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Message-ID: <47376asstr$1081635007@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Imagineer <imagin8r47@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cruel Summer 07 {Imagineer} (nosex exhib ScFi)
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Date: Sat, 10 Apr 2004 18:10:07 -0400
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Cruel Summer

copyright 2001-2004 by Imagineer.

comments to 
imagineer 47: yahoo green eggs com ham
but without the green eggs or ham

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Imagineer/www/


// 7: Impeded


  Slam!
  Angela awoke to the sound of a gunshot. No, a door slamming. Did she
oversleep? Or was mom home early? Unexpectedly bright light seared her
eyes. Instinctively her hand went to cover them. She felt a pebble tap
her cheek, and something soft brush her naked chest.
  What the...?

  "Oh, shit, my parents are home!" she heard a male voice whisper.
Someone grabbed her elbow and tugged her off the couch. "Ow... not so
hard!" she whined, still not fully awake. Why was she sleeping on the
couch?
  "Quick, this way!" the young man dragging her hissed, pulling her up
from a heap of limbs to a walking, or at least staggering, girl. In
another room she heard the sounds of a conversation and something heavy
being dropped. 

  Her heart and lungs were cranking from the adrenaline of surprise.
Gradually her brain was unraveling where she was and what was
happening. She was being dragged through a dining room and down a
hallway by a naked young man. He looked familiar. Her skin was cold.
She wasn't wearing any clothing! Her arms crossed in front of her,
which tugged back on the boy's arm; he turned to see what the problem
was; he looked panicked. Something soft brushed up against her chest. 

  "In here!" he ordered, suddenly pushing her through a doorway into a
dark room. "You can get out through the window. Hurry! If they catch
you here they'll kill us both!" He pushed her onto a small canopy bed
and darted back out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

  Angela heard wheeled luggage being dragged across a tile floor.
"Joshua?" a deep voice bellowed.

  Oh, God, she was at her ex-boyfriend's house!
  Naked!
  Well, not quite naked... two plumes of wispy cloth hung from her neck
and were fastened about her wrists. Her wings! She'd come here as
Sapphire? Angela's mind raced twin paths, trying both to recall the
events that led her here and figure out what to do next. Where's the
rest of my clothes? Why did Josh tell me to go out the window? I can't
leave naked. I slept with Josh. Who is that I hear running down the
hall? Josh was good. No, great. But it was never good with Josh before.
I can't believe I slept with him. I can't believe I told him I'm
Sapphire. Did I tell him I'm Sapphire? Does he even know it's me? I
mean, Angela? Of course he must know, he picked me up. No, he picked up
Sapphire. Maybe he doesn't know. It was dark, wasn't it? I can't
believe I slept with him. I can't believe I enjoyed it. It was my idea.
I begged him to fuck me. Oh my God, I'm a slut. Someone's running down
the hall again. What if they catch me here? In his sister's room?
Naked? I've got to get out of here. But it's daylight, I can't leave
naked. I'll cover myself with the bedspread. No, too big. Too heavy. A
towel. No, no towels in here. A robe or something. Gotta find
something. The closet.

  Angela got up off the bed and stepped to the closet. You don't have
time to find something, just go. I can't go naked. Angela's mind
flashed back to the times she'd been in Josh's house before. She'd
never been in his sister's room; the door was always closed. His sister
was older and off at college; this was now a guest room. Good, that
bought her time; Josh's parents probably wouldn't come in here. Unless
they suspected Josh of being up to something...

  "What are you running around for?" Josh's father's voice echoed
through the house. "Come help your mother with her suitcase!"

  Angela didn't have much time. In her panicked state she didn't
remember the details of last night, but if it was anything like the
last time there was probably evidence of screwing around in the living
room -- for one thing, her panties were unaccounted for -- and it would
be discovered any minute now.

