Hawkgirl in Wonderland
Here's part 2. Haven't gotten many reviews, how am I supposed to know if anyone likes this fic? Oh hell, I didn't write it for the reviews.
Smutty language warnings from here on in. And I know nothing about poker.
It took Hawkgirl a good twenty minutes to calm down after the altercation with the two servicewomen. Now, it wasn't as if she was homophobic or anything. She just wasn't used to being hit on in such a forceful manner (after a five-year stretch in the Thanagarian military, there were a lot of things she wasn't used to.) With a sinking feeling, she realised she had left her helmet back there. She had dropped it when the nurse leapt on top of her.
"Screw that," she thought venomously, "I'm not going back there!"
She fairly trotted along the dark corridor, trying not to panic as she realised that the lights illuminating her way only turned on as she approached them, then switched off again. It was like she was in some strange Gothic novel, starring as the naïve young virgin about to be ravaged by seductively dangerous creatures from the Netherworld.
"Naïve young virgin?" her inner voice laughed, "Yeah right! If anything, those creatures from the Netherworld should be scared of you!"
The corridor finally petered out into a room, lit up by a magnificent crystal chandelier and covered wall to wall in mirrors. Right in the middle of the room was a carved mahogany table with four cloth covered chairs, and sitting in those chairs were three very attractive young women. One was a twenty-something girl with bright pink hair tied up into two little pigtails, dressed in a green midriff-baring tank top and a pair of orange bell-bottoms. The one on the right looked like a businesswoman, dressed in a power suit with a white blouse, navy blazer and miniskirt and high-heeled blue pumps. Her dark brown hair was tied up into a severe chignon and a briefcase lay under her feet. The third woman appeared to be an Irish housewife. She wore a cream-coloured blouse and a wide-hemmed burgundy skirt, with a black lace shawl thrown over her shoulders. Her hair colour was close to Shayera's, maybe a shade darker, and cascaded in loose curls down her back. The women were playing cards.
"Hello, dear!" the housewife called as Hawkgirl walked by the table. She waved back, but proceeded quickly to the gigantic double doors at the back of the room. She grabbed one of the huge brass rings on the door and pulled hard. And again. And once more. Then she gave it a vicious, frustrated kick.
"You need a key, dear!" the housewife piped up again.
Shayera closed her eyes, counted to ten, opened her eyes, and turned to address the woman.
"Do you have a key?" she asked, trying hard to keep the exasperation out of her voice.
"I'm afraid not. Tina went to get the key a few hours ago. We're expecting her back soon!"
With a sigh, she sank to the floor to begin the long wait.
"Why don't you join our card game, dear?" asked the businesswoman.
Now, you may think joining in a group of strange women's card game half an hour after being accosted by two strange women is a rather foolish thing to do, and you'd be right. Unfortunately for her, Shayera was an impatient woman who would choose cutting off her own leg over being bored for any amount of time. She joined the card game against her better judgement.
The clubber girl dealt the cards. Shayera's were pretty bad, so she decided not to risk betting. The businesswoman folded too, so it came down to the clubber girl and the housewife.
"Four queens!" the housewife said primly.
"Four aces!" the clubber shouted, victorious.
"Oh no!" the housewife cried, horrified. Then she angrily removed her black lace shawl and placed it on the table. Shayera didn't find anything strange about this. On the next round, the businesswoman lost her pumps and the clubber lost her sandals. On the third round, the housewife lost her flat-heeled shoes. It wasn't until the fourth round that Shayera stopped playing safe and made a bad bet.
"Put your boots on the table, dear," said the businesswoman.
That little sentence was enough to make Shayera want to protest, but she repressed her urge to gripe. After all, there couldn't be anything suspicious about a game of poker, right? None of them appeared to have any money, and that shawl had looked valuable. How many times had John teased her about her paranoia? She sighed, unzipped her boots and laid them on the table with the other garments.
Two rounds later, the businesswoman made a bad bet, and the game took a turn for the sinister.
"Oh no!" she cried, sending imploring looks towards the round's winner, the clubber girl.
"Wow, those are really bad cards. You know what to do!" She dropped her own winning hand and leaned across the table with a wicked smirk stretched across her face. And the businesswoman began to unbutton her blazer, and when she had laid it on the table she unbuttoned her blouse, blushing madly as she did so. Shayera finally voiced her unease.
"What the hell…? Why is she taking her clothes off?" she nearly screamed.
"Oh, didn't you realise? We're playing strip poker!" said the housewife in a perky tone that was utterly sickening.
"I never agreed to play strip poker!" Shayera's voice was becoming less commanding and more whiny.
