Sex Fighting League Ch 02

My Dad actually came around to the idea a lot easier than I expected. Not that a strong disapproval from him would have changed my decision. This was a massive opportunity and one that I would never been able to realise without a lot of luck and the right place, right time. I was offered the invite on the back of my bar altercation where I dropped the guy with one knee to the balls. Hanna got the invite on the back of being my mate. It also massively helped that we are generally seen as "cute" and girls next door. Pure luck, a scout was in, saw it and the wheels were in motion.

My Dad was well aware of what it meant for me to follow this path. No one escapes this career unscathed, no matter how good they are. Even if you get to the very top there is always someone who is up and coming who is better than you, hungrier or just younger. At some stage in my career, I am going to get my ass kicked. I am going to get the shit beaten out of me. Fucked by the winner and then passed around an audience of 50 people like a sex doll. No father wants that for their daughter and none want to watch the process and then be able to relive it whenever they want in ultra HD glory. I am not sure where he stole the quote from, but his general sentiment was, "I would be a poor father if I stood in the way of a dream or opportunity for the selfish reason of not wanting you to risk getting hurt."

The training was a militaristic setup. I lived on site and it was very regimental. I was given leave when I could return home, but other than that I was on a schedule. Deviating from this schedule could result in anything from a slap on the wrist to dismissal. Depending on the severity of the breach. It was generally a bad idea to push your luck though. Some of the schedule was 'free time' but any actual freedom was dictated by the training program. The money was awesome as the majority was spending money. My accommodation and food were deducted from my salary, but it was 400 credits a month, which I challenge anyone to live and eat anywhere for that much a month. All I needed to do was turn up and do as I was told. Yes sir, no sir, how high should I jump, sir?

The rooms were bunk rooms for two, and so I bunked with Hanna. 50 rooms were in each living pod and those were your classmates for the duration of training. You would train with them, eat with them and socialise with them. There were 50 guys and 50 girls in each intake of fresh 'talent'. To give you an idea of progression it was expected that of the 100 fighters between zero and ten would progress beyond the six months training period. After that would be where serious combat training would take place. We would be honed and crafted into boxers. We would live breathe and sleep our career, if you didn't then you would be cut from the program. Hard work was the bare minimum to succeed, you needed to be good as well as being committed.

The number that would actually break into the higher leagues was statistically less than one of us, and the chances of making it big were depressingly tiny. Of the 100 around half would be good enough to continue as an amateur if they wanted, but this was rarely taken up as it was basically getting your ass kicked, and fucked for less than I got as a flat wage at a bar job. Most amateur fighters did two or three fights, realised that the training system was correct and they were really not good enough. Of course, sometimes the system got it wrong and an amateur made it into the big leagues, but this was infinitesimally small numbers. The system was designed to identify, pluck out talent and then nurture it to fruition. Money underwrote every decision, I was on 25,000 credits a year, they needed to see results from their investment and if it was unlikely, I was of no use to them so I would be cut free. Throughout the process, people would be picked out for management roles and various other branches within the system. The schedule was brutal and the attrition rate was eye-watering. If half of the stories were true about the training system then I was in for one hell of a ride.

Day 1 was being processed and settling in. It was a conveyor belt of people, sitting in rows in a waiting room that was eerily white and clinical. There was no decoration, it was just brilliant white and plain. No pictures, no colour at all, it was weird. Names were called and people got up and went into whichever door they were told to. "Sophie Lloyd, room eight please." I appreciated the please. Only a few of the announcers afforded such basic manners.

I got up and went into room eight. I knocked first and went in when invited. It was another fairly bland room, brilliant white, no pictures or colour and maybe just a few too many lumens being emitted. A guy in his 50s was accompanied by a younger guy as well. The younger guy was probably mid to late twenties. The older guy looked at me as someone who was buying a product off the shelf. His look carried the expression of someone who did not approve of what was on the shelf and I nearly sniped at him. Almost, but I bit my tongue. These places were notoriously harsh and dangerous if you stepped out of line. Dangerous to your career that is, no one was going to beat you to death for stepping out of line, but humiliation and just outright dismissal were likely outcomes to excessive sass.