  The open side of the closet was almost empty, except for a few
shoeboxes. Made sense, Josh's sister would have taken her clothes with
her. Damn, didn't she leave anything? Just three hangers -- a fleece
one-piece pajama, a denim jumper, and a plaid skirt. They all looked
small, like Josh's sister might have worn them when she was twelve. She
slid the closet door to the other side. This made a surprising amount
of noise, ending with a thunk as the door slid off its track. Angela
held her breath, listening for a reaction. At first she thought she'd
been discovered...

  "What's that?" Josh's mom yelled.
  "What, mom?"
  "Don't 'what, mom' me, young man. Just look at this mess!"
  "I- I'm sorry, mom, I was gonna clean the kitchen this afternoon
before you got home... I'll take care of it now."
  "No, you go clean up the rest of the house first. I'm sure it's a
mess too, and I am not prepared to see any more mess. Your father and I
will go put our things away; I expect you to be done by the time we're
finished."

  Angela heard light footsteps down the hall, followed by heavier
footsteps. She held her breath, frozen there in front of the closet.
All they had to do was open the bedroom door and they'd see Josh's
ex-girlfriend, the one they didn't approve of, standing there
displaying her charms just like the slut they knew her to be. The
footsteps passed the door and continued down the hall; she heard
another bedroom door close.

  The parents' voices came partially muffled through the heater vent.
"Jason, I swear, our son is the laziest..."
  "Relax, sweetie..."

  Angela's attention returned to the contents of the closet.

  Well, this was interesting.

  This side of the closet was a mass of straps, ties, ribbons, buttons,
clasps, feathers, lace, silk, patent leather, robes, camisoles,
bustiers, negligees, teddies... someone had quite a lingerie
collection. And, Angela discovered as she rifled through it, not a
single practical thing among them. This must be his mom's fantasy
closet. Along with what looked like a couple of halloween costumes
toward the middle, blocked by the stuck closet door. She tried reaching
for a red satin one, maybe a devil's cape, simply because it seemed to
be the largest swath of fabric that wasn't see-through in the entire
closet -- but this half of the closet was stuffed so tightly she
couldn't pull it free. She abandoned it, letting it hang partway out of
the tight row of garments.

  Above the closet rod were several big boxes -- probably nothing
there, and she couldn't really reach them anyway. Down in the bottom of
the closet was a shoe tree with a considerable collection of ladies'
shoes, none of them practical. This was not looking good.

  Angela heard the floor creak; she froze, waiting to identify the
threat. Just Josh's parents moving around in their room. Rhythmically,
it seemed. It took a few moments for naive Angela to figure out what
they were doing... she turned red with embarassment at the realization
that they were having sex. Which reminded her of her own actions the
night before... she had to get out of there. "Just pick something..."

  At least the window shade was drawn, and nobody would be looking in
at her while she stood there naked trying on lingerie. On the other
hand, there wasn't that much light in the room...

  Most of the collection was frills and lace -- not something she could
wear walking down the street in broad daylight. Or at night for that
matter. Her fingers grabbed at the first substantial-feeling fabric,
but this turned out to be an exotic collection of buckles and zippers
in patent leather that she couldn't figure out; she dropped it on the
floor and continued exploring.

  Her hands work down between each hanger, inspecting garments by feel.
They find a satin camisole, but she breaks a strap trying to get it off
the hanger. Could her luck get any worse?

  Paydirt. A bustier with a satin front. Angela carefully worked it out
partway so she could see it. The sides and back were stretch mesh, with
little eyehooks hidden behind decorative satin ties up the front. It
was strapless, but there was no frilly trim -- she could get away with
wearing it outside as a top. It was certainly better than anything else
she'd found. She carefully worked it out of the closet.

  What to do about her bottom half? She worked through the rest of the
closet with growing anxiety. "Doesn't this woman own a skirt?" "Of
course, but they're in her regular closet, silly." Angela finally found
one -- all lace. She might as well be naked.

  Desperate, she squeezed her arm through the gap between the stuck
closet door and the other side of the closet, fishing for the sister's
skirt. She would have to make it work somehow. Let's hope she was
chunky when she was young...

