Meanwhile at Hooters, one special waitress had emerged as the perfect corporate spokesperson. Lynne Austin was the epitome of the sexy, All-American modern girl. Quick with a smile and an off-color remark, she could be one of the guys one minute, and in the next become every horny guy’s ultimate dream girl. One thing for sure, she had every male patron in Hooters wrapped around her finger. Yet, she wore her power lightly and she went out of her way to make the ladies in the place feel comfortable and safe. Lynne was no threat to them - she flirted with everybody without creating jealousy.

Lynne’s steady guy was an absolute hunk, a bartender named Clay. They’d been an item for several years going back to high school and Lynne was pretty sure that he was about to get ‘serious’ and buy her a ring.

As the patrons in the restaurant awaited the arrival of the visiting Playmate, many of them hoping that their Lynne might catch the eye of a Playboy advance man. Certainly, from their perspective, nobody was more qualified to occupy the centerfold.

The Playboy limo finally pulled up at Hooters, a full hour late. The door opened and a spiked high heel became visible, attached to an absolutely perfect ankle. A shimmering calf came into view, as the door opened wide to reveal the image of an absolute goddess in a slinky, sheer, see-thru black gown. She stopped dramatically to ran her slender fingers through a wild explosion of red curls that required a better definition than simply ‘hair’. Her face was breath-taking. Two deep green eyes, accented by a perfect application of eye shadow and mascara competed with an absolutely incomparable nose for the title of ‘most beautiful feature’.

As Sherry completed her impressive entrance, every man in the room tried to pick his tongue off the floor. But the woman, especially Lynne, noticed something about her. This woman was here to dominate, not to mix and make friends. The Playmate took one look at Clay behind the bar, and Lynne could already sense the claws of a predator getting primed for a kill.

Sherry had been accompanied to Hooters by Playboy executive Marilyn Grabowski. Marilyn was not a happy camper. Over the years, she had been Hef’s sounding board and confidant regarding the choice of Playmates. They often agreed, but when there was a disagreement, Marilyn usually won. Once every couple of years, however, Hef would deliberately select a Playmate while Marilyn was on vacation. It was his way of signaling his authority and independence. Almost invariably, the choices he made alone were bitches-on-wheels, women he would soon regret selecting. Without Marilyn’s involvement, he had tapped a steady flow of world-class bitches, women Marilyn had come to know and despise -Victoria Cooke in 1981, Lonny Chin in 1993, and Devin DeVasquez only last year. On the limo ride over, Marilyn was meeting Sherry for the first time. Within seconds, she knew that Hef had blown it again - big time.

Sherry was a combustible mix of arrogance, self-centeredness, youth and ignorance. She was one day older than 21, yet she thought she knew everything, and that the purpose of the Universe was to accommodate her every need. She was Daddy’s little girl run amok, and Marilyn’s hope was that her appearance would not destroy Playboy’s relationship with Hooters forever. Honestly, she was not hopeful. In the meantime, she had heard about the foxy Hooters girls and she had some hope that a future Playmate might be found tonight.

Sherry was the very epitome of poise and self-assurance as she moved into position near the bar and introduced herself. The crowd applauded politely when she announced that yesterday had been her 21^st birthday. In response, she turned to Clay who was tending bar. She reached over, cradled his stubby whiskered chin in her elegant hand, looked him straight in the eye, and whispered out an order for a raspberry daiquiri. Most of the patrons hooted with delight at Sherry’s tarty little act, but Lynne was less than impressed. Marilyn Grabowski, who earned her seven-figure salary by being observant, noticed the jealous blush on the striking blonde’s face immediately. That’s a girl who may have what it takes, Marily thought to herself.

