spectators. No, quite the opposite.
Doreng wasn't done. She vamped up to one guy seated in the front row,
turned, and sat on his lap. Actually, she was standing up a little, Amy
realized; doing a lap dance. The guy reached around and fondled her
breasts, meeting no resistance.
Soon she was either close to climax or faking it for show, eyes closed,
head back, hair whipping about. The man moved one hand down toward her
lap and unzipped her jeans the rest of the way down. He reached in and
started fingering Number 20 between her legs, all the while still
fondling her up top. She writhed even more, licking her lips as the
crowd crescendoed.
Then either she climaxed or the show was over. Probably both. She leaned
forward, spent, as the spectators hooted and applauded. She got up,
leaned over to kiss the lucky guy, then zipped her jeans and walked off.
"Number twen-ty!" bellowed the announcer. "Whatta show!"
Amy stared at Jessa in mute horror. Jessa looked perplexed. "I'm really
surprised, shocked even, that this would go on. You know what, I'm going
to go talk to the owner, find out what's going on. Meanwhile, get ready
to go up. You're number 22."
Number 21, Chung, was introduced and walked on. An Asian with long black
hair and porcelain skin, she had a figure similar to Amy's. She wore a
bright red bikini and filled it out well.
Jessa was out of sight. Amy took the opportunity to look around, check
out the exits. The main path had two bouncers in sunglasses; they seemed
to be looking straight at her. And the more she looked around, the more
of these people she saw. Just standing and watching. It looked like
there was indeed no getting away.
Chung was tossing a beachball in the air, flirting with the audience,
wiggling her little behind, teasing. She had a pretty, fresh face and
infectious smile. Her routine was very tame compared to the previous
girl. Amy wondered if she could use a prop for her own set. But what
could she use?
The girl tossed the ball over to William, who got up and tossed it back.
Wait a minute, Amy thought, indignant. You were supposed to help ME win!
They played catch for a while, laughing and making silly faces. The
spectators were getting a little restless and started talking and
fidgeting. A few yelled "Take it off!"
William made a throw that the girl couldn't catch, and the ball bounced
into the pool. It bobbed up against the side and was an easy reach as
she kneeled down to retrieve it. As she picked it up, he ran over to
her, found the clasp in back that helped keep her top on, and undid it.
She stood straight up, in a huff. She dropped the ball and reached
behind herself, trying to reconnect the clasp. After a few tries she
gave up. The red top, still suspended by the strap around her neck,
rested on her breasts; the straps that should have gone around the back
instead hung straight down. William picked up the ball and mimed
throwing it: did she still want to play?
She did. She was happy again and resumed the game of beach ball catch.
William was making more low and high throws, causing the girl's loose
top to reveal peeks at her nipples when she bent over and reached up.
Amy groaned. This good-girl to inadvertent showing of skin was looking
very deliberate.
Sometimes Chung would make a show of adjusting the top so that it
aligned perfectly over her breasts, giving maximum coverage, but
eventually she let it fall where it might, even crooked. Eventually she
got tired of the whole thing and lifted the top off, tossing it into the
crowd. The noise level rose again; spectator interest was back.
Still dismayed, Amy had to laugh when she realized what this reminded
her of: the pool scene in "Fast Times at Ridgemont High", where Judge
Reinhold's character was fantasizing about Phoebe Cates, topless like
this girl, in a similar red bikini bottom. But Phoebe wasn't as well
endowed as this contestant. Chung had an enviable pair of breasts:
round, natural, dark nipples with small areolae. You could stick a
pencil between Chung's breasts and it wouldn't fall.
Chung seemed absolutely at ease being topless in front of all these
people. Amy still held out hope for one of the judges to step up and say
time out, the rules say the swimsuit has to stay on, this girl is
disqualified. But the four judges were obviously having as much fun as
anyone, cheering and ogling the girl.
William threw the ball far from her again, this time into the middle of
the pool. Chung pondered this for a moment, hands on hips, then dove in.
She surfaced near the ball and threw it back out, and then swam to the
ladder and climbed out.
"Oh for god's sake," Amy said, which no one was close enough to hear.