"Miss? Mrs? Ms? Other?" he asked.

"Miss," I replied, "But, Sophie is fine."

"Sophie," he began, his tone one of someone who had done this process thousands of times already that day and he didn't get any enjoyment out of the first one, never mind whatever number I was today. It was an inconvenience me being there, he did not come across as someone happy in his work. "Age?" he asked.

"18."

He eyed me up and down. "I assume green is not your natural hair colour?" It was not as stupid a question as it sounded. You could get cosmetic gene treatment that could change your hair colour and that does then count as your natural colour. That costs a lot though, mine was bleach and then old-fashioned hair dye. I shook my head in reply and he nodded his head. "You will have to go natural."

"Okay."

"What is your natural hair colour?"

"Brunette," I said.

All the while his assistant was making notes. "Weight?" he asked.

"Oh, er, dunno, 50kg ish, I guess," I said. My hesitation was due to being asked my weight outright.

"Over 50 or under 50?" he asked. "If you had to guess?"

"Over," I said, "51, 52 maybe," I added. I was going to ask why, but he didn't come across as the sort of guy who welcomed questions.

"Bra size?" he asked. I stared at him with my "fucking really?" expression. There was no way I was announcing my bra size. He didn't acknowledge my hesitation, I guess it was a fairly standard hesitation. You don't ask a girl her weight and you sure as hell don't ask her how big her tits are. "And don't lie. Bra size?" he asked again and just waited.

"28A," I eventually answered. As I said it I watched his assistant. I was waiting for a reaction, or a smirk, or something else that would no doubt get a foolish reaction out of me. Nothing though, not even a flicker, and I think that was worse.

The questioning continued for a while. It was surreal more than weird or creepy, but by the end of it, they knew I was shaved and that it was actually shaved and not waxed as I am allergic to the wax. On that revelation, he tested me with a strip of something or other and said the name of something which was noted down by his assistant. Turns out that it was the scent additive in the cheaper brands that I was allergic to, and not the actual wax itself. They ran various tests on me, blood tests, lung function, all those sorts of things. It was all reported by my medical technology which they had access to, but it was all double-checked for any irregularities. It was not uncommon to tamper with medical feeds to avoid exclusion or to gain an advantage in these sorts of tests. A lucrative black market was very much in full operation to get various things altered if you so wished. I was fit and healthy though.

"Okay Sophie," he said, "Sorry, embarrassing bit. Validation of answers given. Undress please," he added as he pointed at a curtained-off section of the room.

His tone did sound like he was genuinely sorry, but his tone was not my biggest issue at that moment in time, his words were more concerning. "Undress?" I asked. I heard what he said, but I hoped that I hadn't heard him correctly.

"Yes please," he said as he switched back to his bored tone.

"Here?" I asked.

"Yes please," he said.

"Naked?" I asked. I could hear the panic in my voice, so he must have heard it as well.

"Yes please," he said again, "All video is disabled in this room," he added as he span around his monitor to show me the security system that did indeed confirm there was no video recording system active.

I hesitated for a second but stood up and went behind the curtain. I have never really understood the modesty curtain system, you are undressing, it seems a little bit odd to strip in privacy and then just walk out into a public space in whatever state of undress. Kind of like a "ta-daaaaa, here I am." Odd. Even so, I stripped to my panties, took a deep breath and went back into the main room again.

I was nervous, obviously nervous. I awkwardly cupped my boobs with my hands and I stood in the pristine white room wearing just a white thong. The younger guy looked this time, but he maintained his professionalism. I am nothing special, I am going to assume he has seen a lot of nudity so far today. I was just another shy girl in her underwear amongst a long line of shy girls in their underwear.

"The panties as well please."

"Really?" I clarified as I looked at him. "Naked naked?"

"Afraid so," he said matter of factly. I looked at him for a second but turned around and slid my panties to the floor. I stepped out of them and switched my left hand from my left boob to between my legs. I used my right arm to cover my chest as I turned to face them both again. Very much underdressed.

