Sales Women’s Wager (F/FF)
Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2026 3:21 pm
The bar tab was already at two hundred bucks when Jess slapped her palm on the sticky table. "Alright, enough small talk. Let's make this interesting." Across from her, Lauren arched an eyebrow, while Nina leaned forward, her whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass.
Jess pulled a crumpled spreadsheet from her purse and smoothed it out between half-empty cocktail glasses. "Quarter ends in six weeks. Whoever's got the lowest numbers by then..." She paused just long enough to let the hum of the crowded dive bar fill the silence. "Gets naked in my living room while the other two... *evaluate* their performance."
Nina snorted into her drink, amber liquid dripping down her wrist. "Bullshit. You wouldn't." But her pupils dilated as she glanced between them—Lauren's manicured fingers drumming the table, Jess's smirk widening. The AC kicked on overhead, raising goosebumps on Nina's bare arms that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Lauren plucked a napkin from the dispenser, dabbing at the whiskey spill with deliberate strokes. "I'm up thirty-two percent this quarter." The words landed like a gauntlet. "But Jess... didn't you lose the Dawson account last week?" Her gaze flicked downward meaningfully at the spreadsheet where Jess's numbers suddenly looked less impressive.
Jess's grin turned razor-sharp. She reached across the table, snagging Nina's wrist before she could retreat. "Oh, we're playing dirty?" The scent of salt and citrus from Nina's margarita clung to Jess's fingers as she squeezed. "Then let's talk about how Nina *conveniently* forgot to mention her client took his entire team skiing—paid for by her 'consulting fee.'" She air-quoted with her free hand, watching Nina's throat bob.
Lauren's laugh was all teeth, her stiletto hooking around the leg of Nina's chair to drag it closer. "Corporate espionage, Neens? That's not sales—that's bribery with better shoes." The vinyl seat creaked as Nina squirmed, her pulse jumping under Jess's grip. Somewhere behind them, glass shattered against the floor, the bartender cursing as the trio barely flinched.
Jess released Nina's wrist only to tap the spreadsheet again, her nail leaving a crescent indentation in the paper. "Official rules: no gifts over fifty, no sleeping with clients—"
"—unless they sign first," Lauren interjected, licking whiskey off her thumb with a slow, deliberate swipe.
Nina's knee bounced under the table, her chair screeching against the linoleum. "So what's the threshold? If I'm up by five percent—"
Jess cut her off with a laugh that sounded like broken glass. "Sweetheart, if you're within five percent, we're all stripping." She leaned in, the neckline of her blouse gaping just enough to reveal the edge of a lace bra strap. "But dead last? Oh, they get the *full* audit." Her fingers mimed unbuttoning a shirt, slow and torturous.
Lauren's stiletto crept higher under the table, the pointed toe tracing idle circles on Nina's nylon covered calf. "Mm. Chair in the middle of the room.Hand tied behind your back." Her voice dropped to a purr as she watched Nina's breath hitch. "And we'll see just how... *motivated* you are to hit quota next quarter."
Jess licked salt from the rim of her margarita glass, eyes locked on Nina's trembling fingers. "Should we add a clause about begging?" She dragged her tongue along the rim in a slow, filthy arc. "Because I guarantee whoever's losing by week four is gonna be *very* persuasive about recalculations."
“Lets not argue minutiae.” Lauren called. “Quarter end. Total value of accounts. Loser is………” she left it there, the threat unsaid as the three shook hands.
Six Weeks later
Jess’s flat was clean and elegant. The balcony doors were open, letting in the scent of hot tarmac and late summer air. They’d all come straight from work, briefcases dumped unceremoniously by the door, blazers slung over the backs of chairs. Lauren crossed her legs, the black nylon of her tights whispering against itself, her patent heels catching the low evening sun. Nina perched on the edge of the sofa, her tan hose already laddered from a careless zipper earlier that afternoon. Jess rolled up her sleeves—white silk blouse straining—and cracked her knuckles before tapping her laptop awake.