  The plaid skirt was all dark blues and greens, pleated uniform-style.
Maybe it was the stress of the situation, but it seemed alarmingly
short for a school uniform. Angela had no way of knowing this didn't
belong to Josh's sister, but was actually one of his mom's "special"
items.

  Angela started with the top. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with
the tiny hooks in the front of the bustier. As she got it free of the
hanger something fluttered to the ground. Matching panties. Well, not
all of her luck was bad. Still uncomfortable with her nakedness, she
put down the bustier and stepped into the panties, quickly sliding them
up her slender legs. The satin tie sides rode high on her hips. The
front satin panel seemed awfully small; the gusset and rear were sheer
nylon. "These weren't meant to be practical," she reminded herself,
"but they're better than nothing."

  She went back to work on the bustier, getting the last hook undone
and wrapping it around her. "Wow, Josh's mom's even smaller than I am."
Even with the stretchy sides and back it was a challenge to get the
bustier closed. The tiny hooks were on the ends of short satin ribbons;
this exposed a strip of bare skin between the two satin halves of the
bustier. More risque than she'd like, but it didn't seem too bad. Her
fingers struggled with the hooks for what seemed like an eternity. As
she worked frantically she heard the pace of Josh's parents getting
equally frantic; she had to hurry! No time to redo the satin ties,
which were just for decoration anyway. Angela noticed garter straps
dangling from the bottom of the garment but didn't have time to do
anything about them; they would just have to dangle.

  Next came the skirt. As she bent over she felt the bustier tighten
around her. Angela shimmied the skirt up her legs. She had quite a time
getting it up over her flaring hips; Josh's mom really was petite. It
closed up with four tiny plastic snaps in back; a zipper would have
been easier. She wished she could check herself in a mirror, but the
two closet doors were stuck together and the mirror was on the back
one. Looking down the skirt seemed short but not embarassingly so; she
could just see her knees. But the pleats seemed flared more than she'd
expect, and unusually stiff; maybe it had just been starched. Poor
Angela didn't know just how special this skirt was. Josh's mom had
spent weeks working on it, giving it trick characteristics that
wouldn't be found in any real schoolgirl's skirt.

  Angela went to the closet for some shoes; she couldn't walk all the
way home, over a mile, barefoot. Besides being uncomfortable for her
tender soles, it might attract attention. Little did she know how much
attention her outfit would attract.

  As she bent over the extensive collection of high heels on her hands
and knees, she heard a creaking hinge behind her; she spun her head
around in horror.

  It was Josh. He just stood there for a moment, staring at her like an
idiot.

  "What?" Angela whispered.

  Josh could hardly be blamed for staring. There before him was an
erotic vision straight out of his roster of recurring fantasies. He
grew into puberty on this fantasy, ever since he caught his sister in
her school uniform in a similar position, hiding her pot stash under a
loose floorboard in the closet. But this was far better. His sister had
never looked that hot in her uniform. (Josh had no idea the skirt that
had been hanging in the closet wasn't his sister's old uniform skirt.)
Bent over this way, the skirt was so short it wouldn't have covered
half of the girl's delicious rump even if the pleats weren't stiff
enough to stick out instead of following those perfect curves. And the
panties were so sheer and drawn so taught over those twin bubbles of
flesh she might as well have not worn anything. All her weight was
forward on her knees, the toes of her cute feet pointed and hovering
above the floor like a ballerina caught mid-leap. Whatever top she'd
found was as sheer in back as those weird open sleeve things she was
still wearing from the night before. The tiara perched in her tousled
hair was the crowning touch. Damn, she was even hotter than last night.
She reminded him a lot of his ex, Angela. Except that Angela was a
prude, with short curly hair.

  "Aren't you done yet?" Josh finally spoke before Angela really
understood the cause of his hesitation. "You've gotta get out of here."
  "I've gotta find a pair of shoes I can wear." Sounded like Angela too.
  "Angela?"
  "WHAT??" she almost yelled. They both froze, listening for signs
they'd been heard. Amazingly, Josh's old man could still be heard
hammering away, the steady thumping of the bedpost against the wall
marking his time.