They double-checked everything physical that I had answered. I have no idea why, but they did. Turns out the only intimate detail of myself I got right was my bra size. My actual weight was 49.3kg, although I rarely weighed myself, and I never weighed myself naked. Do clothes weigh a couple of kg? Either way, I was classed as underweight and that was noted on my record to be monitored.

I was fully examined. No secrets. The works. Imagine what a full physical examination is for a girl and yep, you are correct. That is exactly how little dignity I had at the end of the longest hour of my life so far. On the plus side, I am totally healthy and cleared for the games. So that is good.

While I was in there I was professionally waxed and that was an experience. Just being shaved felt smooth enough, but damn, professional waxing is another level of smoothness. Although the person doing the waxing was a guy and I have had long-term boyfriends who didn't get to see some of those angles of me. When he was done though even my panties felt nice against my 100% zero hair pussy. My trousers almost pulled themselves up there was that little resistance from the usually missed hairs I left behind. It was expected that I would need waxing every two weeks, but that would be monitored. Yay, more nudity. My hair was also returned to my natural brunette using various treatments.

Day 2 was straight into training. We were gathered in a large hall and told exactly how this was going down. Very much military. Each of us was individually intimidated at some point through the day and by the end of day 2 one guy quit. Ego is a burden when you start as a bottom feeder. Pucker up, yes sir, no sir, is that correct sir? Am I holding my ankles correctly and presenting my ass for you adequately, Sir? Metaphorically at the moment, but at some point if I progress far enough my ass is going to be on the line and if I lose that particular day it is going to be penetrated very publicly and fairly uncomfortably.

On day 3 we were told to select our training outfit and colours. This would be what we wore at all times and would be our brand. I went for a simple gym-style tight outfit that looked super cute. It had highlights of pink in it as well as a flecked shimmer nanofibre running throughout the outfit. It was awesome if I do say so myself. It was also worth more than my entire wardrobe at home. I selected it and confirmed my choice. It was vetted and approved instantly by the AI. We all went into the changing rooms and changed into our outfits. Changing rooms were separated for males and females. We went back into the hall and lined up. As we stood to attention the trainers walked up and down the line of us.

"You will be given a number," one of them shouted as they walked up and down, "Do NOT forget your number. Forgetting your number will not work out well for you. Do you understand?"

A chorus of "Yes sir!" echoed around the room as we all spoke at the same time.

They started at one end and everyone was given a number. 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, right down the line. I was given 2 and Hanna, who was next to me, got 3. In my head, I was saying 2 over and over. It was a simple request, remember the number, but anxiety was real.

"Your number is your group. Your group is your group for the duration of this training, you can not change your group, the only way to change your group is to quit," one of them yelled. "Get in your groups."

We moved around and stood in our groups. I glanced around mine and it was a fairly even mix of male and female. "The first lesson is that this is not a fair system," one of them shouted.

"Group one, as you are," one of the trainers said.

"Group two, underwear only," another said.

"Group three, naked," the original one said.

There was a murmuring which generally boiled down to "no way, that is bullshit." mainly from group three, although I was not overly amused as I prepared to strip to my underwear. I looked around the room nervously, this is a lot of people who are about to see me in my bra and panties. To say that it was less than ideal would be an understatement, but better than being randomly placed into group three.

"This is not a fair game, the sooner you realise this the sooner we can get on with it and make you the best you can be. Do not question, do not argue. Delaying just shortens your training which shortens your career. It also pisses us off, you do NOT want to piss us off."

We knew we had no choice. Well, we did, three girls in group 3 quit and walked off. I removed my newly acquired top and leggings to stand in just my underwear. I did notice that a few of the girls were not wearing a bra and I did smirk to myself, but that advantage did not last long. "Ladies, underwear does not include your bra, strip to your panties if your underwear is all-in-one or you are not wearing any at all, then that is unfortunate. You are still group 2, but you will be naked for this week and any subsequent underwear weeks." One more girl, this time in group two walked off and quit. She was obviously not wearing valid underwear and staying would result in her nudity. It was far from fair, but as he said, the whole process is not fair. It doesn't take much research to realise that at some point you are getting naked in this game, whether it is week one or week ten, your nudity is guaranteed at some stage. Unless you quit I guess, but that just seems a bit silly to me. Each to their own.