The spreadsheet blinked onto the screen, columns neatly totaled. No one spoke. Nina’s fingers twitched toward her wineglass, but Lauren caught her wrist, thumb pressing into her pulse point. “Ah-ah,” she murmured. Jess scrolled to the bottom, where the final numbers glared back at them. Nina’s breath hitched. Lauren’s lips parted—just slightly—before curling into something predatory. Jess exhaled through her nose, slow and deliberate, before turning the screen toward Nina.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Jess crooned. Nina’s thigh trembled under her tan hose, the laddered run stretching wider as she uncrossed her legs. Lauren’s stiletto hooked around Nina’s ankle, dragging her forward until her knees bumped the coffee table. The spreadsheet didn’t lie: Nina’s numbers were a full fifteen percent lower. “Looks like someone’s getting audited,” Jess purred, popping the top button of her blouse. The lace beneath was black as a void.
Nina’s fingers hesitated at the hem of her blouse. Lauren leaned in, her perfume—something expensive and lethal—wrapping around them. “Slow and sexy,” she instructed, tapping Nina’s wrist with a manicured nail. “Or we add penalties.” The nylon rasped as Nina inched the fabric upward, revealing the pale dip of her waist, the scalloped edge of her bra. Jess licked her lips at the flush creeping up Nina’s chest.
“And strip means everything,” Jess added, “except perhaps your earrings.”
Nina’s fingers trembled as she unbuttoned her blouse, the silk parting reluctantly to reveal the scalloped lace of her bra—pale pink against flushed skin. The blouse slipped from her shoulders with a whisper, pooling on the chair behind her. Lauren’s gaze traced the faint indentation of Nina’s waist where the skirt’s waistband had pressed too tight by midday. Jess leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “Shoes next,” she murmured, and Nina bent—slowly, deliberately—to unbuckle the delicate straps of her heels. The first hit the hardwood with a decisive click; the second followed, kicked off with a nervous flick of her ankle.
The skirt was trickier. Nina’s hands hovered at the zipper, her breath shallow. Lauren’s stiletto tapped impatiently. “Unless you’d prefer we do it for you,” she said, and Nina’s laugh came out jagged. The zipper’s rasp echoed in the quiet room as the fabric slid down her thighs, catching briefly on the laddered run in her hose before puddling at her feet. Jess exhaled sharply through her nose. The tan nylon clung to Nina’s legs like a second skin, the tear at her knee stretching wider as she stepped free of the skirt.
Lauren uncrossed her legs, the whisper of her tights loud in the silence. “Don’t stop there,” she said, nodding toward Nina’s thighs. Nina’s fingers trembled as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband, rolling the nylon down in slow increments. The elastic snapped against her skin as she peeled it past her hips, the sheer material clinging stubbornly to her dampening skin. Jess leaned forward, plucking the tights from Nina’s fingers and draping them over the armrest with deliberate care. “Now the bra,” she murmured, her fingertip tracing the lace edge where it dug into Nina’s ribcage.
Nina hesitated, her arms crossing protectively. Lauren’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist. “Rules are rules,” she said, her thumb pressing into Nina’s pulse. “Unless you’d rather …….. we stripped you instead?” Nina’s breath hitched as she unhooked the clasp, the bra sliding down her arms like a surrender. The cool air prickled her nipples, already tight with humiliation. Jess made a low, approving sound in her throat, her gaze lingering on the flush spreading across Nina’s chest.
Lauren stood abruptly, circling Nina like a hawk. She plucked the elastic of Nina’s knickers, letting it slap against the small of her back as the trembling womas tried to cover her morecthan adequate boobs with her hands. “Last piece,” she said, nodding toward Nina’s panties. The pink lace barely covered her, clinging to damp curls beneath. Nina’s fingers trembled at the waistband, then stilled. Lauren’s laugh was velvet-wrapped steel. “Need motivation?” she murmured, her stiletto tracing the inside of Nina’s thigh—not touching, just hovering close enough to raise goosebumps. Slowly the knickers slid down her legs until barefeet stepped out of them.
Jess dragged a dining chair to the center of the room, the legs screeching against hardwood. “Sit.” The command brooked no argument. Nina obeyed, the wood cold against her bare skin. Lauren produced a coil of rope, seemingly from nowhere—deep red, still warm from her pocket—and looped it around Nina’s wrists behind the chair. The knot tightened with each shallow breath Nina took. Jess knelt, her blouse gaping to reveal black lace, and began to tie her left ankle to the chair leg.
