A race with many legs

"Um, excuse me," intruded Brooke with a pleasantness that had no doubt contributed to her title of California's Sweetheart. "You didn't do half bad in that match. You must be a real up and comer, huh?"

The well-washed pirate loosed the prospects of her next event from her attention to return her gaze to the midnight beauty that had quite well trounced her. Taking the compliment for what it was, Liz nodded. "Aye, I was no pair for ye though."

Gracefully admitting her skill rather than denying it and thereby prolonging the praise, Brooke nodded. "Well, I guess I just have more practise. But I was hoping we could pair up in a different way." She giggled. "I don't mean like that, not yet anyways. There's a race I want to participate in, but I'll need a partner to join. If you and me paired up I think we'd stand a good chance." Her pearl smile was enthrallingly inviting, and Liz saw no reason to nay her proposal.

The rover shrugged. "I've no prior promise, so seems I'm plenty free to have a go at another game here." She turned to The Governess, providing an opportunity for contradictions.

"Thee is correct, I myself have places to be, but the teleport booth will unite us when thy play is done. Fare thee well." The Governess curtsied and stepped into the booth, just as her dress slipped down for yet another teat-illating glimpse. Bemused Liz smiled at her mischief-work and turned to follow Brooke.

"The large one is Rho," explained the foe turned ally as she guided Liz to the place for their shared challenge. "She's got a lot of raw power, and is our biggest threat."

Sagely the pirate nodded, having previously come to a similar conclusion. Indeed the woman who had blonde hair shaved into a stiff streak from forehead to neck and who wore only hip boots and a V of steel back and front, leaving a quality gander of her sculpted muscles available, this woman was a threatening sight for all. This battle-built beauty had selected a partner as well, a woman dressed quite like Brooke with skirt and shirt. Though Liz had no reason to suspect this pale dove to be smaller than average, she looked a dwarf standing alongside Rho.

"Ohmygod, Brooke," Rho's partner said, in a voice both high and with a nasal twinge which brought to mind a holier-than-thou nostril loft that this woman must oft display. "You actually found a partner and didn't just go somewhere to hide. That's so brave of you. You'll, like, still lose, you know? I'm totally going to make everyone see I'm California's Sweetheart and not you."

"Oh seriously, Sarah? you bring in a ringer and think that's going to make everyone like you?" snapped Brooke.

"It worked for you. Or do you expect me to believe you won the talent contest by actually throwing the javelin."

"That's it, tramp," Brooke advanced menacingly.

Perhaps odd to her character, Liz nonetheless decided to prevent the catish squabble from coming to garment rending and coolly interposed herself between the two. On a normal day she'd have gaily let the two woman tear bodice and pull hair until one was made the other's seat, yet for this moment she had a mind to win and counter her previous loss. "Save your rile for the race," she advised.

For a second, Brooke prepared a quarrelsome babble but chose discretion with a deflating huff. In place of action, she adopted a Scylla silence and led Liz to a spot among a line of paired women that was the pirate presumed to be their start. With calm persistence, Liz kept herself betwixt Brooke and her hate-twined rival, sullenly intent to keep the focus on victory. After all, winning with her short skirt still wet from her recent splash seemed an excellent bolster to her pride.

Such efforts seemed successful, for Brooke returned to her cool flow, and placidly knelt to collect a lumped scarf that sat at their feet. "This race'll have three legs," she exposited with a giggle like a fresh mountain spring tittling twixt her words. "The first part will be a three-legged race."

Liz chuckled too, moreso in honor of the infectious laugh than the musing factoid that spawned it. The nature of this three-legged first-leg came plainly apparent to her as Brooke wound the scarf around their calves until they were as one.

The other pairs of women were similarly prepared. Beyond Brooke, Liz's eyes lingered on numerous comely partners entwined and eager. The nearest of the two, a well-tanned brunette, wore a skirt that resembled a flower (its petals dangling down to obscure her blossom) with smaller blooms placed to preserve the minimum of her teatly modesty. Her partner, a befreckled ginger, wore only a collection of ribbons, some made into a colorful skirt, and a singular, especially wide steamer of eye-catching red tied to encircle her humble chest.

"Places, places, everyone," called out an ostentatiously dressed, rotund man as he ascended a small platform. "Are we all ready?" he inquired, placing a squinting scan across the contestants, "fabulous. On your marks."

Brooke wrapped her arm around Liz's waist, an act the pirate mirrored.

"Get set." The referee pointed a pistol skyward.

Liz felt within her companion a tension like a pressed spring, passionate rivalry having been replaced by cold determination.

"Go!" roused the referee with a simultaneous discharge of his pistol.

And Liz thrust ahead, reserved only to follow Brooke's lead. Linked by rope and embrace they strode forward with speed and purpose. Liz felt her coin decorated dairy jiggle and jostle as they charged on; with the smooth gold upon her hardening nipple, 'twas well arousing in its own way. As was the naked thigh of her partner next to hers, held there by gentle rope. It silkily grazed upon her with each step goading the mischievous pirate to carnal action. In short time, Liz's breaths were synchronized with the rapid, rhythmic movements of her eager partner.

Curious, the pirate took in a reckless glance of her competitors. Thankfully many of the entwined pairs of indecently-clad women were behind her. Their other neighboring pair was nearing a dozen paces in gap. Unfortunately, exception was given to the Rho and Sarah coupling: the former taking long powerful strides to par her giantess build, and the latter moving as vigorously as a rag doll merrily skipping down the lane on a young woman's hip.

Pleasingly, Brooke kept her head sufficiently calm and didn't increase her speed. Perhaps, she'd seen the ill fate of another pair who'd advanced too quick for their balance. These two, a pair of rosey-checked dames wearing merely scant triangles of floral fabric connected by thin strings, had displayed unfortunate ill-uniformity in their steps despite their matching attire resulting in them tumbling upon the grass.

On the other hand, perhaps Brooke was just content to watch her rival's dirt dashing trip as she floundered to keep up with her out-classing partner. Yet as Olympic as Rho was, she appeared slowed by her fumbling anchor and reached the next step of the race with little lead on her competitors. Unfortunately 'twas lead nonetheless, and if Liz were to win, she'd have to make it up in the next two rounds.