  It *was* Angela. Man, she'd sure changed! He definitely had to hook
up with her again. Could his luck get any better?

  "You don't have time. My parents will be done any second, and my
mom's not the type to cuddle if you know what I mean."
  Angela didn't really care; she just wanted to get away from this
humiliating situation as quickly as possible.

  Josh crossed the room, throwing open the window shade. "Come on,
hurry!"
  "But..."
  Josh looked down at her; she looked up at him pleadingly from her
position on hands and knees. It was hard to do anything but grab her
and nail her on the spot.

  Josh reached down, grabbing a pair of heels in one hand and her
shoulder in the other, pulling both upright. "Here, these will have to
do," he said as he turned to the window, sliding it open and tossing
the shoes out. They clattered loudly on the brick outside. It occurred
to Angela that Josh must use this window as a frequent means of escape
if the screen's already off. Josh motioned out the window with one
hand, and reached for hers with the other. "Out you go; we can play
more later."

  Angela shot him a look -- there would be no more playing with him.
She gingerly stepped out the window onto a strategically-placed box,
feeling Josh's hand on her rump "steadying" her, and then stepped down
to the brick. The window closed and latched behind her and the window
shade was drawn. Well, no going back now.

  Angela squinted through the sudden brightness of daylight and picked
up the shoes, feeling the bustier constrict around her as she bent
over. She sat down on the wooden box-step to slip them on.

  Josh's choice sucked. Two black satin-finished straps with little
buckles, one over the toes and one that came up the back and wrapped
around the ankle, attached to a clear plastic one-inch platform with a
six-inch heel. More complicated little fasteners for her nervous
fingers to struggle with. If only she'd kept her nails shorter.

  Angela stood up and smoothed herself out, nervously checking her
outfit for any adjustment that would make it less revealing. It was a
hopeless task. Fortunately (!) for Angela she couldn't see herself in
the mirror and didn't realize just how outrageous the outfit was. The
sides and back of the bustier were quite translucent in the light of
day, and the satin front a lot narrower than it had seemed when she
took it off the hanger, each half just three inches wide. The outer
curve of her breast was clearly visible beneath the gauzy material, and
the inner curve peeked out the gap between the hooked ribbons that held
the two halves of the bustier. 

  The skirt, too, showed more than she realized. She'd thought the
pleats of the cheerleader-style skirt were all made of the same opaque
plaid tartan, a thick wool blend that lent it stiffness. In fact, only
the center part of the pleats, the ones that joined to form the
waistband, were opaque, and the stiffness came from plastic inserts
that ran the length of the pleat to the waist. The material that joined
the center pleats was just as sheer as the material on the bustier, but
dyed the same dark blue as the dominant color in the tartan. The
observant voyeur could see the shadows of her thighs right through the
skirt. But this wasn't the only trick the skirt had in store.

  Angela noticed the waistband seemed puffy despite being extremely
tight; what she didn't notice was the way the skirt flared out if she
squeezed the waistband flat. Josh's mom had sewn into the pleats
plastic slats with a lever at the upper end. This allowed the skirt to
be decent if risque most of the time, but flare up to expose the wearer
on demand, either partway with a hand on the hip, or all around like a
naughty maid's uniform or a ballerina's tutu by tightening a belt or
sash. It was an expensive trick she'd yet to show off to her husband on
one of their exhibitionist romps. If she knew that her son's "slutty"
ex-girlfriend would be the first to use it, she would be furious. After
all, it was her own private triumph. For Angela, it was just an
embarassment waiting to happen.

  Unaware of the extent of her exposure, Angela started out for home.
She went three whole blocks before seeing anyone, and those were just
young children playing superheroes in the yard, too wrapped up in
themselves (and their oversized blanket-capes) to pay her any attention.

