Wrestling Girls: Part 1 - Tracey

Writers, share your work here! (No stories focusing on men in spandex please)
  • Advertisement

Wrestling Girls: Part 1 - Tracey

Postby mwcooper » Thu Jun 14, 2012 1:12 am

“How did I get myself into this?” Tracey wondered silently to herself. “What am I going to do? I don't want to be here. I'm not cut out for this,” she told herself; her natural pessimism kicked in as she pondered her situation.

On the other side of the burgundy painted double steel doors Tracey was able to hear raucous cheers in response to repeated sounds of combat and muffled screams. The dimly lit hallway she found herself in was littered with dirt and stains on the concrete floor. The beige paint chipping and peeling away from the worn walls that were in desperate need of a new coat. The stench of sweat and damp hair permeated the air; assaulting her senses with each breath. Other young women paced silently or spoke words of encouragement to themselves as they waited along with her.

Tracey huddled into a corner, curling her nylon clad legs into her, hugging them tightly as she rested on her haunches. Her forehead buried itself into her knees; her arms tightly hugging them to her chest as she tried to accept her predicament. The flowing white satin robe she wore flared out on the stained concrete floor where she had decided to try and find some solitude to mull over her options. Were there any options for her at this point? None that she could find. She had no choice and had to try and accept her fate.

A pair of slender, feminine legs covered in thin, black stockings appeared in before her. The clicking of the black stilettos alerted her ears to the owner's presence before they were visible. Tracey's eyes slowly edged over her knees and worked their way up the toned limbs to reveal a incredibly short black skirt, then a cropped blazer over a white, silk camisole top. The owner of those beautiful legs glared down at her. Pale white skin contrasted by cherry red hair; definitely not a natural color, but it fit the woman who wore it well. She was an attractive woman in her late 30s who carried herself with an air of professionalism and superiority.

The onlooker crossed her arms in front of her; they pressed against her generous breasts as she smirked at the nervous young woman. “Get yourself ready, little one. Your up next.” She turned unceremoniously, the click of her heels signaling her exit from Tracey's presence. Then a pause as her head turned slightly to peer over her shoulder at the 19 year old. “You better put on a good show. You can ask anyone here, I'm not one to be disappointed by my girls' performance.” Definitely a warning. A message that Tracey was sure to take seriously as she had learned from her past six months of living with the other girls.

“Y-yes ma'am, Mistress Leona,” Tracey managed to stammer as she pushed herself up from her hastily chosen spot of contemplation. Her left knee made a popping sound as the tendons and joints moved to a stand. The white pumps she wore added four inches to her normally five foot six frame. The satin robe cascading over her feminine form, hiding her figure from shoulder to her upper thigh. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back as she drew a deep breath. The odor of exhausted bodies penetrating her nostrils yet again as she wrung out her hands then brushed the palms against her thighs; the slick feel of the ultra-shimmery tights that encased her shapely legs did little to dry the nervous perspiration.

She heard it - “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we would like to give you the debut of a brand new young lady. She promises to become a fast favorite, I promise you. Please welcome the beautiful, the lovely, the talented Tracey!”

The burgundy double doors swung open and she was blinded by the spotlight that focused on her. The white light felt as if it would burn a hole through her skin if she didn't scamper away to an adequate hiding place. Tracey was able to make out a smattering of applause as she squinted and attempted to see what lay before her. She waited, her arms limp at her sides. “Do it. Just move your feet, stupid! You can't just stand here like an idiot!” She urged herself; her fingers clenching into fists as a deep breath brought the oxygen necessary to get her brain working enough to tell her feet to move.

She stepped over the threshold and found herself on a threadbare red carpet that led down an aisle between row upon row of folding metal chairs. It was difficult to make out any features on those who populated said chairs through the glare of that damned spotlight. She caught a glimpse of one face – a middle-aged man. His hair was mostly gray, with a smattering of dark brown. A well tailored dark suit fitted an aging, once fit frame that had recently lost the battle with gravity and one too many offers of second helpings at the dinner table. His eyes moved up and down her form, assessing what was before him. They seemed to enjoy what they saw and his eyebrows raised in appreciation as his lips tightened in consideration of the young woman.

Tracey took another deep breath; the action causing her robe to rise and fall as she took another step, then another and another. The white pumps seemed to propel her forward with no input from her brain. She made her way down the aisle, through a throng of faceless bodies that cast judgment on her similar to that of the middle-aged man. It seemed to be a walk through eternity. Things moved in slow motion and it couldn't end soon enough.

“Lose the robe!” came a cry from the crowd that was followed by a chorus of laughter and agreement. Tracey hung her head slightly in embarrassment. What would happen if she ran? What would the repercussion be? She wasn't cut out for this.