Lauren’s fingers traced Nina’s collarbone. “You’re trembling,” she observed, circling around to whisper against her ear. “Is it fear? Or are you wet?” The heel of Lauren’s stiletto pressed between Nina’s thighs—just enough pressure to make her gasp. Jess grinned, securing Nina’s right ankle with a final, punishing tug. “Oh, she’s wet,” she confirmed, dragging a fingertip through the evidence before holding it up to the light.
The rope rasped against Nina’s skin as Lauren looped it around her elbows, pulling them taut behind the chair back. Each twist of the knot pressed Nina’s chest forward, her nipples stiffening against the cool air. Lauren hummed, threading another length between her breasts, the rough fibers catching on sensitive skin as she crisscrossed it tight enough to make Nina whimper. Jess knelt between Nina’s splayed thighs, her breath hot on the inside of a knee as she secured it to the front chair leg. The rope bit into soft flesh, leaving angry red marks in its wake.
Jess purred, her fingers skating up Nina’s inner thigh to knot the final rope around the back leg. Nina jerked against the restraints, the chair creaking beneath her, but the bindings held firm. Lauren stepped back to admire her work—Nina’s breasts cinched by crimson rope, the pattern accentuating every ragged breath. She traced a fingernail along the underside of one, watching the skin pebble in its wake. “Such a pretty little liar,” Lauren purred. “All those ‘client dinners’ you swore were strictly professional.”
Jess picked up the discarded tights and knickers, slowly balling them up. “Any last words sweetie?”
“No please.” Nina blurted out, but the still warm clothes were pused into her mouth as Lauren wrapped tape around her head. “Mmmpphhh, mmppp.” She whimpered.
Jess knelt between her thighs, fingers trailing up the inside until they found her slick heat. “Team bonding,” she murmured, circling Nina’s clit with slow, deliberate strokes. “Is about trust.” Lauren slipped her left foot out of her shoe, the stiletto heel pressed into Nina’s right nipple, not enough to break skin—just enough to make her arch into Jess’s touch. “And motivation—” Jess added a second finger, pinching the other little engorged bud, “—is about consequences.” Nina’s hips jerked against the ropes, a strangled moan muffled by the fabric gag.
Jess pulled a crumpled spreadsheet from her purse and smoothed it out between half-empty cocktail glasses. "Quarter ends in six weeks. Whoever's got the lowest numbers by then..." She paused just long enough to let the hum of the crowded dive bar fill the silence. "Gets naked in my living room while the other two... *evaluate* their performance."
Nina snorted into her drink, amber liquid dripping down her wrist. "Bullshit. You wouldn't." But her pupils dilated as she glanced between them—Lauren's manicured fingers drumming the table, Jess's smirk widening. The AC kicked on overhead, raising goosebumps on Nina's bare arms that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Lauren plucked a napkin from the dispenser, dabbing at the whiskey spill with deliberate strokes. "I'm up thirty-two percent this quarter." The words landed like a gauntlet. "But Jess... didn't you lose the Dawson account last week?" Her gaze flicked downward meaningfully at the spreadsheet where Jess's numbers suddenly looked less impressive.
Jess's grin turned razor-sharp. She reached across the table, snagging Nina's wrist before she could retreat. "Oh, we're playing dirty?" The scent of salt and citrus from Nina's margarita clung to Jess's fingers as she squeezed. "Then let's talk about how Nina *conveniently* forgot to mention her client took his entire team skiing—paid for by her 'consulting fee.'" She air-quoted with her free hand, watching Nina's throat bob.
Lauren's laugh was all teeth, her stiletto hooking around the leg of Nina's chair to drag it closer. "Corporate espionage, Neens? That's not sales—that's bribery with better shoes." The vinyl seat creaked as Nina squirmed, her pulse jumping under Jess's grip. Somewhere behind them, glass shattered against the floor, the bartender cursing as the trio barely flinched.
Jess released Nina's wrist only to tap the spreadsheet again, her nail leaving a crescent indentation in the paper. "Official rules: no gifts over fifty, no sleeping with clients—"
"—unless they sign first," Lauren interjected, licking whiskey off her thumb with a slow, deliberate swipe.
