Neither seeing or hearing my foe, tapping my foot in frustration, I decline offered drinks and arch up to overlook the crowd, slowly scanning it for my foe, my delicate pink nipples rubbing my dress, and receiving intent stares when a shrill sound makes me start. Unmistakably, Jolene has arrived, announced by her bark. I turn and she is no more than twelve feet away, taller than me to start with by two inches and her heels even higher than mine. She looks big, and thick, and coarse, wearing some red halter thing that she bulges out of.
As nervous as I felt, her appearance in her tramp outfit with her lined mouth frowning at me, converts trepidation into resolve. “Right, time to peel you like the overripe tomato you are imitating.” My childish insult gets nervous snickers, as I am closing ground on her. Before getting too close, I pivot, dress rising, displaying myself in a ritual, turning through 360 degrees, the fortunate getting a view of my buns and a flash of my thong, before facing you and matching your pose with my own spread legs.
Closer now, comparing you with me, seeing your puffy face intent, as my nostrils flare and my posture shows me clearly readying for action. Displaying a grace I surprise myself with, I smoothly remove my heels from my white legs, as agreed between us. There is a moan from some men, who apparently thought we would be spiking each other. I feel that I am starting to glisten, as my toes dig into the carpet, balancing on the balls of my feet.
I glance over to the hyper excited Lucky and suck in a breath, my breasts rising, smiling as I see him look me up and down. The crowd is murmuring, knowing that they are seconds away from battle. I gesture at you, as if you are too dim to remove those streetwalker pumps, as I can feel the hatred bubbling.
“Till the winner is finished, bitch”.