  "Maybe this won't be so bad," she thought hopefully. She didn't see
the housewives and mothers peeking out their living room windows and
tut-tutting the shameless young tart parading through their
conservative upper-middle-class neighborhood. Their teenage daughters
would never!

  It was when she began walking the last block toward Alvarez Boulevard
that she ran into her first bit of trouble. She looked down the gentle
slope to the corner and saw two rough-looking girls about her age.
Matching studded leather jackets, big clunky boots and ripped jeans,
the similarity of their outfits contrasted with the dramatic
differences in build. The one with orange spiked hair was small and
wiry; the one with a bleached buzzcut looked like she ate her enemies,
and had had a lot of enemies. Tall and impossibly wide, with deflated
basketball breasts, her jeans looked like a canvas mat from behind.
They weren't moving. Maybe waiting for the bus. She didn't want to run
into these two at all, but absolutely not when she was dressed like
this. They'd eat her alive. The fat one, maybe literally.

  She'd have to cut through the park.

  The city library was on the corner of Skyler and Alvarez, in the
middle of a sprawling, hilly park with a narrow meandering lake running
through it. Early mornings and late afternoons joggers would use the
paved running paths and exercise bars sprinkled along the way, but
during the day it was pretty much deserted. In a stroke of civic
brilliance the planners neglected to install any children's play
equipment, the fear of injury lawsuits having dried up any such
enthusiasms. (They still couldn't figure out why so few children came
to the library.) But as so often happens with such projects, the
lawsuit-fearing no-play-equipment left hand not only let the right hand
install equally-deadly but fun-free exercise bars and ramps (courtesy
of a Presidential Fitness Commission grant) but paved the walk with a
glassy-smooth cement tinted blue. A councilwoman had lobbied the
landscapers to make the walk look like either marble or a mountain
stream (her story changed every time the sore subject came up) and a
cost-slashing move at the last minute had changed the expensive blue
rubber aggregate to less-expensive homogeneous material that dried with
an almost friction-free surface. It was fine with running shoes when it
was dry; with any other shoes or whenever it was wet it became quite
treacherous.

  With her first step onto the meandering path Angela knew she was in
trouble. The clear plastic platform sole skidded forward slightly
before stopping on a pebble; Angela's arms jerked up a bit as if to
grab balance out of the air. She stopped and looked back down the hill,
reconsidering her options. Both sides of the path were lined with
sloping loose piles of large smooth riverbed stones that even a
mountain-goat would break an ankle on. It was the path or the girls.
The fat girl started to turn around; panicked, Angela hurriedly hobbled
down the path out of sight. After just a few more steps, she stopped
again. This wasn't going to work; she'd almost fallen twice. She
squatted down to remove the impossible heels.

  But Angela couldn't get the buckles undone! Squatting as she was she
couldn't really see what she was doing, and her nails kept getting in
the way of getting a good feel for it. How had she managed to buckle
them in the first place?

  Only partly on purpose, she sat back on her butt with a thump, the
short skirt naturally (!) flipping out. Her butt stung for a moment.
She bent both legs to one side, shifting her weight back on her butt
and reaching for the outside of her right ankle. Her sheer-backed
panties acted as a lubricant, sliding her around a bit as she
struggled, gradually hiking up and gathering between her cheeks. "Ow,"
she said as she slid her way onto a sharp pebble, but she wasn't about
to give up on the consternating buckle. Wiggling about in her struggles
she worked herself back and forth over the tiny jagged chip of lost
granite. While her soft flesh absorbed the sharp intrusion without
injury, it sawed at the thin fibers of her tightly-stretched sheer
panties, poking a hole which grew into a run.

  "Dammit!" she exclaimed in frustration. The more she tried, the more
her hands shook from frustration and fear of discovery, sprawled out in
the park. She finally gave up.

  She considered crawling, but that was just too pathetic, too
humiliating, a point hammered home by a soft breeze that she felt go up
her skirt. Her ass would be on display for anyone who walked by. No,
she would walk.