Nina's knee bounced under the table, her chair screeching against the linoleum. "So what's the threshold? If I'm up by five percent—"
Jess cut her off with a laugh that sounded like broken glass. "Sweetheart, if you're within five percent, we're all stripping." She leaned in, the neckline of her blouse gaping just enough to reveal the edge of a lace bra strap. "But dead last? Oh, they get the *full* audit." Her fingers mimed unbuttoning a shirt, slow and torturous.
Lauren's stiletto crept higher under the table, the pointed toe tracing idle circles on Nina's nylon covered calf. "Mm. Chair in the middle of the room.Hand tied behind your back." Her voice dropped to a purr as she watched Nina's breath hitch. "And we'll see just how... *motivated* you are to hit quota next quarter."
Jess licked salt from the rim of her margarita glass, eyes locked on Nina's trembling fingers. "Should we add a clause about begging?" She dragged her tongue along the rim in a slow, filthy arc. "Because I guarantee whoever's losing by week four is gonna be *very* persuasive about recalculations."
“Lets not argue minutiae.” Lauren called. “Quarter end. Total value of accounts. Loser is………” she left it there, the threat unsaid as the three shook hands.
Six Weeks later
Jess’s flat was clean and elegant. The balcony doors were open, letting in the scent of hot tarmac and late summer air. They’d all come straight from work, briefcases dumped unceremoniously by the door, blazers slung over the backs of chairs. Lauren crossed her legs, the black nylon of her tights whispering against itself, her patent heels catching the low evening sun. Nina perched on the edge of the sofa, her tan hose already laddered from a careless zipper earlier that afternoon. Jess rolled up her sleeves—white silk blouse straining—and cracked her knuckles before tapping her laptop awake.
The spreadsheet blinked onto the screen, columns neatly totaled. No one spoke. Nina’s fingers twitched toward her wineglass, but Lauren caught her wrist, thumb pressing into her pulse point. “Ah-ah,” she murmured. Jess scrolled to the bottom, where the final numbers glared back at them. Nina’s breath hitched. Lauren’s lips parted—just slightly—before curling into something predatory. Jess exhaled through her nose, slow and deliberate, before turning the screen toward Nina.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Jess crooned. Nina’s thigh trembled under her tan hose, the laddered run stretching wider as she uncrossed her legs. Lauren’s stiletto hooked around Nina’s ankle, dragging her forward until her knees bumped the coffee table. The spreadsheet didn’t lie: Nina’s numbers were a full fifteen percent lower. “Looks like someone’s getting audited,” Jess purred, popping the top button of her blouse. The lace beneath was black as a void.
Nina’s fingers hesitated at the hem of her blouse. Lauren leaned in, her perfume—something expensive and lethal—wrapping around them. “Slow and sexy,” she instructed, tapping Nina’s wrist with a manicured nail. “Or we add penalties.” The nylon rasped as Nina inched the fabric upward, revealing the pale dip of her waist, the scalloped edge of her bra. Jess licked her lips at the flush creeping up Nina’s chest.
“And strip means everything,” Jess added, “except perhaps your earrings.”
Nina’s fingers trembled as she unbuttoned her blouse, the silk parting reluctantly to reveal the scalloped lace of her bra—pale pink against flushed skin. The blouse slipped from her shoulders with a whisper, pooling on the chair behind her. Lauren’s gaze traced the faint indentation of Nina’s waist where the skirt’s waistband had pressed too tight by midday. Jess leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “Shoes next,” she murmured, and Nina bent—slowly, deliberately—to unbuckle the delicate straps of her heels. The first hit the hardwood with a decisive click; the second followed, kicked off with a nervous flick of her ankle.
The skirt was trickier. Nina’s hands hovered at the zipper, her breath shallow. Lauren’s stiletto tapped impatiently. “Unless you’d prefer we do it for you,” she said, and Nina’s laugh came out jagged. The zipper’s rasp echoed in the quiet room as the fabric slid down her thighs, catching briefly on the laddered run in her hose before puddling at her feet. Jess exhaled sharply through her nose. The tan nylon clung to Nina’s legs like a second skin, the tear at her knee stretching wider as she stepped free of the skirt.