Somehow Chung's bikini bottom had gotten loose and was at the bottom of
the pool. Maybe she had untied it herself. Anyway, she wasn't wearing it
now. She stood there, dripping wet, staring down at her naked body in
presumed surprise, then very belatedly covered her pubic hair with her
hands.
The men adored Number 21. For all the flashing and teasing before, she
was the first girl (at least since Amy arrived) who had stripped
everything off. She walked over to William, and still covering with one
hand, gestured at his lap. He mimed thinking about this for a while, and
nodded. Then he untied the drawstring on his own shorts and shook out of
them. The crowd booed lustily. Of course. They hadn't paid $20 cover to
see some guy's wang.
The white shorts lay there on the pool deck between them. She bent down,
picked them up, and stepped into them; but when she had pulled them up
about knee high she changed her mind. She kneeled down, letting the
terry cloth protect her knees from the concrete, took William's
stiffening penis, and put it in her mouth.
Amy sensed her own situation was going downhill, and picking up speed.
Chung sucked off William until it looked like he came. If he wasn't
faking, then she also swallowed his cum. Then she stood up and embraced
him. (He might not have been interested in a kiss right then.) Amy was
surprised to feel pangs of jealousy. William was supposed to help her
win. Instead he turned traitor for this... slut!
Chung pulled the shorts up and cinched the drawstring tight. She raised
her arms like a gymnast who stuck her finish and the men roared their
approval. She then walked directly into the crowd, who lifted her off
her feet and passed her around. She must have been pawed by everyone
within reach. It wasn't long before her shorts (William's shorts) were
pulled off and she was naked again. She was passed around some more
before motioning toward the deck, and the men helped her get back to the
front and on her feet. One last guy grabbed her ass as she walked
forward. She yelped and turned around, wagging a finger to scold the
guy. Smiling all the while, though.
At the row of four judges, she gave each one a good long close look at
her naked body, front and back, before finally taking a bow.
"Amazing!" said the announcer. "Let's give a hand for Number 21, Chung!"
The applause was so loud that Amy almost didn't hear Jessa's voice in
her earphone. "Amy, you're up."
"And a last-minute addition," said the announcer, "a blonde beauty from
the United States, let's have a warm welcome for contestant number 22:
Amy!" The crowd cheered.
"Go! Now!" said Jessa, and Amy reluctantly stood up. All eyes were on
her as they figured out she was the next contestant. Thumping rock music
continued to blare. It felt like all the air was sucked out of her body.
She tried to call up some inner courage. After all, she had bungie
jumped off a 300-foot bridge before. She had skied down the intermediate
slope. She could do this contest, right?
"Don't be afraid. I'll tell you what to do," Jessa said, in Amy's
earpiece. She looked around but couldn't see her.
"Just dance a little now," Jessa said. "Get used to being up there. Show
the guys you have some spirit and rhythm." Amy did, and within a few
bars she had her hips, body, arms and feet moving to the beat.
"Smile a little more," said Jessa. The crowd was cheering its approval.
"See, they like you. This isn't so bad, is it?"
"No," Amy said, even though no one could hear her. The prospect of she
might have to later was so frightening that she put off thinking about
it. Right now, she was OK. Just like being the momentary center of
attention at a club. She could handle this.
"Now pull up your T-shirt," said Jessa. "You've got the ideal swimsuit
body. Make it work for you." Amy slowly lifted the shirt up and over her
head, then tossed it into the crowd. Somebody was going home with a nice
souvenir. Possibly she could even milk her routine, stall a little, and
not have to strip off before the time was up. Then if Jessa and William
were true to their word, the fix would be in and they could split the
winnings.
Now in just the green bikini, Amy made sure to move around the entire
area, letting everyone get a good look. She felt a little like a piece
of meat on display, and for the first time noticed all the cameras peole
were using. Aside from that, this was little different from walking
along the beach. You have a nice body, guys will scope you out. Still,
there was that dark cloud on the horizon: Jessa's next instruction.
Hopefully, she would wait awhile before -
"Great, great. You're gorgeous." She happened to glance down at William,
sitting in a judge's chair, still naked. He hadn't bothered to go look
for the shorts. Even soft, the guy was quite large.
"Now, you need to take off the top." Amy looked around wildly for a
moment, as if hoping for a second opinion. "Don't waste time," Jessa
warned. "You've got momentum. You've got to keep going for just a bit
longer." Amy reached behind her back, found the knot holding the
spaghetti straps, and continued to dance.
