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Tara finally reached the public toilets in a bad mood, worrying the entire way that Sasha had worked out the clue before her. Tara had already passed this way before but stupidly hadn’t made the connection, a fact she berated herself at length about until a wave of satisfaction overcame her as she spotted the DE logo on a cleaning notice by the entrance to the public toilets. Tara had taken the lead in the clues now, and she quietly savoured the thought that she was halfway to humiliating Sasha Sinclair and finally winning this feud once and for all. She even stopped worrying about her breasts for a moment, even though they were so obviously poking out of her top and had already caused one man to walk into a postbox while craning his neck to get a better view. This game wasn’t so bad so far, and Tara was sure that Sasha was suffering worse than her. She scanned over the next clue. “Clue number 4 may even the score, or leave someone in the nude. Whatever it be, make haste to see where one should never be so rude.” Tara started jogging away in a random direction, temporarily lost as to any idea as to where to go next. Within a minute, she heard a short crackle in her earpiece that heralded the voice. What the hell? Sasha could only have received the clue less than thirty seconds ago. How could she have reached the next clue already? Tara was damn sure she hadn’t run afoul of the penalty system again. Surely enlisting the help of the hapless Robert hadn’t helped her actively solve the clue. Pedantic assholes! “Miss Tennyson, you may be interested to learn that Miss Sinclair has, regretfully, suffered her second penalty. This effectively makes you three to one up in the clues. A lady so quick on the arithmetic as yourself will undoubtedly realise you are precisely one clue away from victory. Of course, fight-backs have been known to happen, Miss Tennyson, so I wouldn’t get carried away too much just yet.” The voice disappeared as quickly as it had come, before Tara had even had a chance to reply. Tara felt a thrill of exhilaration. One clue to go! If only she could figure this one out, Sasha “Slut” Sinclair would be down for the count. Hell, it would almost be worth… Tara slowly smiled as a devious thought jumped to the forefront of her mind. She turned towards the biggest crowd of men she could see on the streets, readjusted her already skin-tight top to best show off her remarkable assets, and flashed her most outgoing smile. Tara was just full of good ideas today. ******* Sasha couldn’t help let out a small shriek of horror as her anguished mind tried to process what was happening. Only moments after the voice had cheerfully broken the bad news of Tara’s recent success, and solemnly relayed the details of the next clue, her white top had once again begun to shrink. Last time, it had shrunk from decently baggy to indecently tight. Now, however, there was no more slack for it to take up around her taut upper body, and Sasha watched on istanbul travesti helplessly as the shirt constricted around the chest, torso and back. Around her, pedestrians at the crossing looked on in surprise as this young woman seemed to contort as the pressure of the shirt made her double over, suddenly finding it difficult to breath. However, the shirt’s stitching was no match for Sasha’s beautifully formed athletic body, and Sasha’s breathing soon returned to normal. The terrible price for that relief though, was the inevitable tearing of the material over the shoulders and down her sides. With the twin fears of exposure versus being penalised for interfering with the outfit both competing for Sasha’s attention, the shirt finally broke and slid gracefully down to the pavement at Sasha’s feet. Sasha involuntarily let out a yelp as her red sports bra, nipples still blatantly poking through, was revealed to the entire viewing public. The embarrassment was even worse as cars began to honk as they drove past, with more than a few whistles joining the general background noise of the city streets. Some pedestrians couldn’t help letting out a nervous titter, others just pointed and stared, and more than a few mobile phones were whipped out, cameras engaged. Sasha didn’t even bother waiting for the green pedestrian light, but dashed across the street in the next break in traffic, trying to focus on the next clue ahead and ignore the fact that she was now bouncing down the street in what may have been bra and panties for all the discretion they provided. Sasha now knew that she had to get to the next clue first. Anything else would be game over, and as acute embarrassment welled up inside of her, she couldn’t help but contemplate what could possibly be worse than this. ******* The Cathedral! Of course, a place where someone should never be rude! The realisation struck Sasha Sinclair like a thunderbolt as she racked her mind for the millionth time about the last clue. Of course, it could be any old Church, Synagogue or Mosque, but Sasha was getting the sense that Decider Enterprises didn’t do things by half, and the Cathedral was the largest place of worship in the City. Sasha also knew exactly where it was, and raced on, her red bra announcing her imminent passage to everyone she passed from at least a block away. Sasha was even beginning to gather an entourage of fellow runners, who were doing well to both run and point their mobile phone cameras at Sasha’s tight ass as it sped along the streets. Sasha was completely on edge now. Not just because of her misbehaving, vibrating bra, and the incredibly self-conscious nature of her beautiful derriere, but because she was aching to get to the Cathedral before the earpiece broke into life one last, fateful time. As she turned a corner, she saw the spire of the Cathedral straining towards the sky, slightly out of place amongst the far more modern skyscrapers that surrounded it. There was istanbul travestileri a limousine parked outside, and that was just one of a number of very