Lauren uncrossed her legs, the whisper of her tights loud in the silence. “Don’t stop there,” she said, nodding toward Nina’s thighs. Nina’s fingers trembled as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband, rolling the nylon down in slow increments. The elastic snapped against her skin as she peeled it past her hips, the sheer material clinging stubbornly to her dampening skin. Jess leaned forward, plucking the tights from Nina’s fingers and draping them over the armrest with deliberate care. “Now the bra,” she murmured, her fingertip tracing the lace edge where it dug into Nina’s ribcage.
Nina hesitated, her arms crossing protectively. Lauren’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist. “Rules are rules,” she said, her thumb pressing into Nina’s pulse. “Unless you’d rather …….. we stripped you instead?” Nina’s breath hitched as she unhooked the clasp, the bra sliding down her arms like a surrender. The cool air prickled her nipples, already tight with humiliation. Jess made a low, approving sound in her throat, her gaze lingering on the flush spreading across Nina’s chest.
Lauren stood abruptly, circling Nina like a hawk. She plucked the elastic of Nina’s knickers, letting it slap against the small of her back as the trembling womas tried to cover her morecthan adequate boobs with her hands. “Last piece,” she said, nodding toward Nina’s panties. The pink lace barely covered her, clinging to damp curls beneath. Nina’s fingers trembled at the waistband, then stilled. Lauren’s laugh was velvet-wrapped steel. “Need motivation?” she murmured, her stiletto tracing the inside of Nina’s thigh—not touching, just hovering close enough to raise goosebumps. Slowly the knickers slid down her legs until barefeet stepped out of them.
Jess dragged a dining chair to the center of the room, the legs screeching against hardwood. “Sit.” The command brooked no argument. Nina obeyed, the wood cold against her bare skin. Lauren produced a coil of rope, seemingly from nowhere—deep red, still warm from her pocket—and looped it around Nina’s wrists behind the chair. The knot tightened with each shallow breath Nina took. Jess knelt, her blouse gaping to reveal black lace, and began to tie her left ankle to the chair leg.
Lauren’s fingers traced Nina’s collarbone. “You’re trembling,” she observed, circling around to whisper against her ear. “Is it fear? Or are you wet?” The heel of Lauren’s stiletto pressed between Nina’s thighs—just enough pressure to make her gasp. Jess grinned, securing Nina’s right ankle with a final, punishing tug. “Oh, she’s wet,” she confirmed, dragging a fingertip through the evidence before holding it up to the light.
The rope rasped against Nina’s skin as Lauren looped it around her elbows, pulling them taut behind the chair back. Each twist of the knot pressed Nina’s chest forward, her nipples stiffening against the cool air. Lauren hummed, threading another length between her breasts, the rough fibers catching on sensitive skin as she crisscrossed it tight enough to make Nina whimper. Jess knelt between Nina’s splayed thighs, her breath hot on the inside of a knee as she secured it to the front chair leg. The rope bit into soft flesh, leaving angry red marks in its wake.
Jess purred, her fingers skating up Nina’s inner thigh to knot the final rope around the back leg. Nina jerked against the restraints, the chair creaking beneath her, but the bindings held firm. Lauren stepped back to admire her work—Nina’s breasts cinched by crimson rope, the pattern accentuating every ragged breath. She traced a fingernail along the underside of one, watching the skin pebble in its wake. “Such a pretty little liar,” Lauren purred. “All those ‘client dinners’ you swore were strictly professional.”
Jess picked up the discarded tights and knickers, slowly balling them up. “Any last words sweetie?”
“No please.” Nina blurted out, but the still warm clothes were pused into her mouth as Lauren wrapped tape around her head. “Mmmpphhh, mmppp.” She whimpered.
Jess knelt between her thighs, fingers trailing up the inside until they found her slick heat. “Team bonding,” she murmured, circling Nina’s clit with slow, deliberate strokes. “Is about trust.” Lauren slipped her left foot out of her shoe, the stiletto heel pressed into Nina’s right nipple, not enough to break skin—just enough to make her arch into Jess’s touch. “And motivation—” Jess added a second finger, pinching the other little engorged bud, “—is about consequences.” Nina’s hips jerked against the ropes, a strangled moan muffled by the fabric gag.