  It was like tiptoeing on ice. The lucite platform sandals wiggled and
shifted about for traction with every tiny step, hobbling her progress
through the park. Her upper body occasionally lurched about in small
increments, her arms jerking up this way and that, a cross between a
short-circuited robot and hip-hop dance moves. Her breasts jiggled and
shifted against the confines of the bustier, which made its too-tight
fit felt with every move. The hem of her skirt danced about as her hips
wiggled in exaggerated fashion with every mincing step in the too-tall
heels. The topmost waist snap, a cheap plastic part hurriedly sewn in,
took leave of its retaining threads; the waistband expanded slightly,
slipping down an inch toward Angela's hips and inching the pleats
outward, the change unnoticed by the poor girl so focused on simply
staying upright.

  Angela didn't realize it, but the path she'd chosen would have been
impossible without the Sapphire force. Partially recharged in the
darkness of Josh's living room, the two gems she had about her wrists,
focused by the tiara still perched above her long dark bangs, acted as
invisible walking sticks being flailed about in her hands, bouncing off
the ground and nearby trees and other objects along the path,
occasionally supplementing her balance and barely keeping her upright.
But their force was too randomly directed, and with just two stones
remaining their forcefield power too faint for her to recognize as she
concentrated on every hesitant action and reaction.

  Her progress looked like a Benny Hill skit in slow motion.


  He almost didn't see her, lost in thought as he made his way up the
path.
  "With a Jackie Chan, a Brat Pitt, and a Pokemon movie all opening the
same weekend, the library'll be even more dead than usual, so I should
be able to get in and out without any trouble."
  The click-scratch-sliding of Angela's heels finally broke through his
criminal meditations; he looked up.
  "Woah." He stopped and stared at the vision ahead of him.

  A girl no more than 18, strutting down the slick cement pathway in
what had to be a stripper's outfit -- tall clear plastic spike heel
sandals, scandalously-short flouncy skirt with alternating strips of
solid and translucent material, a strapless sheer (from behind anyway)
bustier, some kind of harem-girl sleeves, her dark straight hair
dancing across her bare shoulders in time with her skirt's bouncing
peeks at her delicious ass. She appeared to be having trouble walking,
neither her shoes nor the pavement being particularly well-suited to
the task.

  Well, this was an unexpected bonus. He'd planned on hanging out at
the junior college across town -- the girl he'd hooked up with there
last month never contacted the authorities, so he figured it was still
safe pickings -- but if this one panned out, he wouldn't have to make
the trip.


  Angela's borrowed lucite platform came down mercilessly on an errant
snail, the poor gastropod's wet gelatinous body serving as an efficient
lubricating film. Her foot slid out from under her, launching her into
a pendulous series of desperate attempts to regain her balance. Just as
she was about to lose the fight with gravity and face-plant she leaned
over and reached out to pull herself toward a waist-high exercise bar.
This stopped her from kissing concrete, but the pelvic gyrations
required to straighten back up popped another of the flimsy plastic
snaps holding the waistband of the skirt together. "Oh!" she exclaimed
in surprise as the skirt slid lower on one hip, exposing the string tie
side of her skimpy panties. The pleats levered out a bit more from the
constriction of the outer waistband fabric, the skirt now ratcheted out
at a 45-degree angle.


  The voyeur licked his lips unconciously as he saw her cheeks exposed.
He noticed the tear on one side of her panties; the lump in his pants
spasmed its approval.

  This was not a young woman out for a walk. This was a professional
tease practicing her craft. Though he wondered why she was here in the
park before lunch -- not exactly a target-rich environment. But maybe
that was just it -- she was working out her tease here, rehearsing for
a later show, maybe a dinner show at the mall. He knew their teasing
wasn't accidental, but he'd never caught one working out her routine
before.


  Angela stopped her shuffling; her backside sure felt breezy... she
twisted around to look down...