"If you don't do what I say," Jessa said, "the deal's off, we take all
your clothes, and you're stuck here. Do you understand? Now stop wasting
time!"
Amy untied in back and lifted the top off. Don't forget to smile, she
reminded herself. So many men staring at her exposed breasts. She tried
to picture herself on the flight back, watching inflight movies, doing
the Cosmo quiz with her friends. Positive motivation.
"Show a little spirit, some energy," chided Jessa. "Just like you were
doing before. If you're worried about your tits showing, just pretend
you're back at our store." Now that was below the belt, Amy thought. She
stepped up her moves, feeling her unfettered breasts jiggle as she
swayed.
"Try playing with your tits some," Jessa said. For an alleged woman, she
talked like a frat boy. "Caress them. Tweak your nipples. Get them hard.
The guys will love it."
You gotta be kidding, Amy thought. Still, she knew what would come next
if she delayed in following Jessa's instructions. She cupped her
breasts, lifting, squeezing, as if offering them to the crowd.
"Great, great," Jessa said. "I'd kill to have a set like you have.
You're very lucky." (Amy didn't feel particularly lucky at the moment.)
"We need your nipples hard. Get you in the mood. Just think about it,
showing off in front of all these men, all of them fantasizing about sex
with you. Get aroused by this."
It isn't working, Amy thought. I'm just going through the motions. I
don't want to be here! She kept shifting her gaze, to avoid eye contact
with the spectators.
Jessa must have notice this. "Then think of your boyfriend back home.
The things you'll do when you return." Amy didn't have a current
boyfriend; but she had gone with Derek for almost a year, and spent some
wonderful nights with him. He knew just the slightest touch, the perfect
whispered words that would make her instantly hot; and he could keep her
on the brink of orgasm until she begged for release.
There had been that weekend after midterms where they snuck out to a bed
and breakfast; with the memories of the things they did, Amy felt her
breasts start to tingle, her face flush and her nipples harden. It was
Derek who had turned her on to the pleasures of her own body, to enjoy
herself when he could not be with her. She was feeling this now. She
licked her lips, looked out at the crowd, kept dancing.
"Excellent!" Jessa said. "They're eating you up out there. Now what I
need you to do is go to the man with the red cap over to your left and
give him a little lap dance. Nothing more than the other girl did
earlier. Really easy."
Okayyyy, said Amy, reluctantly. The man in the red cap was staring,
cajoling, motioning her over. Well, so was everyone, just about. She had
no idea what was special about this one man, and Jessa seemed in no mood
to fill her in. As nonchalantly as she could, she sashayed over in his
direction.
Now she stood directly in front. The man looked her up and down. She
turned and sat backward while still hovering above his lap, as a
fastidious woman would approach a public toilet. She swayed and wiggled
her butt, trying to get close without actually touching. The man yelled
"Woo hoo!", pleased at this personal attention.
Just when Amy figured she should be done with the lapdance, the man
pulled her down on his lap, making her lose her footing. Then from
behind her back he started fondling her breasts. Since she was aroused
already, this was very pleasurable in a way, but still her instinct was
to try to get up and escape. But she couldn't get solid footing, and
couldn't find a way, other than touching the guy fondling her, to push
herself up. "Oh, this is good!" Jessa said in the earpiece.
Amy felt very conflicted, and this was bringing her to near-panic. The
man on whose lap she sat just felt dirty in so many ways, his hands
touching her in intimate ways, and the only thing shielding her body a
skimpy bikini bottom. Nonetheless, being handled like this was making
her more and more hot. He was pinching her nipples between his
forefingers and they were so hard and so sensitive it felt like her
sense of touch was being overloaded. It was almost certain that if this
dirty man continued, he was going to make her come.
Two men had stepped in front, and raised her legs, enough to briefly
lift her bottom an inch or so off the red cap man's lap. What are you
doing, she wondered, as other people took her hands and spread her arms.
These events made no difference to the red cap man, who continued pawing
her breasts.
Another man reached in, took hold of her bikini bottom at each side. "Oh
no, no!" Amy said, squirming, trying to pin herself down against the red
cap man's lap, so that the bottoms couldn't be pulled off. He pulled
them down about two inches before losing his grip. A bit of pubic hair
peeked over the top. Amy tried without success to get a hand free, and
pull her bikini back up.