"What's the matter, dear?" said the businesswoman, who appeared to have forgotten her own distress from a few moments before. She was now clad only in her skirt and a black lace bra that tied at the back with a halterneck. "I do hope you're not ashamed of your body. From what I can see, you have a lovely figure."
"That's not the bloody point! I didn't know that's what you lot were getting up to! I quit!"
"But you can't quit, dear," piped up the clubber.
"Oh yeah? Why not?"
"The door won't open until we've completed our game."
"What?"
"One of the rules of this dimension is that all tasks undertaken must be completed or the doors lock. That's how we got stuck here in the first place," the clubber explained. "Tina was knitting while she walked, but she dropped her stitches and now she's gone to find the key."
"But… that makes no sense!" Shayera wailed.
"Those are the rules, dear. If you want to leave when Tina returns, we'll have to finish our game."
It was clear to Shayera, at this stage, that in order to keep her dignity intact that she would have to play by the dimension's rules. The betting went on, and for the most part she played it safe. But as poker goes, you can't go the whole game without losing something. The clubber's sandals were on the table, and the Shayera made a bad bet.
"Top off now, dear! You were doing so well," sympathised the housewife. Earlier on, she too had lost her shirt to the betting table. Her bra didn't seem to fit her well-endowed bust very well, and she looked ready to pop out of the thing at any moment.
"No way!" cried Shayera filled to the brim with righteous indignation. "You've already got my boots; I'm not taking my top off!"
"Those are the breaks, baby!" hooted the clubber girl. "You won't get anywhere by being shy now!"
Of course! The bloody door wouldn't open if they didn't finish the game. Gritting her teeth, Shayera reached around to her back and started unhooking her bustier. The other three women stared, smiling serenely. On the third hook, her fingers slipped and she cursed lightly under her breath, feeling the blush burn on her cheeks. She was furious at herself for blushing in the first place. Her commanding officer had informed her sternly at the age of twelve that blushing was a sign of weakness. At last, she got the blasted bustier off and dropped it on the table. The women cooed and clapped.
"You have lovely breasts, dear!" trilled the housewife.
"I'll have to try harder in the next round, I want to get your pants on the table too!" laughed the businesswoman.
"I wish I had such nice breasts. Mine are far too big," moaned the housewife.
"Nonsense! The bigger the better! Look at me, mine are like fried eggs!" said the clubber girl, pointing to her small bust.
"Yours are perfect, dear. Not too big or too small," said the businesswoman as she reached out and patted Shayera's left bosom. Shayera swatted her hand away and covered her chest with her arms.
"Stop it!" she snapped, "Why don't you stick to admiring each other?"
"Well, there would be no point, dear. I've seen those two naked," said the businesswoman, fluffing up her hair. "We haven't had a new playmate for some time. It's a novelty!"
The game went on for another hour. The businesswoman lost her skirt, revealing black lace panties and a suspender belt, and later on her bra too. The housewife lost her skirt ten minutes later, and she was wearing bloomers underneath. The clubber girl lost her top, and she hadn't been wearing a bra underneath. Shayera felt better about losing her own top with the others being in a similar manner of undress. That was, until she lost another hand and had to put her pants on the table. To add to the humiliation, she happened to be wearing bright red French knickers.
"What lovely underwear, dear!" cooed the housewife, whose left breast had managed to escape from its cup.
"Shut up," Shayera muttered. The last time she'd played strip poker was during her second year in the army, she'd been wearing her current boyfriend's boxer shorts, and he'd gotten her good and drunk first. This was way too different.
"You guys have to start wearing more layers," giggled the clubber girl, ignoring her topless state.
The game went on and on, until the businesswoman and the housewife lost their bras. And of course, the ball had to drop at some point. Shayera was dealt another bad hand.
"Hooray!" the housewife cried, her large breasts bouncing as she clapped. "Take off your bra, dear!"
"No. No, no, no, no, no! I quit! Screw the lot of you!" Shayera screamed.
"Dear, you can't quit. Remember the door?"
All of Shayera's anger dissipated and was replaced by embarrassment. She reached around to unhook her bra. The women leaned forward to watch with large eyes.
"Yoo-hoo!"
Just then, a young woman came running down the corridor, waving a large key. She was dressed in a schoolgirl's uniform, a tartan skirt and blazer over a white shirt. Shayera stopped fiddling with her bra, leaped forward and grabbed the key, just in case any of them came up with a reason to stop her from leaving.
"Who's this?" the newcomer trilled.
"Oh, she just turned up a few hours ago, Tina. She needs to get through the door."
"I'll be taking my clothes and going now," Shayera said, relieved to finally be going.
"Sorry, dear. They're mine now!" warbled the clubber. "Unless, you want to win them back…"
"Oh, keep them!" Shayera opened the door and tore off, not looking back until she was miles away.