Clay served Sherry her drink and the Playmate thanked him with a big, wet kiss. Then she carefully put her foot onto a bar stool rail, allowing the slit of her skirt to fall open to reveal her luscious leg for her admiring fans. She answered questions from the patrons while she guzzled down her daiquiri. She ordered another and once again used the occasion to flirt scandalously with Clay, even going so far as to stuff her hotel keys into his jeans pocket. After ‘accidentally’ slipping her hand across Clay’s manhood, she suggested he come by later that night for special ‘nightcap’ - an experience only a real Playmate knew how to provide. Again, the restaurant exploded with horny hooting and every guy in the place tried to imagine himself in Clay’s shoes.

As Sherry turned again to answer more questions, Clay glanced over toward the very angry Lynne and shrugged his shoulders. What was he supposed to do - embarrass the Playmate guest? He was a pro, he had to play along. Suddenly, Lynne’s right hand shot up - she wanted to ask the Playmate a question.

“Why, yes, Madam. The one with the very unhappy face. What is YOUR question?” asked the very pleased-with-herself Playmate, her contempt clear in her voice.

“Well, before tonight, I had always thought that Playboy chose only the classiest, foxiest and most charming girls to be Playmates. How’d a flat-chested, stuck-up, skanky witch like yourself get chosen?” Lynne asked, her blue eyes focused like laser beams on Sherry’s startled ashen face.

Sherry’s inherent arrogance allowed her to recover quickly from the shocking question, “Am I to assume I’m being addressed by this hunky barkeep’s ex-?” Then she shot through smirking lips, “Don’t be glum, hun. It’s no disgrace to be outclassed by the Playmate of the Month.”

“You couldn’t outclass a donkey’s butt, Ms. Lame-ass,” Lynne spat back, rising to her feet.

For the first time tonight, Sherry’s superior air deserted her and she looked nervously toward Marilyn Grabowski, expecting her to do something. But Marilyn had already decided. She had a dog in the fight, all right, but her dog was Lynne. Whatever happened next would be just fine with her. “Miss January, good luck, you’re on your own,” she thought, an I-told-you-so grin on her face.

No one could mistake the purposefulness of her stride as Lynne approached the bar where Sherry stood. Sherry had placed her half finished daiquiri on the bar and was provocatively resting her hands on her hips as the determined blonde closed in. Lynne grabbed the daiquiri glass and upended it over the Playmate’s curly red mane.

Pointing to Clay, Lynne informed Sherry, “That’s MY man! Enough is enough.”

“My, my, aren’t WE pre-menstrual today!” Sherry scoffed as she used a towel to remove the frozen drink from her hair.

Then she shoved the cold, wet towel in Lynne’s face blinding her. As Lynne reached for the towel, Sherry drove a solid right hook deep into Lynne’s breadbasket.

As Lynne stooped over to absorb the impact, Sherry brought a stinging left hand around from her hip and landed it flush on the blonde’s chin. As Lynne’s head drifted backwards, she was wide open for a stinging slap from Sherry’s long, slender, sharp-nailed hand. Sherry raked her nails over Lynne’s tender face, leaving bright red tracks of destruction in their wake.

The crowd, who were some of Lynne’s best friends, were astonished and disappointed at how easily Sherry was dominating their champion. Maybe there was something to what she was saying - Playmates really are a breed apart.

Sherry stopped for a moment to admire her handiwork. As she reached leisurely for a fistful of Lynne’s hair, she was surprised to feel her wrist grabbed out of thin air. Lynne quickly twisted the wrist behind Sherry’s back and the one-sided part of the contest came to an abrupt end. Ms. Austin was taking the offensive.

Stepping behind the Playmate, Lynne drove her knee aggressively into Sherry’s finely sculpted butt. She followed with another knee as she let go of the wristlock which allowed the redhead to stumble forward. Lynne quickly sank both her hands into Sherry’s auburn curls and drove her headfirst into the brass rail surrounding the bar. The dull thunk of bone to metal reverberated throughout Hooters, signaling a definite shift in momentum toward the local heroine.

As Sherry stumbled awkwardly, Lynne grabbed the top of her gown and pulled down with all her might. The sheer fabric offered little resistance, leaving the Playmate as bare as she would be in the upcoming January centerfold. As she instinctively reached up to shield her breasts from view, the audience began a thunderous chant of, “Go, Lynne, Go.”