Someone else got one hand on her bikini, in the front, and yanked hard,
pulling down to her knees. She tried to clamp her thighs together, to
avoid losing the bikini altogether, and minimize the view of her fully
exposed pubic area. But the men at her feet kept a firm grip, and eased
her legs slightly apart. She was trying to kick herself free but
couldn't overpower them. After a few more moments of struggle, the
bikini was down to her ankles, and the men freed her feet only long
enough to take it completely off.
Then they spread Amy's legs, exposing her wet pussy for everyone to see.
The man on whose lap she sat moved one hand down there, immediately
shoving a fat finger inside. She shuddered. He probed her, exploring,
while still fondling her breasts and thumbing her nipples, and the
sensation was sending her into spasms. Within thirty seconds, she was
gasping in rhythm, and then her muscles for a moment went rock-rigid as
she came. Thankfully, the guy removed his finger and stopped pawing her,
letting her sensitive areas recover a bit. She collapsed, limp, no
strength left.
"Holy shit!" cried the announcer.
Jessa spoke in her earpiece. "That was marvelous, young lady. You're
doing great. Not much left to go. I do need you to stand up, though."
Amy was still unable to do so. "William, help Amy up," Jessa said, and
Amy realized that he must have an earpiece too. He still had not put
anything on, and his semi-hard penis waved as he trotted over.
After he helped her up, Amy still felt wobbly, but in a few moments was
okay to walk. "Now go over to the judges. Don't worry, no more
lapdances. Just stand in front of each one, lean forward a bit, let them
have a good look at you. If they want to cop a feel, that's OK too."
William led her to the judge opposite from his end, then sat down. All
of the men looked like locals, with sort of a criminal or at least
unethical character. They were ages 30 to 50 or so, all in shorts and
batik shirts (except William, of course). It reminded Amy of a pet show
as she stood there for each one, letting him stare her up and down,
letting them squeeze her breasts or even poke a finger between her legs.
Since the judges faced most of the crowd across the pool deck "runway",
this meant the spectators were also staring at her bare bottom as she
bent forward.
When Amy reached William, Jessa gave another instruction. "Last thing.
You've been very good so far. You do this last thing, and we'll be sure
to win. Are you ready?"
Amy nodded. Jessa must be somewhere in sight, but she hadn't seen the
woman during her entire routine.
"Just sit down on William's lap and have sex with him. A fun ride to end
the afternoon."
Amy closed her eyes for a moment, sighed. Hadn't she been through
enough?
"Do it," Jessa said. "And make it look convincing. You'll have to like
him at least as much as Number 21 did."
Okay, Amy thought. Just like a roller-coaster ride. Waiting in line, it
looks so scary you think you won't survive. And when you strap in, and
your car ratchets up the incline to the top, things look even worse. But
the ride will soon be over. I can do this, she thought.
She smiled. "Hi, William."
"Ready to have a little fun?" he said.
"You bet!" She would have hopped on his lap for show, but his erection
was already pointing up and forward. Instead, she gingerly sat down and
he helped ease her forward. She guided him in and gently he pushed
inside. He was large and thick, more than she had ever experienced, and
they needed to go a bit at a time, allowing her to stretch.
He grinned at her, and moved his large brown hands up to her chest. Very
gently he caressed her breasts, as if showing respect, and she writhed a
little, grinding against his lap, making him move inside her.
"This is fun, no?" he said. "This isn't work." He spread his legs a
little, and she moved closer to him, forcing him a little further
inside.
"Let's see some more lust here," Jessa reminded. "You're horny for him,
remember?"
Okay, okay, Amy said, and William laughed. She leaned forward and kissed
him once, then returned and they French kissed, her tongue all over his
lips, arms around him. He grabbed her behind and they began thrusting.
"You are so fucking hot," William said, and then came. A few final
thrusts and he was done. He raised one hand and that seemed to be a
signal.
"Outstanding!" cried the announcer. "Number 22, let's give a big round
of applause for... Amy!"
She stood up, weary, and waved to the crowd. They were the loudest she
had heard all day, including for Chung and her naked stunts. An
incredible sense of relief washed over her. She had survived the roller
coaster. She had won. And she was going back home.