  "What the...?" It was sticking almost straight out in all directions.
And it was too short to begin with! Angela's hands shot back, pressing
the skirt down to cover her butt. The front of the skirt just lifted
higher in response. One hand shot to the front; the sides poked up
higher. She tried to use her forearms to push down as much of the skirt
as she could; the strain on the waistband caused the last of the
plastic snaps to pop free of their threads, and the skirt dropped low
on her hips; the peaks of her pelvis were visible above the waist of
the skirt, as were the side ties and part of the sheer back of her
insubstantial underwear. What kind of twisted Catholic school did
Josh's sister go to? The skirt had somehow turned into some cheesy
imitation of a ballerina costume. Or maybe a dirty French Maid's
uniform. Her cheeks burned hot with embarassment, even though there was
no one around to see. Her head spun this way and that and her eyes
darted about, making sure the coast was clear; she didn't notice the
figure in the shadows of the cypress trees behind her.


  She finally made it to the library, a low Frank Lloyd Wright inspired
building nestled halfway along the path. The path forked at the
entrance, one side going up into the lobby, the other sloping down to
the left. The library was built with a large glass reading room built
in a half-circle looking down on a sheltered fern garden. The path
actually went under the building and out through the fern garden before
winding the rest of the way diagonally across the park to come out on
Alvarez Boulevard.

  Angela felt sticky and tired. Her stomach and back muscles ached from
the exertion of tossing about her upper body in search of dynamic
balance. Her throat was parched. She needed to get a drink and freshen
up. She tottered into the library, feeling the cool rush of air
conditioning blowing through the doorway.

  She spent several seconds in front of the water fountain, figuring
out the best way to get to the water. She felt the bustier tighten up
mercilessly as she bent her head down; a stitch popped loudly in the
cold silent foyer and she straightened back up. She could ill afford to
have her top come exploding off. Bent over at the waist? She kept her
upper body stiff as she bent over. She felt the skirt take leave of her
ass as she attempted this and straightened back up. Bend at the knees,
she told herself. But this fountain was so low she had to splay her
legs obscenely. It'll look like I'm humping it. She turned to one side
and bent down slowly, knees together, then twisted her upper body very
slowly, listening and feeling for more signs of stress in the
overstuffed bustier. Her mouth finally reached the tantalizing faucet
and she pressed the button. 

  Ice-cold water hit her face like a liquid hammer. She jerked back
from the icy assault, arching her back and throwing her off-balance.
She tried to straighten up but this only threw her center of gravity
back further. Her free arm pinwheeled frantically as her other hand
gripped the faucet, the muscles in her arm flexing to keep her upright.

  With one side tethered to the faucet and the other freewheeling in
empty space she twisted inexorably away from the fountain. As her body
contined backwards, she shifted her weight off her right foot, hoping
to pull it back under her. This both accelerated her twisting fall and
suddenly gave up the traction that shoe had on the tile floor. Her
right leg shot out suddenly, kicking up as she landed hard on her ass.
The weight now off her left foot, it too lost traction and skidded out,
but the stiletto heel caught momentarily on the grout between two
tiles. The unexpected loss and regaining of leverage caused her to push
herself back further. Her right hand finally found the floor with a
loud smack and stopped her short of landing flat on her back.

  With her back fully arched, her shoulders locked back, and her torso
twisted, the strain of her breasts against the bustier was incredible.
It creaked for an instant, finding its own weakest link, then the top
two hooks let go at the same instant with an audible Pop!

  Angela gasped in horror as she felt the top part of the overtaxed
garment loosen suddenly, her titflesh quivering as it settled into the
wider gap. In shock she released her grip on the faucet and crumpled to
the floor.


  Dirtbag stood just outside the library, peering through the glass to
one side of the double doors. God damn she was fuckable. And she was
coming apart right before his eyes. So helpless-looking, sprawled out
on the tile floor, perfect legs splayed obscenely, showing off that
sweet-looking little satin triangle between them like a virgin slut.
Her fleshy mounds were busting out of her loosened top, with two hooks
down and two to go. Her erect nipples just peeked over the top corners
of the inadequate garment. His desert-camouflage pants could barely
contain his excitement. She knew how to play the game!