The thought was fleeting as she reached her destination. The carpet came to an end at a dirty, light blue, hanging canvas. Her eyes moved up; revealing the canvas curving to a flat, square platform surrounded on all four sides by three white ropes held by four metal posts. A professional-style wrestling ring.

The rookie wrestler cautiously strode to the metal stairs that had been placed at the ring corner to her right, pausing to remove the shoes that had adorned her feet for the past hour while she awaited her first entrance into the strange world of underground women's wrestling. “Plop, thunk.” She dropped the pumps next to the stairs an mounted them in her stockinged feet. Upon rising to the ring apron the cry of “lose the robe!” came again from the crowd, only this time it became a chant as opposed to a lone spectator letting his desire to appreciate her form be known. To this, Tracey gave a faint smile and moved across the canvas apron, remembering that she was taught explicitly to tease the audience as she did so. The young woman faced audience members on her side, turning her back to the ring ropes so that she could rest against them. She bounced herself lightly against the ropes and felt the spring in the cords that formed the boundary of where the spectacle she was to play a role in would take place. A flick of her head and a flirtatious flip of the single, long, blonde braid that held the majority of her hair back. Her slender hands slowly moved to the loosely tied belt that held her robe closed. Fighting through the butterflies that danced in her stomach, she gyrated her hips and allowed her hands to pull the belt free. The slick robe easily slid off her shoulders and dropped to the apron, revealing an incredible figure adorned in a skintight outfit.

The costume she was given for her first wrestling match was selected for her by none other than Mistress Leona, herself. The Mistress chose all of the girls' costumes personally; drawing upon her previous years of knowledge as a wrestler in the very same organization Tracey now found herself in. “It will suit you well,” she had told Tracey. “It'll give the appearance of innocence and present you as virgin material. They’ll eat that up; and you, if they so desire.”

Grasping the top rope behind her, Tracey bent at the knees and hips to drop her buttocks nearly down to the ring apron as she spread her knees; giving the audience an enticing look at the gusset of her shimmery tights peeking out from beneath the barely there crotch of the shiny, pink spandex leotard that attempted to cover her body. The suit was at least two sizes too small and incredibly tight. It seemed to squeeze every part of her body that she normally would not want to be noticed. The material almost had a mind of it's own – trying to invade her most feminine area while her C cup breasts were sandwiched into the tank-style suit. The high-cut leg of the leotard had a tendency to try and ride up; nearly becoming a thong with the only saving feature being the tan tights that stopped it from moving too far.

Slowly, she rose; placing her hands upon the middle ring rope, making sure to give the hooting and hollering men in the audience a long glance at her rear as she slowly shifted her weight from foot to foot. Her left foot came off the mat, the attached leg stretching out behind her as she let it slip between the top and middle ropes. When her foot hit the apron she paused a moment, feigning a look of surprise and bringing her right hand to her shocked mouth just as she had been taught by the Mistress. She was finally able to put those acting lessons to work that she’d paid for. Her right hand then moved towards her rear, the index finger gently slipping between the spandex and nylon that wrapped her body so tightly. The single digit then snapped the leotard that had begun to bunch together. She pulled her other leg in the ring, turned, and threw her arms into the air - all in a single motion. A bright, beaming smile crossed her lips as she strode the perimeter of the ring; gyrating her hips as the Mistress had taught all the girls.

“You have to learn how to walk!” The Mistress would bellow each time someone made a mistake, even as they head to lunch. The phrase was accompanied by a swift rap on the victim’s rear each time. The girls were expected to move as instructed 24/7 or face humiliation and possible consequences such as physical and psychological punishment.

The overhead lights caused the material of her hot pink leotard and tan tights to shimmer as if they were glistening with droplets of water. Her suit shown brilliantly to the audience. They let their approval be known with a raucous round of applause at the tender, young woman before them. A young woman who was about to enter into the first wrestling match of her life. A new beginning in her life; one that she might soon regret.
Follow the story more on http://mwcooper13.wordpress.com/. Updated weekly
Posts: 4
Joined: Thu Jun 14, 2012 12:51 am
Location: West Coast
Has thanked: 0 time
Have thanks: 1 time

Return to Stories

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest

The Fine Print: The Power of Women In Spandex website is not responsible for the accuracy, compliance, copyright, legality, decency, or any other aspect of the content posted by the users of this forum. Any disputes over content found that is hosted on TPOWIS.NET should be brought to the attention of the management directly. Content hosted outside of TPOWIS.NET (rapidshare, youtube, imagebam, etc.) should be brought to the attention of the service hosting the content.