William patted his lap. "Have a seat while they announce the winner.
Wonder who it'll be?"
Amy sat back down, facing forward, as the announcer called for applause
for all the contestants. William rested his hands on her thighs.
"And now....", the announcer said, "our judges have come to a decision.
It was difficult, as there were many beautiful girls out here today.
Today's winner of the Stagg's Tropical Bikini Contest is..."
Amy leaned forward.
"... number 21, Chung!" Amy's jaw dropped in shock. Chung ran out from
the sidelines, still naked, to blow kisses to the crowd and accept the
crown.
Amy turned sideways to face William. "What happened? You said the fix
was in, that I would win!"
William smirked. "I guess you just weren't good enough."
"I did my part! You have to let me go now!"
At this he laughed. "No clothes, no ID, no passport, no money? Where
would you go? Anyway, did you really think we'd let you go? You were
wrong. You're not going anywhere."
"My friends will call the cops, and-"
"Yes, your friends," he said. "We had your friends picked up at the
airport. They're staying behind, too. In fact, you should be seeing them
soon..."
"I'd like to thank you all for coming here," the announcer said, "but
don't leave just yet! Remember the last contestant, Amy, from the United
States?"
The crowd cheered.
What the hell is happening..., Amy thought.
"Now," the announcer crowed, "as a special bonus, we have two more
American girls for your viewing pleasure!"
"Take a seat," William said, and moved Amy so she was facing forward
again. "You won't want to miss this." He gripped her firmly so she
couldn't move.
"Our first girl, like many American girls, loves to lounge around in
skimpy lingerie! Even to parties she goes like this, to show off her
sexy body! Let's have a hand for... Celeste!"
Amy gasped. Her friend Celeste was trotted out, wearing pink sheer bra
and panties. She was obviously scared out of her wits, but nobody
watching seemed to care. All they did was stare. "Take a look at that
fine ass!" cried the announcer. "Showing off her little tits! And her
pussy!" The men whooped and roared.
"You monster," Amy snarled. "All of you!"
"Our second girl," the announcer said, "loves to show off her body in
public too. Her favorite thing to wear... is nothing at all! Let's have
a warm welcome for... Kaitlyn!"
Another bouncer brought Kaitlyn out, and Amy came to tears at the sight.
They had stripped her completely, and taken away her glasses, so she
could hardly even see what was happening. They had also shaved her.
"Celeste and Kaitlyn", the announcer said, "two hot bodies from the
United States! Thank you all for attending Stagg's Tropical Bikini
Contest!"
"If you've hurt them..." Amy said.
"Don't be silly. We're not going to hurt any of you," William said. This
did not reassure her, especially given what he said next: "I always take
good care of my things."
William grabbed one of Amy's breasts, and cradled it. "As soon as I saw
you, you were so hot, I knew I had to have you. And it worked. It worked
perfectly."
Feeling defeated, Amy couldn't muster a response. She tried to keep from
crying, show some resolve.
"You shouldn't get your hopes up about anyone finding you," he said.
"It's all a very close-knit group, among the bars, myself, the police,
and so on. Nobody's going to rat me out. Nobody's going to find you.
Sure, people will notice you're missing and come look for you, but they
won't find anything. You're here to stay."
"It's making me hard again already," he said. She could feel his
resurgent erection poking at her from beneath. "How about another
go-around?"
Even though everything was lost, Amy found some inner strength and
softly said four things. William might not have heard them, but these
words were mainly for herself. "You're wrong, William," she said. "I
don't deserve this. I will be found.
"And the day will come when I watch you die."
(Recap: Amy Greenberg, 21-year-old college student, is kidnapped at a
swimsuit shop on West Island, stripped, and forced to enter a bikini
contest. She is told that winning will gain her freedom, and her captors
cajole her into having quite public sex. But they have lied about her
freedom, and she and her friends are detained.)
(Author's note: This is one of the darkest stories in the cycle. I had
mixed feeling about putting one of my characters through this ordeal.
But this is not the end for Amy. More adventures in later stories.
This story was inspired by a photo gallery of a bikini contest in the
Philippines where some of the girls simply ended up with only wet
T-shirts or nothing at all.)