expensive vehicles scattered around it. Sasha dashed on, compelling her now tired legs to one last exertion, to keep her in the game one clue longer. No sign of Tara! No sign of that smug bitch! No self-satisfied announcements from the earpiece as she arrived at the Cathedral steps. A wedding was clearly in progress inside, and Sasha desperately cast around the outside for something that looked like the next clue. She couldn’t help but steal the occasional glance over her shoulder to see if Tara was hot on her heels, and when she couldn’t see her coming down the street in either direction, Sasha permitted herself a slight feeling of calmness. There was still the matter of finding the clue, and still the undeniable fact that she was standing outside a prominent religious landmark in a sports bra and glorified panties. But she was about to even up the ledger a little, and Sasha pushed on determinedly. It was then that she noticed the figure hanging back in the shadows of an alcove by the entrance to the Cathedral. A figure that looked all the world like a twenty-odd year old female. It was then that she heard a voice come from the figure, a voice that she instantly recognised with absolute, undiluted dread. “Hey Sasha. Short time, no see. Of course, now I’m seeing more than enough of you to make up for those precious few minutes of together time we missed out on!” Tara Tennyson stepped out of the shadows, smirking. As Sasha began to grasp what she was seeing, she couldn’t help but notice that Tara had also lost her yellow baggy shorts, and was now wearing the skin tight shirt and pants that Sasha herself had sported an entire clue back. That outfit now looked positively prudish to Sasha, even though a mere fifteen minutes ago it had been the cause of acute self-consciousness. The voice once again sprang into life, this time in both Sasha and Tara’s earpieces. “Ladies. Well played both of you. Sasha, I’m sure you’re wondering about Tara’s predicament clothing-wise, and perhaps slightly more on how she beat you to the clue. Well, it turns out, Miss Sinclair, that you were entirely right to consider Miss Tennyson a blatant cheat, and she is certainly one of the most devious players of this game that we’ve ever had the pleasure of penalising. Please rest assured, Miss Sinclair, that Miss Tennyson was greatly reprimanded for asking a group of innocent bystanders to solve the latest clue for her, and that her yellow sports shorts were consigned to the scrap heap without delay!” Tara smirked anyway, the anticipation of what was to come overpowering the embarrassment of the memory of feeling her sports shorts melt away in front of a crowd of suddenly very aroused men. “Of course, with that penalty so swiftly paid, Miss Tennyson was nonetheless able to make her way here with travesti istanbul all due speed, and so we find ourselves in this current situation.” The voice paused for effect and then continued on, a relish in the voice foreshadowing what was to come “You see Miss Sinclair, you find yourself effectively down four to two, and that’s a defeat in anyone’s books. This also seems to be as good a place as any to pay the final price, and perhaps you’d even welcome this more than some of the destinations that you could have ended up at later.” Sasha closed her eyes, unable to respond, waiting for the inevitable, searching for any viable way out of this. She was in the middle of the city, no other clothes than what have been provided by Decider Enterprises, no places to hide, and with just a bra, tight and ludicrously short pants, and a couple of useless wrist bands for company. She realised after a few moments of desperate thinking that the voice had stopped. She held her eyes shut, waiting for it to inevitable continue, but it seemed to have died away for the time being. What did that mean? The voice wasn’t the only thing to stop though. Her bra had also stopped it’s low, constant vibrations as well. She opened one eye and looked down. Still on. Still providing some nominal cover of her ample breasts. Nothing was dissolving, nothing was shrinking. Was this it? Was this the total humiliation that the game offered? Sasha let herself be overwhelmed by a wild hope, and then just as suddenly felt a small itch. A tiny, almost insignificant itch. It came from her bra, just between her breasts. She looked up at a clearly amused Tara, and then cursed her as she quickly reached into her bra and scratched the itch. Then the itch began to spread. Just a little at first, and Sasha desperately tried to keep up with it. Then the itch began to spread in multiple directions, up the straps, around her breasts, to the back where the bra crossed her shoulder blades. In short time, the itch was everywhere. The itching ramped up from minor irritation to persistent problem, and then swiftly passed through to being an insufferable issue as Sasha tried to soothe it with increasing desperation. The itch wasn’t going away though, and Sasha realised in complete defeat that the bra was the sole cause of the unbearable sensation. Sasha stood up straight, stared at Tara with a venomous glare, gave up scratching, and decided that she’d make one last stand in front of her arch-nemesis. Whether Tara had been told what would happen next, or whether she’d ably guessed from Sasha’s performance, Tara returned Sasha’s glare with a viciously amused smile. Sasha gritted her teeth and closed her eyes again as the situation reached its inevitable finale. Eyes tightly closed, trying to ignore her immediate surroundings – and the sure-fire fact that Tara was undoubtedly smirking at her with unrestrained glee – Sasha let out an involuntary cry as the itching finally overwhelmed her ability to resist. Sasha grabbed the sports bra in both hands, and, without any further hesitation, ripped the offending item of her body and threw it on the floor. Her breasts now completely free, Sasha practically panted in relief as the itching instantly died away.
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