  Somehow, Angela managed to get up. Leaning her back against the wall
she set to work on her traitorous top.
  "Dammit, the hooks are busted!" she said, embarassed mid-sentence at
the loudness of her voice in the echoing silence of the library. Good
thing it had ties as well as hooks; she just hoped they were up to the
task of keeping her together.

  She tied them off as best she could given her nervousness at the
spectacle she'd just made of herself. Next Angela hiked up the skirt,
but it settled back down, coming just shy of sliding off her hips. "Oh,
this is just too rich," she sighed in resignation. She adjusted the
flimsy panties for maximum coverage, pulling them out of their
nestling-place to cover her ass. The undiscovered rip across one cheek
grew slightly as she tugged, the fabric parting to show soft bare flesh.


  The voyeur adjusted his hardon before backing away out of sight.


  Angela paused at the door. Her eye caught the flyer on the bulletin
board.
  "WANTED for robbery and sexual assault," she read aloud.
  The police sketch looked menacing, unkempt, intimidating.
  Three small store robberies, and four assaults.
  "Yeah, that's a good way to get people to go to the library -- put up
pictures like that. Little kids get one look at this mug and they'll
never want to come back, Harry Potter storytime or no Harry Potter
storytime."

  The outside air was warmer than the air-conditioned sterility of the
library, but the random breezes whirling about the building as she
descended the path under and through the library gave her a chill
nonetheless. She tried not to think about how... exposed she was.


  "Gimme the money in the till."
  "Huh?" The pizza-face behind the counter gulped as he turned around
to find a knife next to his jugular; in an instant a large sweaty palm
gripped the hair on the back of his head. The knife pressed into his
skin momentarily. The dirtbag holding it flashed a look -- "that's a
warning, I *will* jump the counter and gut you if you fuck me" -- which
pizza-face understood implicitly as dirtbag let go of him. 

  Shit. If he'd known he was going to get held up at the *library*, he
would have kept the job at the Quick Mart -- at least it paid better.
And there weren't any sixty-year-old ruler-wielding psychos looking
over your shoulder all the time.

  "The till. The cash box. Give it here."
  "Oh! Yeah. Sorry. Here." He seemed unafraid now that he understood
the request.
  Dirtbag was handed a canvas deposit sack. 
  "Thanks. You're not going to press any alarm button, are you?"
  Pizza-face shook his head. "Alarm button? This is the library, dude."
  "I know that! One more thing," the robber said when he spied the
security monitors behind the counter, "give me the lobby tape."
  Pizza-face turned around and pressed eject. "Man, you're good,"
thinking the tape confiscation was to eliminate any evidence.
  "Just want something to remember her by," the knife-toting man
smiled, dropping the tape into the canvas bag.


  The path took Angela down under the wing of the library and through
an atrium-like area sheltered by the building on two sides.
Fern-covered slopes reached up from either side of the path to glass
walls; library patrons could take a chair in the climate-controlled
reading areas and look out upon the placid-looking fern garden. The
view today was much improved as Angela tottered through. The path
formed a natural wind tunnel, the breeze taking a nasty edge and
blowing the poor girl's skirt up. Three times she stopped her unsteady
progress to push her skirt down, and three times it was immediately
flipped back up by the cool shady air; Angela finally gave up and
sutter-stepped through the ferns as quickly as she could manage. As she
jiggled, the top knot of her tied-together bustier began to unravel,
revealing more and more of her delicious cleavage...

  Finally back out into the sunlight on the other side, she welcomed
the skin-warming rays. The path split again here. To the left, a
stairway leading down to the corner of Alvarez, where the two tough
girls had been. To the right, the path continued meandering down the
hill to the other corner of the park. Not wanting to be seen by anyone
in her humiliating fantasy costume, Angela set off down the slippery
slope.


  And unbeknownst to her, a grinning pervert followed her, knife in one
hand, money sack and handcuffs in the other, eyes bouncing side to side
in rhythm with his next victim's swinging hips.

   


__________________________________
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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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