Lynne decided a boxing lesson was in order and she soon had Sherry reeling from a relentless fistic attack that would have impressed the Marquis of Queensbury. Shredding her rival’s meager defenses, Lynne blazed a trail of pink and red blotches across Sherry’s face, over her breasts until she broke new ground in her belly. Lynne took particular interest in Sherry’s adorable button nose which she left swollen and bleeding in her wake.

Finally, a roundhouse right smashed into the Playmate’s jaw, sending her sprawling to the floor. Lynne mounted her rival with a schoolgirl pin and, once she settled in, began to focus on the redhead’s small, firm perky breasts. Lynne pressed down hard on each tit with her open palm, then rubbed her hand around in a circle that drove the Playmate to shrieking despair. The small, erect nipples were just perfect for twisting and Lynne delighted in nearly yanking them off Sherry’s chest.

Knowing she needed to buy a little time, Lynne reached back and rocked Sherry’s chin with a brutal right cross. She looked at Sherry’s badly damaged face after the punch - if the lights were still on down there, they were barely flickering.

Lynne rose from the pin, slowly and triumphantly, then began to remove her own shorts and T-shirt. The crowd was going nuts. Lynne treated them to a little ‘stripper’ dance routine, but she was soon back to work on Sherry’s humiliation.

“Let’s see what kind of centerfold she is,” Lynne said, reaching down to grab her rival’s elegant ankles.

She brought both feet upward as she folded Sherry sharply at the waist, bringing her ankles all the way down to the floor beside her ears!

“Folds up pretty good, eh boys?” Lynne chuckled. “Too bad we don’t have a staple for her belly button!”

Lynne straddled Sherry’s face and neck and slowly lowered her naked ass onto Sherry’s precious button nose, keeping her ankles held down beside her head. Lynne began a slow, sexy grind, rotating her hips on Sherry’s head and neck. The redhead gasped desperately for air and shrieked hysterically whenever the movement of Lynne’s ass allowed her to safely open her mouth

After Lynne, the second happiest person in the room was Marilyn Grabowski. She’d thoroughly enjoyed the humiliation of the pip-squeak Playmate chosen without her input and in Lynne Marilyn knew she’d found an all-time classic centerfold. She could hardly wait to fish a contract out of her briefcase.

Meanwhile, Lynne decided that Sherry deserved one final indignity. She stood up and reversed position. Letting Sherry’s legs unfold and fall flat on her back, she descended onto her with her pussy perfectly aligned to Sherry’s pretty lips. With her left hand, Lynne grabbed the Playmate’s hair as she pulled her mouth up into contact with Lynne’s slippery pussy lips. With her right hand, Lynne reached behind her to wiggle two fingers through Sherry’s tangled pubic bush and push them deep in her pussy.

Lynne’s fingers moved wickedly inside Sherry, exciting her until the villainesses hips started to gyrate. Then Lynne rudely demanded a more active tongue from Sherry and the beleaguered Ms. January was forced to comply. As the audience watched in stunned silent shock and utter amazement, each woman brought the other to a volcanic orgasm. When she was satisfied at last, Lynne smiled the smile of ecstasy and domination as she watched her love juices trickle down over her rival’s flushed face where it mixed with Sherry’s bitter tears.

Clearwater Hooters was built on a pier next to the water. Having thoroughly ravaged her redheaded rival, Lynne rudely yanked Sherry up off the floor, pulled her out the door by the hair and heaved her right over the porch railing into the water.

As the villainess’ head bobbed up, her trademark red curls were saturated and stuck to her blushing face. As she sputtered and dog-paddled toward the shore, everyone had a good laugh at her expense.

“Hope the bitch swims better than she fights,” shouted Clay, his muscular arm slipping easily around Lynne’s slender waist.

“Don’t worry about her, babe,” Lynne wisecracked. “Shit floats.”