I unclipped my bra and in front of 95 other people, as well as five trainers I slipped it off and stood wearing just a pair of black panties. Five of group two ended up naked, two guys and three girls. The guys had gone with no underwear, and the girls had selected cute all-in-one underwear and I was so glad I hadn't, I almost did. Group three stripped naked and we all lined up again in our groups. I spotted Hanna and made eye contact with her. She just gave me a wry smile as she stood with her hands behind her back with no clothes on. I have seen her naked loads of times, but somehow seeing her publicly naked seemed more poignant. She was clearly shy and nervous, but she was owning the situation. Safety in numbers helped I guess, she was far from the only person naked. As I looked at her I almost forgot that I was also standing here fairly close to being naked myself. I consciously kept my head high and my arms behind my back as I stood obediently.

"Get used to this. The first week will be this arrangement. After the first week, a representative for the team will draw straws, the longest straw will be clothed, the second longest will be underwear and the shortest will be naked for next week. You will need to select a representative before next week."

"You need to be body confident. Or at least body indifferent. Distraction of decency issues will quite literally get you fucked in this game, you do not want to get fucked."

We all stood to attention, eyes straight ahead, but I did notice that a couple of the guys in group three were a little excited. They were very much stood to attention. I am so glad I am a girl and don't that that problem. Although I was a long way from aroused at that moment in time so even if I had one of those I don't think it would be in that specific state anyway. Of course, I do not have one, so what do I know? All I know is that I am standing in a room full of strangers wearing nothing except for my panties and a nervous smile. Hanna was standing opposite me with a similar expression, only she was not even wearing any panties. Every body type was there. Tall, short, fit, skinny, fat. Pretty, handsome, cute, sexy, drop-dead gorgeous and of course the other end of the scale as well. It is all subjective, but there were guys I would and guys that I wouldn't. I realise that is terrible to judge on looks, but that is all I have at the moment.

We were taken into our groups and put into training. I am no stranger to the gym and I would like to think that I worked fairly hard while there. However, within the first 15 minutes, I was at my usual gym limit and after the first half hour, I was beyond anything that I have ever endured in my life. I liked to think that I was relatively fit, but I was not, not even close. Before lunchtime on the first day, I had already thrown up with exertion. My entire body glistened with sweat and my panties would not have been any wetter had I been thrown into a swimming pool. I was glad that I had chosen black ones, the girls who had gone for white were now training in very see-through panties. Somehow that seemed worse than just flat-out nudity. To have something on, but for them to be that see-through it was pointless them being there.

We were drilled and drilled for the first week with no let-up. Physical training, classroom theory, it was all back to back. They taught us how to be likeable and how to talk to the media. What to say, what not to say, and how to avoid saying what you would regret when the headlines hit. We selected a representative, who was a girl called Jasmine. She was very confident and if I am honest a little bit annoying. I may regret sinking into the background and not drawing attention to myself, but I was not putting my head above this particular parapet with these stakes.

We gathered in the main hall at the end of the first week. Group one, fully clothed and very smug about that fact. My group, Group Two in underwear and Group Three was naked. Everyone was used to it now, there is only so long you can be shy. Nudity is nudity, once you have been seen it soon becomes a non-issue. The three representatives were asked to go into the centre of the room where there were three sticks pushed into a holder. We got the second shortest, so no change there, but the other two groups swapped situations. Group 3 were fully clothed and group 1 were to be naked. "Good week candidates," one of the trainers said as he looked around. I also looked around and it was surprising how many had left. I bet we had lost 15 or so already and not all from quitting. You were always being assessed. One wrong move, one thing that is against the rules or deemed unacceptable was potential dismissal. This was not an "oh well, try again next year," that was it. End of the line. You were done. Fighter career dreams are gone. Thousands of gyms around the world provided this sort of training for the leagues, but they all shared the same database of failed candidates. No one took sloppy seconds in this game. You had one shot, make it a good one.